LI b RARY 
 
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 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 v.i
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
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 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/foragainstorquee01wilb
 
 A_> 
 
 FOR AND AGAINST 
 
 OB 
 
 QUEEN MAEGAEEI'S BADGE 
 
 VOL I
 
 FOR AND AGAINST 
 
 QUEEN MAEGAPiET'S BADGE 
 
 A DOMESTIC CHRONICLE OF THE FIFTEENTH 
 CENTURY 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCES M. WILBRAHAM 
 
 Go furth, Libelle, and meekely shew tliy face.' 
 
 N TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL I 
 
 LONDON 
 JOHN W. PARKER AND SON WEST STRAND 
 
 1858
 
 ITke Author reserves the right of Translation.'] 
 
 SAVILl AND EDWARDS, PEINTEES, CHAKDO* STBBET, 
 COVEST GABDEN.
 
 8^3 
 
 THIS RECORD 
 
 OP ONCE TROUBLOUS TIMES IN OUR NOW PEACEFUL LAND 
 
 IS mSCEIBED 
 
 TO 
 
 ANASTASIA and KATHARINE 
 
 AS AN INCENTIVE TO THANKFULNESS TOWARDS HIM 
 
 WHO HATH CAST THEIB LOT 
 
 IN PEACEABLE HABITATIONS AND 
 
 QUIET RESTING-PLACES.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Q HOULD the Reader of this Book be desirous 
 to know whence the facts which form the 
 staple of it are drawn^ the writer would refer 
 such an inquirer to the following works : — 
 
 The Paston Papers, edited by Fenn. 
 
 The Chronicles, of Holinshed, Hall, Stowe, 
 
 PoLYDOKE Vergil, Baraxte, &c. 
 Okmerod's and Lyson's Histories of Clieshire. 
 Pettigrew's Medical Superstitions. 
 Brande's Popular Antiquities. 
 State Trials, especially that of William Thorp. 
 Discoverie of Witches, by Potts. 
 Lecture on the Battle of Bloreheath, by W. Bea- 
 
 MONT, Esq. 
 Fosbroke's Dictionary of Antiquities. 
 The works of Lydgate, Chaucer, Drayton, &c.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 CHAP, PAGB 
 
 I. OF THE EETUEX HOIIE I 
 
 II. OF THE FIEST EVENING 20 
 
 III. OF THE CHESHIEE PEOPHET EOBEET NIXON 48 
 
 IV. OF THE SISTEES 72 
 
 V. OF THE DECISION 93 
 
 VI. OF LIGHT AND DAEKNESS I18 
 
 VII. OF THE LOED OF AUDELEY AND HI8 GUESTS 138 
 VIII. OF THE JOUENEY TO LICHFIELD .... 168 
 
 IX. OF THE JOUST 20O 
 
 X. OF THE FIEST BATTLE 243 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 I. OF THE COUET AND THE KINGMAKEB . . 297 
 
 II. OF THE TWINS 34I
 
 PART I.
 
 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE RETURN HOME. 
 
 Follow you majestic train 
 
 Down the slopes of old renown ; 
 Knightly forms without disdain, 
 
 Sainted heads without a frown ; 
 Emperors of thought and hand 
 
 Congregate, a glorious show, 
 Met from every age and land. 
 
 In the plains of Long-ago. 
 On that deep retiring shore 
 
 Frequent pearls of beauty lie, 
 Wliere the passion waves of yore 
 
 Fiercely beat, and mounted high. 
 
 TJie Long-ago. By R. M. Milnes. 
 
 TOWARDS the close of a bleak January 
 dajj in the year of grace 1455, a small 
 party of horsemen rode slowly across the brow 
 of a high hill, one of the range which divides 
 Staffordshire from Cheshire. They were but 
 three in number, and two of them, a grey- 
 haired man-at-arms and a stripling in a tight 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Z rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 fitting suit with no ornament save a ^ grey- 
 hound passant' embroidered front and back_, 
 on his dark dress^ lingered some paces behind^ 
 as if afraid of breaking in upon the meditations 
 of their master. He was a gentleman of strong 
 and well-knit frame, of middle height and 
 erect bearing, and, according to the custom of 
 those dangerous days, he rode armed with 
 sword and with the small dagger then in use. 
 A helmet, swelling out angularly in front, with 
 oblong eye-holes and a perforation for breath- 
 ing, protected his head. It was fastened by 
 rings, before and behind, to the breast and 
 back-plates. He wore loose boots with slips 
 of steel over them, and hose or pantaloons 
 terminating in richly-worked leather kneecaps. 
 His shoulder- plates were ornamented to match, 
 and stood out so as something to resemble the 
 wings of a bird. He rode, according to the 
 knightly fashion of the day, with long stirrups 
 and toes pointed downward. Thus he wended 
 his way, following a narrow track that wound 
 through tufts of brown heather and stunted 
 bilberry bushes, or rather, permitting his bay 
 charger to roam at will amongst them, while 
 his eyes and thoughts wandered to the land- 
 scape below.
 
 OF THE EETURN HOME. 3 
 
 Much of the pLain of Cheshire might be 
 seen from that eminence ; not parcelled out into 
 fields as now, nor dotted with numberless 
 dwellings, but consisting mostly of unenclosed 
 pasture-ground running up into the great 
 forest of Macclesfield. This expanse of wood- 
 land wore a somewhat gloomy aspect_, its 
 sameness being only broken by a few naiTow 
 bridle paths, and scarcely enlivened by occasional 
 pools and swampy tracts on which the de- 
 clining sunbeams glimmered faintly. Here 
 and there a thin column of smoke marked the 
 cabin of some charcoal burner, or the haunt of 
 some less honest denizen of the forest. A 
 larger body of smoke on the horizon marked 
 the site of Macclesfield, and the pagers quick 
 eye could distinguish its rampart and the tower 
 (long since destroyed) of St. MichaePs noble 
 church. The hills of Derbyshire shut in the 
 view. Almost in front of our travellers, as they 
 faced the west, stood out the rock and castle 
 of Beeston, bristling with defences; and far, 
 far away, towards the sea, loomed the faint 
 outline of Halton Castle, once the loved resort 
 of Duke John of Gaunt. The Mersey, like 
 a silver thread, glistened beyond it; but it 
 was almost hidden by knolls and uplands, the 
 
 B 2
 
 4 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 hunting-grounds where ^ time-honoured Lan- 
 caster ' had delighted in ' chasing the wild 
 deer/ 
 
 Sounds of rural labour and rural mirth rose 
 up through the crisp frosty air, and amongst 
 them the not unmusical cry of village maidens 
 calling the cattle home. 
 
 * I marvel, Gralam, that our master tarries 
 thus/ said the youth to his companion. ^ Me- 
 thinks the sight of yonder clump of elm- 
 trees at our feet should make his heart spring, 
 as^ it doth mine. I long to clear the distance 
 at one bound, and alight at my father's door,' 
 and, playfully suiting the action to the word, 
 he urged his tired animal to the edge of the 
 platform, and obliged him to execute some un- 
 willing caracoles on the heather. ^ That voice 
 might be our Gillian's calling the kine,' he 
 exclaimed, growing more excited as he heark- 
 ened to the familiar sounds, and peered do^vn 
 into a nook under the hill-side, where leafless 
 trees scarcely concealed a gable-ended home- 
 stead. ^ Why loiters our master here, as a 
 knight might do who had disgraced his spurs 
 and feared to face his kindred and his ladye 
 love?' 
 
 ' Peace, malapert,' growled the old serving
 
 or THE RETUEN HOME. 5 
 
 man ; ' couple not such words as ' disgrace ^ or 
 ' fear ' with the honoured name of Holforde. 
 Thinkest thou, Hamo_, that shallow wit of 
 thine can fathom a hundredth part of the 
 cogitations that trouble our master's brain? 
 Learn to rule thy saucy tongue^ or it will bring 
 thy neck into jeopardy/ 
 
 So said Gralam, though inwardly disturbed 
 at the knight's unwonted tardiness. True as 
 he was to his master, and he had proyed that 
 truth on more than one battle-field, his was 
 rather the sui'ly faithfulness of a mastiff than 
 the intelligent seryice of a thinking being ; and 
 he could as little guess as Hamo himself at the 
 causes of their master's abstraction. Memories 
 of the past, or misgivings for the future, had 
 no place in his mind ; and still less knew or 
 recked he of that deep instinct of our nature 
 that makes us pause and tremble on the brink 
 of a great happiness almost as much as on 
 that of a great soitow. 
 
 ' Nay, Gralam, I meant no scorn,^ the lad 
 was beginning to reply, when a sign from the 
 knight broke off their discourse. He might 
 haye guessed its purport, for he said, — 
 
 ^ Gralam, my wound hath reopened, and 
 maketh a laggart of me this afternoon. I may
 
 b rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 not choose but ride slowly down the steep, but 
 thou, good fellow, pass onward to the Manor 
 of Newbolde ; bear my filial greetings to its 
 honoured master, and say I will be with him 
 anon. Take Hamo with thee, and dismiss him 
 at his mother's door/ 
 
 The grey-haired servant hesitated for once 
 to obey his master. ' Pardon my freedom, 
 Sir Piers,^ he said; ^ but I would fain stay near 
 you. You look faint and bloodless, and it 
 lacketh yet half a league of your journey^s 
 end. Should any outlaws or evildoers lurk in 
 these brakes — as who can say there may not? 
 — you are not yourself to cope with them.' 
 
 Sir Piers laughed outright. ^Thy fears_, 
 good Gralam, outrun thy judgment. We are 
 not now on the unfriendly launds of Guienne, 
 or amid the wild Irish Kernes, whom thy 
 Saxon temper did so abhor. We are in merry 
 Cheshire, man, the Vale Royal of England, 
 among brave hearts and true, that will throb 
 with joy when they hear the footfall of our 
 steeds. Haste forward, then^ or peradventure 
 I may win the race.' 
 
 Gralam and Hamo soon disappeared, and Sir 
 Piers followed as fast as the hurt in his left 
 side would permit. Some way down the steep
 
 OF THE RETURN HOME. 7 
 
 lie paused to drink at a little fountain called 
 Woodcocks^ Well, remarkable then_, as now, 
 for its coolness and clearness. One draught of 
 its ice-cold water, like tlie honey Jonathan 
 found in the wood of Beth-aven, ^ enlightened 
 the warrior^s eyes' and dispelled the mist which 
 pain had gathered over them. He slung his 
 helmet across one arm, and after indulging his 
 charger with a draught, was leading him back 
 to the beaten track, when he caught sight of a 
 mounted party coming rapidly up the slope. 
 Their glad acclamations left no doubt of their 
 being friends. A tall, slender stripling of 
 fourteen, with delicately chiselled features and 
 golden locks, was the first to gallop up to him. 
 Besides the reins of his own small steed, he 
 held those of a yet smaller palfrey, which, 
 however, equalled his in speed. The rider 
 was a fair-haired maiden, his twin sister ; the 
 image of himself in features and colouring, but 
 of small and fairy-like proportions. 
 
 *" Welcome, welcome, dear cousin,' cried 
 Maurice Done, dismounting and throwing his 
 arms round Sir Piers's neck ; ' we heard even 
 now of thy approach from grim old Gralam, 
 and hasted to meet thee.' 
 
 ' Welcome, cousin,' softly echoed the maiden.
 
 8 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 her beaming eyes and dimpling smiles expres- 
 sing more than the mere words. 
 
 ' Navj not ^ cousin/ dear Lettice. I claim the 
 style and title of brother/ replied Sir Piers^ 
 kissing her forehead. 
 
 ' Brother Piers, Cecily will be glad now/ she 
 answered ; and the childish words brought a 
 rush of happy homelike thoughts to the way- 
 farer's heart_, and of eloquent blood to his face, 
 ' sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ' 
 and suffering. The group now thickened round 
 him. It consisted of several foresters and 
 retainers of the Dones, and of sundry neigh- 
 bours, small landowners or substantial yeomen, 
 who were invited from time to time to share 
 with them the pastime of hunting. Within 
 this ring of faces, some expressing honest 
 pleasure, some keen curiosity, a few stupid in- 
 difference, the three cousins stood still for 
 awhile. Piers greeting and being greeted by 
 many old acquaintance. Then they rode 
 forward with him to the village-green, where 
 young Maurice, turning round and doffing his 
 velvet bonnet with an easy grace which sur- 
 prised his cousin, courteously dismissed them. 
 
 ^ Kind neighbours all,' he said, ' fain would 
 we bid you enter within our doors, and pledge
 
 OF THE RETURN HOME. 9 
 
 this brave knight in the good Cheshire ale, 
 whose like he hath not tasted abroad, but ye all 
 know my grandfather is not well, and his age 
 and weakness crave repose. Deem ns not 
 churlish, then, if we delay no further leading 
 oui' guest to his chamber. A fair good night 
 to all.^ 
 
 They quickened their pace as they crossed 
 the smooth-shaven green, a broad open space 
 skirted on two sides by straggling cottages and 
 farmsteads. They were all low buildings of 
 lath and plaster, with neither chimneys nor 
 glazed windows, but mere openings to admit 
 air and light, and holes (louvres, as they were 
 called) for the smoke to escape through. But, 
 though rude in construction and devoid of 
 neatness and finish, there was no squalidness 
 about them. They had indeed lost the air of 
 comfort they had possessed some years before, 
 for the land was only beginning to recover 
 from a grievous scarcity, and the long wars with 
 France had almost beggared its owners. Yet 
 were there tokens of plenty left : sleek, well- 
 fed cattle were waiting for admittance to their 
 sheds ; little children, in warm close-fitting 
 coats of rough cloth and home-made fur caps, 
 were playing merrily about the doors. There
 
 10 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 were cultivated bits of ground roughly fenced 
 in from the geese or donkeys Tvhich frequented 
 the common^ and planted with garden herbs and 
 such vegetables as were then in use. Beehives 
 of a conical shape^ neatly made of unpeeled 
 willow-wands_, were placed against the south 
 sides of the cottages. Within many of the 
 dwellings savoury messes were being prepared 
 for the peasant father or husband on his re- 
 turn from the day^s toil. Over the fire of 
 mixed coal and wood was an iron trivet^ and 
 on that a large kettle containing the family 
 supper of broth_, then a frequent meal. The 
 careful housewives stirred it or drew out the 
 solid morsels of meat it contained with a large 
 three-pronged fork, not unlike the flesh-hook 
 mentioned in Scripture. Their boys mean- 
 while were scattered over the green, playing 
 at quoits^ football, or the newly introduced 
 and popular game of prison-bars. These, 
 together with the practice of the bow — ^ Goddes 
 instrumente,^ as an old writer quaintly calls it 
 — were the chief pastimes of the British youth 
 at that day. It was well for them that such 
 manly and invigorating sports were encouraged, 
 for the Bomish calendar forced upon them the 
 observance of many holidays; and in an era
 
 OF THE RETURN HOME. 11 
 
 when printing was unknown^ and written lore 
 inaccessible^ there was an utter dearth of occu- 
 pation for the mind of the peasant. 
 
 There was a pause as Sir Piers and his 
 companions rode by ; and women and little 
 children hastened to their doors to catch a 
 glimpse of the knight who had fought a 
 good fight on the bloody field of Chastillon. 
 They followed him with their eyes to the 
 further end of the green, where stood the vil- 
 lage church. It caused no surprise that he 
 dismounted here, and, gi^'ing the reins to 
 IMaurice, entered the church alone. The good 
 custom of more chivalrous days, that men who 
 had been preserved through some pressing 
 danger, or travellers returning home, should 
 pay their vows in God^s house before re-enter- 
 ing their own, was not yet abandoned. With 
 the thoughtless or profane it might have be- 
 come a matter of form, or worse, but it was not 
 so with Piers Holforde. His mind was that 
 of a Christian knight, earnest and pure, full 
 of loyalty to God and man ; not free, indeed, 
 from error, but grand in its stern hatred of 
 wrong, and gentle even to tenderness in its 
 care for the weak. Such characters we meet 
 with now and then, in the dark history of the
 
 12 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Middle Ages ; men who held their knighthood 
 as a trust from God, and thought it no shame 
 to own this, and look up to Him for strength 
 to keep it unsullied. 
 
 The knight^s orisons were fervent, but short ; 
 and in a few minutes he rose from his kneel- 
 ing-plaee in the dark and silent chancel. Only 
 a rich sunset glow from the west window op- 
 posite showed its outline, while the roof with 
 its forest of oak-beams and rafters was lost in 
 darkness. A large crucifix stood upon the 
 rood-loft, and, as usual, the images of St. John 
 and of the blessed Virgin were placed on 
 either side of it. They were roughly carved 
 and coarsely painted, but the twilight dimness 
 gave them something of beauty and solemnity 
 which they lacked by daylight. A few votive 
 offerings of trifling value hung beneath them ; 
 and among these Sir Piers placed a small chain 
 of graven gold, to which was attached a dove 
 cut out of opal, its head and wrings tipped 
 with gold. Then crossing himself, he was 
 about to depart, when a hand was laid on his 
 arm. A woman, no longer young, with wrin- 
 kled but kindly and eager face, put back her 
 hood, and accosted him familiarly : — 
 
 blaster Piers, is it thou? Now God be praised
 
 OF THE KETURN HOME. 13 
 
 and tlie holy St. Werburgh_, whom we have 
 not ceased to weary with our prayers ! I 
 never thought^ good faith, I never did, nor 
 Mistress Cecily neither, to see thy face again ! 
 But know they of thy coming at the jManor ? 
 It is scarcely two hours since we left it, Mis- 
 tress Cecily and I, to visit Gammer Bettiley^s 
 sick grandchild, the babe whose mother died 
 at Lammas, and then there was no stir of thy 
 coming.' 
 
 ^ And where is Mistress Cecily ? good Parnel,' 
 Sir Piers asked in a low voice. Parnel replied 
 by plucking his sleeve and drawing him to a 
 spot in the nave whence the whole of the south 
 aisle could be seen. It extended as far as the 
 end of the chancel, so as to form a second gable 
 in a line with it. 
 
 This was the ^ Done Chantry,' built and 
 endowed in the previous century by a ^gentle 
 and doughty esquire' of that name, who, to- 
 gether with his kinsman, the Holforde of the 
 day, died for the cause of King Richard II. 
 Both estates were seized upon by the crown ; 
 but the son of John Done was happy in having 
 a powerful friend at court, who pleaded his 
 cause so well with Henry of Bolingbroke, that 
 the forfeited lands were restored. A rich oak
 
 14 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 screen fenced off tlie chantry from the nave_, 
 and a raised altar-tomb, supporting the effigy 
 of a Crusader_, screened it in part from the 
 chancel. It had its own services and peculiar 
 priest attached to it, its piscina and altar, 
 before which now knelt a lady wrapped in 
 cloak and hood. Her head was turned away 
 and meekly bent down, and her figure but 
 imperfectly seen in the light of the small silver 
 lamp overhead. Su' Piers gazed earnestly for 
 awhile, deaf to the voice of Parnel, who urged 
 him in a loud whisper to draw nearer ; then 
 shaking her gently off, he stole away through 
 the south porch. 
 
 But Parnel was not to be shaken off. ' Yon 
 chain of gold/ she said, following him ; Mt is 
 precious^ and of rare workmanship, wilt thou 
 leave it there, Master Piers ?' 
 
 ^ Assuredly, good foster-mother,^ he an- 
 swered ; ^ therefor I brought it from Hieru- 
 salem, where it was fashioned by a cunning 
 graver, and afterwards blest on the most Holy 
 Sepulchre.' 
 
 The old woman shook her head. 
 
 ' I fear me its sanctity will not avail for its 
 safety,^ she said. ' These are evil days, Mas- 
 ter Piers, grievously worsened since you left
 
 OF THE RETURN HOME. 15 
 
 US five years agone ; honest men grow scarcer 
 and scarcer^ and ^ 
 
 *But T\'liat of tlie chain ?^ asked Sir Piers, 
 impatiently ; 'you speak in riddles_, and time 
 presses/ 
 
 ' Riddles are safest sometimes/ she an- 
 swered, peering round and dropping her voice ; 
 ' and Sir Roger/ our vicar, hath long ears/ 
 
 '^I love not these dark speeches,^ said the 
 Knight, mounting his horse. ' Speak out, 
 good Parnel, or not at all/ 
 
 ' Then, if I must speak out/ she said, ' the 
 gaud is not safe, even at yon holy shrine; no 
 precious thing is safe from Sir Roger^s lust of 
 gain ; he wringeth gold from the rich, silver 
 from the yeoman, nay, hard-earned brass, from 
 the newly-freed villein. Some men say he 
 dealeth in alchemy ; others, that mere love of 
 gold sways him ; others, that he is a plotter in 
 the pay of some great court lord. This only 
 I know, that ^ 
 
 ' Peace '/ said the Knight ; ' this is rash 
 talk, and unprofitable ; return to thy lady, bear 
 her my reverent homage, and say I trust I shall 
 meet her anon in her grandfather^s presence ; 
 
 * The title of ' Sir' was ahvays appended to the name 
 of parish priests.
 
 16 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 and, for the chain, vex not thyself, good 
 mother, its safety shall be cared for/ 
 
 ''There is more sense than appears at first 
 sight in ParnePs prating,^ remarked young 
 Maurice, as they rode on ; ^ this Sir Roger is 
 a greedy caitiff, and an evil liver. I verily 
 believe, vrhere gold or silver becks him to 
 come on, bell, book, and candle shall not hold 
 him back. He hath moreover some special 
 grudge against my grandfather, who detected 
 him some time back oppressing in most cruel- 
 wise a widow and her friendless babes. I for- 
 get the details of this scandalous matter, but 
 well remember how all the parish cried shame 
 upon Sir Roger. There be too many like 
 him hereabouts, and we should fare ill but for 
 good Sir Armine, our chantry priest. Thou 
 rememberest him. Piers V 
 
 ' I remember him well, for I loved him 
 well,^ replied the Knight ; ' and when I was a 
 stripling at Oxford, scarce older than thou art, 
 !^faurice, and as light-hearted, I often sought 
 his company rather than that of my boyish 
 compeers. He was a man poor in this world's 
 gear, but rich in better gifts, and withal with such 
 a strange persuasiveness about him, that Wisdom 
 lost her crabbedness when uttered by his lips.'
 
 OF THE RETUEN HOME. 17 
 
 As they neared the Manor^ Piers relapsed 
 into silence, scarcely hearing the disjointed 
 talk of his young companions respecting their 
 day's sport, the ' huske' of hares they had 
 ' unformed' on the Little Moss, and pursued 
 to Harisay Head, or the ' craft' of the young 
 harriers they had hunted \^■ith for the first 
 time that morning. This discourse brought 
 them to the front of the house — a substantial 
 building, half-peaceful, half-warlike in its ap- 
 pearance, built of grey stone from the neigh- 
 bouring hill. 
 
 It was surrounded by a wide moat, and 
 approached by a drawbridge, now lowered to 
 admit travellers. Its outer wall was only pierced 
 with a few narrow loopholes ; a usual precau- 
 tion in those unsettled days, when country 
 houses were not safe from siege and violence. 
 Several persons were looking through these 
 loopholes, and many more were gathered out- 
 side the house, round a high green mound 
 composed of earth formerly dug out of the 
 moat. [Men half-armed, or in leather jerkins, 
 were cleaning their horses or leading them to 
 rough sheds built near the outside brink of the 
 moat, for the accommodation of guests and 
 their followers. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Whom have we here^ Nicholas ?^ asked 
 Maurice, remarking the unusual stir and ex- 
 citement. 
 
 ' So please you, !Master Maurice/ answered 
 the house-steward, ' the worshipful Knight Sir 
 Thomas Button of Button, hath suddenly- 
 arrived, with his son and brother, and is now 
 conferring with your grandfather, Sir Ranulph/ 
 
 ' To the tapestried chamber, then,^ said 
 Maurice to his cousin ; ^ my grandfather is 
 doubtless awaiting thee there; lead on, Ni- 
 cholas/ 
 
 Meanwhile, IMistress Lettice, blythe as a bird, 
 sprang up a winding, or ' cockle^ stair, to her 
 apartment at the top of the house. There she 
 waited with no little impatience the return of 
 her elder sister. It was not long delayed, and 
 Cecily, mute and trembling, sat down and lis- 
 tened to the details of Piers's arrival; while 
 Parnel sought her storeroom and kitchen, to 
 overlook the preparations for supper for such 
 illustrious guests. 
 
 ' Good store of hypocras will be needed,^ 
 she said, ' to drive out the cold, this frosty 
 night. No hand but mine shall mix it, 
 for truly old Nicholas waxeth dim of sight, 
 and his cunning hath failed him of late;
 
 OF THE RETURN HOME. 19 
 
 then, Joane must be looked to ; she is but 
 an indifferent pasterer, and maketh woeful 
 waste of that new and rare commodity whereof 
 the Lady Delves sent us a sample — the sugar 
 from Sicily. It must be used but sparingly — 
 ay, sparingly — in the orange fryttors Sir Piers 
 did when a boy affect. I must look to these 
 things ; for marry, Mistress Cecily is as one in 
 a dream to-night, and sweet ^Mistress Letitia, 
 bless her heart, is a very babe in such matters!^ 
 
 C 2
 
 20 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 
 
 A hundred thousand welcomes ! — Shakespeare. 
 
 SUPPER had been ended more than an hour 
 in the hall of Kewbolde Manor, and most 
 of the retainers of Done and Button had, 
 for want of other occupation, betaken them- 
 selves to their pallets of straw. It was a calm 
 snowy night, not a breath stirring, and the cur- 
 few toll came muffled through the loaded air. 
 The hall, Avhich two hours before had worn a 
 sombre aspect, looked singularly picturesque in 
 the glow of the winter fire. Only the blue 
 glimmer of departing day came through three 
 narrow stone-shafted windows that looked into 
 an inner quadrangle, but the great pine-logs 
 on the hearth crackled merrily^ and the lumps 
 of cannel coal amongst them vied with each 
 other which should throw out most brightness. 
 It was all needed to relieve the quiet uniform 
 grey of the apartment, with its vaulted stone- 
 roof supported by low pillars, its massive
 
 or THE FIRST EVENING. 21 
 
 dining-table, and immovable benches. At the 
 raised end_, within and around the wide chimney^ 
 several high-backed oaken chairs had been 
 placed^ and were occupied by Sir Ranulph's 
 guests. He himself had quitted them an hour 
 before to take some needful rest; but now re- 
 turned leaning on the arm of Sir Piers Holforde 
 and on that of his eldest granddaughter. They 
 led him to his own crimson-cushioned chair to 
 the right of the hearth. It was elaborately 
 carved in oak_, the back composed of two lions 
 gardant supporting a shield with two bars^ 
 and over all^ on an oaken bend^ three silver 
 arrows. Beneath_, in strong relief, the sentence 
 ' Omnia mei dona Dei^ was cut out. It was 
 the family motto^ and had been for many years 
 before Sir Ranulph^s birth ; but no words could 
 have better expressed the dominant feeling of 
 his mind. He had practised from his youth in 
 the Court of Common Pleas^ a court of w^hich 
 Hale, our great legal historian, says, that it 
 abounded in learned and excellent men during 
 the reign of Henry VI. He had attained 
 considerable eminence in his profession; more 
 by unflinching uprightness and perseverance 
 than by brilliant talent. Early in life he had 
 married, and been left a widower with an only
 
 22 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 son, Ricliardj whom he would fain have trained 
 up to his own profession. But the youth was 
 bent on following that of arms, and accordingly- 
 spent his best years abroad, fighting under the 
 banner of our ally Philip of Burgundy, mis- 
 called the Good, and afterwards, in the French 
 wars, by the side of James Tuchet, Lord of 
 Audeley. At the court of Duke Philip, Richard 
 Done fell in love with and wedded a beautiful 
 Burgundian maiden. Happily she was as 
 virtuous as fair ; and when, seven years later, he 
 fell in some insignificant skirmish, she retired 
 from the world, and gave herself up to tlie 
 care of her three children. Sir Ranulph, then 
 resident in London, ofiered the widowed Clotilde 
 a home, which she thankfully accepted ; and 
 the father and daughter-in-law dwelt together 
 in unbroken harmony till her death, just two 
 years before our narrative begins. About that 
 time declining health forced Sir Banulph to 
 retire from public life ; and he gladly returned 
 to his native Cheshire with an income sufficient 
 to enable him to maintain decent hospitalities 
 and take his place among the gentlemen of the 
 county. His orphan grandchildren were his 
 constant companions and main solace ; not the 
 less so that, according to the custom of those
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 23 
 
 days, mucli respect and awe mingled with their 
 love, and gave some constraint to the expression 
 of it. 
 
 Cecily reverently placed him in his chair, 
 arranged his footstool, and disposed the folds 
 of the black velvet gown which was fastened 
 round his throat with a golden ouch ; a few 
 silvery locks fell on the lace collar ; there were 
 no very deep lines or wrinkles on the pale bare 
 forehead ; and the expression of his full grey 
 eye, though intelligent, was placid, as of one 
 whom the storms of life have touched lightly. 
 Cecily stood by her grandfather a few moments, 
 as if waiting his further bidding, then took her 
 place on a lower seat, a little behind his. 
 
 The maiden, unlike her sister, betrayed 
 something of her mother's foreign origin, in 
 the deep hazel of her large eyes and the clear 
 un-English paleness of her complexion. She 
 was dignified and graceful in demeanour, and 
 the dress worn by damsels of her degree at 
 that time beseemed her well. Under a kirtle 
 of violet silk she wore a vest and partlet, or 
 small ruff of the finest_, whitest lawn ; a neck- 
 lace of chrysolites was clasped round her throat. 
 Her youth, happily, exempted her from adopting 
 the heavy horned or steeple- shaped head-dress
 
 24 rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 then worn by matrons^ and her shining hair 
 was merely confined by a net of gold, not many 
 shades lighter than itself, and forming a halo 
 round those pure and delicate features. Their 
 expression was a little graver than usual, partly 
 from agitation at the return of her betrothed, 
 partly from having for the first time exchanged 
 for brighter apparel the mourning weeds worn 
 during the last two years. It was right that 
 those memorials of the dead should now be 
 dofied, and Cecily knew it ; but that one even- 
 ing old and dear remembrances would not be 
 quite shut out. As she glanced at the fair 
 colours and sparkling gems with which she was 
 decked, a thrill of sadness ran through her, a 
 yearning, even to pain, for the mother who had 
 moulded her every feeling and shared her 
 eveiy thought, who had been the counsellor of 
 Piers's boyhood, and ever loved him, and pro- 
 phesied that he would grow up good and true. 
 But these images were soon put away, to be 
 reviewed at a fitter time ; and she met Piers's 
 inquiring look with a smile as bright as even 
 he could desire ; that smile grew almost mali- 
 cious in its mirth as John Button, Sir Thomas's 
 younger brother, entered the hall. 
 
 The extravagance in dress^ as well as in
 
 or THE FIRST EVENING. 25 
 
 armour, which, twenty years later reached its 
 highest point_, was even now rapidly growing ; 
 and a historian of the age tells us that it was 
 not uncommon for young men to carry two- 
 thirds of their capital upon their backs. In 
 this foppishness few exceeded John Dutton. 
 He wore this evening a just^au-corps of kersey- 
 mere, laced in front like a lady's stomacher, 
 slashed at the sleeves to show the lawn shirt 
 underneath, and sewn with seed pearls ; over 
 this was a tunic of changeable, or, as we call it, 
 shot silk, woven in the looms of the East ; 
 white kerseymere pantaloons, and shoes of em- 
 broidered leather, turning up more than three 
 inches at the toe, completed his attire. He 
 advanced, to the dais, or raised end of the hall, 
 smoothing away the straight yellow hair which 
 hung down, like a girl's, over his back. 
 
 ' Fair Mistress Cecily,' he said, playing with 
 the pouncet-box, held daintily between the first 
 finger and thumb of his left hand, ' I recom- 
 mend me to your graciousness with all manner 
 of reverence and in the most lowly wise as me 
 ought to do ; and much I beseech you, en- 
 lighten me, a three months' exile in the ^Marches 
 of Wales, concerning the latest doings in Lon- 
 don and in Queen Margaret's Court.'
 
 26 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ^ Alack, fair sir/ Cecily replied^, ^ I can tell 
 you little of that you desire to know, not 
 having visited London for the space of two 
 years. But ray brother may, perchance, satisfy 
 you better, he having only returned two days 
 since from his attendance on the distressed 
 King.' 
 
 ' Of what attendance speak you, fair cousin V 
 asked Sir Piers. 
 
 '^ Oh, cousin Piers,^ she answered, ' have we 
 not told you yet that, since the King's unhappy 
 malady hath possessed him, the sound of music 
 is his greatest refreshment ? By the advice of 
 his mediciners, minstrels have been sought for 
 him far and wide through the kingdom. Now 
 it chanced last spring that my Lord of Audeley, 
 in whose household Maurice spent the Easter 
 holiday, spoke to her Majesty the Queen of 
 his aptness for vocal and instrumental music. 
 Queen [Margaret, who brooketh no delay, at 
 once sent for Maurice, and led him to the 
 royal presence ; and so marvellously was the 
 poor King recreated by the sound of his lute, 
 that Maurice is now frequently summoned 
 from his studies at the new college of Eton, 
 to spend whole weeks in the royal bower of 
 Shene.'
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 27 
 
 ' And the summons is not unwelcome V asked 
 Piers. 
 
 ' It is but too welcome/ answered the maiden, 
 lowering her voice. ' The Queen is ever devising 
 new pastimes to divert King Henry, and there- 
 fore it is an idle life; nothing talked of but 
 hawks and hounds, or the newest fashion of 
 coif or kirtle — or the newest oath/ she added, 
 sighing, ' for Maurice doth aver that King 
 Henry is the only man at Court that useth not 
 profane swearing. Pray Heaven, cousin Piers, 
 that fashion do not spread in the country ; but 
 Father Armine fears it will, for he says, Hhe 
 cast-off vices of the Court do ever become the 
 vices of the people.^ ^ 
 
 ^ It is a catching vice, though meseems a 
 dull and pointless one/ answered Piers ; ' and 
 alas, dear cousin, we dwellers in camps grow so 
 used to it, that we forget the evil thereof.^ 
 
 The fop meanwhile had joined a merry trio 
 below the dais, consisting of Maurice, Letitia, 
 and young Piers Dutton, Sir Thomases eldest 
 boy. They had cleared a space on the rush- 
 strewn floor (the dais, by the way, was carpeted 
 with tapestry), and were busy playing with 
 ' closheys,' ivory ninepins, much in vogue at 
 the Court. Maurice had brought a set for his
 
 28 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 sisters, and was completely absorbed in showing 
 Lettice how to use them ; so, when John Dutton 
 reiterated his question, ^What news from the 
 Court V he answered without looking up — 
 
 MVhat news J John Dutton? Why, marry, 
 the news thou wilt most care for is that the 
 gallants have a new device of tying their shoes 
 with gold bobbin V 
 
 John looked discomfited and angry, and 
 touched the little dagger that hung to his 
 jewelled girdle. The young ones laughed, and 
 Sir Thomas Dutton half smiled, saying aside 
 to Piers — 
 
 ^ Serves him right for assuming that apish 
 disguise. He is not altogether the popinjay he 
 looks, and hath even now done good sernce 
 against the Welsh outlaws.^ 
 
 But Sir Ranulph, though slow of hearing, 
 had caught the flippant remark, and called 
 Maurice to his side in a voice of grave dis- 
 pleasure_, — 
 
 ^Answer my guest in another strain than 
 that, young sir, or else go straight to thy 
 chamber to ponder there on the laws of courtesy/ 
 
 Queen Margarets spoilt favourite coloured 
 high, and his eye flashed, but only for a moment. 
 
 ' Forgive me, grandfather ; I have spoken
 
 OP THE FIRST EVENING. 29 
 
 amiss — forgive, good cousin of Dutton_, and, in 
 proof of forgiveness, suffer me to reply more 
 meetly to your question/ 
 
 There was a silence ; then bluff Sir Thomas 
 exclaimed, ' I^faith, John, an thou be so 
 shrewish to a jest, thou dost proclaim thyseK 
 the fool in motley thy garb betokens. Shake 
 hands, man, and bid our young cousin pro- 
 ceed/ 
 
 ' I believe,^ said Maurice, when this ceremony 
 was over, ^the theme most rife in men^s dis- 
 course is the all but regal power of the Duke 
 of York, my Lord Protector, and of his new 
 Lord Chancellor, the Earl of Salisbury; the 
 latter being thought better skilled to bestride 
 his mettlesome charger than to rein in the fiery 
 and restive Peers ! The Queen and Duke are 
 at daggers drawing, and there is much division 
 of opinion, some siding with the one, some with 
 the other, even in King Harry^s own Court. 
 The King himself, though greatly amended, 
 hath not yet sufiSciently recovered from the 
 malady of his spirit to manifest his royal 
 pleasure in state matters ; we trust, however, 
 he shortly will.' 
 
 ' Is the King, then, so far restored V asked 
 Sir Thomas Dutton.
 
 30 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' He is,* and hath been since Christmas- 
 day ; and on St. John's-day he bade his almoner 
 ride to Canterbury with his offering, and com- 
 manded the Secretary to offer at St. Edward's.^ 
 
 ' And, brother, hath he yet seen the baby 
 Prince of Wales T asked Letitia. 
 
 ' He hath, Lettice. On the Monday after- 
 noon the Queen came to him, and brought my 
 Lord Prince with her ; and then he asked what 
 the Prince's name was, and the Queen told him 
 Edward ; and then he held up his hands and 
 thanked God thereof. And he said he never 
 knew him till that time, nor wist not what was 
 said to him, nor wist where he had been whilst 
 he had been sick, till now ; and he asked who 
 were godfathers, and the Queen told him the 
 Lord Cardinal Kempe and the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham ; and he was well content. Then she 
 told him Cardinal Kempe was dead, and he said 
 he knew never thereof till that time; and he 
 said, one of the wisest lords in the land was 
 dead.' 
 
 ' What noblemen have been admitted to his 
 presence T asked Sir Thomas. ' Knowest thou, 
 
 * The following account is taken almost verbatim 
 from the Paston Letters.
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 31 
 
 cousin, if he have seen any of the councillors of 
 state V 
 
 ' None, I believe/ answered Maurice ; ' only 
 churchmen have I yet seen with him. My 
 Lord Bishop of Winchester* and my Lord 
 Prior of St. John of Hierusalem were with him 
 on the morrow after Twelfth-day ; and he spake 
 to them as well as ever he did in his life ; and 
 when they came out, they w^ept for joy.' 
 
 ' I, too,' murmured Lettice to her sister, 
 ^ could weep to hear of it/ But looking up, and 
 seeing the bright drops falling from Cecily's 
 eyes, she abruptly turned away, and busied 
 herself in setting up the closheys. 
 
 ' Blessed be God for this news,^ said Sir 
 Thomas. ' It will much glad the heart of my 
 noble father-in-law, the Lord Audeley, when he 
 hears it to-morrow. Now we may hope the 
 dissensions that tear this unhappy land to 
 pieces may be composed.' 
 
 ' The King,' continued Maurice, ^ saith he is 
 in charity with all the world, and so he would 
 all the lords w^ere. And now he saith matins 
 and evensong, and hearetb his mass devoutly.' 
 
 The Knight of Dutton tapped the floor with 
 
 * William Wayuflete, afterwards Lord Chancellor.
 
 32 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 his foot, and imittered impatiently certain 
 words, of wMcli * shaven monk^ and ' pattering 
 aves^ were alone distinguishable. 
 
 Sir Ranulph sighed, and said, ^ It sufficeth, 
 Maurice;' and the boy returned to his nine- 
 pins. 
 
 He and young Button were the players ; 
 while Lettice, on the tiptoe of delight, looked 
 on, suggested, or criticized. 'Ah, me !' she 
 cried, at a critical point in the game, ' the 
 king is all but overthrown ; save him. Piers 
 Button !' 
 
 ' Many a true word is spoken in jest,' ob- 
 served Sir Thomas, sadly. 'Little Lettice's 
 shrill pipe hath but proclaimed what grey- 
 haired men do quake to utter, yet cannot 
 choose but think.' 
 
 ' Is England, then, so distracted V asked 
 Piers. . ' I have but set foot on my native 
 soil a week, and find all changed, or changing ; 
 but as yet have met with none that could 
 interpret these riddles to me. Of you. Sir 
 Thomas, or our honoured host, I have shrunk 
 from seeking an explanation, seeing that our 
 thoughts and loyal affections run in different 
 channels.' 
 
 'Pity it should be so,' answered the bluff
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 33 
 
 Knight; ^ jet, Sir Piers^ I know thee for an 
 honest man, and there is no subject on which 
 honest men may not freely speak one to 
 another. It is for lack of honesty this land is 
 perishing. Since Henry of Bolingbroke, whose 
 soul the heavens assoil, wrested the sceptre 
 from Richard's feeble hand, and, to my think- 
 ing, saved the state by doing so, men's loyalty 
 hath faltered ; they dispute of royal pedigrees, 
 and pretend to weigh the rival claims of Lan- 
 caster and York, and all the while they be 
 intent on their own gain and greed. Too many, 
 fie upon them, wait to see which party will ad- 
 vantage them most ; and those who should be 
 pillars of the land are foremost in this un- 
 righteous paltering.' 
 
 ' The unhappy Duke of Suffolk,' said Piers. 
 
 ^ Ay, he hath paid for his errors with his 
 head, hewn off with a pirate's rusty sword on 
 Dover sands. Yet he was not the worst 
 amongst them, and for four-and- thirty years 
 had served this country well in the wars of 
 France.' 
 
 ^ True, Dutton,' interposed Sir Ranulph ; 
 ' nor was Margaret our Queen to blame for 
 protecting him, her tried and early friend. The 
 Cardinal of Winchester was far the heavier 
 
 VOL. 1. D
 
 34 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 criminal when, for his own wicked ends, he 
 poisoned her young mind against her uncle of 
 Gloucester. ^Tis a dark and fearful history, 
 that of the good Duke^s death ; and the vulgar, 
 which love exaggerated and horrible tales, will 
 never be persuaded that Margaret was guiltless 
 thereof/ 
 
 ' That unhappy belief hath bred much dis- 
 loyalty,' said Sir Thomas. ' Without it, the 
 low caitiff Jack Cade had scarcely been per- 
 mitted to carry his daring outrages so far. He 
 perished miserably, and his frantic crew were 
 soon dispersed ; but the spirit of misrule hath 
 not died with him — it is still abroad, braving 
 the majesty of the law.' 
 
 ' These outrages have increased of late, I 
 fear,' lisped John Dutton. ' Both in the 
 Marches of "Wales and on the borders of Lan- 
 cashire many acts of violence were reported 
 to me ; cattle and sheep carried off, farmsteads 
 plundered or burnt, by troops of wandering 
 outlaws. Of a truth these reports were too 
 much akin to the old French tales of the 
 Jacquerie to be altogether agreeable. The 
 gryphon of Wales will soon be rampant again 
 an his claws be not cut.' 
 
 ' Thanks to God, and to the good Lord of
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 35 
 
 Audeley, and ether true-hearted gentlemen, 
 Cheshire and StaflPordshire be yet peaceable/ 
 said Sir Ranulph. ' Yet even here the loss 
 of our French domain hath created deep dis- 
 content/ 
 
 ' And where is the man/ cried Sir Thomas, 
 ^ whose blood w^ould not boil to think of those 
 fair provinces, yielded one by one^ and lost to 
 our realm for ever?^ 
 
 ' In sooth, mine does/ answered Piers, 
 bitterly. 
 
 There followed a long, deep silence, the 
 silence of men whose hearts are ill at ease. 
 Then Cecily beckoned to Maurice to fetch his 
 lute; and, sitting down at his grandfather^s 
 feet, he sang in a voice of touching sweet- 
 ness some of the lays that had often soothed 
 his royal master. Perhaps the sweetest of 
 all w^as an air to which were set some 
 verses composed by another hapless monarch, 
 James I. of Scotland. They were taken from 
 his long poem, the ^ King^s Quair,' and de- 
 scribed his boyish grief at leaving Scotland, 
 his capture, and captivity at Windsor. Then 
 followed the story of his first sight of the 
 Lady Jane Beaufort, afterwards his beloved 
 Queen. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 And therewith kast I doun myne ^ye ageyne 
 Where as I saw walkyiig under the towere 
 
 Full secretly, new cumyn her to pleyne, 
 The fairest, or the freschest younge flowere 
 That e'er I saw, methought, before that houi'e. 
 
 According to the quaint conceit of that time, 
 he represents himself as consulting Minerva 
 how best he could win the maiden^ s love. The 
 Goddess of Wisdom replies — 
 
 Be trewe and meeke, and stedfast in thy thoughte, 
 
 And dUigent her merei to procure, 
 Xot onely in thy word, for word is nought, 
 
 But gif thy work and all thy busy cure 
 
 Accord thereto 
 
 The strain of lamentation turns into one of 
 joy ; for, standing one day at his prison- window, 
 he is accosted by a turtle-dove, ' white as calk/ 
 She holds in her beak a gilliflower, on whose 
 leaves are written these words — 
 
 Awake ! awake ! I bring, lover, I bring 
 The newes glad that blissful bin and sure 
 
 Of thy confort ; now laugh, and play, and sing 
 That art beside so glad an aventure, 
 For in the Hevyn decretit is thy cure. 
 
 ^ Fairest Mistress Cecily,^ John Button be- 
 gan, ' since there resideth such witchery in thy 
 brother^s voice, what must be the delight of
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 37 
 
 listening to thine V He broke off this pre- 
 amble with the sense of injury that self-suffi- 
 cient people are ever ready to entertain_, on 
 perceiving that the maiden^s thoughts were 
 far away. The Knic^ht of Button was drawing: 
 from Sir Piers some account of his doings 
 during the years since they had last met, and 
 she could not choose but hearken to the 
 modest but stirring recital. A glow of pride 
 mantled on her face when Sir Thomas 
 exclaimed — 
 
 ' Thou art my younger_, Piers, by eight 
 summers ; but in the race of honour thou hast 
 outstripped me. Rememberest thou the day, 
 twelve years agone, when we two fought side 
 by side on the bridge of Pontoise V 
 
 ' Full Avell/ Piers replied. ' I won me 
 there (or rather Heaven's grace bestowed), a 
 true and noble friend and master in Duke 
 Richard of York. From that day he hath 
 not ceased to befriend me ; by his inter- 
 cession some of the forfeited lands inherited 
 by my father's mother in Staffordshire have 
 been restored to me — else homeless and land- 
 less; and but two years since, when sent by 
 the King to crush rebellion in Ireland, he gave 
 me unasked an honourable post in his service.'
 
 38 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ^ And a dangerous one/ interrupted Sir 
 Thomas, laughing. ' I have heard from one, 
 who was likewise of the Duke's following, of 
 thy hair-breadth ^scapes among that wild 
 Irishry. But say, brave Piers, where wast thou 
 when the Duke marched upon London, and, 
 thinking to ensnare his enemies, was himself 
 ensnared by crafty Somerset?' 
 
 ^ I was in France,' replied Piers, '^ and knew 
 nothing of that rash enterprise for many weeks.' 
 
 ' It was my hap/ said Sir Thomas, ' to be in 
 London with my noble father-in-law at that 
 time ; never shall I forget the day,* when the 
 captive Duke, chafing like a caged lion, was 
 led to the altar of St. Paul's Church ; there, 
 standing amid scores of noble witnesses, peers 
 of the realm and mitred churchmen, he swore 
 on the Holy Cross never to take up arms 
 against the King. By my faith I thought the 
 words would have choked him.' 
 
 ' Pray Heaven that oath be never broken !' 
 observed Sir Ranulph. ' Thou hast ever, son 
 Piers, reported the Duke of a mild and prudent 
 temper, not one who would lightly plunge his 
 country in civil strife.' 
 
 * 3Iarch loth, 1452.
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 39 
 
 ^ I think not, dear father/ answered Piers ; 
 '' but I have heard yourself say that ' oppres- 
 sion makyth wise men mad. ' ' 
 
 At this moment a warning look from the 
 aged knight silenced Piers, and, looking round, 
 he saw behind them the broad figure of the 
 Vicar, Sir Roger. His keen grey eye was 
 fixed on the group with an expression of in- 
 tense curiosity, but was withdrawn as soon as 
 Sir Piers looked him in the face. With a good 
 deal of tact and readiness, he addressed brief 
 congratulations to the young Knight, then to 
 Sir Ranulph. He added, in a tone of apology, 
 that his brother priest. Sir Armine, having 
 been sent for to shrive a dying man across the 
 hill, he had come to perform compline in his 
 stead. He then retreated to the lower part of 
 the hall, where a few retainers yet lingered. 
 There old Nicholas brought him the usual 
 ^livery,' or evening draught of spiced wine, 
 and the two exchanged jests and village gossip 
 together as if on a perfect equality. Parnel 
 hovered about, watching them with no friendly 
 eye, and muttering to herself, ' There is that 
 fool Nicholas telling yon wily priest all he 
 knows of our household matters, and more ! 
 And how to stop his mouth I know not ! How
 
 40 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 bland and smooth he looks, yet is he biting 
 and treacherous as the SheflBeld whittle which 
 men say he carries under his priestly garb/ 
 
 Meanwhile Sir Thomas resumed his con- 
 versation with Piers. ' I have yet to learn 
 the cause of thine absence from Duke Richard 
 at that eventful time — unless, indeed, it be a 
 mystery not to be pried into/ 
 
 ' Far from it/ replied Sir Piers, not with- 
 out agitation. ^ The cause is a sad and 
 solemn, but not a secret one. You per- 
 chance remember, Sir Thomas, that my grand- 
 father fell fighting against Henry of Boling- 
 broke, whom he ever regarded as an usurper 
 of the crown. He died a bloody, violent death 
 — a death such as men shrink from, unshriven_, 
 unabsolved, in fierce wrath and bitterness. In 
 his last agony he besought my father to make 
 a pilgrimage to the Sepulchre of Christ, and 
 there in that holiest fane to seek mercy for his 
 soul. My father registered a vow to that 
 effect, but year after year passed by in the war 
 with France, and he thought it consisted not 
 with his honour to quit the brave Lord Talbot, 
 under whose banner he fought. Then he was 
 sorely, desperately wounded, and to the anguish 
 of his lingering death-bed was added the more
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 41 
 
 bitter anguish of that broken vow. I was a 
 child then, of scarce twelve years^ but old in 
 thought and cares ; and, as I sat by his rude 
 bed, and fanned his feverish brow, and heark- 
 ened to his ravings, I divined the cause of his 
 great grief. Kneeling at his side, with both 
 hands in his, I pledged myself, by the help 
 of God, to redeem that vow. He heard and 
 blessed me, and passed away in peace. And 
 now the vow is redeemed. This, too, I owe 
 to the kindness of Duke Richard; who, in 
 regard, as he was pleased to say, of my poor 
 services to the state, hath advanced my fortunes, 
 and given me the power — as the will was ever 
 present — of reaching the Holy Land. On my 
 return I made some tarriance with the brave 
 Knights of Rhodes, hospitable as they are 
 brave ; then sailed to Italy, and joined the Earl 
 of Worcester at Rome. There I abode a space, 
 pressing the matter of the dispensation.' 
 
 He glanced towards Cecily^ and added in a 
 low voice, — 
 
 ' I have already spoken fully to Sir Ranulph 
 on that subject ; the Earl is now returned to 
 London, and bringeth with him our marriage 
 dispensation, duly approved and signed by his 
 Holiness. My trusty Lancelyn, whom I left
 
 42 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 at Rome for that purpose, will convey it to me 
 here so soon as he can find a fitting escort 
 through the perturbed midland counties. I 
 look for his coming hourly.' 
 
 ' This is good news/ answered Sir Thomas, 
 ^and cheering for mine honoured friend Sir 
 E-anulph, in his declining state. But say_, good 
 Piers, doth the proverb ^gold unlocks all 
 doors ' hold as true of the Roman Cardinals 
 as men say ? If not, they are much belied.^ 
 
 ^ Doubly — trebly true, I fear,' replied Piers. 
 ^ The schism of A^'ignon, which caused such 
 scandal in Christendom fifty years agone, hath 
 stirred up to the surface of the Church such 
 a scum of corruption and wickedness as fifty 
 years more will not disperse. Indeed, my 
 Lord of Worcester, who is versed in Italian 
 statecraft, told me such things of the policy 
 of Rome as almost made a Lollard of me !' 
 
 ' Hist, good Piers,' playfully whispered 
 Lettice, who had stolen up to them. ' Hist ! 
 or Sir Roger will hear, and report thee to the 
 Convocation at St. Paul's, and thou shalt be 
 delivered over to the secular arm.' 
 
 ' Dear Lettice !' said Cecily, reprovingly ; but 
 the little maiden, nothing abashed, took refuge 
 near Sir Thomas Dutton, whose pet she was ;
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 43 
 
 and while his broad muscular hand smoothed 
 down her golden locks, she looked a mirthful 
 defiance at her sister. 
 
 ' Piers/ said Maurice, ^ I weary to hear 
 more of the siege of Chastillon, and the gallant^ 
 gallant Talbot. Oh ! say, how died they ?— 
 for until thy coming we have seen no eye- 
 witness of the fray.^ 
 
 ' Ay, speak, brave Piers,^ said Sir Thomas ; 
 ' we are all ear for such a recital.* 
 
 ' I was at Rome,* replied Sir Piers, ' when 
 the Earl of Shrewsbury summoned me to join 
 his standard in Guienne. I did so, sailing to 
 Barcelona, and crossing the lofty snow-crested 
 PjTenean hills with much circumspection, for 
 the plain of Guienne swarmed with foes. I 
 reached Bordeaux, and found the aged Earl 
 fortifying the place, putting into it a garrison 
 of Englishmen, and storing it with great store 
 of victuals. After that he rode abroad into the 
 country, and we ^ith him, and towns and 
 cities yielded at once to the terror of his name, 
 without stroke or dint of sword. Amongst 
 other castles, that of Chastillon was delivered 
 to him ; the which he strengthened with men 
 and provisions very strongly. ^leanwhile the 
 French king, being advertised of these doings.
 
 44 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 drew near to oppose the so- renowned chief. 
 His captains laid siege to Chastillon ; the which 
 the stout Earl hastened to relieve, having with 
 him twice four hundred horsemen^ led by his 
 son Lord Lisle, the Lords Molyns^ Camois, 
 and other esteemed warriors. We marched all 
 night, and reaching the place ere daybreak^ 
 fell upon the French archers, and routed them. 
 ' Vainly did their brave leader, the Sire 
 de Rualt, call them back, exclaiming ^ Have I 
 sworn to live and die with you, and will ye 
 now forsake me V They fled, and tarried not till 
 they had reached their entrenched camp, which 
 was near at hand. Then the Lord Talbot entered 
 Chastillon, and before the sun had risen he was 
 on his knees in the abbey church hearing mass 
 devoutly. But ere mass was ended a mes- 
 senger came with breathless speed, crying 
 ' j\Iy lord, the French are in full retreat ; now 
 is your time.^ The stout Earl rose from his 
 knees, and, burning to revenge the loss of so 
 many fair provinces wrung from England, cried 
 out ' May I never hear mass again if this day 
 I conquer not those same French !' He placed 
 his men in order of battle, and rushed like 
 a lion on his prey. ' My lord,^ said his faith- 
 ful esquire Thomas Cunningham, 'beware of
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 45 
 
 false reports ; these men be not retreating, 
 they do but seek to lure you to destruction ; 
 have patience, and we shall starve them out.^ 
 
 ' But the Earl would not hearken : he taunted 
 Cunningham with cowardice, and struck him 
 with the flat of his sword across the face. He 
 was ever hot and hasty, but after the first 
 moment of wrath, sweet as summer. 
 
 ' We reached the entrenched camp, and the 
 onslaught began. Cunningham died first, 
 grasping his lord^s banner. The Earl, who by 
 reason of his age and former wounds could not 
 walk, pressed manfully forward on his little 
 well-trained nag. We closed round him, and 
 Lord Lisle would not leave his bridle rein. 
 Alas ! it was but too true that the wily French- 
 men had trapped him to his destruction. We 
 struggled for an hour, against fearful odds, 
 but at the last our foes bore us down. The 
 stout EarPs steed was killed, and his thigh 
 broken by a shot fi^om a hand-gun. As he 
 lay there on the ground, his head resting against 
 mine arm, he said to the Lord Lisle, who 
 stood over him, driving the foes back, ' Fly, 
 my son, fly ; the battle is lost ; fly, and it shall 
 be no reproach to thine honour, in this thy 
 first essay in arms.' But John Talbot would
 
 46 :for and against. 
 
 not fly ; he died like a true k nighty clasping his 
 father^s hody in his arms. Then the French- 
 men pressed upon us, and slew the old Earl as 
 he lay/ * 
 
 ' Cowards/ muttered Sir Thomas, clench- 
 ing his hand, ' to slay him lying on the ground^ 
 whom they durst never look in the face while 
 he stood on his feet ! And gallant Lisle, too, 
 the son of his old age !^ Piers Dutton had 
 listened breathlessly, his blue eyes fixed on the 
 speaker, whose bloodless cheeks and sunken 
 yet flashing eye added force to his narrative. 
 The boy now pressed close to Sir Thomas's 
 side. ' They were happy, father,' he whispered, 
 ^ in that they died together.' Sir Thomas 
 wrung his hand, but did not speak. 
 
 Sir Piers remained long silent, his band 
 
 * The herald of Lord Shrewsbury sought out the body 
 amongst the heap of slain, wept over it, and embraced it 
 with these pathetic words — ' Alas ! my lord, and is it 
 thou ? I pray God pardon all thy misdoings ! I have 
 been thine officer of arms forty years and more, 'tis time 
 I should surrender to thee the ensigns of my office.' 
 Thus sajdng, with the tears gushing from his eyes, 
 he threw his coat of arms over the corpse. — JRegistre 
 de WorTcsojp. See also Holinshed's Chronicle and 
 Baeante's Memoirs,
 
 OF THE FIRST EVENING. 47 
 
 shading his face from the light. At last he 
 looked ■iip_, and seeing all eves turned towards 
 him_, said in a hollow voice, ' I can tell you 
 nought more concerning the fray ; I swooned 
 from loss of blood_, and woke from that trance 
 but to find myself a captive. The Lord of 
 Molyns and several of my best friends were 
 prisoners too. How, at the end of fourteen 
 months, we were set free, exchanged for prisoners 
 of our own rank, and how I repaired a second 
 time to Rome, and was there detained, ye 
 already know ; and now my tale is done.^ 
 
 The chapel bell was ringing for compline. 
 This service, never a long one, was recited 
 with such rapidity by Sir Roger, as to occupy 
 a few minutes only. From the little chapel 
 the family at once retired to their bed- 
 chambers ; but first Sir RanulpVs three grand- 
 children, and Sir Piers with them, kneeled at 
 his feet and in lowly voice besought his fatherly 
 blessing.
 
 48 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 or THE CHESHIKE PROPHET ROBERT NIXON. 
 
 Though this is madness, yet there's method in't. 
 
 Hamlet, 
 Murder cannot be hid long. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 IF there was joy iu the Manor House that 
 evening, there was joy in the cottage too, 
 and of a much noisier and more unmixed 
 kind; for the peasant, used only to think of 
 and toil for the present hour, was not oppressed, 
 like his superior, by the sense of coming evil. 
 There sat Hamo, his hand clasped between 
 those of his mother, surrounded by kinsfolk, 
 friends, and a tribe of gaping, wondering 
 acquaintances. The good man Dale, Hamo's 
 father, stood at his door, and in the exuberance 
 of his delight asked, nay, urged, not only 
 Gralam, but all passers-by, to turn in and 
 drink a health to his boy. Even the leprous 
 beggar, usually shunned, as he roamed through 
 the country with his alms-bowl in one hand 
 and warning clapper in the other, was this
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 49 
 
 night promised a snug corner in the barn and 
 a mess of pottage to drink there. Many a 
 trip did bright-eyed Gillian make up the ladder 
 that led to their quaint larder amongst the tim- 
 bers of the roof. She fetched down bread and 
 cheese good store, a supply of bacon, and all 
 that remained of the Christmas hoard of cradle- 
 shaped mincepies. A cask of spiced drink, 
 sent down by kind young master Maurice, con- 
 tributed to the general merriment. So they all 
 huddled round the rough but plentiful supper- 
 board, and then danced an hour or two to the 
 discordant music of bagpipes and tambourine. 
 Then followed such games as hot- cockles, 
 handy- dandy, or hoodman-blind, exciting peals 
 of laughter and shouts of boisterous mirth. 
 
 At first Hamo^s newly-acquired notions of 
 refinement interfered a good deal with his 
 pleasure ; but he wisely resolved to lay them 
 aside for that evening, and contented himself 
 with scolding Gillian once or twice for dipping 
 her fingers deep in the meat, or shrieking loud 
 while diving for apples in the bucket. Very 
 soon he warmed to the sport thoroughly, and 
 might be seen plunging his hand into the snap- 
 dragon-dish, or thumping his blindfolded com- 
 rades on the back as vehemently as any of the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 company. The elders sat by, well amused ; and 
 after compline the Vicar dropped in_, and 
 jested and quaffed with old and young in such 
 jocund fashion, as to extort a few chuckles 
 even from stolid old Gralam. Only one in- 
 mate of the farm seemed to take no part in the 
 general rejoicing : this was a short, thickset 
 boy, about eleven, who sat on the rushes in the 
 darkest corner of the room, scarcely moving, 
 except now and then to creep out of the sha- 
 dow and spread his hands to the fire. At 
 other times, those misshapen hands shaded his 
 face — a wild -looking, sunburnt face, low- 
 browed, with heavy grey eyes. The boy's 
 matted yellow hair almost hid his forehead, 
 and fell thick and flat upon it, like a field of 
 com laid by autumn rains. He looked neither 
 ill-clothed, nor ill-fed ; but his features bore 
 the mournful traces of idiotcy, and his groping 
 movements gave token of imperfect eyesight. 
 On the other hand, his hearing seemed re- 
 markably keen. People conversing near, some- 
 times saw him assume an attitude of close 
 attention, and look up suddenly with an ex- 
 pression half -sad, half-cynical. At this mo- 
 ment the sounds of revelry did not rouse him 
 at all, ' being,' as Goodman Dale jocosely said.
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 51 
 
 ' in a parlous ill-temper_, because lie had been 
 beaten with the distaff for stealing the good- 
 wife^s deer^s-milk cheese/ 
 
 The lad overheard these words, and looked 
 up with a scowl. 
 
 ' Gi'n he had been clemmed for meat,^ con- 
 tinued the farmer,, ^ we Avould none of us have 
 flouted him wi^ the theft ; but my goodwoman 
 is but too kind, and gi'es him a^ th^ tit-bits, 
 and o'er much of his own way besides/ 
 
 ^ Flog him yourself, good man/ said Sir 
 Roger, with a laugh and scornful glance to- 
 wards the culprit ; ' no cure for thieving like 
 the crab-tree cudgel, and plenty of it/ 
 
 He turned away, without hearing the good- 
 wife's muttered reply. 
 
 'Not so fast, Sir Vicar; yon's a fatherless 
 and motherless creature, to whom the Lord hath 
 denied wits, and he shall not be dealt hardly 
 with. Not that he altogether lacketh wit,' she 
 added, in a lower key, to Gammer Bettiley, 
 who sat beside her ; ' he uttereth hard things 
 sometimes, specially when vexed ; and hath, e'en 
 now, made his own country too hot to hold him.' 
 
 ' Is it then true, goodwife, that he hath 
 bearded the monks of Vale Royal in their own 
 abbey V asked the gammer. 
 
 E 2
 
 02 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ^Well, aye, I cannot gainsay it ; thou 
 knowest those brethren have gotten themselves 
 much hatred from their vassals ; they be scarcely 
 better loved now than in the days when Monk 
 John_, of Bodeworth, rashly passed the boun- 
 dary, and the Oldyntons slew him, and played 
 at football with his head ! Well, gammer, 
 thou knowest Hal Nixon, Rob^s half-brother, 
 who hath reared him, holdeth his lands under 
 the abbot, "William a^Kirkham ; he is, they 
 sayen, a bishop of some far-away isle in the 
 west, and never cometh to Vale Royal, 
 save on high days; so the abbey reeve 
 doeth as he listeth, and grindeth the vassals 
 sorely. When HaFs father died, the reeve, 
 whose name I w^ot not, bade Hal send 
 him an ox straightway, for his father had 
 owed one many a year, by way of heriot after 
 the late abbot^s death. Hal pleaded he was 
 poor, and hard bestead, and could ill spare it. 
 There was much \iTangling between him and 
 the reeve, and the neighbours all held with 
 him ; but thou knowest His ill wrangling with 
 cowls; so Hal bade his brother — Rob Want 
 Wit, they call him — drive the beast to Vale 
 Royal without more ado. The reeve chanced 
 to be by when he came, and railed on Hal for
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 06 
 
 a grudging knave and a curmudgeon. The 
 ploughman who was sent to take care of Rob 
 says his hair rose upon his head^ and his 
 teeth ground together when he heard those 
 words — ' Have a care^ Master Reeve/ quoth 
 he^ shaking his fist in the reeve's face, ' have a 
 care, — 
 
 When the harrow* cleaves this lea 
 Yon house a raven's nest shall be. 
 
 The reeve^s brow grew dark, and he swore he 
 would put the lad in their lowest prison, and 
 get him burnt for a Lollard; but the neigh- 
 bours backed Rob manfully. They carried 
 him home on their shoulders, and would have 
 made much ado about him; but Hal, like a 
 discreet lad, stopped them. He hath sent Rob 
 over here to be safe till the scandal is hushed 
 
 up.' 
 
 Whether Goodwife Daie^s confidential com- 
 munication to Gammer Bettiley would tend to 
 the hushing up of the scandal, is doubtful ; 
 the said Gammer being a noted gossip, and 
 
 * This prediction is supposed to have come true about 
 eighty years later, when Henry VIII. deposed the abbot, 
 whose name was Harrow, and gave the abbey to Sir 
 Thomas Holcroft, whose crest was a raven.
 
 54 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 gossips in the fifteenth century, as now, ever 
 finding ready listeners. 
 
 ' I warrant me, Hal is often here to look 
 after Kob,' she said, pointing her skinny finger 
 at the idiot, but directing her eye maliciously 
 towards Gillian, who, in the glories of a blue 
 boddice and scarlet petticoat, with a new taw- 
 drey of white pebbles round her neck, was 
 footing it featly among the dancers. 
 
 ' Ay, sure,^ said the goodwife, innocently, ^he 
 comes often enough, and is ever praying us to 
 let the lass go home with him afore the Lenten 
 fast sets in ; but Gillian hangs back, and says 
 she will not be married till her dear Mistress 
 Cecily hath leave from the Pope to marry too ; 
 and now Hal and a troop of them are sent out 
 by the justices in Eyre to clear the passes 
 about Halton of certain bold, bad fellows 
 that swarm there. Verily, the evil days be re- 
 turned whereof Pierce Plowman sang, when — 
 
 In Halton barony only beggars might pass 
 Without fear of robbynge. 
 
 But, name o' pity, what's the coil now ?* 
 
 In fact, a strange outcry was heard. It was 
 not easy to make out its cause, for the home- 
 made candles of beeswax were burning low.
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 5d 
 
 and the great Christmas log had nearly crum- 
 bled itself into ashes. The dancers^ who were 
 flagging before; stopped, and all pressed for- 
 ward to gaze ou a group at one end of the 
 room. There Gillian, Sir Roger, and a few 
 more were playing at snapdragon, while the 
 idiot, whose sullenness had redoubled since the 
 Vicar^s hint of the crabstick, lay with his face 
 towards the ground, uttering low angry sobs. 
 As Sir Roger repeatedly passed by him, the 
 boy turned his head slightly, and eyed him 
 under his mat of hair with no friendly glance. 
 But when the Vicar, whose movements he em- 
 barrassed, rudely kicked him aside as lumber, 
 he gave a low snarl, and twisting one leg round 
 Sir Roger's ankle, dragged him heavily down. 
 He fell forward, upsetting the snap-dragon 
 dish, and scorching his face severely. Its 
 expression of rage and pain, seen in the light 
 of the blue flickering flame, was fearful, and 
 made Gillian clasp her hands over her eyes, 
 murmuring — 
 
 'Now the Holy Ones have us in their 
 keeping !' 
 
 ' Hold him fast ! Goodman Dale, spare 
 not blows !* cried Sir Roger, seeing the idiot 
 stealthily retreating to the door.
 
 56 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 The goodman, exasperated at so tragical a 
 close to his festivities^ seized Robin with one 
 powerful haudj and a bludgeon in the other, 
 and dealt some heavy blows. In his passion he 
 might have maimed the luckless boy for life^ 
 had not Hamo sprung in between them. 
 
 'Let him go_, father, let him go_, the poor 
 crazed knave; he was goaded on to this deed 
 in sooth he was^ by those who should have 
 known better !' 
 
 The good man paused, feeling the truth of 
 this remark, impressed too by a strange awe- 
 struck look which began to flit over Robin^s 
 features^ and gradually stilled their convulsive 
 workings. The boy gathered himself up into 
 a half-sitting, half-kneeling posture, and fixing 
 his eyes on the red embers on the hearth, said 
 slowly and hoarsely — 
 
 I see trouble gathering, 
 Trouble to England, fast and thick. 
 Through our own gold and our own men 
 Shall the dreadful strife begin. 
 Between the sickle and the sock 
 All England shall have a pluck. 
 And be once, twice, thrice, forsworn, 
 And men shall stand in doubt, whether to reap their 
 corn. 
 Or go afield to fight, or bury theu' dead.
 
 OF THE CHESHIEE PROPHET. 57 
 
 He paiised_, but none interrupted him, and he 
 presently resumed his wailing — 
 
 The Bear, long tied to a staff, shall shake his chain, 
 
 That all men shall hear it, and quake. 
 There shall be a winter council, a careful Christmas, 
 
 A bloody Lent. 
 In those days shall be wrath and bloodshed ; 
 Father against son, and sou against father ! 
 
 Three great battles ; 
 Three years of war : the first terrible ; the second worse ; 
 
 The last, ruin ! 
 Beyond the vale where flows Trent's brimming water 
 
 I hear a sound of slaughter ; — 
 There, there they fight, the Cheshire gallants fight ! 
 
 All scorning flight ! 
 The raven on the headless cross that day, 
 
 By the edge of the forest grey, 
 Shall stoop to drink the blood of knight and leader 
 
 Staining the purple heather. 
 On lone church tower a crowned lady stands 
 
 And wrings her ivory hands. 
 Two thousand steeds ride masterless away ! 
 
 Woe worth the day ! 
 See, fleck'd with blood and foam, one comes this way ! 
 
 He broke oflP with a piercing cry, and swift as 
 the arrow from the bow fled out of the cottage. 
 His hearers remained silent and trembling, with 
 bloodless lips and deep-drawn breath. Only Hamo 
 had self-possession enough left to attempt to fol- 
 low Rob ; but his father stopped him, saying —
 
 58 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Let him alone, lad ; he will not roam 
 further than the cattle-shed. The fit will soon 
 he o'er, and then he shall fall asleep, amid the 
 warm breath of the kye/ 
 
 The party broke np, clinging in groups to- 
 gether as if each one was afraid of facing the 
 darkness alone. Half- an -hour later, Hamo and 
 Gillian sought Rob in the cow-house, but in 
 vain. With some anxiety, for the night was 
 bitterly cold, and fresh snow falling, they looked 
 for him in the church-porch, his frequent haunt, 
 but he was not there. They shouted in all 
 directions, but only echo replied. There was 
 no use making further search till daybreak; so 
 about midnight they went to bed, and the 
 tender-hearted Gillian cried herself to sleep. 
 
 One more sketch, illustrative of the troublous 
 character of those wild times, will complete our 
 history of that evening. 
 
 A small chamber, or rather lean-to, built of 
 stone, jutted from the south-side of the chancel, 
 and was the home of Sir Armine, the chantry 
 priest before spoken of. This unsightly excres- 
 cence was partly hidden and much darkened 
 by a large yew-tree, then in its prime, now 
 split and rent and splintering away under the 
 rough usage of centuries. Within the chamber
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 59 
 
 sat Sir Armine^ patiently completing the tasks 
 of the day. They had been arduous; for, 
 besides performing the offices of the church 
 at nine o'clock^ noon, and three_, he had passed 
 several hours in his daily vocation of teaching 
 the youth of the parish. His school-room 
 was the parvis^ or upper-chamber over the 
 south porch ; his scholars were the children 
 of neighbouring yeomen and cottagers. Such 
 as were able brought, in return, liberal offerings 
 of bread,, fruit, or eggs; such as were poor 
 brought nothing, but were never chidden for it. 
 Some occasional duty in the parish, thrown 
 upon Sir Armine by the absence of the Vicar 
 since early morning, had made this a peculiarly 
 busy day. Now vespers were over, and the 
 priest was in his cell, teaching a few chosen 
 choristers the mysteries of ' plain song.^ Clumsy 
 as the chamber appeared from without, it was 
 picturesque within. A lamp burnt before the 
 crucifix, which was placed against the wall at 
 the east end. Some brackets supported manu- 
 script volumes, bound in white sheepskin, and 
 strengthened with large bosses and clasps of 
 brass. They also held the cumbrous appa- 
 ratus then used for writing, metal pens, chalk, 
 and pumice-stones, and a sort of razor for
 
 60 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 scraping vellum, besides tiny pliials labelled 
 ' azure/ ' gold/ and ' vermilion/ All these 
 were ranged on shelves with the utmost care^ 
 for Sir Armine was the very soul of order. 
 On the carved oak-stand before him was a 
 hymnal from which he was teaching the boys. 
 Their fair young faces were alternately bent, 
 with a look eager but devotional_, on the score 
 before them, or raised to their master, whose 
 rich, full baritone supported their clear trebles. 
 He was a man of about fifty-five, in features 
 and expression much resembling the likenesses 
 we possess of the poet Milton; his eyes blue but 
 piercing; his mouth singularly expressive of 
 firmness yet of meekness; his hair shaven on 
 the crown of the head, but falling thick and 
 long on either side of the pale temples. As 
 the clock, for that church was amongst the few 
 which could boast a clock, struck seven, the 
 priest dismissed his scholars, and taking down 
 a volume of St. Augustin, opened it with the 
 pleasant anticipation of an evening of un- 
 broken study. He paused for a few moments of 
 quiet meditation before beginning to read. The 
 good man's thoughts, usually steeped in peace, 
 were of a still brighter cast to-night ; the echoes 
 of the forty-sixth Psalm, Deus noster Refugianiy
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 61 
 
 which he had been practising with the choristers, 
 still lingered in his ear and heart, and the exult- 
 ing strains_, ^ Therefore will we not fear, though 
 the earth be moved/ and ' There is a river, the 
 streams whereof make glad the city of God,' 
 overpowered for awhile those presentiments of 
 evil which in common with all thoughtful men 
 he could not but entertain. Moreover, the 
 tidings of Sir Piers^s return had reached his 
 cell, and he shared truly in the joy of good Sir 
 Ranulph and of his loved pupil Mistress Cecily. 
 For we ever find that those who have tasted 
 most of peace divine, so far from being absorbed 
 and engrossed by it, take the keenest part in 
 the joys and griefs of others. Thus it was 
 that when, half-an-hour later, a loud knocking 
 at the door roused Sir Armine from study, he 
 closed the book with a scarcely audible sigh, 
 and cheerfully girded himself up for some fresh 
 task of charity. 
 
 The first glance at the peasant who stood 
 without showed him to be the bearer of evil 
 tidings. 
 
 E'en such a mau, so faint, so spiritless, 
 So dull, so dead of look, so wobegone. 
 Drew Priam's curtain at the dead of night. 
 
 He could not at first collect breath or
 
 62 POR AND AGAINST. 
 
 power to speak his errand, but after admi- 
 nistering some drops of cordial, Sir Armine 
 drew from him that a murder had been com- 
 mitted on the hill-side^ about two miles off. The 
 victim, who appeared to be a retainer of some 
 knight or nobleman, had been attacked by 
 ruffians while riding alone through a wood 
 over against Biddulph Moor. He must have 
 struggled desperately, judging from the many 
 wounds and bruises he had received, and the 
 torn state of his dress. The ruffians had fled 
 at the approach of the peasant with two or 
 three companions; these had discovered the 
 murdered man, and raised him in their arms, 
 with a view to carrying him to the nearest 
 dwelling, but he had groaned piteously, and 
 begged them to desist, and let him die where 
 he lay ; only if they would fetch a priest, quick, 
 quick ! 
 
 * Oh,^ said the simple-hearted peasant, ' some 
 sin, or some secret, lieth heavy on his soul ! I 
 hastened to fetch the Parson, but he hath been 
 away since early morning, so I come to crave 
 your charity, honoured father.' 
 
 Before the pitiful story was concluded. Sir 
 Armine had donned his mantle and hood, and 
 the gypsire, or large pouch, in which were
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 63 
 
 placed the requisites for extreme unction. 
 And now, staff in hand_, he addressed himself 
 to his walk, and was soon vigorously breasting 
 the hill. Here, to his surprise, he encountered 
 the Parson, mounted on a strong palfrey, and 
 riding homewards alone. Sir Armine stopped 
 him, and briefly recapitulated the peasant^s 
 narrative, inquiring whether Sir Roger were 
 able and willing to turn back and perform his 
 own proper duty of shriving the dying man. 
 He could not but observe that Sir Roger shook 
 all over, and only muttered a few inarticulate 
 words of reply, like one in a dream. 
 
 ' Brother,' said Sir Armine, earnestly, ' there 
 is no time to be lost. I pray you decide.' 
 
 ' Is he so near his end — the poor caitiff V 
 faltered Sir Roger. ^ Then I had best go to 
 him. My nag will bear me faster than your 
 feet will you.' 
 
 He slowly turned his horse's head towards 
 Biddulph Moor, pausing, however, to say, with 
 unusual consideration for his colleague, — 
 
 ' Hie you home, good brother, and for once 
 despise not my counsel; but drink a cup of 
 spiced ale to keep out the cold.' 
 
 He shivered as he spoke, and looked so 
 deadly pale in the light of the peasant's
 
 64 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 lantern, that even simple-hearted Dickon per- 
 ceived it. 
 
 ' Somewhat ails him/ he said^ half aloud. 
 ^ He can never reach Biddulph Moor to-night 
 or, if mayhap he does, he will tarry at the first 
 house where the bush hangs out/ 
 
 The same idea forcibly struck Sir Armine, 
 and laying his hand on the Vicar's rein, he 
 said, with grave authority, — 
 
 ' Go home. Sir Vicar, and trust the dying 
 man to me ; this strange bewilderment of your 
 spirit unfits you to deal with him. Go home, I 
 say, and forget not after curfew to repair to the 
 Manor for the accustomed compline song.' 
 
 So saying, he hastened forward, followed by 
 Dickon, whose step was scarcely as firm and 
 elastic as his own. The Vicar looked after 
 them with a bewildered gaze. 
 
 ' I am a fool,' he muttered, striking his 
 forehead, ' to let him go ; yet, no — the wretch 
 hath ere this breathed his last, and dead men 
 tell no tales. It might have bred more sus- 
 picion to have held him back j so I will do as 
 he said, show myself at the Manor forth- 
 with, then in the village, with as blithe and 
 jovial a countenance as may be. They shall 
 not guess — not one of them shall guess —
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 65 
 
 the load that lieth on my soul. Ohj Heaven ! 
 am I indeed a murderer? No, not a mur- 
 derer. It was not my hand that did it. Nay^ 
 had he struggled less — had he consented to give 
 up the parchment — I would have bidden them 
 spare his life ! He drew destruction on his 
 head by his own stubbornness. Away^ fear- 
 some fantasies ! The parchment is mine — 
 mine to work mine own ends withal; no cunning 
 alchemy shall be needed to transmute it into 
 gold ; and should suspicion arise, my priesthood 
 shall cloke me.^ 
 
 We leave this bad man to be scourged by 
 his own thoughts; and follow Sir Armine on his 
 errand of mercy. He climbed the hill, some- 
 times passing under groves of pine-trees freshly- 
 roofed with snow ; sometimes up narrow gul- 
 lies^ where deep drifts lay ; more often, cross- 
 ing open tracts of heather. The glittering 
 st^L's looked down from a moonless sky; no 
 sound was heard, except now and then the cry 
 of some bird startled from its covert ; nothing 
 was to be seen but the pure white winding- 
 sheet which covered hill and plain. The steep 
 ascent made connected thought difficult ; but 
 when that was passed, Sir Armine^s mind 
 naturally reverted to his colleague's strange 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 perturbed words and gestures. He liad long 
 seen him to be an unscrupulous character, a 
 plotter and schemer, suspected, like many 
 others in that age, of dealing in unlawful arts. 
 He knew him of a base, cunning, and revenge- 
 ful temper, and had more than once defeated 
 his attempts to injure the family of Done. 
 The younger branches of that house had deeply 
 offended Sir Eoger by imprudent remarks on 
 his evil life ; and Sir Ranulph, as we have 
 seen, had incurred his hatred by thwarting and 
 exposing him in a vile scheme of extortion. 
 Besides this, there was a deeper and older 
 grudge between them. Several years before, 
 a violent contest had arisen between the clergy 
 and the common lawyers, respecting the mean- 
 ing of a clause in the famous Statute of Premu- 
 nire. We need not enter into the dry details 
 of this dispute, further than to explain that it 
 arose from an attempt to limit the vast power 
 of the priesthood, and to make them amenable 
 to punishment when they flagrantly broke the 
 laws of the land. Sir Ranulph, then practising 
 in London and much looked up to, had felt him- 
 self in conscience bound to side with his legal 
 brethren, and had thereby incurred the ill-will 
 of Sir Roger and of many other ecclesiastics.
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 67 
 
 For, so great was the excitement produced 
 amongst them by this attempt to curb their 
 power, that in 1447 the two archbishops^ with 
 their suffragans and clergy, had presented a peti- 
 tion to Parliament_, in which they complained 
 bitterly of the presumption of the ' Courts in 
 Westminster/ and prayed for redress. To this 
 remonstrance the Parliament paid no regard, 
 and so the clergy and the lawyers remained 
 at open variance. 
 
 These disputes, so embittering to worldly 
 minds, did not greatly affect the tenor of Sir 
 Armine's thoughts. Not that he was ignorant 
 of the course of affairs. In early life he had 
 been a distinguished Fellow of Oriel College, 
 and had won the friendship of Reginald Pecock, 
 now Bishop of Chichester, and other learned and 
 pure-hearted men. Later on in his career he 
 had been tutor to the celebrated Tiptoft, Earl of 
 Worcester, one of the most literary men of the 
 day, and had been much beloved by him. Sir 
 E-anulph knew his worth ; and when at his own 
 cost he generously placed his ward Piers Hol- 
 forde at Baliol for a year or two, he bespoke 
 for him, as the best of blessings, Sir Armine's 
 friendship and guidance. One or other of 
 these distinguished friends (patrons we may 
 F 2
 
 68 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 not call them, for Sir Armine was not a man 
 to be patronized) would gladly have bestowed 
 upon him rich preferment. For reasons^ how- 
 ever little understood by men, but good and 
 sufficient in the eye of God, he steadily de- 
 clined it, and chose a lowly, hidden path. 
 So he went on, doing his duty, praying hourly 
 for the Chm'ch he loved, and whose corrup- 
 tions were his deepest grief, and even fi'om that 
 quiet nook shining forth ^ as a light in a dark 
 place.' 
 
 If any suspicions of Sir Roger's being 
 accessory to the late act of violence crossed his 
 colleague's mind, he put them away with 
 horror, as contrary to the ' charity which 
 thinketh no evil.' Still a painful mystery 
 hung over the whole matter, and he pressed 
 on, anxious to have it solved. He had now 
 reached the crest of the hill, and met the full 
 force of a sweeping easterly blast. A few 
 twinkling lights from hovels below showed that 
 the little hamlet of Biddulph Avas near; but 
 by making a short cut through the wood he 
 avoided it, and soon reached the scene of the 
 murder. The dying man lay under a wide- 
 spreading pine-tree, his head supported on the 
 lap of a wild-looking old woman, fetched in
 
 or THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 69 
 
 haste from the moor. Two peasants were 
 standing near ; a third had scraped away the 
 snow close by_, and made a blazing fire of dry 
 sticks. And now Sir Armine stole np to the 
 suflPerer^s side_, and looked into the ghastly face^ 
 on which the hue of death was gathering. The 
 tightly-clenched hands, and laboured breathing 
 that could be heard afar off, gave token that 
 the last struggle was at its height. 
 
 ' Hoo^s well ^igh gone, father/ whispered 
 the peasant, doffing his bonnet. ^ Hoo's driving 
 heed-lyng into toother warld.^ 
 
 ' I see it, my son,^ replied the priest. 
 
 After signing the Cross on the dying man^s 
 brow, and reciting a short collect, he addressed 
 himself to easing his bodily pain. He bade 
 Dickon fetch water from the spring, stanched 
 and bound up the wounds on which the gore 
 was stifiening, and moistened the black, fevered 
 lips. That healing touch evideutly brought a 
 sense of refreshment to the sufferer, for his 
 breathing grew more gentle, and his upturned 
 eyes lost their wild stare of distress. Con- 
 sciousness and hearing, it was clear, were still 
 his, though sight was gone, and the eager, 
 almost frantic, attempts to speak were utterly 
 vain. Shrift was therefore impossible, and Sir
 
 70 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Armine, signing to the bystanders to withdraw 
 a little space, said, in the dying man^s ear, 
 'Mj son, confess thy sins unto God; He 
 knoweth the secrets of all hearts/ 
 
 There was a pause of some minutes ; then 
 Sir Armine recited the office for the dying, 
 according to the ritual of the Church of Rome. 
 Its sublime and awful strains thrilled through 
 his own soul, but fell cold on the dying ear, 
 for they were uttered in Latin, a tongue all 
 but unknown to the rude man at arms. Only 
 when the blessed and saving Name was spoken, 
 he roused himself, and a gleam of intelligence 
 passed over his face. It riveted Sir Armine's 
 gaze, and the certainty that he had seen those 
 features before came suddenly upon him. Life 
 was ebbing away, so he proceeded at once to 
 administer the rite of extreme unction. The 
 hands, tightly clenched before^ ' now willingly 
 unclosed to receive the consecrated oil, and as 
 they did so, a scroll fell from them. True to 
 his trust, even to the last gasp, the dying man 
 tried to retain it between his fingers. Sir 
 Armine replaced it there ; his lips moved, he 
 pressed the scroll tightly to his breast, and 
 expired. 
 
 After a brief interval of devotion, Sir Ar-
 
 OF THE CHESHIRE PROPHET. 71 
 
 mine rose from his knees^ and assisted the 
 peasants reverently to bear the body to a neigh- 
 bouring hovel. Before doing so^ he carefully 
 placed the scroll in his own bosom ; he then_, 
 in the presence of Dickon, examined the dead 
 man^s gypsire ; but whatever money or valuables 
 it might have contained were gone. While thus 
 employed, his eyes fell on the vest, which a 
 cloak had hitherto concealed, and, with un- 
 speakable horror, he saw embroidered upon 
 it the 'greyhound passant^ — the well-known 
 cognizance of the Holfordes.
 
 72 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 or THE SISTERS. 
 
 Turn my dreamings into earnestness. 
 
 Bishop Andeewes. 
 
 n^HE next mcrning Cecily and Lettice rose 
 -■- before daylight, as was their wont. They 
 dressed themselves by the light of a taper, and 
 leaving their little turret dormitory in perfect 
 order, repaired to their several avocations. 
 Lettice lightly sprang down-stairs. Her first 
 care was to seek out Maurice, whom she found 
 superintending the falconers in the important 
 business of feeding the hawks, which sat on 
 perches at the lower end of the hall. She had 
 much to say to these her winged favourites, 
 stroking their glossy heads, helping to examine 
 the state of their claws, and sharply reproving 
 the greedy amongst them. After that she re- 
 paired to an enclosed garden within the moat, 
 in order to gather thyme, mint, sweet-marjoram^ 
 and other herbs to strew among the fresh rushes
 
 OF THE SISTERS. 73 
 
 in her grandfather^s chamber. A few sprigs 
 were reserved for the sisters' bower, or ' Para- 
 dise/ as it was usually called. 
 
 * Piers will surely find his way thither/ she 
 said ; ^ aud they will give him a fresh and fra- 
 grant greeting.' 
 
 Cecily meanwhile had repaired to the said 
 Paradise, which, in truth, was not undeserving 
 of the title. It was a small octagon, at the 
 top of the house. Three narrow windows with 
 curiously-shaped panes of thick glass lighted 
 it, and formed a sort of bay looking over rich 
 pasture-lands to the hills bordering on Derby- 
 shire; the bold bluff eminence, called Cloud 
 End, stood out conspicuously amongst them. 
 The walls of Cecily's bower were coloured green 
 and white, and an image of St. Dorothea, sup- 
 posed to be a protection against lightning, stood 
 in a niche over the arched doorway. Fireplace 
 there was none; and our Cheshire maidens — 
 far hardier then than now — dreamed not of 
 such a luxury. The little silver chafing-dish, 
 which old Parnel brought up on unusually 
 wintry mornings, supplied all the heat they 
 needed. The vaulted ceiling of this room was 
 upheld by a slender column ; which, however, 
 widened at the foot, so as to admit of ' coffers
 
 74 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 within and ledges without/ for the safe keeping 
 of the maidens^ private treasures. Letitia's 
 consisted mostly of pieces of ivory and fine- 
 grained woodsj which, with rude instruments but 
 with marvellous skill, she had taught herself to 
 carve. An ivory figure of St. Cecilia, fashioned 
 to please her sister, had been her last perform- 
 ance ; and now she was busy preparing a 
 surprise for Maurice in the shape of a tankard 
 of walnut-wood. On one side she had carved, 
 with great spirit and delicacy of touch, three 
 ' alauntes,^ or bull-dogs, dragging down a wild 
 boar ; on the other, a ' fearful hart of force ' 
 flying from its pursuers. The lid was wreathed 
 round with oak-leaves, and rose in the centre 
 into a sheaf of arrows. 
 
 Except this recreation and singing, for which 
 she had a natural gift, Lettice had few indoor 
 amusements. She read and wrote a little daily 
 to please Cecily, and now and then volun- 
 teered to help (or hinder) Parnel in the arrange- 
 ment of the store-room ; but all her delights 
 were in the good ' greenwood,' and on the 
 breezy hillside, especially when Maurice was 
 at home ; and it was no small privation to 
 her that, owing to the increasing lawlessness 
 of the neighbourhood, her grandfather had
 
 OF THE SISTERS. 75 
 
 strictly forbidden all solitary rambles for the 
 future. 
 
 Trained up by her accomplished Burgun- 
 dian mother, Cecilv had received a better edu- 
 cation than most girls of that day. She spoke 
 and read French and Italian, as well as her 
 own language, with perfect ease, knew Frois- 
 sart^s and Joinville's Chronicles by heart, and 
 had even studied Dante's awful pages. Sir 
 Armine had taught her Latin, and led her to 
 read and enjoy the deep wisdom of St. Augus- 
 tin and St. Bernard. And now, in the silent 
 morning hour, her orisons ended, and the tasks 
 of housewifery not yet begun, she stole a 
 little quiet time for her favourite pursuits. A 
 slender but richly-emblazoned volume, contain- 
 ing Petrarch's exquisite 'Trionfo della Morte,' 
 lay open before her. It had been sent to her 
 by Piers from Rome, and the tender beauty of 
 many of its lines had soothed her first grief for 
 the loss of her mother. Of some of the most 
 beautiful she was now attempting a translation, 
 which ran thus : — 
 
 * Like some cleere flame not quencht by manna's rude 
 wille, 
 But slowly waning in the morninge raie, 
 Or as the light of taper, soft and stille, 
 That silently dyes out, so past awaie
 
 76 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 The willinge spiritte. Beantifulle in dethe 
 Was the faire face, with parted golden haire ; 
 Not pallid, — no, but white as the snow-wreathe 
 That rests unruffled by a breathe of aire 
 On yonder eastern hille. Like one shee laie 
 O'er whom kinde sleepe hath stolen unawares, 
 Tired with the heate and burthen of the daie; 
 And round her parted lippes and scarce closed eie 
 
 Hover'd a smile, sweet farewelle to earth's cares ; 
 V^ Sweet foretaste of that better lyfe on bighe !' 
 
 It took Cecily fully an hour to transcribe 
 these lines^ the act of writing being, in fact_, 
 a far harder task to her than the composing of 
 them. Her naturally poetical mind was now 
 overflowing with happiness, of a pensive kind 
 indeed, and shaded with anxiety, but pure and 
 blissful. An hour of quiet talk with Piers the 
 previous afternoon had broken down all painful 
 reserve, and so strengthened her confidence in 
 his goodness and his affection, as to make the 
 prospect of sharing her future lot with his 
 seem very bright. The love and reverence 
 with which he spoke of her mother, asking all 
 details of her last days, and treasuring up the 
 message she had left with Cecily for him, was 
 another link between them. And now Cecily 
 could look back with calm thankfulness to that 
 deathbed, and find delight in translating the
 
 or THE SISTERS. 77 
 
 passage whicli recalled it most ^avidly to her 
 memory. So absorbed was she iu the work, 
 that she did not notice Lettice's entrance till a 
 soft arm was flung romid her neck. The maiden 
 had scattered her treasure of sweet dewy sprays 
 and rushes upon the floor, and was now trying 
 to spell out Cecily^s writing. 
 
 ^ This is fair penmanship, indeed/ she cried. 
 ' Why, the monks in Abbot Simon^s Scrip- 
 torium at Chester, handle not the pen more 
 cunningly ! those flne strokes are delicate as 
 the texture of a spidei-^s web, while mine, alas ! 
 resemble the track that spider would leave if 
 bedaubed with ink. I would, my Cecily, I had 
 profited by thy teaching better.' 
 
 This unwonted gush of tenderness, for 
 Lettice was rarely demonstrative except to 
 Maurice, took Cecily by sm-prise. She could 
 only draw Lettice down, and place her on her 
 knee, and look into the half-averted face, whose 
 troubled, almost reproachful, expression cut 
 her to the heart. 
 
 ' And now thou art going from us,' pursued 
 Lettice j ' Parnel hath told me so ; the dispen- 
 sation will be here anon, and ere carnival time 
 thou shalt be wedded to Piers and be gone. 
 Maurice must depart also ; and then poor
 
 78 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Lettice will be left alone. And, Cecily, thou 
 dost rejoice to go ; Parnel saith so, and I read 
 it in thy face/ 
 
 ^Parnel oversteppeth the bounds of discre- 
 tion and speaketh without warrant,^ replied 
 Cecily, blushing deeply. ^ I do love Piers, and 
 think of becoming his wife with no other sor- 
 row than that of being all unworthy of him; 
 but deem not, Lettice, thou shalt lose a sister 
 by this union — nay, rather, thou hast won a 
 brother, and Piers will help me to fulfil my 
 vow to our dying mother, and shield thy youth_, 
 sweet child, from sorrow and evil.^ 
 
 ' Then he will not carry thee away to Wig- 
 more Castle, or to London?' inquired Lettice. 
 
 ' He will not,' answered Cecily, smiling; 'and 
 thou mayst tell old Parnel so. I hope to tarry 
 with our grandfather and thee till Michaelmas ; 
 then, if God send prosperity, we will remove 
 to the house near Drayton, which Piers hath 
 inherited from his mother. He saith the air is 
 marvellously fresh and pure, and will revive our 
 grandfather; and for thee, my Lettice, there is 
 the broad expanse of Blore and Ashley, with its 
 uplands and hollows, its pools and streams for 
 hawking, and high fern where deer and black 
 game lie hidden/
 
 OF THE SISTERS. 79 
 
 An eager kiss from Lettice was the only 
 reply; and she was flpng to impart the news 
 to Parnelj when the old woman entered_, hearing 
 the sisters' light breakfast. It consisted of 
 new milk and little cup-shaped cakes of fine 
 flonr; refection enough in those days when 
 dinner was served not later than ten o'clock. 
 
 Letitia flung her arms round her nurse's neck^ 
 and was beginning ' Ah, Parnel, thou croaking 
 raven, thou prophetess of evil — ' when the old 
 woman interrupted her sharply — ^An if I be, 
 'tis the fault of these evil times; but heyday, 
 my Lady Wisdom, what have you done? Ai'e 
 these the herbs of grace to strew for your 
 sister's bridal ? See here, rosemary and rue 
 lying at her feet. Pray Heaven the rue briug 
 not ruth, and the rosemary mourning !' The 
 child gathered herself up, shuddering — 
 
 ' Ah me ! what have I done, in my wild 
 heedlessness ?' she said ; then flinging herself on 
 her knees, she picked up the off'ending herbs, 
 and crushed them underfoot. But Cecily 
 stopped her. ' My Lettice, look not pale, as 
 though some injury were done ; these fair 
 sprays of God's creating can no more hurt me 
 than thou thyself, sweetheart. At worst, they 
 are but gracious warnings of coming sorrow.'
 
 80 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 *^Tis gently thought, and softly said/ ob- 
 served Parnel ; ' and in sooth I am sorry I 
 spake so sharply, but the toothache hath vexed 
 me more than ordinary this last night.^ 
 
 ^ My poor nurse !^ said Lettice, ' and hath 
 the touch of St. Apollonia's tooth failed this 
 time to relieve thee ?' 
 
 ' Oh, I say not that, I say not that, abso- 
 lutely,^ replied the old woman ; ' I tried it yes- 
 ter even while Mistress Cecily was at her orisons 
 in the chantry, and it brought some abatement 
 of the smart ; but ^tis my belief, and that of 
 many others, that it hath lost some of its 
 virtue since the silver casket that enshrined it 
 hath been purloined; nay, smile not. Mistress 
 Lettice, so saucily ! But, in truth, my slum- 
 bers last night were sore broken by the stran^^e 
 noises, and opening and shutting of doors, au^t 
 goings to and fro in the house.' 
 
 ' What goings to and fro ?' asked Cecily ; 
 ^ speak, dear Parnel.' 
 
 ^ Marry, that will I, for you look as scared 
 as Mistress Jjettice did just now. Well, after 
 compline I went to Sir Piers's chamber to see 
 whether his wounds needed redressing, but he 
 made reply right courteously that my unguents 
 had already wrought a cure. Oh, 'tis a brave
 
 OF THE SISTERS. 81 
 
 gentleman^ and a well-spoken^ yet I could not 
 but chide with him for choosing to sleep in the 
 truckle bed in one comer of the state chamber, 
 rather than on the fair carved bedstead^ inlaid 
 with ebony and box. You know, Mistress 
 Cecily, you did entrust the lodgment of your 
 guests to my discretion, and I, with some 
 breach of courtesy towards the Knight of 
 Button, placed Sir Piers in the best apartment ; 
 nay more, I decked it 'vvith mine o^vn fair 
 quilt and hangings of cramoisi silk, the gift of 
 Duchess Michelle of Burgundy, after my 
 leechcraft had recovered her from a sickness. 
 Priceless they are, and of a texture unknown in 
 this rude corner of England. Yet Sir Piers 
 chose the truckle bed, and Gralam, boor as he 
 ib/ begged as a boon to sleep on straw by his 
 tiorses. Well, I doubt if either of them tasted 
 an hour^s sleep last night, for at midnight 
 there was a knocking at the outer gate, not 
 loud but long. The porter was hard to wake, and 
 Nicholas harder still ; but at length they opened, 
 and Nicholas thrust forth his head and asked, 
 'Who cometh hither at this untimely hour?' 
 
 ^ ^ It is I, the chantry priest,' replied the 
 voice of Sir Armine ; ' let me speak with Sir 
 Piers Holforde.' 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Oh then old Nicholas bestirred himself, and 
 straightway bade the porter unlock the postern- 
 door and lower the drawbridge. By their 
 lantern^s light I saw Sir Armine let in, and 
 with him two men whom he called ' honest fel- 
 lows/ and commended to Nicholas.^ 
 
 ' Did Sir Armine see Piers V asked Lettice. 
 
 ' He did ; Hamo, who had but just come in 
 from his father's house, led him to the state 
 chamber, and saith the knight started up from his 
 pallet at the first sound as though the French 
 were upon him ; but when he saw Sir Armine he 
 bent him reverently and kissed his hand with 
 great joy. They communed privately for a space, 
 then came forth. Sir Piers dressed, and armed 
 with sword and dagger, and wearing a stern and 
 troubled brow. He conferred with the two 
 men, then woke Sir Thomas Dutton ; after this 
 they went forth together, and Gralam and 
 Hamo with them, and truly I wot not if they 
 be yet returned.' 
 
 ^ And can no one guess the cause of this so 
 great stir V asked Cecily, in a trembling voice. 
 
 ' Not justly, for the knights left strict orders 
 that no ill rumours should be carried to Sir 
 Ranulph ; but doubtless there is murder at the 
 bottom of it. I see terror in old Nicholas's
 
 OF THE SISTERS. S3 
 
 facG; and what little Tvit was left him before, is 
 clean gone this morning/ 
 
 ' Haste, haste down-stairs_, sister/ cried Let- 
 tice ; * here come the knights. See, they dis- 
 mount at the drawbridge, and Gralam is lead- 
 ing away their steeds. Lo, there goes Maurice 
 to meet them. Something hath ruffled his 
 spirit, I can see. Let us go down and end this 
 hated suspense.^ 
 
 With one mute upward glance Cecily followed 
 her impulsive sister to the hall. There she 
 lingered behind ; but Piers sought her out, and 
 in a few words told the tale of horror. 
 
 It was his faithful pursuivant Lancelyn who 
 had been slain, by hands unknown, on the lonely 
 hillside. AAliile removing the body to Bid- 
 dulph hamlet. Sir Armine had met two stout 
 yeomen on horseback seeking the murdered 
 man. After the first burst of horror at 
 sight of his corpse was over, they had intro- 
 duced themselves as Lancelyn^s brothers, and 
 shown Sir Armine a short missive dictated by 
 Lancelyn the evening before, but only received 
 by them two hours ago. In this he hinted 
 that he was the bearer of an important docu- 
 ment ; and for that reason, not from cowardice, 
 had waited some days in London for a sufficient 
 
 G 2
 
 84 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 escort. He had just reached Helegh Castle, 
 the Lord Audeley^s strong place in North 
 Staffordshire, and from thence intended to ride 
 as far as Biddulph, next morning, with some 
 of the Andeley retainers, who were going that 
 way. He sent this greeting by a peasant 
 named Skelhorne, to his brothers, men of sub- 
 stance on the Lord of Audeley's manor of 
 Smallwoode, and bade them meet him at the 
 Biddulph hostel by three that afternoon at 
 latest. It was past five, the brothers said, ere 
 the billet reached them, and then it was brought 
 by a crazed boy who called himself Rob Want- 
 wit, and who told an incoherent story of having 
 picked it up open, near the hostel on the village 
 green. Skelhorne, he said, was taking a cup 
 of ale there with Sir Roger's serving-man. 
 They had hastened to Biddulph with all speed, 
 and learnt there that the unhappy pursuivant, 
 weary of waiting, had set forth to cross the 
 hill two hours before. A vague rumour of 
 some mischance had sharpened their search 
 after him, and now the dreadful truth burst 
 upon them at once. 
 
 The early morning had been spent in a vain 
 pursuit of the murderer or murderers, and 
 every house in the village had been searched
 
 OF THE SISTERS. 85 
 
 but the priest's, which was exempt by law 
 from all domiciliary visits. Two peasants only 
 were missing from their homes ; one was Skel- 
 horne^ the other a noted thief and yagabond_, 
 who had earned a precarious and dishonest 
 livelihood for years at fairs and bear-baits. 
 Both had been suspected for a good while of 
 an intention of deserting their families, and 
 joining the Welsh or jSTorthern outlaws. There 
 seemed little doubt that they were the villains 
 who had attacked Lancelyn^ and the dis- 
 appearance of his horse and of whatever money 
 he might have carried about him^ gave suf&cient 
 motive for the foul deed. Sir Roger_, who had 
 proffered his services in attempting to detect 
 the criminals^ warmly and noisily supported 
 this opinion. 
 
 As for the dispensation of which Lancelyn 
 had been the bearer, the search for that seemed 
 hopeless. No one could gainsay the truth of 
 Sir Roger's observation, that the murderers 
 were certain to destroy it at once, because it 
 could not in any way benefit them, and if found 
 in their hands, would be an unanswerable proof 
 of their guilt. Nothing, therefore, remained 
 but to send notice of the murder to the Sheriffs 
 of Cheshire and Staffordshire, and to the in-
 
 86 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ferior officers of justice. This done_, the family- 
 gathered in the hall for dinner, which was 
 despatched silently and sadly. The gentle- 
 men kept up some conference respecting the 
 events of the nighty but in subdued voices. 
 
 Sir Ranulph, to whom the whole matter had 
 been unfolded_, and who had entered into its 
 details with great coolness and sagacity, now 
 flagged, and leaned back in his chair exhausted. 
 At his desire Cecily sat next to him. She bore 
 up nobly, though her grandfather's increased 
 tenderness of manner, and look of watchful 
 sympathy, tried her calmness not a little. So 
 did the pale, haggard, and depressed countenance 
 of Piers, on whom the double blow of trusty 
 Lancelyn's death, and the indefinite postpone- 
 ment of his marriage, had fallen most heavily. 
 The knight who had encountered death without 
 shrinking, to whom pain and hardship were 
 familiar things, now for a moment felt his 
 firmness give way. But one long pressure of 
 Cecily's hand, when none were observing them, 
 one steadfast look in her face, almost angelic in 
 its expression of meek sadness, did much to 
 restore his courage. He turned his thoughts 
 to the best way of remedying the evil, and 
 decided on going up to Loudon after Lancelyn's
 
 OF THE SISTERS. 87 
 
 funeral, and consulting his friend Lord Worces- 
 ter, TV ho was well acquainted with the Court of 
 Rome, and could negotiate for him there. 
 
 The Pope, it was thought, having once con- 
 sented to ratify the dispensation, would scarcefy 
 demur to doing so a second time, and so in a 
 few months the negotiation might be brought 
 to a happy close. 
 
 As the morning wore away, a less uncheer- 
 ful spirit crept over the whole party, and Sir 
 Thomas Button's remarks and anecdotes began 
 to be listened to, and to provoke replies ; and 
 at last the most outwardly gloomy indi\ddual of 
 the company came to be Maurice, whose dignity 
 had been excessively hurt by the fact of no one 
 having called him up or required his help on 
 the previous night. He sat sullenly aloof, 
 unable to forgive Piers and the Duttons for 
 this neglect, or himself for having slept so 
 soundly through the whole disturbance. But 
 even his ^ doleful dumps,' as Lettice called 
 them, gave way at last, before her blandish- 
 ments. In watching the hawks with her he 
 forgot his grievances; and the last shade of ill- 
 temper vanished when Piers, passing by, tapped 
 his shoulder and said, — 
 
 ^ Maurice, my heart yearned towards thee as
 
 88 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 I went by thy chamber door last night ; had it 
 been a chivalrous foe instead of a base dastard we 
 were in search of, credit me, brave boy, thou 
 shouldst not have lacked thy part in the adven- 
 ture/ 
 
 In the afternoon the Buttons and their train 
 took a kindly, though formal leave of Sir 
 Ranulph, and rode away to Helegh Castle. 
 Before their departure they listened with in- 
 terest to the letter written by Lord Worcester 
 to Sir Piers from Rome, and, together with the 
 dispensation, conveyed to England by Lance- 
 lyn. It was the very scroll which the brave 
 pursuivant had struggled to the last to retain 
 in his grasp ; and if, when receiving it from Sir 
 Armine's hand, Lancelyn's master let a few tears 
 fall upon the paper, they were surely no 
 reproach to his knighthood. 
 
 The wording of the epistle ran thus. The 
 spelling we venture to modernize : — 
 
 ' To the Right Worshipful Knight, Piers Holforde, 
 he this delivered in haste, 
 
 ' Ttight trusty and my beloved and special 
 friend, I commend me to your love, and heartily 
 thank you for your right welcome and well-
 
 OE THE SISTERS. 89 
 
 advised letters to me, sent from time to time, 
 and so pray you of your good continuance. 
 
 ' I think that I send herewith that which 
 will gladden your heart, and I trust in Heaven 
 that you shall hold you pleased, even as I am 
 pleased to have been an instrument in procuring 
 the same. The manner whereof, and the cause 
 of sundry delays I will now lay before you. 
 
 ^ There hath been a marvellous change in his 
 Holiness Nicholas V. sith with you I visited 
 his presence-chamber. Since the unhappy com- 
 plot against his life made by Stefano Porcari, 
 for which he and nine associates were hanged 
 from the battlements of St. Angelo, his Holi- 
 ness shutteth himself up in his new palace at 
 Santa Maria Maggiore. The fair churches of 
 the Lateran and San Paolo, built at his cost — 
 the Capitol, ruinous before, but now re-edified 
 by him — the walls, gates, and towers of Rome, 
 newly raised from their dust — all these he hath 
 ceased to delight in, his mind being taken up 
 by the fear of assassins. Moreover, his spirit 
 is grievously fretted by the woful falling of 
 Constantinople into the hands of the miscreant 
 Turks; and he ceaseth not to write letters to 
 all princes and potentates, praying they will 
 wipe away that foul blot from Christendom.
 
 90 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Many a time have I sought an interview with 
 him touching your matter; and I obtained it 
 at last by presenting him with a rare Egyptian 
 manuscript, else destined, with others to the 
 value of 500 marks, for my mother Oxforde. 
 Each avenue to the palace was guarded, but his 
 HoHness sat alone in his library, surrounded 
 with the fairest and most glorious books and 
 missals ever collected since the burning of 
 Alexandria. The sight of him in his monk's 
 frock and cowl, of his sunken cheeks, and tear- 
 stained, deject look, moved me much. He 
 hath you in kindly remembrance, but speaketh 
 bitterly of England, calling her a refractory 
 daughter, whose clergy and laity be both ill- 
 affected. He complained to me that our 
 gracious King hath paid no heed to the bull 
 sent him with a rose of pure gold by his pre- 
 decessor. Pope Eugenius, bidding him compel 
 the clergy to pay their required tenth to the 
 treasury of Rome. I made answer that our 
 King's wo(ul malady and the growing distrac- 
 tions of our realm alone hindered him from 
 obeying the behests of his Holiness. Thus I 
 soothed him, and brought him round to the 
 matter in hand, the which he hath duly signed 
 and sealed. After that the Pope burst forth
 
 OF THE SISTERS. 91 
 
 into passionate lamentation, and bemoaned 
 himself that, though he had striven to be a 
 peacemaker to Rome and the world, yet all men 
 sought his life. ^ I have found no man,' said 
 he, weeping bitterly, ' to speak to me the 
 language of truth/ Many think that his end 
 draweth near; may he find truth and peace 
 in the true Home of the just, for verily I my- 
 self do think they have perished out of the 
 earth. 
 
 ' And now, my right good friend, I pray God 
 have you in his keeping, and hoping shortly to 
 see you in London, rest 
 
 ' Yours in all sincerity, 
 
 ^ JOHANDE DE TlPTOFT, 
 
 ^ Earl of Worcester.'
 
 92 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF THE DECISION. 
 
 Warwick. I love no colours, and without all colour 
 Of base insinuating flattery 
 I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet. 
 
 Suffolk. I pluck this red rose. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 TTTE stand on the threshold of ci\al war — 
 ' ' the War of the Roses, as for four hundred 
 years this strife has been called. The name is 
 only too fair and sweet-sounding for that fatal 
 quarrel which thirty years sufficed not to com- 
 pose_, in which twelve pitched battles were 
 fought, the most savage cruelties perpetrated, 
 eighty princes of the blood slain, and two-thirds 
 of the old nobility of England exterminated.* 
 
 So equally balanced were the claims of York 
 and Lancaster, that honest and honourable men 
 could scarcely decide to which their allegiance 
 was due. Richard of York was the son of the ill- 
 fated Earl of Cambridge, beheaded in the reign 
 
 * So says Hume, in his Sistory of IEngla7id. See 
 Eeign of Henry VI.
 
 OF THE DECISION. 93 
 
 of Henry Y. By his mother, Anne Mortimer, 
 he was descended from Philippa, only daughter of 
 theDuke of Clarence, second son of Edward III.; 
 his claim to the crown was therefore superior 
 to that of Henry YI., who derived his descent 
 from that King^s third son, John of Gaunt. On 
 the other hand, the House of Lancaster had now 
 been established on the throne more than fifty 
 years_, and the nation was bound to it by many 
 oaths of fealty. This argument would doubt- 
 less have sufficed to preserve the public peace, 
 had the nation been tolerably well governed ; 
 but it was lamentably otherwise. Hemy YI., 
 the ' meek usurper ' of a thorny crown, had 
 never possessed any talent as a statesman ; and 
 now the growing infirmity of his brain rendered 
 him a cypher in the eyes of his subjects. Queen 
 Margaret, the creature of impulse, capricious, 
 vindictive, at one time carried away by self-will, 
 at another a tool in designing hands, cruel to 
 her opponents, but indescribably fascinating to 
 those she regarded with favour, had for several 
 years been an object of aversion to the people. 
 Her unhappy connivance, or what seemed to be 
 such, at the murder of ^ good Duke Humphry,^ 
 and now the ^ warre,^ as Holinshed calls it, ^ so 
 foully ended in forren parts,' deepened that
 
 94 rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 aversion into hatred. While the King^ to nse 
 the same chronicler^s words, ' laie senseless, 
 and was not able either to goe or stande/ 
 matters remained quiet. There was something 
 in the chivalrous and gentle temper of the Duke 
 of York which would not allow him to make 
 the King^s calamity an occasion for asserting 
 his own rights. But two events which caused 
 unbounded joj among the Lancastrians spurred 
 him on to action, and in the end proved the 
 ruin of his enemies. The first was the birth 
 of Margaret's son, the ill-fated Prince Edward ; 
 an event which drove the Duke of York to seek 
 by arms that crown which he could no longer 
 hope peaceably to inherit. The second was 
 King Henry's partial recovery of reason. While 
 still weak and unable to attend to business, the 
 Queen had him conveyed to the House of Lords ; 
 there, prompted by her, he dissolved the Par- 
 liament, put an end to the Duke of York's 
 Protectorate, and released Somerset, the Duke's 
 bitterest enemy, from the Tower. 
 
 The ex-Protector indignantly withdrew from 
 London to his castle of Wigmore, in Hereford- 
 shire ; and there brooded, but not idly, over his 
 wrongs. He began secretly to collect troops 
 and rally his adherents round him; and this
 
 OF THE DECISION. 95 
 
 with the less compunction because he considered 
 the King a mere puppet in the hands of a 
 faction — that faction headed by the woman 
 whom he most hated and despised. And now 
 counties_, neighbourhoods, and families began 
 to be split up into endless divisions and shades 
 of opinion. Those were days not so much 
 of theory as of practice; and political disputes 
 were decided not by word or pen, but by force 
 of arms. Those days form a kind of middle 
 stage between history as it was in the early 
 ages, when, to use Dr. Arnold's words, ^its 
 active elements were kings, popes, bishops, 
 lords, and knights,' the ^ other members of 
 society remaining passive/ and history as it 
 was a century later, when the great body of the 
 nation, traders, yeomen, and peasants, began to 
 take an active part in politics. Even now the 
 English yeomen formed an important body, 
 many of them being men of substance, and 
 sending their sons to Oxford or Cambridge. 
 The cottagers, too, serfs or villeins, as they had 
 been called, were beginning to enjoy a greater 
 share of liberty than heretofore. They were, in 
 fact, progressing towards the condition of our 
 own labourers, being no longer transferred from 
 master to master, as part and parcel of the
 
 96 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 estate they lived upon, but for the most part 
 free to choose their own employers. In every 
 farm, therefore, and in every hovel, the claims 
 of York and Lancaster began to be discussed. 
 The village barber was usually the leading poli- 
 tician and grand retailer of public news, or 
 rather of rumours, often false and contradictory, 
 gathered from passing travellers and from the 
 wandering minstrels and jugglers, then called 
 tregetours. 
 
 It is not easy for us to realize to ourselves 
 a state of things in which, printing being un- 
 known, there were no newspapers to enlighten 
 the mind, or to mislead and inflame it; when 
 writing was an art confined to the educated 
 and to the clergy, and when the post-office, 
 with all its wonderful machinery, did not 
 exist. The tidings of great events, instead of 
 flying like wild-fire from end to end of the 
 kingdom as they do now, crept slowly along; 
 but they did not the less create a fearful excite- 
 ment. The King^s re-appearance in the House 
 of Lords, and the Protector^ s dismissal, were 
 the theme of all men's discourse ; and it needed 
 not Rob Wantwit's gift of prophecy to see that 
 blood would soon flow. 
 
 Deep were the cogitations of Sir Piers Hoi-
 
 OF THE DECISION. 97 
 
 forde as to the course it behoved him to adopt. 
 Principle and feeling alike bound him to the 
 House of York and to its Duke, whom he 
 regarded as an oppressed and persecuted man, 
 ill requited for his moderation in having so long 
 forborne to assert his right to the throne. 
 Perhaps, too, Piers^ private wrongs weighed 
 with him more than he was aware. The 
 death of his grandfather, cut off by the hands 
 of the executioner after Shrewsbury fight, his 
 father^s ruined fortunes and broken heart, these 
 were not things to be forgotten easily, or remem- 
 bered without bitterness. But Piers, though 
 .not exempt from the turbulent spirit of those 
 times, was at heart both just and merciful ; and 
 the id^a of a civil war struck him with unspeak- 
 able horror. It broke his rest by night, and 
 oppressed his thoughts by day. Deeply did he 
 deplore the Queen^s rash haste in annulling the 
 Protectorship, and thus breaking the last feeble 
 links that bound Richard of York and his 
 kinsman and chancellor the Earl of Salisbury, 
 to their allegiance. 
 
 Sir Piers^ private affairs wore a more hope- 
 ful aspect. He had gone up to London at the 
 end of January, and had had several audiences 
 of the Duke and the Earl of Worcester ; both of 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 •whom readily promised him their aid towards 
 replacing the lost dispensation. About the 
 middle of February he travelled into Stafford- 
 shire^ and spent some weeks at his newly- 
 acquired residence near Drayton.* It was a 
 happy and hopeful occupation to bring the 
 neglected property into order^ and prepare a 
 meet home for Cecily, as soon as the uncer- 
 tainties that now darkened their prospects 
 should have cleared away. Here the rumour 
 of the Duke^s flight to Wigmore reached Piers, 
 whose first impulse was to hasten to him; but 
 a letter on important business from Sir Armine, 
 giving besides an alarming report of Sir Ka- 
 nulph's health, happily came to hand at the 
 same time, and decided him on going round by 
 Newbolde Manor. Ere sunset that evening he 
 had reached it. 
 
 As he rode through an oak coppice which 
 divided the house from the village, he observed 
 a figure stealthily gliding through the under- 
 wood, alongside of him, and watching his move- 
 ments. With a feeling of irritation against 
 the supposed spy, he called out — 
 
 'Who goeth there?' 
 
 * Drayton in Hales, a town situated in Shropshire, 
 but on the border of Staffordshire.
 
 OF THE DECISION. 99 
 
 ^A friend and comrade^ was the reply, in a 
 clear though suppressed voice ; and the figure 
 hounded forward, but as quickly retreated at 
 the sound of footsteps approaching through 
 another opening in the wood. 
 
 Piers recognised in this third person his 
 crafty and dangerous acquaintance the Vicar, 
 and saw the need of caution. 
 
 ' Bracy/ he said, ' I will return anon ; tarry 
 for me here.^ 
 
 ' I may not tarry/ Bracy made answer. ^ I 
 am from Wigmore, and bear tidings to the 
 Nevilles at Middleham, which brook no delay ; 
 keep thine eyes open, and thou shalt receive a 
 token from me to-night.^ 
 
 He disappeared among the brown bracken, 
 and Piers rode on musingly. 
 
 ' Good even, Sii' Knight,' said the Vicar, 
 accosting him in his usual manner, half-bland, 
 half-cynical. ' Like you, I am on my way to the 
 Manor, to tender my service to Sir Ranulph. I 
 trust you wall find your kinsman less altered 
 than report saith. When last I saw him, on the 
 Feast of Perpetua, he wore a drooping aspect.^ 
 
 ' Is it so long since he hath heard matins or 
 vespers in church ?^ asked Piers ; ' then must 
 he indeed be indisposed.^ 
 
 H 2
 
 100 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ^ My brotlier Armine can satisfy you better 
 than I on that point/ replied Sir Roger ; ' he 
 doth enjoy that access to the sick chamber 
 which to me, causeless,, is denied. Only from 
 the tongue of rumour did I learn Sir RanulpVs 
 sickness, three weeks ago ; and now that same 
 rumour reporteth him so far amended as to 
 meditate an immediate journey and prolonged 
 absence ; yet this seemeth scarcely possible/ 
 
 He looked keenly in his companion's face for 
 some answer to the half-query; but Sir Piers 
 only replied in his bluff manner — 
 
 ^ I have heard of some such purpose/ 
 
 On passing within the drawbridge they saw 
 two or three carts standing in the inner court, 
 and the servants employed in loading them. 
 Kitchen apparatus, bedding, tapestry, chairs 
 and tables stood ready to be packed under the 
 eye of old Pamel ; for in those days, when 
 people travelled, they carried the bulk of their 
 furniture and valuables with them. Parnel 
 was engaged in laying the Duchess Michelle's 
 crimson quilt in a safe corner, where, as she 
 said, it ' should neither be rumpled nor wetted/ 
 but she started up to bestow a hearty greeting 
 on her foster-son, and to reply to his inquiries 
 after Sir Ranulph.
 
 or THE DECISION. 101 
 
 ' The good Knight my master/* she said^ 
 drawing Piers on one side, ' hath drooped ever 
 since the death of Lancelyn. He wearied him- 
 self in a vain pursuit after the murderers^ and 
 Nicholas doth aver that his sleep became trou- 
 bled and his food distasteful from that day. 
 Moreover^ the suavity of his temper changed 
 to an unwonted sharpness^ as Master Maurice 
 founds to his cost, before he left us for Eton ; 
 the rash boyish quips that used to provoke a 
 smile from the old knight, now moved him to 
 choler more often ; and things would have gone 
 ill, but for [Mistress Cecily^s sweet daughter- 
 liness and my Lettice^s loving, wilful sway 
 over Master Maurice. Well, he went, and 
 three days after, on the morrow of St. Per- 
 petua^s feast. Mistress Cecily going, as her 
 custom was, to lead Sir Ranulph to supper, 
 found him stretched in a trance on the floor. 
 She called me to her aid, poor child ! and I, 
 being used to leechcraft, and perceiving that 
 the peril was great, did use my lancet quickly. 
 Sir Ranulph revived, but for many days could 
 not rise from his sick bed ; and even now 
 his strength is small, and his speech oft-times 
 impeded.^ 
 
 ' May I have access to him ?' asked Piers.
 
 102 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ^ Doubtless_, doubtless/ she answered ; ^ he 
 will be fain to see you ; and with him, or in 
 the antechamber, if he sleep, you will find 
 Mistress Cecily, who scarce leaveth him day 
 or night. He cannot bear her out of sight ; 
 and when his sickness was sorest, did use to 
 gaze after her wistfully, murmuring ' Poor 
 child ! poor child V One day, in the greatness 
 of his trouble, he craved speech of Sir Armine, 
 and they have had divers conferences ; the 
 which (Heaven be praised therefor), have 
 mightily refreshed my master^s spirit.^ 
 
 ' Know our neighbours the intent of this 
 sudden journey V asked Piers. 
 
 ' In sooth, not one of them,^ replied Parnel, 
 sharply, while the colour came up in her 
 wrinkled cheeks. "^The secret is revealed to 
 none, and some that might well be trusted are 
 left to guess at it. More's the pity, say I, for 
 thereby much prying and saucy questioning is 
 bred. Old Nicholas thinketh it hard he is not 
 told ; of myself I speak not, for, seeing I have 
 an infirmity of talking in my sleep, I rather 
 chose to be ignorant, and did stop mine ears 
 when Mistress Letitia seemed on the point of 
 imparting to me all she knew.' 
 
 ' Well, dear Parnel, I fear I shall prove less
 
 OF THE DECISION. 103 
 
 discreet than thou/ said Piers^ with a mo- 
 mentary smile. ' I bum to know the where- 
 fore and whither of this sudden journey ; and 
 when learnt, shall scarce be able to hide them 
 from my good foster-mother/ 
 
 ' Now Heaven bless thee V muttered Parnel, 
 gazing after him as he strode through the 
 hall, *^for the gentlest-natured as well as the 
 doughtiest knight in Cheshire. Well doth thy 
 prime fulfil the promise of thy boyhood — nay, 
 of thy sweet infancy ! Ah, well-a-day, I re- 
 member as though ^twere yesternight the hour 
 when first I held thee in mine arms. Thirty- 
 two years ago, come Michaelmas, the cniel 
 French shut us up in Crevant fortress ;* day 
 by day our little company dwindled away ; some 
 slain in desperate assaults ; more, slowly perish- 
 ing with hunger within the walls. Oh grief ! 
 when from the battlements I saw my husband 
 fall, pierced by the arrow of a hireling Scot ! 
 Oh greater grief! when two days later my 
 sweet babe died ! How could this distracted 
 brain have borne that anguish but for thee, 
 
 * The Siege of Crevant, in Burgundy, took place in 
 1423. It was successfully defended by English and 
 Burgundians against the French and Scotch under 
 Marshal Severac and Lord Darnley.
 
 104 rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 my foster-child ? Lovingly didst thou spread 
 thy little arms towards me^ as the good nun 
 who had closed thy mother^s eyes laid thee on 
 this desolate breast. ' To thee, Pamel/ she 
 said, ^ God doth entrust the orphan. His 
 mother hath even now expired; his father, 
 Sir Waryn Holforde, is gone forth on a despe- 
 rate adventure, sent by brave Chastellux to 
 warn Earl Salisbury of our peril. Arouse thee, 
 therefore, and take this little one to thy heart.^ 
 I obeyed, half shuddering ; but thy first smile 
 recalled me to a better mind, and the love that 
 had been my little Gauthier^s became for ever 
 thine. Ah me, the heavy time till brave 
 Lord Salisbury came and rescued our little 
 band, else perishing and hunger-stricken ! I 
 dare not think of it, for my brain yet reels at 
 the remembrance. Hence, idle musings — 1^11 
 to the distillery, for Mistress Letitia hath but 
 small experience in that craft ; and if the still 
 be too hot, the water of pryme-roses shall all 
 be spoilt V 
 
 Meanwhile Piers made his way to the old 
 Knight's chamber, first pacifying Sir Roger 
 by the promise of an interview, either with Sir 
 Ranulph or himself, in the course of the evening. 
 On entering the ante-room he saw Cecily
 
 OF THE DECISION. 105 
 
 seated at a table, a folio volume with sheepskin 
 binding and brazen clasps open before her. It 
 was neither Dante nor Petrarch that engaged 
 her attention now. Sir Ranulph^s income 
 not permitting him to keep a ' clerk of ex- 
 penses/ that useful appendage in large families, 
 Nicholas had been his accountant for many 
 years. The old man had received his education 
 in the Priory of Norton, and there acquired 
 more knowledge of arithmetic and penmanship 
 than many esquires of high degree could boast. 
 But his eyes were failing now, and he had 
 latterly been so absorbed in the care of his 
 master as to have little time for other em- 
 ployment. So Cecily, knowing her grand- 
 father's punctilious accuracy, had undertaken 
 the accounts, and it was the ^household boke' 
 that lay before her. She sat with the pen in 
 one hand, and her weary head resting on the 
 other.. Nicholas stood by (she never could pre- 
 vail upon him to sit down), enumerating in his 
 monotonous voice the expenses lately incurred 
 in the Done household — 
 
 ' Of ale, iii gallons, after id. the gallon — vjc?. 
 Of breid, iii dossen loafys, after vi loafys for id. — 6d. 
 Of Parisch candle, two dossen, after xiio?. ie dossen — ii.9. 
 Of salt fische, after vie/, the peece '
 
 106 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' How is this, Nicholas ?' asked Cecily.- 
 '^ Have we so soon consumed the ^ kagg of salt 
 eelys^ from Eccleshall, laid in at Shrovetide ? 
 It should have sufficed for the whole season of 
 Lent/ 
 
 ' Alas ! madam, it should ; but truly, since 
 Lent set in, so many have called to inquire 
 after my master^s health, and so many grooms 
 and serving- men have been sent by their 
 lords on the same errand, that a double allow- 
 ance of ' pottills of beer ' and ' peeces of salt 
 fische^ hath been consumed. I grieve for this 
 seeming waste, wherewith Parnel ceaseth not 
 to flout me ; but truly I thought it concerned 
 Sir Ranulph's honour to send none empty 
 away.^ 
 
 ^I think so too/ replied Cecily, after a 
 moment's reflection. ' ' Use hospitality without 
 grudging,' Sir Arraine doth ever say. Proceed, 
 good Nicholas.' 
 
 Then followed a list of household articles — 
 ' wax wroght in torches/ ditto ' wroght in 
 tapers,' ginger, prones, licoras,' &c. They had 
 just arrived at the concluding item of ^ winter 
 horse-meat/ when Piers entered. The pen 
 dropped from Cecily's hand, and she sprang to 
 meet him, a glow of delight overspreading her
 
 OF THE DECISION. 107 
 
 pale face. Nicholas gathered up liis folio and 
 departed, bowing low ; and the cousins were left 
 alone. Much had they to tell and hear ; but, 
 ere the first greetings were over, a call from 
 the sick room interrupted their conversation. 
 Cecily hastened to her grandfather, and finding 
 him bright, and refreshed with a two hours^ 
 sleep, broke to him the fact of Piers^ arrival. 
 In another moment Piers was at Sir UanulpVs 
 feet, craving his blessing. He glanced up at 
 the old man^s face, and saw with pain the 
 ravages sickness had made there. Sir E-anulpVs 
 cheeks had fallen in, and his eyes were sunk, 
 and had exchanged their placid expression for 
 one of suffering and unrest. His lips were 
 compressed, and their outline altered ; probably 
 by the nature of his attack, which had been 
 what we now call paralysis. He sat upright in 
 his chair, betraying no weakness, except by the 
 red spot that burned on each hollow cheek 
 when he made the exertion of speaking. His 
 manner was calm; and his voice perhaps a 
 little louder than formerly; only when he 
 directed his speech to Cecily, an expression of 
 deep tenderness thrilled in its tones. 
 
 ^Thou art ever welcome, my son,' he said 
 to Piers ; ' and now thrice welcome, since we
 
 108 POR AND AGAINST. 
 
 are on the eve of a hazardous journey. Be 
 seated, for we have weighty matters to dis- 
 course of, and but little leisure. And thou, 
 my Cecily, leave us a space; yet go not out 
 of sight, child, for we may perchance recal 
 thee to take part in our counsellings. Her 
 young head,^ he added, turning to Piers, ' hath 
 more brains in it than many that are sprinkled 
 with the frosts of age.^ 
 
 Cecily blushed. ' I will return anon, dear 
 grandfather, but must now prepare some refec- 
 tion for my cousin ; he hath ridden many hours, 
 and scarce broken his fast.^ 
 
 She went; and Sir Ranulph, bending forward, 
 and drawing the folds of his loose robe closely 
 round his emaciated frame, opened at once on 
 the topic nearest his heart. 
 
 ^ My condition brooketh not delay ,^ he said ; 
 ' leechcraft availeth me nought, and this body, 
 like a shattered tent, is ready to fall. God's 
 will be done ; His name be praised for a long 
 life fraught with blessings. But though I 
 have desired from my youth to serve Him and 
 to administer justice without respect of persons, 
 and though my honour is stainless in the eyes 
 of men, yet, son Piers, at the bar of God I dare 
 not plead ' Not guilty.' Fain would my spirit
 
 OF THE DECISION. 109 
 
 turn from earthly things to seek assured peace 
 with its Creator; but this cannot be while 
 yonder orphans^ my Richard^s three poor 
 children^ remain unprovided for. Let us, then, 
 speak of their future lot ; of this world's 
 gear they will have enough and to spare, 
 but who, in these dark days, will be their pro- 
 tector ? ' 
 
 ^ Mine honoured kinsman,' replied Piers, 
 earnestly, ^ you have permitted me from early 
 youth to look upon Cecily as my affianced wife ; 
 in weal and woe, in life and death, she is mine, 
 and so long as God grants me life, shall need 
 no other guardian. Her sister and her brother 
 shall be mine also ; and Heaven so deal with 
 me as I deal with them.' Sir Ranulph was 
 silent ; and Piers added, ' You cannot doubt 
 my faith ? ' 
 
 ' Who could look in thy face and doubt thee, 
 true heart, and kindly?' answered Sir E-anulph. 
 ' But, my son, the path is beset with more 
 thorns than do at first sight appear ; one, alas, 
 is that hereditary love which binds thee to the 
 House of York. Already the White and Red 
 Roses are badges of strife ; and none can tell 
 how soon a bloody quarrel may break out. 
 Speak frankly, Piers, as to one on the edge of
 
 110 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 the grave, to whom the feuds of princes are as 
 the bickerings of children eager for a toy. 
 "VThat part art thou prepared to take in this 
 matter ?' 
 
 ' I have been strangely irresolute in my cogi- 
 tations thereupon/ replied Sir Piers ; ' and but 
 for Cecily ^s sweet sake, would fain have joined 
 the Crusade lately assembled on the coast of 
 Italy with intent to recover Constantinople. 
 Now that bold scheme hath died away^ there is 
 no scope for knightly deeds abroad. At home^ 
 dear father^ my spirit chafeth to see the growing 
 misrule of the land, the griping avarice of the 
 courtiers^ insults heaped on the princely head 
 of Richard of York, England oppressed by an 
 ambitious woman and her favourites. Oh ! I 
 sometimes think that all these miseries and the 
 loss of fair France besides, be punishments laid 
 on us by the righteous Heavens for bearing an 
 usurping sway too long.' 
 
 ' My question is answered,' said Sir Ranulph^ 
 sadly ; ' and, Piers, I cannot blame thee, for 
 thou hast been nurtured in these sentiments, 
 and many of England's best chivalry share 
 them with thee. Oh that the voice of ex- 
 perience might be heard ere it is too late ! 
 Oh that the blameless life of our holy king,
 
 OF THE DECISION. Ill 
 
 the glories of his father at Agincourt, the oaths 
 of fealty sworn to them by princes and people, 
 might outweigh that guilty act which placed the 
 fourth Harry on the throne ! My son, be not 
 hasty in this quarrel ; remember that rash 
 bloodshedding is as deep a stain on knighthood 
 as cowardice itself/ 
 
 ' I will observe thy words, father,^ answered 
 Piers, reverently. ' This night I look for a 
 summons from the Duke of York, and to-mor- 
 row will crave thy counsel how best to obey 
 it; and now permit me to ask. What meaneth 
 this sudden journey, of which the rumour 
 reached me at Drayton?^ 
 
 ' The scheme is less sudden than appears,^ 
 replied Sir Ranulph ; ' but we deemed best to 
 keep it secret from prying or malicious ears 
 till it was ripe for execution. The very house- 
 hold know not of our destination as yet. To- 
 morrow afternoon, if God give me strength, we 
 travel to Helegh Castle, and there repose the 
 night. My Lord of Audeley hath invited me 
 to do so, that we may discourse at leisure of an 
 offer he hath made to receive Maurice into the 
 number of his gentlemen-ushers. I much in- 
 cline to accept it, for he is a man of princely 
 spirit and unstained faith, and his household is
 
 112 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 well and godly ordered. Should I die, he 
 will be father and counsellor to Maurice, 
 whose generous yet wilful spirit needeth 
 guidance. My friend Father Armine hath, 
 at my entreaty, written to Maurice touching 
 this matter, and given him a command to meet 
 me at Lichfield. 
 
 * At Lichfield V asked Piers, with pleased 
 surprise. ^ Go you so far, dear father ?' 
 
 ' Further, Piers, if God permit. We shall 
 avail ourselves of my Lord of Audeley^s escort 
 so far as Lichfield, where he doth purpose to 
 celebrate his Easter. We also shall tarry there 
 for that holy season, as I desire to speak with 
 the Bishop respecting the dispensation for your 
 marriage.' 
 
 ^ I have already done so,' said Piers, ^ by the 
 wise counsel of Sir Armine. Almost was I 
 driven to despair by hearing of the desperate 
 sickness of Pope Nicholas and the postpone- 
 ment of our matter ; and sooth to say, the 
 Bishop gave me little hope of redress. But a 
 second missive from Sir Armine, urging me to 
 apply to the new Lord Chancellor Cardinal 
 Bourchier, cheered me greatly. I read it to 
 the Bishop, who forthwith wrote up to my Lord 
 Cardinal ; and his answer is most favourable,
 
 OF THE DECISION. 113 
 
 granting a free permission for our marriage, 
 without further communication with Rome. 
 ' The matter/ writeth his Eminence, ' shall be 
 ordered in our own Ecclesiastical Court, no- 
 thing more being needed than the testimony of 
 my Lord of Worcester and his chaplain/ both 
 of whom were present when Pope Nicholas 
 affixed his signature to the parchment. I have 
 this under the Bishop^ s own hand and seal.' 
 
 ^ This is good news/ said Sir Ranulph, ' and 
 removeth a weight from my spirit. Listen, Piers; 
 at my death, Cecily, if yet unmarried, will be- 
 come a ward of the Crown, and much have I 
 feared your marriage might thus be hindered, 
 for thy Yorkist leanings are no secret. Already 
 our wealthy neighbour, William of Trowtbecke, 
 Chamberlain of Chester, and by recent purchase 
 Lord of Dunham, hath sought her hand for his 
 eldest son. The youth himself doth press his suit 
 with great passionateness, refusing to be gain- 
 said ; and Queen Margaret hath condescended 
 to plead for him by letter and message. Nay, 
 frown not, son Piers, thou hast nought to fear.' 
 
 'I doubt neither Cecily's truth nor your 
 kindness,' replied Piers ; ^ but say, father, was 
 Maurice the bearer of this message ?' 
 
 ^ The unwilling bearer/ replied Sir Ranulph. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 'Even his blind devotion to the Queen could 
 not make him a traitor to thy cause. He loves 
 thee well, Piers. Heaven grant that nothing may 
 arise to cool that love ; and now it remaineth 
 only to speak of Lettice^ my right dear, 
 though wilful child. Read this letter_, for it 
 touch eth her nearly ; it is from my kinswoman 
 the widowed Baroness of Kynderton, one of the 
 most discreet and devout ladies in King Henry^s 
 Court.' 
 
 Piers read as follows : — 
 
 ' Right reverend and worshipful kinsman, — 
 I recommend me to you, heartily wishing to 
 hear of your welfare, and thanking God for 
 your somewhat amending of the great sickness 
 ye have had. By the hearing thereof I was 
 nought in heart's ease until I heard ye were 
 some little recovered. And because the art of 
 leechcraffc is little studied in your country, and 
 because the soil whereon your abode is builded 
 is cold and spumous, I pray you right earnestly, 
 dear cousin, to come and occupy my poor 
 house in London, so soon as your strength shall 
 permit. It shall be vacant from Easter till 
 "Whitsuntide, while I attend on her Majesty at 
 the Tower, or else go in her train to Coventry,
 
 OF THE DECISION. 115 
 
 and I pray you to bring my dear goddaughter 
 Cecily^ that I may see her before her marriage,, 
 on which event may the gracious Heavens smile ; 
 and bring Letitia also, touching whom I have 
 now a message of grave import to deliver from 
 the Queen. I pray you give it your best con- 
 sideration, for her Majesty was not well content 
 that her gracious intercession in behalf of the 
 heir of Trowtbecke stood him in so little stead. 
 Nevertheless, of her royal favour to your family 
 and to Master Maurice in especial, the Queen 
 biddeth me offer to my kinswoman Letitia the 
 honourable office of second rocker in the nur- 
 sery of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. 
 There be three other rockers, young gentle- 
 women of good birth and breeding, which take 
 their turns of service, and on my poor self is 
 laid the supervision of them all. This trust I 
 desire to fulfil diligently by the help of our 
 Lord Jesu, to whom I must give account. 
 Of salary, board, allowance for journeys, and 
 other items I cannot write fully for lack of 
 time, and also for a weakness in mine eyes, 
 which causeth me much unease when I write. 
 The post* tarrieth, so farewell. Written in 
 
 * Messenger. 
 I 2
 
 116 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 London in right great haste, on St. Gregory's 
 even. 
 
 ^ Your faithful friend and bedeswoman, 
 
 ^ Isabel Venables of Kynderton. 
 
 ' I pray you ye be well dieted of meat and 
 drink, for that will help more than potions to 
 your healthward. Nevertheless, Leech Fynch, 
 my medeciner, hath an excellent skill in such 
 herbs as may warm the chilly blood of age. 
 Dear cousin, if I dared tender advice unasked, 
 I would say, slight not her Majesty's offer. 
 The saints preserve you. Amen.' 
 
 It took but a few minutes to decide that 
 the Queen's message was in fact a command 
 not to be disregarded without incurring her 
 displeasure. Sir Ranulph, with that rest- 
 lessness which often accompanies a final 
 break-up, caught at the idea of complete 
 change of scene which his kinswoman's hos- 
 pitable offer held out. They had been con- 
 fidential friends through life, and it would be 
 cheering to him to see her once more, and to 
 secure her friendship for his granddaughters. 
 Perhaps, too, Leech Fynch's cordial draughts 
 were not without their attraction, though Sir
 
 OF THE DECISION. 117 
 
 Ranulph was too wise and dealt too honestly 
 with himself to indulge vain hopes of his life 
 being much further prolonged. So it was 
 decided that they should proceed from Lichfield 
 to London the middle of Easter week ; and the 
 old knight having discussed this scheme, and 
 deputed Piers to arrange several household and 
 farming matters for him, betook himself to rest. 
 He could not bring himself to consent to 
 an intei'\4ew with the Vicar, the mention of 
 whose name caused a thrill of agitation through 
 his frame ; but he sent him a courteous message 
 of farewell. Cecily, who had been hovering in 
 the antechamber, now brought her grand- 
 father's ' liverye ' of spiced wine and simnel 
 cake ; and after reciting his evening orisons, he 
 went to sleep more calmly than he had done 
 since his attack.
 
 118 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 
 
 There are no tricks in plain and simple faith. 
 
 Shakespeaee. 
 
 IT was a ' scamlyng day ' in Lent ; that is, a 
 fast of peculiar strictness. No regular 
 meals were served on those occasions ; only 
 a leather jack of ale, a manchet loaf and sup- 
 ply of salt fish were placed on the hall-table, 
 and the family and servants helped themselves 
 from time to time when the cravings of hunger 
 grew importunate. Piers partook of this 
 refreshment sparingly, then hastened forth to 
 fulfil Sir RanulpVs behests. A tall, fair-com- 
 plexioned peasant, whose broad chest and well- 
 knit limbs looked the perfection of manly 
 strength, was standing in the gateway as he 
 passed. His head was bent, and his whole 
 attitude one of dejection ; but at the sound of 
 Piers's voice exclaiming, *" Ah, Hal Nixon ! is 
 it thou V he started and raised his large blue
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 119 
 
 eyes to the knight's face with a look of joyful 
 surprise. 
 
 At the next question, ^ What hath brought thee 
 back from Halton Marches T his look of gloom 
 retui-ned. With kindling eye he told his sad 
 story, which was to this effect : — Rob^s luckless 
 prophecy had been remembered against him by 
 the abbey reeve at Vale Koyal ; and while serv- 
 ing the King in Lancashire, Hal had received 
 notice to quit his little farm immediately. 
 Vainly did he hasten home to protest against 
 this cruel decree — vainly did he beg to have the 
 matter laid before the abbot, whom he knew to 
 be neither harsh nor grasping. Abbot William 
 was not expected in Cheshire for several months ; 
 being detained either in London, where he 
 spent much of his time, or in the Isle of ^lan, 
 of which he was bishop ; and meanwhile the 
 reeve and his underlings managed the abbey 
 lands their own way. There seemed no redress ; 
 and Hal in his first burst of anger did the 
 very thing the reeve wished. He declined a 
 wretched hovel which was offered him instead 
 of his farm, took advantage of the newly made 
 law against serfdom to shake off his connexion 
 with the abbey, sold his goods at a great loss, 
 and with a bursting heart took leave of the
 
 120 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 pleasant home he had prepared for Gillian. His 
 first impulse was to seek her out and tell her 
 his wrongs ; but as he drew near the village the 
 thought that he was now a houseless wanderer 
 rushed over him with stunning force^ and sit- 
 ting down on the low churchyard-wall he 
 covered his face with both hands. Bitter regrets, 
 gloomy forebodings_, fierce anger against the 
 reeve, and a certain amount of self-reproach 
 for his own rash haste, struggled together in his 
 breast. Pride and false shame forbade his 
 presenting him to Goodman Dale in so desti- 
 tute a condition, and a wild scheme rose in his 
 head of fleeing into Yorkshire and joining 
 a band of outlaws already collecting there 
 under a leader named Robin of Redesdale. He 
 was said to be of gentle blood, and professed 
 himself neither Yorkist nor Lancastrian, but 
 simply the ^ friend of the people ' and ' cham- 
 pion of the oppressed.' These specious titles, 
 and the roving life his followers led, had a cer- 
 tain attraction for Hal in his present mood, 
 and blinded him to the lawless nature of their 
 pursuits. Poor Hal ! chafing under wrong, and 
 wavering in his allegiance to God, the torrent 
 of temptation seemed about to carry him away; 
 but help was near. He suddenly felt a rough
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 121 
 
 head laid on his knee and a strong pressure on 
 both shoulders. Looking up to chide, as he 
 supposed, the faithful sheep-dog that had fol- 
 lowed him from Vale Royal, he saw not his 
 fourfooted friend, but poor Rob Wantwit 
 peering into his face. 
 
 ' Ah, Rob ! thou hast undone me !^ he cried ; 
 but instantly wished the words unsaid, as he 
 saw his brother's face convulsed with grief. 
 
 ^ I know, I know, Hal ; but dunna flout me 
 with it. Gillian knows too, but she is good to 
 me still.' 
 
 Hal winced. ' My poor lad, I never thought 
 thou wouldst so take it to heart,' said he. 
 ' Yet I might have guessed it, for the cricket 
 loves not its warm hearthstone better than 
 thou; but faint not, Rob, we'll be merry yet. 
 Come with me to the north country, and we will 
 live like lords in the good greenwood ; no more 
 digging or delving, Rob ; no more toiling and 
 moiling for taskmasters that snatch the hard- 
 earned morsel out of our mouths. We will 
 seek out thy namesake in Redesdale, lad, and 
 be our own masters.' 
 
 ^ And bitter bad masters we shall find our- 
 selves to be,' answered Rob, with a sudden 
 gleam of his sarcastic humour. ' Hal, they call
 
 122 EOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 me Wantwit, all but Gillian — she never calls 
 me that ; but the craziest word ever I spoke is 
 wiser than thy talk now/ 
 
 Hal stared at him in moody surprise ; the 
 poor idiot he had reared and loved, and worked 
 for, but always looked upon as far beneath his 
 sheep-dog in intelligence, now rose above him 
 as counsellor and reprover. ^ What can I do V 
 he asked gloomily, but humbly. 
 
 'The church-door is open,' muttered Rob, 
 pointing to the south porch, which faced them. 
 ' Go pray, Hal, go pray ; say thy paternoster, 
 and the evil ones will fly. See here,' he added, 
 putting his hand in his brother's and drawing 
 him round to the north side of the chancel, 
 ' they fly, they fly !' He glanced up as he spoke 
 at the range of grotesque, fiendlike heads carved 
 in stone which grinned under the shadow of the 
 roof. Some were represented gnashing their 
 teeth, others stopping their ears ; and though 
 scarcely a century old, all looked black and 
 weather-stained. ' They fly !' he repeated ; 
 ' they dare not hearken to the lauds and 
 misereres within; and yet I fear them,' whis- 
 pered Rob, clinging to his brother, and shaking 
 from head to foot. ' Say thy prayers, Hal — 
 I would I could say mine !'
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. i'Zd 
 
 'Thou canst, my poor scholar/ said a deep 
 voice near them ; ' for God casteth away none ; 
 the wayfarer^ though a fool, shall not err in 
 coming to Him/ 
 
 The speaker was Sir Armine, and his words 
 calmed Bob instantly. Ever since the night 
 of his luckless flight from Goodman Dale's he 
 had felt for the good priest as much love and 
 reverence as his wild nature was capable of. 
 Sir Armine^ returning from the scene of 
 Lancelyn's murder^ had found the boy half- 
 buried in snow by Woodcock Well ; he had 
 warmed him^ fed him^ made his peace with the 
 goodman_, and ever since instructed him day 
 by day in religious truth. Though Rob was 
 wild and fierce sometimes, and at others 
 hopelessly stupid^ some traces of the teaching 
 were seen in his improved conduct^, and now, 
 with an instinctive feeling that his brother 
 wanted help, he quietly sat down on a grave, 
 and waited while Hal told his story to the 
 priest. He did so fully and truly, though in 
 fear and trembling, for he knew not what 
 effect his quarrel with the Vale Royal monk 
 might have on Sir Armine's mind. It drew 
 forth a deep sigh, but no reprimand, however; 
 and emboldened by this, he ventured to ask
 
 124 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Sir Armine's counsel as to the future. The 
 priest^ after some reflection^ advised him to go 
 to the Manor^ seek an interview with Nicholas, 
 or, if possible, with Mistress Cecily, and beg 
 employment on the farm or woods, for a few 
 weeks at least. Hal followed the advice in- 
 stantly ; and meeting witb Sir Piers, as we have 
 seen, made his request to him. 
 
 The Knight^s reply was prompt, and sur- 
 passed his utmost hopes. At the Manor, 
 indeed, there was no vacancy ; but Sir Piers 
 was looking out for a bailifi", active, faitbful, 
 and stalwart, to take care of his property. It 
 struck him at once that Hal combined all these 
 qualities, with a thorough knowledge of the 
 ' vert,^ as every green thing from an oak to a 
 primrose was then called. He offered to give 
 Hal a trial ; the offer was rapturously accepted ; 
 and half-an-hour later Hal was to be seen 
 flying on the wings of hope and joy to acquaint 
 Gillian with his good fortune. To his credit 
 be it spoken, he did not forget, ere he lay down 
 on his pallet of straw that night, to thank God, 
 who had rescued him from so great sin and 
 peril. To Sir Armine, too, he poured forth in 
 few but expressive words the gratitude which 
 filled his honest heart. When he looked about
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKKESS. 125 
 
 for Rob, to impart to him his good news, the 
 lad was not to be found. He had gone out, 
 Gillian said, an hour before, to pick prim- 
 roses on the hillside for Mistress Lettice's dis- 
 tilling. 
 
 After dismissing Hal, the Knight addressed 
 himself to a less pleasing duty, that of seeking 
 the promised interview with the Vicar. He 
 found Sir Roger at his own door, putting some 
 fishing-tackle in order, and nervously on the 
 watch for his arrival. He did not ask Piers to 
 come in, but joined him on the rough grass- 
 plot in front of the house. They stood some 
 moments in silence, then Piers said — 
 
 ^ If you have aught to impart. Sir Vicar, 
 speak on.^ 
 
 Sir Roger looked uneasily round him, then 
 said — 
 
 ^ I desire, brave Knight, to hint to you 
 certain suspicions that I have lately found 
 reason to entertain touching the woeful and 
 fatal accident that befel your pursuivant, 
 Lancelyn of Smallwoode.^ 
 
 ^ Have you any clue to his murderer?' asked 
 the Knight. ' K so, declare it fi-eely!' 
 
 ' Some clue I have, doubtless ; but, since it 
 was obtained under seal of confession, you
 
 126 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 must pardon me, Sir Knight, if I seem to 
 speak riddles/ 
 
 ' The saints forbid that I should seek to 
 violate the sanctity of confession '/ replied Sir 
 Piers ; ' but, father, is it good that Holy- 
 Church should spread her wing round a wilful 
 shedder of blood V 
 
 Sir Roger quailed under his eye, and an- 
 swered with white lips — 
 
 ^ It behoveth not me to dispute the decrees 
 of the Church ; but thus far let me say, — one 
 whom I dare not name hath certain knowledge 
 where the parchment is. He doth aver that it 
 was not destroyed, as we fondly surmised, but 
 is whole and uninjured, both in writing and 
 seals/ 
 
 ' Then why not restore it at once V broke in 
 Sir Piers ; ' the scroll is mine, and can neither 
 concern nor benefit any other man. What 
 meaneth this shuffling and paltering V 
 
 'You are less keen-sighted than I deemed 
 you, worshipful Knight,' said the Vicar, with a 
 sneer. ' In plain words, he who, through me, 
 would treat with you, well knoweth that the 
 parchment, though to him valueless, is beyond 
 price to you ; he is a needy caitifi", and will not 
 give it up for less than fourscore gold nobles.'
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 127 
 
 He scanned tlie Knight^s face^ and seeing it 
 darken, added_, falteringly, ' Perchance three- 
 score might content him/ 
 
 ' Is this, Sir Priest, the communication you 
 have to make V asked Sir Piers, with a look of 
 deep scorn. ' Do you bid me bribe a thief 
 and a murderer to give me back mine own? 
 Fie, fie ! Sir Vicar. Tell him who sent you, 
 whoever he may be, that I cannot consent to 
 treat -with one so base.' 
 
 He turned away, merely bending his head in 
 token of farewell. Sir Roger followed, and 
 laid a hand familiarly on his arm : — 
 
 ' And your marriage. Sir Piers ? think once 
 more ! nay, I would befriend you in spite of 
 yom'self. The sign manual of the Pope cannot 
 be replaced for many months ; Sir Ranulph is 
 sinking ; when he dies his granddaughters 
 become wards of the Crown ; over such Queen 
 Margaret hath a watchful eye, and many a 
 plighted damsel hath she released from her 
 troth, and compelled to wed some great lord of 
 the Court. Bethink you ! fourscore nobles 
 were cheaply spent to save all this.' 
 
 Sir Piers shook off the hand that grasped 
 his sleeve. The insolent allusion to his engage- 
 ment with Cecily was almost more than he
 
 128 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 could bear ; but he struggled hard for self- 
 control. 
 
 ' I thank you, Sir Vicar/ he replied, ' but 
 matters stand not with us as you suppose. The 
 scroll you have spoken of is no longer needful 
 towards our marriage ; and I had no motive in 
 seeking to recover it save that of rescuing 
 the signature of his Holiness from unworthy 
 hands. ^ 
 
 Sir Roger stood like one transfixed ; a look 
 of rage and baffled cunning distorted his fea- 
 tures for a moment ; but he composed himself, 
 and said, bowing low — 
 
 ^I will report your words to him who sent 
 me.' 
 
 ^ False babbler,^ thought Sir Piers, as he 
 turned to go home; *^I am much deceived if thou 
 art not thine own ambassador. I burn to tell 
 thee so to thy face ; but, for my Cecily's sake, 
 must be patient ; she will have enemies enough, 
 poor darling, without provoking thy malice.' 
 
 With this soliloquy, and a half-smile at his 
 own new-born virtue of prudence, he put away 
 the hateful and perplexing subject from his 
 thoughts. The sun was now setting, and 
 glowed like a bar of red-hot iron through the 
 leafless trees. It was reflected in the still and
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 129 
 
 limpid mere beside which Piers took his home- 
 ward way. Battered and worn by years of 
 martial strife, he drank in each peaceful sound 
 with a delight we dwellers in ' quiet resting- 
 places ^ can scarcely conceive. The cry of the 
 waterfowl among the reeds, the noisy debates 
 of a colony of rooks overhead, the lowing of 
 kine that ' wound slowly o^er the lea/ were 
 music to his ear. And oh ! how sweet the 
 voice of Cecily as, meeting him in the hall, 
 she invited him to go with her to the distillery. 
 ^ My grandfather sleepeth, guarded by Nicholas; 
 my Lettice is wearying to see you, cousin, and 
 thrice hath escaped from her household tasks 
 in a vain search after you ; but Parnel, who like 
 the giant of yore, beareth the world on her 
 shoulders to-night, quickly recalled the truant. 
 It is the critical moment for the primrose- 
 water, she doth aver, and Lettice must per- 
 force watch by the still another hour; come, 
 then, and beguile the weary time for her.' 
 
 They found Lettice at her post, hot and 
 flushed, and wrapped in a cloud of steam, 
 which diff'used a faint sweetness through the 
 vaulted apartment. Several maidens were busy 
 around her; some picking the flowers from their 
 stalks ; others, bringing in fresh water for the 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 still. They were clianting a ditty^ of which some 
 traces are still to be found in Cheshire, sung by 
 village-children at their play. It ran thus : — 
 
 Draw, draw, 
 Fill a pail of water 
 For my lady's daughter ! 
 One, a rush, two, a rush, 
 Lady bright, come under my bush ! 
 Cowslips and tansy, 
 Marygold and pansy ; 
 Of all the herbs in Paradise 
 The meetest for our lady ! 
 
 The song ceased on Sir Piers^ entrance, and 
 Lettice sprang to greet him, with open arms ; 
 but the glee of the moment could not banish 
 from her features the traces of anxiety and 
 distress, and Piers was moved to see how much 
 of their roundness and childish brightness was 
 gone. The brightness might indeed return, 
 but not fully ; for, whatever may be said to 
 the contrary, care sits more heavily on the 
 very young than on the old. It is more start- 
 ling; its dark shadow is in stronger contrast 
 with their usual sunshiny mood ; it finds them 
 less chastened, less thoroughly provided with the 
 ' patience which worketh experience,' and the 
 ' experience which worketh hope.' Lettice had 
 been much agitated by the contents of the Lady
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 131 
 
 of Kynderton^s letter. She was both shy and 
 reserved; and the idea of parting with Cecily, 
 and being launched into a Court, even though 
 Maurice might be there, was positive suflPering to 
 her. Nor could she bear the thought of leaving 
 her country home, which she loved passionately, 
 every bird and beast, each herb in the meadows, 
 each woodland nest, being familiar and dear to 
 her, and, as it were, under her special guardian- 
 ship. So the morrow^s journey had hitherto been 
 regarded by her with more fear than satisfac- 
 tion ; but a little talk with Sir Piers brightened 
 her view of the matter, and the prospect of visit- 
 ing Helegh and Lichfield, and possibly inspecting 
 the Halsteds, Cecily^s future home, soon became 
 pleasantly prominent in her mind. They con- 
 versed cheerily for awhile, while Cecily took the 
 management of the still. Then Parnel's voice 
 was heard in the low-arched passage, saying — 
 ' Back, froward urchin, back ! must thou 
 needs intrude thyself amongst the maidens ? 
 Primroses, forsooth ! as if none could be trusted 
 to deliver a bunch of primroses to Mistress 
 Cecily but thou ! Here, give them to me, and 
 go to Nicholas in the buttery for thy groat ; 
 I will not gainsay that thou hast earned it, for 
 fairer blossoms I never saw ; they be glossy 
 
 K 2
 
 132 EOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 and smooth as silk^ and sweet as the breath of 
 May, What ! dost thou still withhold them, 
 peevish varlet ? Nay, then, begone, and take 
 thy posy with thee/ 
 
 Cecily and Lettice both sprang to the rescue. 
 They found Rob (for Rob it was) standing as if 
 rooted to the ground, eyeing Parnel with a 
 dogged composure which astonished that majestic 
 personage. With the strange fidelity often dis- 
 played by idiots, he would give up his trust to 
 none but the person for whom it was intended. 
 He edged away from Lettice, though she was 
 usually his favourite, but clutched at Cecily^s 
 skirt, and thrust the flowers into her hand, 
 muttering — 
 
 ' A token ! a token for yonder gallant V 
 
 He glanced towards Lettice, laid his finger on 
 his lips, then shuffled away, not even stopping 
 to claim the well-earned groat from Nicholas. 
 
 Cecily understood RoVs meaning, for she 
 had heard from Piers of his interview with 
 Bracy. Not without grief and apprehension 
 did she receive the token. She stood silently 
 regarding the flowers, and exploring with her 
 taper fingers amongst their cool soft stalks and 
 leaves of emerald velvet. When at last she 
 detected a letter rolled round into the smallest
 
 or LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 133 
 
 possible compass, she shrank as if an adder 
 had suddenly bitten her. 
 
 ' My Lettice must not know of this/ she 
 murmured, placing the letter unperceived in 
 her cousin^s hand. A second pang as keen as 
 the first, shot through her, for never before had 
 she practised the least concealment from her 
 sister. Now she felt that events might arise, 
 nay, were arising, which might excite in them 
 opposite wishes, opposite hopes and fears, and 
 she trembled to think of Lettice^s eager, un- 
 controllable impulses set in array against her 
 own calm, but steadfast convictions. Oh terrible 
 fear of coming evil, only to be stilled by 
 heartfelt trust in God ! Softly she whispered 
 the divine prayer, so exquisitely rendered by 
 Dante — 
 
 ' Padre nostro, che nei cieli stai, 
 
 Venga ver noi la pace del tuo regno ; 
 
 Che noi ad essa non potem venire 
 
 S'ella non vien, con tutto il nostro ingegno.' * 
 
 * Thou our Father, who dost dwell in heaven, 
 
 may to us thy kingdom's peace arrive ; 
 For if not sent by Thee to man below, 
 With all our efforts fruitlessly we strive. 
 
 Weight's Dante.
 
 134 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Twilight had gathered in^ and the work of 
 the day was over. The sisters left the distillery, 
 their arms twined round each other^s waists. 
 Lettice gladly obeyed Cecily's injunction to go 
 to rest at once ; so they parted at the foot of 
 the cockle-stair. Their words were few; but 
 Cecily's kiss was more fervent than usual, and 
 Lettice was surprised to feel a silent tear drop 
 on her forehead. 
 
 Meanwhile Sir Piers repaired to the deserted 
 hall, and perused by the red firelight his 
 dispatch from Wigmore Castle. It was on fine 
 Flemish paper, tied round with floss silk, the 
 ends of which were secured with red wax and 
 sealed with the Duke of York's own signet, 
 'having' the arms of France and England 
 quarterly. It had evidently been dictated by 
 the Duke, and the superscription, ' To our right 
 trusty and well beloved Piers Holforde, Knight' 
 — ' The Due of York' was in his own hand. 
 It ran thus, in the regal style Richard Planta- 
 genet had lately assumed : — 
 
 'Right trusty and beloved, we greet you 
 heartily well. Knowing your benevolence and 
 tender love to us and ours, we doubt not you 
 shall have been disquieted at the hearing of
 
 OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 135 
 
 the great and crying indignities offered to us 
 by lier who governeth, or rather who mis- 
 governeth, this realm. 
 
 * The miseries of our poor country^ and the 
 sundry and subtle plots laid against our life, 
 do compel us to that from the which we have 
 hitherto shrunk. If blood be shed in this 
 quarrel, the guilt rest with those who have 
 forced us to unsheathe the sword. We are 
 free before God and man. 
 
 'We, well knowing your zeal and earnest 
 loyalty towards us, and that they be in such 
 measure as rather to need the bridle than the 
 spur, hearing likewise through the Earl of 
 Worcester of your hope of a speedy union with 
 Mistress Cecilia Done and of the dangerous 
 sickness of her and your reverend kinsman, 
 do specially charge you not to postpone these 
 matters, nor to jeopardize your happiness and 
 that of a fair and virtuous lady, by your zeal 
 on our behalf. We charge you, on pain of our 
 displeasure, not to come to us at Wigmore, but 
 to give us the meeting in London, where, God 
 speeding us, we hope to celebrate Holy Cross 
 Day.* 
 
 * May 3rd.
 
 136 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Meanwhile, that you be not idle in our be- 
 half, we put full trust in you to sound such 
 gentlemen as adhere to our good cause in 
 Stafford and the neighbouring shire, and we 
 beseek you keep them in remembrance of their 
 duty to this unhappy realm, now drifting like 
 a rudderless ship towards the rocks of perdi- 
 tion. 
 
 '^And so the blessed Saints have you and 
 yours in their keeping. 
 
 ' Given under our signet, at our Castle of 
 Wigmore. 
 
 * Haste and secresy/ 
 
 'March 22, 1455.' 
 
 This epistle was prompted by real kindness 
 and generosity on the part of the princely 
 writer ; but the soundest policy could not have 
 devised words more calculated to bind to him a 
 chivalrous spirit like that of Piers. With a 
 silent but fervent vow of loyalty to his cause, 
 the Knight rose. His first thought was to 
 seek out Cecily, but a second and more prudent 
 impulse drew him back. Returning to the 
 hearth, he once more unfolded the Duke^s 
 letter, read it with deep attention, then let it 
 drop amongst the glowing embers. A quick
 
 OP LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 137 
 
 flame shot up from it^ and flashed and 
 flickered on the sword and steel corslet of 
 Richard Done^ which hung from a pillar op- 
 posite. In a moment the gleam died away^ 
 leaving all around in deeper twilight than 
 before.
 
 138 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY AND HIS GUESTS. 
 
 He that is truly dedicate to war 
 
 Hath no self-love .... 
 
 True nobility is exempt from fear. 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 A GLEAM of April sunshine was resting on 
 the Manor House when the Done house- 
 hold took their departure the next morning. 
 Sir Ranulph, wrapped in furs, and propped up 
 with cushions, was placed in the family ^ whirli- 
 cote/ a kind of car, then much used in jour- 
 neys. It was protected by a strong awning, and 
 drawn by a pair of stout roan horses. Cecily 
 and old Parnel travelled with the invalid, while 
 Lettice and her cousin rode alongside of them, 
 diverging now and then for the sake of a canter 
 on the greensward, or to fly the favourite hawk 
 that accompanied Lettice wherever she went. 
 Several retainers of the Dones followed, and 
 with them Gralam, young Hamo, and Sir 
 Piers' new follower, Hal Nixon. They led
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 139 
 
 several spare horses, and to Hamo was allotted 
 the office of leading Mistress Cecily^s beautiful 
 grey palfrey, an office he took no little pride 
 and delight in. The procession moved slowly, 
 keeping in the rear of the heavily-laden carts ; 
 and so after a mile or two, they bade farewell 
 to Cheshire. 
 
 We might dwell on many little circumstances 
 in that farewell that were very touching. And 
 had we time to pause, we would gladly do so, for 
 whatever extends our sympathies is good. If 
 we merely read the barren and general history, 
 even of our own countrymen, fom- hundred 
 years ago, we seldom get beyond dry dates 
 and facts ; and their most tremendous struggles 
 scarcely affect us more than the fabled battles 
 of the ^ kites and crows/ The crimes these 
 struggles led to are blazoned forth, but of the 
 amount of courage, patience, and self-devotion 
 they must have brought into play, we hear 
 nothing; and therefore is it good to lift the 
 veil and obtain a glimpse of their domestic life 
 and gentler feelings. 
 
 I can but tell you briefly how Gillian wept 
 as she offered a parting nosegay of sweet herbs 
 to Mistress Cecily, and how the village children 
 ran before the whirlicote, and picked every
 
 140 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 rough stone from under its wheels; also how 
 the procession paused at the church-door, and 
 Sir Ranulph walked with a firm step to the 
 Done chantry and knelt once more amongst 
 the tombs of his ancestors. The chantry priest 
 and choir were already there, and as he slowly 
 departed, leaning on Sir Piers Holforde, they 
 intoned the Litany used on behalf of travellers. 
 
 * Thou who didst guide Thy people by an angel, 
 The wise men by a star, 
 Be near Thy servant, and dispose his way ; 
 Be in storms his Haven, in weariness his Rest ; 
 Go with him, lead him out, and bring him back.' 
 
 As the last words were chanted the aged knight 
 shook his head, but not altogether sadly. 
 Something he murmured to Cecily of a ' house 
 not made with hands, eternal in the heavens,^ 
 then resumed his place in the carriage. But 
 first he dofied his cap to the villagers who 
 formed a line on either side of the church steps. 
 They 'louted low^ in return, then broke into 
 groups, and went home. 
 
 'The knight ^s sore ailing,^ croaked Gammer 
 Bettiley to her neighbours. ' There ^s a pinched 
 look in his face bodes no good.' 
 
 'Think you so ill of his state?' sighed 
 Gillian Dale. ' He is indeed wondrously
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 141 
 
 changed_, and by reason of his great age one 
 cannot but fear the worst/ 
 
 ' His great age_, say you ? Marry come up ! 
 and what age dost thou take him to be, Maid 
 Gillian ? 1^11 tell thee, threescore and ten is 
 his age, and no more ; and I ought to know, 
 for my mother oft told me I was born the 
 same year. A year it was of ban and not of 
 benison, for maist all the cattle died of murrain, 
 and rye and barley were so scarce men were 
 fain to dig fern-roots and grind them for flour.* 
 Well, Sir Ranulph was born that year at the 
 Manor House, and much I marvel he stays not 
 at the Manor House to die.^ 
 
 ^ Alack, poor gentleman!^ Gillian exclaimed, 
 ' the good Saint Nicholas rather speed him on 
 his journey, and send him better health in those 
 foreign parts.' 
 
 ^ Small chance of that,' persisted the 
 Gammer, in her Cestrian zeal. '^ What country is 
 so little infected with sickness and disease as this 
 of ours ?t My gafifer's mother was a Flemish 
 woman, one of those loomsters Queen Phylippa 
 brought to Manchester to teach the mystery 
 
 * The year 1385. 
 t See Oemesod's History of Cheshire, vol. i. p. 102.
 
 142 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 of weaving. She used to marvel at the great 
 age we attain to hereabouts^ old men dandling 
 their great-grandchildren on their knees. ' No 
 need of mediciners in this country/ she used to 
 cry^ ' for they be nothing so much resorted to 
 here as elsewhere. When a man is sick, the 
 goodwife tieth a kerchief round his head, and 
 maketh him a posset, and if that will not amend 
 him, then Heaven be merciful to him !' Oh ! ^tis a 
 marvellous good country to live in, this of our'n.^ 
 While the Gammer discoursed thus lengthily, 
 Gillian may be pardoned if she allowed her 
 thoughts to wander after the travellers. We 
 too will follow them as they toil up the steep 
 ascent leading to the hamlet of Talk-o^-the- 
 Hill, in Staffordshire. One last look from that 
 high eminence on the Vale of Cheshire, then 
 they wind down a precipitous bank till they 
 disappear in the Talk Hollows, a little valley 
 yellow with thousands of primroses. By and by 
 the chancel of Audeley Church comes in sight, 
 with its high gable and pinnacles of stone, and 
 glorious seven -light east window. A small but 
 strong keep belonging to the Lord of Audeley 
 stands over against the church, and under its 
 wing nestle several rural dwellings. With these 
 exceptions the place is green and solitary.
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 143 
 
 Several Audeley retainers, with the ' Tuchet 
 swan^ embroidered on their red jackets, -were 
 lounging near the keep, and informed our 
 travellers that the Baron himself with a goodly 
 company was taking the pastime of the chase 
 not far off. Accordingly, ere they had pro- 
 ceeded another mile, they heard the notes of a 
 bugle sounding from Knowle Bank,an eminence 
 in front of them. They reached it after a toil- 
 some ascent, enlivened by the sound of voices 
 and the sight of many figures moving amongst 
 the clumps of trees that dotted the bank. An 
 animated scene now presented itself to their 
 eyes. 
 
 On an open platform carpeted with close 
 turf stood a group of sportsmen, and more 
 were flocking in from every side. The hare, 
 after innumerable doublings and windings, 
 had just been pulled down by her pursuers, 
 greyhounds of rare beauty and agility. They 
 stood panting and breathless round their 
 victim, and near them was a group of foresters 
 and huntsmen, waiting the Baron^s further 
 orders. The Baron who, in spite of his sixty- 
 five years, and half that number of French 
 campaigns, was as keen a sportsman as ever, 
 was already on the spot, and with him his son-
 
 144 FOE AND AGAINST. 
 
 in-law Sir Thomas Dutton, and several younger 
 gentlemen. John Dutton^ our foppish ac- 
 quaintance^ was not far behind_, ^ bestriding/ as 
 Hamo remarked to Gralam, ^ a right good and 
 lusty steed.' He escorted a bevy of bright- 
 eyed graceful girls, three of them daughters of 
 Sir Thomas Dutton, and varying in age from 
 eighteen to fifteen. But his conversation was 
 chiefly directed to a maiden who accompanied 
 them, mounted on a milk-white palfrey, which 
 she managed with peculiar grace. Her dress 
 was exceedingly rich and costly, yet not gaudy ; 
 it was in form not unlike a lady's riding-habit 
 now, the material the finest cloth, with tight- 
 fitting sleeves, over which she wore hanging 
 ones of white lawn edged with Flemish lace. 
 Her collar was of rich lace also, her girdle set 
 with precious stones. Her long, shining, black 
 hair fell, according to the fashion of the day, 
 perfectly straight over her shoulders, and was 
 surmounted by a little cap of crimson velvet, 
 the border curiously embroidered with a wreath 
 of trouts in pearls and silver. This peculiarity 
 pointed her out as the daughter of Sir William 
 Trowtbecke, Chamberlain of Chester, and one 
 of the most influential gentlemen in Cheshire. 
 By her side hung a quiver full of arrows, and a
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 145 
 
 dainty little page of Moorish extraction followed 
 with her bow. 
 
 Beauty, that marvellous power for good or 
 evil, Eglanbie Trowtbecke was richly endowed 
 with, beauty not of feature and colouring only, 
 but of expression also, when from time to 
 time a smile played round her lips, and gleamed 
 from her dark lustrous eyes. She seemed 
 formed to take the lead wherever she went, and 
 her fair young companions never so much as 
 thought of disputing her girlish sway. How 
 indeed could they vie in knowledge of the 
 world with one who, besides a yearns experience 
 of Queen Margaret's court, had crossed the sea, 
 witnessed a great tournament at Bruges, and 
 excited, it was said, the admiring notice of 
 Duke Philip of Burgundy and his nobles. 
 This last fact, if such it was, they had not 
 learned from Eglanbie, for vanity was no lead- 
 ing featm'e in her character. It had been 
 imparted confidentially by her brother, now 
 staying at Helegh, to the Lady of Button ; and 
 by the Lady of Dutton confidentially repeated 
 to her brother-in-law John ; and by him added 
 to the stock of courtly anecdote and gossip 
 which it was his chief occupation to collect and 
 retail. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Several young gentlemen now rode up ; 
 amongst them young Adam de Trowtbecke^ 
 distinguished like his sister for personal beauty 
 and richness of apparel. Of the whole group^ 
 indeed^ there were but two or three whose 
 dress did not betoken a scrupulous regard to 
 the last fashion. As we have said before, love 
 of dress was the ruling folly of that age, ex- 
 tending to all classes, and carried to such a 
 pitch that Parliament actually condescended to 
 record a censure of it. 
 
 A historian of the day reproaches the young 
 men with ' suffering their long hair to hide the 
 foreheads on which the Cross had been signed at 
 baptism.^ The poet Occleve ridiculed the long- 
 sleeved mantles then in vogue in these words : — 
 
 Now hath this land little need of broomes 
 To sweep the filth away from the streete. 
 
 Sin side sleeves of penniless groomes 
 Will it uphcke, be it dry or weete. 
 
 Perhaps the only person in the present 
 company thoroughly free from this weakness 
 was the Lord of Audeley himself. He wore a 
 dark surcoat, under which gleamed the light 
 steel corslet he seldom or never put off. A 
 velvet cap with one rich jewel in front covered
 
 OF THE LORD OF At DELE Y. 147 
 
 his stately head. He had dismounted, and 
 laying the bridle over his arm_, walked to the 
 top of a green knoll hard by. There taking 
 oflP his cap_, he stood for a few moments in- 
 haling the fresh riotous breeze which had 
 more of March than April in its touch. His 
 elastic step, spare but vigorous frame^ and clear 
 complexion^ showed that a life of toil had 
 rather braced than exhausted him. Some 
 threads of silver mingled with his dark hair, 
 thick and curling_, except at the temples, which 
 the constant pressure of the helmet had bared. 
 His speaking eye betokened a temper easily 
 moved to mirth^ to sadness^ or perchance to 
 wrath ; but in every phase^ noble and truthful, 
 kindly too, for there was something most 
 winning in his voice and smile, a simplicity 
 and forgetfulness of self, softening down the 
 habitual sense of power. 
 
 The Baron of Audeley did indeed possess all 
 but unbounded power in this part of England. 
 The Tuchet family, to which he belonged_, had 
 settled in Cheshire at the Norman Conquest. 
 William Tuchet, its head, in the days of 
 Edward I., had distinguished himself in the 
 wars of France and Scotland, and been sum- 
 moned to Parliament as a Baron about the 
 
 L 2
 
 148 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 year 1306. Anotlier Tucliet gained much 
 renown in France under the Black Prince, and 
 fell in a bloody fight with the Spaniards at 
 Rochelle. He had married Joane, daughter, 
 and eventually heiress, of Lord Audeley, the 
 renowned warrior of Poitiers ; and by this 
 union Helegh Castle and a very large property 
 in Stajffordshire were added to the Tuchet 
 possessions. 
 
 The present Baron was his grandson, and 
 had begun his career by fighting gallantly 
 under Henry V. in France ; thus adding the 
 lustre of personal prowess to that with which 
 the deeds of his ancestors invested him. He 
 hated faction, and knew little of statecraft, and 
 therefore seldom visited the Court, though much 
 beloved and trusted there. It suited him better 
 to ^ dwell among his own people -^ and this he 
 did chiefly at Helegh Castle, in almost princely 
 splendour and hospitality, whereby he endeared 
 himself much to the gentry and peasantry both 
 of Staffordshire and Cheshire. And now tliat 
 civil strife was beginning, he kept down with an 
 iron hand those outbreaks of lawlessness which 
 made other parts of England scarcely habitable. 
 Entire devotion to the House of Lancaster, and 
 to the glorious memory of Henry Y., were
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 149 
 
 ruling feelings in his mind ; and his loyalty was 
 of that noble, unflinching order which in 
 modern days prompted the Yendean war-cry 
 ' Vive le Roi, quand meme/ 
 
 ' We course no more to-day, Simon/ said 
 Lord Audeley to the forester who stood waiting 
 his orders. After bestowing some kind words 
 and caresses on the beautiful greyhounds which 
 looked up to him with almost human afiection 
 in their eyes, he turned to his guests. ' It is a 
 nimble and a pleasant breeze/ he remarked, 
 ^that bloweth athwart this high eminence; its 
 wings have been dipped in the salt waves that 
 wash the coast of Wales.' 
 
 ' Methinks it hath tarried on its way,' said 
 John Dutton, shivering, ' to kiss those icy 
 peaks of Snowdon, which I see glittering on the 
 furthest horizon.' 
 
 'Ah, John,' replied the Baron, laughing, 
 'that skimp just-au-corps and those silk hosen 
 of thine are meant for lady's bower, not for 
 brake and brier and wild moorland. See, 
 fair Eglanbie, how far the prospect stretches 
 around ; here is the plain of Cheshire ; here the 
 stronghold of Beeston, which my forefather 
 wrested from the rebellious Simon of Montfort. 
 See yonder, on the green flat, Breyddn Hill,
 
 150 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 like a lion couchant, guarding the Marches of 
 Wales; its snowy outline shows well against 
 the dark clouds behind/ 
 
 ^ Those clouds do foretel a storm gathering 
 from that quarter/ observed the heir of Trowt- 
 becke ; ' I hear from Powis Castle that men 
 from Oswestry, Shrewsbury, and the heart of 
 Wales are flocking to Wigmore, some harnessed, 
 some unarmed; and these last be furnished 
 there with bills, bows, or halberts, according 
 to their capacity. What meaneth this ? surely 
 something more than mere defence.^ 
 
 ' If it mean treason it shall be quickly 
 crushed, I trow,' interposed the Baron, with 
 knitted brows. 
 
 He was silent; and one of the guests re- 
 marked — 
 
 '^ There were strange stories afloat when I 
 was at Weymouth lately ; a bird of great size 
 and marvellous plumage was seen by the crew 
 of a caravel near the Isle of Portland. Thrice he 
 rose from the waves, and crowed hoarsely and 
 dismally, turning himself to the north, south, 
 and west ; they who heard him boded no good 
 to England from his note/ 
 
 The listeners received this narrative in grave 
 silence ; for that was an age when portents were
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 151 
 
 readily believed. Presently Eglanbie Trowtbecke 
 rejoined — 
 
 ^That story hath obtained wide credence, 
 even in the Palace of Shene ; so hath another 
 to the effect that a deep river, somewhere in 
 the north, was seen to divide itself suddenly, 
 the bottom remaining dry. This is interpreted 
 to mean a falling away from the King, presently 
 to be looked for. These tales have been reported 
 to my royal Mistress, and blanched her cheek 
 with fear.' 
 
 ^ Yours, bright donzell,^ said John Button, 
 ^remaineth unchanged, true to the Rose of 
 Lancaster.' 
 
 ' I fear not portents,' she answered, with a 
 slight curl of the lip ; ' our own fears do oftenest 
 make their own fulfilment.' 
 
 She started, nevertheless, as the deep croak 
 of a raven was heard at no great distance. In 
 that day this bird was universally considered to 
 be one of evil augury, and the vanous changes 
 in his note, and the direction of his flight, 
 were noticed with superstitious awe. His 
 ominous cry just then seemed an echo of 
 the gloomy forebodings the party had been 
 indulging in; so when he rose from the 
 gnarled oak in which he had been perched, and
 
 152 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 prepared for flight, the eyes of all were riveted 
 upon him. 
 
 ' Pray Heaven he fly to the right/ whispered 
 young Elinour Dutton to her brother. 
 
 ' ^Tis but a corbie, fond child/ replied the 
 boy j but he spoke under his breath, and when, 
 after trimming its feathers and making a few 
 short gyrations, the raven took wing towards 
 the setting sun, a blank silence pervaded the 
 group. Only for a moment, however; the 
 next, an arrow whistled through the air, and the 
 bird fell heavily and without a sound into a 
 hollow glen, fifty yards from where they stood. 
 
 ^ Your pardon, my lord,^ said Eglanbie, in a 
 deprecating voice, to the Baron^ as she un- 
 strung her bow and returned it to the page. 
 
 ' So perish good King Harry^s foes,^ replied 
 Lord Audeley with a smile. * Thou hast a firm 
 hand and true eye, maiden — ay, and a stout 
 heart too.^ 
 
 They mounted their horses and separated, 
 the greater part returning towards Helegh; a 
 few only accompanying the Baron, who rode 
 Cheshire-wards to meet Sir Ranulph. Eglanbie 
 and her brother, after some conference together, 
 were about to join the latter party, when Lord 
 Audeley interfered. He had heard something
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 153 
 
 of Adam de Trowtbecke's suit for Cecily^ and 
 to save her embarrassment, had done violence 
 to his own hospitable feelings by limiting the 
 young gentleman^s visit to that day. 
 
 ^ Fair sir/ he said, ' I am glad our paths 
 have so far lain together, and that our poor 
 sport hath rather helped than hindered your 
 journey to StaflPord; but the sun is now sink- 
 ing apace, and we must no longer detain you. 
 liTou may trust your sister with all confidence 
 ■;o the care of my daughter Button, who shall 
 /herself visit the Court shortly, and restore 
 Mistress Eglanbie to the charge of the Baroness 
 of Kynderton. And now I bid you heartily 
 farewell, and pray you commend me to your 
 host Sir Louis Clifford.^ 
 
 With lowering brow, Adam de Trowtbecke 
 summoned his followers and prepared to depart. 
 
 ^ Eglanbie,' he said to his sister, ' stand my 
 friend if thou canst ; set thy wits to work (for 
 they be sharp and keen), and obtain for me at 
 least a few moments' speech with Cecily. I will 
 linger hereabouts till nightfall.' 
 
 * This is mere madness,' she replied ; ' and 
 much I marvel, brother, thou shouldst abase 
 thyself to sue to one who cares not for thee. If 
 the Queen's intercession availed nought, how
 
 154 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 should mine prosper ? and knowest thou not, 
 besides, that Cecily Done hath from childhood 
 been promised to Sir E-anulph's ward, the 
 Knight of Holforde ?' 
 
 ' That such is Sir RanulpVs will, I know ; 
 but that her heart ever ratified that promise I 
 know not, nor will believe, except from her own 
 peerless lips. The marriage is hindered by 
 their cousinship ; Sir Piers hath been absent 
 many years, and is, they tell me, of too stern 
 mould to please a maiden's fancy; her grand- 
 father is dying : all these things bid me hope, 
 if only delay can be procured.' 
 
 She replied merely by touching his arm. 
 Looking round he saw a carriage emerging 
 from among the trees, and Lord Audeley spur- 
 ring forward to greet its occupants. Cecily 
 dismounted to meet him, and Lettice rode up, 
 escorted by a gentleman whom the brother and 
 sister at once knew by his cognizance to be Sir 
 Piers. Eglanbie shook her head as she marked 
 his knightly bearing and fine countenance. She 
 felt at once, though her brother did not, that 
 these were attractions infinitely greater than 
 the studied fopperies and afiected grimace of 
 the young court gallants. Nor was there any 
 carelessness as to externals in the knight's ap-
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 155 
 
 pearance ; Ms corslet was curiously wrought, 
 and polished as a mirror, and the murrey - 
 coloured, or deep-red, surcoat which partly 
 covered it, set off his pale but expressive fea- 
 tures to advantage. They beamed with plea- 
 sure as he returned the cordial clasp of Lord 
 A'.deley's hand. The Baron, after expressing 
 uifeigned satisfaction at meeting him thus 
 unawares, added a pressing imdtation to Helegh, 
 frhich, however. Piers steadily declined. 
 
 ' Thus far,' he said, ' have I ridden with the 
 intent to protect my kinsfolk on their journey ; 
 in your safe keeping, my lord, I leave them 
 without disquietude. We shall meet again in 
 brief space.' 
 
 He proceeded on his way, hazarding but one 
 farewell glance at Cecily. 
 
 ' Surely,' thought Eglanbie, ' that answering 
 smile of hers should cure my brainsick brother 
 of his vain hopes.' 
 
 She turned towards him to express the 
 thought; but seeing in his compressed lips 
 and flashing eye the well-known symptoms of 
 rising passion, she restrained her speech. He 
 read the half-taunt in her face, and putting 
 spurs to his horse, rode away, beckoning to his 
 servants to follow him.
 
 156 POR AND AGAINST. 
 
 It was not without pain that Sir Piers had 
 refused the offered hospitality of Lord Audeley. 
 The gates of Helegh had been open to him 
 from boyhood, and now_, after many adven- 
 turous years passed abroad^ he yearned to re- 
 visit a place endeared to him by early associ- 
 ations. Its commanding site^ vast extent, and 
 great strength had left an indelible impression 
 on his mind. Moreover, he loved its noble 
 master well. To him he traced his childish 
 longings for martial fame; he had been his 
 earliest model of chivalry, truth, self-denial, 
 and he revered him still as the mirror of 
 all these virtues. It was pleasant to feel that 
 he retained the Baron^s regard, and the time, 
 he fondly hoped, might soon come when their 
 intercourse would be as free and cordial as 
 ever. But at the present moment it could not 
 be so. Sir Piers, almost a stranger amongst 
 his early friends, had had no opportunity of 
 avowing his political sentiments. He would 
 not obtrude that avowal, far less shrink from 
 it ; but he felt himself too deeply pledged to 
 the House of York to be able honourably to 
 intrude into the domestic circle of a deter- 
 mined Lancastrian. Among the group that 
 surrounded Lord Audeley, Piers recognised
 
 OF THE LOED OF AUDELEY. 157 
 
 EgertonSj* Moretons^ Venables, Buttons, all 
 enthusiastically devoted to the Red Rose. 
 Could he either bring strife and discussion into 
 that united band, or keep silence if Richard of 
 York were spoken of bitterly ? No, it was best 
 for him to keep aloof till happier times. So, 
 lea\ang Helegh, with her crown of towers, to 
 the right, he took his solitary way towards 
 Lichfield. The distance was about four-and- 
 twenty miles ; but he determined to break the 
 journey by sleeping at Raunton Abbey, scarcely 
 ten from where he now was. 
 
 Leaving the woodland tract, Piers entered 
 upon a pleasant open country, formed of 
 gentle undulations and low limestone hills 
 covered with short grass. A thin smoke, 
 rising between hillocks, showed the position 
 of Newcastle-under-Lyme. As he advanced 
 southward, the landscape grew more dreary. 
 Here and there peasants were to be seen digging 
 for fuel in the peaty soil. To the left he 
 skirted a few scattered villages occupied by 
 
 * ' And Egerton the strength of Egerton did try.' 
 
 Deayton's Folyolhion. 
 In the miserable wars of this period Egertons, divided 
 among themselves, fought some on the Yorkist, and 
 some on the Lancastrian side.
 
 158 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 potters, who manufactured the clays of the 
 district into coarse earthenware. So humhle 
 was the origin of these potteries, which now 
 traffic with every quarter of the globe; so 
 solitary, four hundred years ago, the district 
 now converted into a chain of populous towns, 
 with ' dusky lane and wrangling mart/ and 
 the volcano-like glare of a hundred furnaces, 
 turning night into day ! 
 
 Higher and higher the ground rose, till our 
 little party reached Ashley Heath, said to be 
 the most elevated table-land in England. The 
 sun was setting behind a mass of dark clouds, 
 as they galloped across its bleak level. A keen 
 blast blew from the west, and sighed through 
 withered bents and tufts of heather and whortle- 
 berry. Tt died away, however, as they began 
 to descend to more sheltered and cultivated 
 ground. Soon a distant glimmer at their feet, 
 like the wandering lights in a morass, showed 
 the whereabouts of Eccleshall, the stronghold 
 of the Bishops of Lichfield, with its brimming 
 moat and network of ditches. Spurring on, 
 by reason of the darkness which gathered 
 amain, they reached the little river Sow, a 
 feeder of the Trent. They soon found a 
 fordable place, and were about to cross its
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 159 
 
 sluggish stream, when they heard voices and 
 the tread of horses^ feet coming up at full 
 speed. 
 
 The party consisted of a young gentleman, 
 unknown to Piers, but recognised by us as 
 Adam de Trowtbecke. Five serving-men rode 
 after, and one alongside of him, mounted on 
 a very powerful horse, and holding on the 
 saddle before him a peasant with a lantern in 
 his hand. A violent altercation was going on 
 between these two ; the peasant struggling to 
 get free, and uttering ' curses, not loud but 
 deep,^ the retainer laughing at his captive's 
 impotent rage. 
 
 ^ Insolent cub,' he said, as they reached the 
 bank ; ' hadst thou lent us thy light willingly, 
 a groat, or perchance a demi-mutton, should 
 have been thine, for my master is bounteous 
 and free; but now thy churlish service earns 
 thee neither thanks nor guerdon. Sit straight, 
 I say, and hold up thy torch, or this tuck- 
 stick shall prick thee into better manners.' 
 
 A fresh struggle was the peasant's only 
 reply. The other serving-men laughed bois- 
 terously, unchecked by their master, who, like 
 themselves, had been drinking deep at the 
 hostel in Eccleshall. They all plunged into
 
 160 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 the stream, shouting ^ a Trowtbecke ! a Trowt- 
 becke '/ 
 
 Sir Piers, who was crossing the river before 
 them, looked back at the sound of that name, 
 and his eyes met those of his rival, who started 
 as if he had encountered a ghost. Becovering 
 himself, however, and spurring forward, he 
 called out, insolently — 
 
 ^ Give place. Sir Knight, give place ; hinder 
 not me and mine from landing — the ford is 
 ours as much as yours V 
 
 ' You shall have room enough, young gentle- 
 man/ replied Sir Piers, courteously ; ^ but look 
 to your serving-man, yonder boor is playing 
 him a shrewd turn.^ 
 
 In fact, the cunning peasant had not watched 
 in vain for an opportunity of revenging himself. 
 Seeing his tormentor thrown off his guard by 
 the sudden vision of Sir Piers Holforde, he had 
 violently seized and jerked the left rein, so as 
 to bring the animal into the part of the river 
 where the current was strongest. The horse 
 was out of his depth in a moment, and his 
 rider unseated. The peasant meanwhile grasped 
 at a bough overhead, and so escaped into the 
 neighbouring thicket, bearing his lantern with 
 him. The feat was sooner done than related,
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 161 
 
 but the confusion it created was beyond descrip- 
 tion, and much added to by the sudden dark- 
 ness in which they had been left. 
 
 Sir Piers, accustomed to night-marches and 
 watchings, soon recovered his coolness. The 
 first object he could distinctly make out was 
 the unhorsed serving-man, who, being hea^dly 
 accoutred, and moreover as great a coward as 
 bully, was on the point of sinking. Another 
 moment and the '' three trouts fretted in triangle 
 proper,' embroidered on his surcoat, would have 
 returned to their native element ; but the 
 knight came to the rescue. 
 
 ' Braggart though he be, the fellow must 
 not drown,' he said; so, dashing by young 
 Trowtbecke, he seized the sinking man, and 
 with Gralam's help brought him safe to land. 
 
 The smothered cheer which this kindly 
 deed drew from all the lookers-on reached 
 young Trowtbecke's ear, but not his brain. 
 
 * One draught too much,' Shakspeare says, 
 ' makes a man a fool ; a second makes him 
 mad;' and in this latter state the gallant's 
 recent carouse had plunged him. 
 
 ^ To horse, my men !' he cried ; ' to horse, 
 and away ! Stay not to dally with the fast 
 friend of perjured York !' 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' ' Perjured !^ sayest thou/ asked Sir Piers, 
 his sword flashing from its sheath. ' Say the 
 word again, rash boy_, and die.^ 
 
 A fierce growl from Gralam seconded the 
 threat; and Hamo, with unsheathed rapier, 
 stood eager to back his lord's quarrel, and no- 
 thing daunted by the odds against them. Hal 
 Nixon had gone to seek a light from a hovel 
 close by, and quickly returned, bearing a blazing 
 pine-branch in his hand. Its red light streamed 
 far and wide, and lit up the wild scene and 
 wilder faces, flushed or pale with excitement. 
 The heir of Trowtbecke had now reached the 
 water's edge, and with one bound his gallant 
 steed sprang to the top of the bank. Seeing 
 Sir Piers on foot, he dismounted, and rushed 
 at him, sword in hand, but with unsteady arm 
 and reeling brain. Sir Piers warded off the 
 blow with as much ease as if the assault had 
 been the first essay of a stripling page. With 
 equal ease he wrested from its owner the 
 weapon so unworthily used. 
 
 'This is no fair quarrel,' he said; 'belted 
 knights do not fight with madmen.' 
 
 Then beckoning to a grey-haired servant, 
 whose bent head and glowing face showed him 
 to be thoroughly ashamed of this unseemly
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 163 
 
 broil_, Sir Piers placed the sword in his 
 hands. 
 
 ' Return this to thy master/ he said_, ' when 
 he shall be more fit to handle it/ 
 
 The retainer stammered out some excuse 
 for his lord. 
 
 ' He is young and hot^ Sir Knight, and some- 
 thing hath sore chafed him to-day; at Eccles- 
 hallj even now, he would not taste bread, but 
 drained the stoup of wine at one draught.'' 
 
 ^ Thou art a good fellow/ answered Sir 
 Piers. ^ Think not I am one to put a hard 
 construction on the outbreaks of heady youth ; 
 but forasmuch as Adam de Trowtbecke hath 
 spoken slightingly of the Duke of York, the 
 warrior who buckled on my spurs, it is my 
 bounden duty to defend his honour. Bid thy 
 master, therefore, meet me on Easter Mon- 
 day at Lichfield; he shall hear from me 
 further before that day.' 
 
 Sir Piers and his retinue now resumed their 
 journey with no other light than that of the 
 countless stars overhead. Tn less than an hour 
 they saw before them the outline of Raunton 
 Abbey, standing out dark and still against the 
 moonless sky. Its drawbridge was soon reached, 
 and at the first blast of Hamo's bugle a lay- 
 
 M 2
 
 164 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 brother looked out^ and readily promised hos- 
 pitality to man and beast. There were tem- 
 porary sheds and stables outside the moat for 
 men and horses, but Sir Piers was ushered at 
 once into the monastery. Learning that the 
 abbot and monks were in the chapel, he desired 
 to be led there ; and from behind a screen of 
 carved oak joined in the conclusion of the 
 compline service. It was performed with more 
 care and at greater length than common, and 
 the attendance of monks was unusually full. 
 Their faces and attitudes would have made a 
 good study for a painter. All were habited in 
 the gai'b of their order, as Canons Regular of 
 St. Augustin. It consisted of a white alb 
 reaching down to the feet; an amice^ white 
 also, upon the shoulders ; and over that a long 
 black mantle with a hood attached to it. 
 Their faces exhibited many varieties of expres- 
 sion : one or two appeared altogether wrapped 
 in prayer and praise ; some few bore in their 
 features that indescribable look of peace which 
 the habit of self-denial produces ; others, again, 
 looked listless and weary ; and a fourth class 
 had visibly stamped on their countenances the 
 hateful impress of a sensual and grovelling mind. 
 The Abbot belonged to none of these classes
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 1G5 
 
 exactly. He was a man of good family and 
 refined tastes, more curious about secular than 
 ecclesiastical studies, and glad to pursue them 
 unmolested in the shadow- of the cloister. In 
 the stall to his right Sir Piers observed the 
 kneeling figure of a stranger, evidently a guest 
 at the abbey, and from his garb and the 
 number of priests grouped round him, a 
 bishop. The most indifferent person could 
 not but be struck with the meek sadness visible 
 on his face ; and it riveted Piers^ attention the 
 more because he was sure he had seen that face 
 before. 
 
 Compline was soon over; and the knight 
 was about to retire to the cell prepared 
 for him when a second lay-brother accosted 
 him, bringing a request from the Abbot that 
 he would partake of his poor fare in the refec- 
 tory. He willingly complied; and after ex- 
 changing greetings with the Abbot, was by 
 him presented to his guest Reginald Pecock, 
 Bishop of Chichester. With the name a flood 
 of light broke on Piers^ mind. It carried 
 him back to early days, when he, a student 
 of Baliol, had looked up to Dr. Pecock as 
 one of the most learned and popular men 
 in Oxford. The Bishop^s face had greatly
 
 166 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 altered and saddened since that time, and his 
 manner was absent and preoccupied, though 
 it had lost none of its mild graciousness. 
 But when, in the course of conversation. Sir 
 Piers chanced to allude to their mutual ac- 
 quaintance Sir Armine, the effect was ma- 
 gical. 
 
 Bishop Reginald looked up with a beaming 
 smile. 
 
 ' My friend and brother V he exclaimed ; 
 and then followed such a panegyric of the 
 humble chantry priest as made his hearer's 
 eyes kindle. It broke off, however, with a 
 sigh— 
 
 * Had he continued at my side,' said the 
 Bishop, ' how many snares should I have 
 escaped V 
 
 There was mystery in these words to Sir 
 Piers ; but he saw the subject had become a 
 painful one, and did not continue it. 
 
 An interesting discussion followed on the 
 newly invented art of printing ; and the Knight 
 listened attentively, though not without a 
 misgiving that there might be something of 
 Satanic agency in this marvellous and hitherto 
 unheard of process. They discussed their 
 Lenten fare of excellent haddocks, washed
 
 OF THE LORD OF AUDELEY. 167 
 
 down with milk of almonds, and then retired 
 to rest. 
 
 Ere daybreak Sir Piers was waked by the 
 sound of a deep bell tolling ; and starting up to 
 ascertain the cause, heard a monk proclaim- 
 ing, in measured accents, as he paced the 
 corridor — 
 
 ^ Pray for the soul of our holy father 
 Pope Nicholas V., whom it hath pleased the 
 Almighty God to take to Himself/
 
 168 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 
 
 Oh the little birds sang east, 
 And the little birds sang west, 
 
 (Toll slowly) 
 And I said in underbreath. 
 All our life is mixed with death, 
 And who knoweth which is best ? 
 
 Oh the little birds sang east. 
 And the little birds sang west, 
 
 (Toll slowly) 
 And I smiled to think, God's greatness 
 Flows around our incompleteness. 
 Round our restlessness. His rest. 
 
 Elizabeth Baeeett Beowning. 
 
 ^HERE was no small stir in the old town of 
 -*- Lichfield on the eve of Palm Sunday. 
 A number of Audeley retainers rode into the 
 Close about noon_, and took possession of the 
 Episcopal Palace, which the Bishop,, Reinold 
 Butler, now absent in London, had lent to the 
 Baron for Passion Week and Easter. 
 
 Those only who have studied that remark-
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 169 
 
 able record, tlie Earl of Northumberland's 
 Household Bookj can imagine what an under- 
 taking the removal of a nobleman^s family 
 from the country to London then was. The 
 string of carts, waggons, and sumpter-horses 
 that poured over Bishop Langton^s causeway, 
 and through the west-gate of the Close, seemed 
 endless. They carried ' my lord^s household 
 stuff,^ and were led and guarded by his 
 ' yeomen, henchmen, falconers, grooms of the 
 kechynge, squillery, buttery,^ and by other func- 
 tionaries. These formed the first detachment, 
 and arrived some hours before the rest. The 
 Baron himself rode with his children and most 
 of his guests, while Sir Banulph occupied an 
 unwieldy-looking but very comfortable litter, 
 which Lord Audeley insisted on substituting for 
 the less luxurious ' whirlicote.^ Lady Button 
 also preferred this mode of travelling; and, 
 being drawn by six strong horses, they managed 
 to keep up with the rest of the party. Four 
 only of Lord Audeley^s eight chaplains accom- 
 panied him to town — the dean and subdean 
 of his chapel, the secretary of his household, 
 and ' clerke of the signett/ Under their charge 
 were placed the six choristers, or ^ chyldren of 
 the chappyl,' as they were called, who formed
 
 170 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 a part of every large establishment. *" My lord's 
 mynstralls/ a jocund company, travelled to- 
 gether in a covered waggon, amusing them- 
 selves with glee and catch; they carried with 
 them their instruments — tabrets, lutes, and 
 three-stringed rebecks — carefully packed up. 
 
 The female servants and waiting- women rode 
 on 'stout nagges/ under the rigid duennaship 
 of Parnel. Very dignified she looked, enthroned 
 on a kind of chair-saddle, with a hood of fine 
 scarlet cloth towering above her withered fea- 
 tures and high steeple-shaped head-gear. Woe 
 to the rash serving-man, henchman, or pantler 
 who should venture to address a remark to any 
 one of the bevy under her charge. He was 
 sure of detection by her sharp eye, and repri- 
 mand from her sharper tongue. Having duly 
 exhorted him to keep his distance, she would 
 turn to the maidens with a lecture on shame- 
 faced and modest mannerliness, and on the 
 advantages, present and to come, of virtuous 
 conduct. This subject she would enforce and 
 illustrate by anecdotes of the early life of one 
 well known to her, and not unremembered in 
 the Burgundian Court as a favourite attendant 
 of the late Duchess Michelle. A mysterious 
 halo would for awhile invest this personage,
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 171 
 
 whose beauty^ now (percliaiice) dimmed by time, 
 had once excited the admiring glances and 
 whispers of Burgundian gallants_, but who, 
 faithful to one ^ho had loved her well, and 
 called her his wedded wife for two short years, 
 had steadfastly refused to marry again. Ere 
 this point in the narrative was reached, the 
 speaker^s eagerness, or perhaps a change from 
 the third to the first person, no sooner said 
 than recalled, excited a suspicion in the hearers 
 that the relater and the heroine of the tale 
 might be one and the same. If any ventured 
 to hint this suspicion, they were gently chidden 
 for over-bold prying, but with more of a smile 
 than a frown ; then, clearing her throat, and 
 adjusting her spectacles, she would take up the 
 broken thread of her narrative, 
 
 Cecily thoroughly enjoyed a few hours^ re- 
 lease from her attendance on her grandfather. 
 There was something in Eglanbie Trowtbecke 
 that attracted, while it slightly awed her; and 
 as the two girls became more intimate, and 
 conversed freely on all subjects but one, Cecily ^s 
 interest in her companion grew warm. Friend- 
 ship it could not be called as yet; nay, she 
 doubted whether it could ever become such, 
 for Eglanbie^s turn of mind was very peculiar.
 
 172 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Motherless from childhood^ and having no 
 sister, she had been brought up entirely with 
 her two brothers. Eield-sports of every kind, 
 even to the daring and dangerous boar-hunt^ 
 were familiar to her, but her heart was not given 
 to them. Like many women in that and the 
 next century_, she found her chief delight in 
 abstruse studies^ and so far she and the golden- 
 haired Cecily were agreed. But the object of 
 their studies was wholly different. A deep 
 love of truth was the basis of Cecily's character, 
 and truth, even in the most corrupt age, is 
 never sought after in vain. Those heavenly 
 influences which she, ignorantly but honestly, 
 asked through the mediation of the blessed 
 saints, were showered upon her by the King 
 of saints Himself. Through the deep twilight 
 of error, His Cross was still a glorious point of 
 light ; and she, helped by the teaching of the 
 good chantry priest, had groped her way to the 
 foot of it, and found rest. Thus all her aims 
 and pursuits were hallowed ; and with a free, 
 happy mind, she sought for knowledge, wit- 
 tingly ' refusing the evil and choosing the 
 good.^ 
 
 Eglanbie had been trained mostly by her 
 brother's preceptor — a Florentine priest of
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 173 
 
 great classical learning and refined wit_, but no 
 principle. Such men then swarmed in Italy, 
 and were denounced forty years later by Savo- 
 narola as ^ neglecting the stndy of the Scrip- 
 tures for that of astrology/ and ' worshipping 
 Plato instead of Christ.^ Their admiration of 
 Plato^s sublime morahty did not prevent them, 
 however, from leading selfish and vicious lives. 
 So it was with this Fabrizio; and his worth- 
 lessness, gilded over by an irresistible charm of 
 manner, rendered him a most dangerous guide 
 for Eglanbie. She was his best, in fact his 
 only pupil, for to no kind of study did her 
 brothers seriously incline. He taught her 
 Greek and Latin, and initiated her in the 
 miserable ' Platonist ' philosophy of his country, 
 and in the deeper and more dangerous study of 
 what were then called ' the hidden sciences.' 
 She shrank back from them at first ; but for 
 her strong and inquiriug mind mystery soon 
 acquired a charm, and, stifling some promptings 
 of her better angel, she plunged with her whole 
 mind into these exciting pursuits. A check, 
 however, came from the quarter where she 
 least expected it. 
 
 The old chamberlain, her father, as doughty 
 but as illiterate a knight as ever signed his
 
 174 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 mark to a title-deed, learnt by chance the true 
 nature of her studies with Fabrizio. Great 
 was his consternation and wrath at the dis- 
 covery. Fabrizio was dismissed with ignominy, 
 and his unhappy pupil peremptorily forbidden 
 ever to open the fascinating pages of astrology 
 or alchemy again. How far she obeyed the 
 paternal command we will not now inquire. 
 At sixteen she was launched into Queen Mar- 
 garet^s Court_, in all the pride of beauty, wit, 
 and boundless self-confidence. What position 
 could be more dangerous for one whose sense 
 of right and wrong had been prematurely 
 blunted ? 
 
 As they left the flat country, and entered 
 upon Cannock Chase, the spirits of the whole 
 party rose. The swelling outline of its round 
 hills looked beautiful against a pale-blue sky ; 
 brooks of exquisite clearness danced and mur- 
 mured alongside of their track ; and when they 
 began to ascend one of the many knolls before 
 them, groups of silvery birches, bursting into 
 blue-green leaf, pleased and refreshed the eye. 
 Many deer lay hidden among the dead 
 bracken, but rose with glancing horns and 
 startled eye at the traveller's approach. 
 
 The highest part of Cannock Chase is a
 
 OE THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 175 
 
 broad expanse of waste ground_, delightful by- 
 reason of its fresh pure air, and the glorious 
 panorama visible from it. Here Piers Dutton^ 
 with his sisters and Lettice, indulged their 
 frolicksome mood to the utmost, racing with 
 one another, and startling the moor-game from 
 their coverts. Sir Thomas, or the Baron him- 
 self, was arbiter of these races. Even John 
 Dutton caught the mirthful infection, and laid 
 by his court parlance, till the epithet of ^ Uncle/ 
 inadvertently applied to him by Lettice, acted 
 like a stab to his sensitive vanity. Feeling no 
 inclination to be regarded in so patriarchal a 
 light by the merry group, he reined in his horse, 
 and returned to Eglanbie^s side. 
 
 Meanwhile another party of horsemen were 
 crossing the Chase, in the direction of Lichfield. 
 At the head of them rode the Bishop of Chi- 
 chester, with Sir Piers Holforde. The Abbot 
 of E-aunton courteously accompanied his guests 
 for a mile or two, but excused himself from 
 going further on the plea of business. 
 
 ' The Archdeacon of Stafford,^ he said, ^ using 
 the powers entrusted to him, hath taken into 
 custody a family suspected of Lollardry in our 
 neighbourhood. He hath sent the poor caitiffs 
 to me to be examined of their heresy ; and had
 
 176 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 your lordship made longer tarriance witli us, I 
 would have besought your aid in the matter/ 
 
 ' It is, perhaps, for your better security, my 
 Lord Abbot, not to do so,^ replied the Bishop, 
 with a sad smile. ^ Rash as it may appear in 
 me, the unworthiest, youngest, and lowest of 
 prelates, to differ from my brethren, yet can I 
 not reconcile my mind to consigning these poor 
 miscreants to fire or dungeon. I would meet 
 such unobediencers in another manner, that of 
 gentle suasion, and clear and behoveful setting 
 of the truth before them.^ 
 
 ^Tedious work you would find it, my lord,' 
 answered the Abbot, with a sneer, 'in this 
 district, where Lollards lie as thick as ash-keys 
 on the ground in October. Credit me, this 
 pestilent heresy, which infecteth every village, 
 will not be put down by wordy weapons.' 
 
 ' Nay, my Lord Abbot, nay,' rejoined Bishop 
 Reginald ; ' I have spoken oft-times with the 
 wittiest and cunniugest men of thilk said sort, 
 men contrary to the Church, and held as dukes 
 among their Wyclifiist brethren, and they have 
 hearkened to me, and even loved me for that I 
 would patiently and without exprobation hear 
 them out.' 
 
 Such were, almost verbatim, the words in
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 177 
 
 which this good man clothed sentiments far in 
 advance of his age. The annals of the time 
 give us but an incomplete and shadowy account 
 of Bishop Pecock, yet the little we know of 
 him engages both our love and pity. ^ He was/ 
 wrote one of our best theologians,* in the last 
 century^ ' a very honest man and one of the 
 ablest divines of that age. His misfortune 
 was, that he undertook to defend a very cor- 
 rupt church against the Wicliffites, upon a 
 scriptural and rational foot. It was impossible 
 for him to do it but by softening and disguising 
 several principles and practices then prevailing. 
 He made some concessions (to the Reformers) 
 which were very just, but which so corrupt a 
 state of the Church could not bear ; his enemies 
 (some through envy, some through superstitious 
 zeal) took the advantage, and aggravated every- 
 thing to the utmost, and thus a great and good 
 man fell a sacrifice.' 
 
 The catastrophe was delayed two years ; but 
 slander was already at work, and the meshes of 
 the net which was finally to catch him were 
 closing round this kindly and conscientious 
 prelate. His mind was not of the fearless cast 
 
 * Daniel Waterland. 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 that marks reformers; diligent study of the 
 Scriptures had indeed shown him something of 
 the corruptions of his Churchy and of the iniquity 
 of withholding those Scriptures from the people, 
 and he laboured to remove these evils, by for- 
 warding a translation of the Bible, and by ex- 
 posing sundry false miracles lately wrought. 
 But he was no Lollard ; Wicliffe and his fol- 
 lowers had unhappily mixed up politics with 
 their teaching, and openly held that ' clergy and 
 laity might be deprived of their property if they 
 sinned, sin being treason against God/ This, 
 and such like maxims, wherein truth was mixed 
 with error, had spread a levelling spirit abroad^ 
 and were supposed to have spurred on Wat Tyler 
 and his mob to the excesses committed in their 
 famous insurrection. Therefore Bishop Pecock 
 and many other lovers of order, held aloof from 
 the reforming party, and their ' good ' — ' price- 
 less, transcendent good ^ — ^ was evil spoken of.^ 
 
 The Abbot of Eaunton turned to go home, 
 coldly saying — 
 
 ' Have a care, my Lord, lest the Lollard 
 snake you are warming in your bosom should 
 wake and sting you.' 
 
 His departure was a relief to all, and the 
 Bishop and knight rode on in silence ; a silence
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 179 
 
 more sociable than conversation. The refined 
 scholar had more in common with the bluff 
 soldier than with the cold, selfish ecclesiastic, 
 and so he looked up, not ill-pleased, when Sir 
 Piers at last said — 
 
 ' If my ignorance deceive me not, our friend 
 Father Armine thinketh with your lordship in 
 these matters V 
 
 ' I believe so,' replied the Bishop ; ^ there 
 was even a brotherly concord in our opinions 
 since the day we first consorted at Oxford. 
 That was iu the year of salvation 14 15, now 
 forty years agone. The Parliament convoked at 
 Leicester had passed a law that all judges, jus- 
 tices of the peace, sheriffs, and mayors should 
 be sworn to assist in rooting out Lollardry, and 
 bringing its professors to justice. This new 
 law made no small noise in Oxford, and we 
 students of Oriel discoursed thereupon with 
 the freedom of rash youth. I mind me well, 
 how Armine and I were agreed in misliking it.' 
 
 * I love not the firc-and-faggot remedy 
 either,' observed Sir Piers, ' albeit my trade of 
 war doth inure its followers to violence and 
 bloodshed ; I think I would liefer fight my way 
 through ten thousand Frenchmen than see one 
 heretic burn.' 
 
 N 3
 
 180 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 '^ Scarce six weeks after tlie passing of that 
 statute at Leicester/ said the Bishop, ^ a furrier 
 of Loudon, John Claydon, was seized and put 
 in mewe as a relapsed heretic. The poor caitiff 
 could not read, yet were some English books 
 found in his house, and three of his servants 
 bore testimony that their master used to delight 
 in hearing them read. One of them, yclept 
 the Lanterne of Light, was, the Mayor averred, 
 the vilest and most pestilent book that pen of 
 man ever transcribed. The doctors who ex- 
 amined this work deponed that it contained no 
 less than fifteen heresies, and for subscribing to 
 these Claydon suffered death at Smithfield. My 
 brother Armine and I met the procession on its 
 way, and verily I could not choose but weep at 
 the sight of that woful but resolved face. I 
 may have been deceived, for Sathanas doth 
 sometimes put on the garb of an angel of 
 light, but to me it seemed not the face of one 
 about to die in mortal sin. Perchance he 
 marked our glance of pity, for he unfolded his 
 arms, and stretched them towards us, yet more 
 as one beckoning than entreating; something 
 he seemed about to speak, but the yelling 
 multitude urged him on, and we saw him no 
 more. Armine looked steadfastly at me, and
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 181 
 
 said, ' The weapons of our warfare are not 
 fleshly/ ' 
 
 ' In my Oxford days/ rejoined Piers_, ' (days 
 I still hold in dear remembrance) these matters 
 were freely discoursed of in our hearing. Men 
 boldly imputed the growth of Lollardry to the 
 ignorance and evil living of many priests, and 
 to the griping avarice of others, who held as 
 many as a score of benefices together. But I 
 pain you, reverend father^ by this rash dis- 
 course, and will forbear.^ 
 
 * Alas, my son,^ the Bishop replied, ' you 
 speak but truth; and it is the grief of all 
 honest hearts in England that it should be so ; 
 and not in England only, for the plague is 
 widespread. Italy, once fountain-head of light, 
 is now the centre of darkness. Many afl&rm 
 that faith can no longer be found on earth, 
 that Antichrist is at the door, and the day of 
 doom at hand. For myself, I credit not these 
 prophesyings, but look and hope for better 
 things shortly ; there be yet many good Chris- 
 tians scattered over the length and breadth of 
 the land, and many pure and holy men minis- 
 tering in God^s sanctuary. These be the stars 
 that twinkle before day-dawn ; the harbingers, 
 we trust, of a brighter light/
 
 182 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' And^ my Lord/ asked Piers^ now tho- 
 roughly interested in the discussion, * think you 
 that strange art of printing, whereof you 
 and the Abbot discoursed last night, will 
 tend to good ? I have heard my Lord of 
 Worcester speak of it as of the very key of 
 knowledge/ 
 
 ^ The knowledge of good and evil, my son/ 
 answered Bishop Reginald, musingly ; ^ yet 
 mostly of good, I trust, if so be our know- 
 ledge puff us not up. We clerks, and ye 
 also of the lay party, have need to chastise 
 ourselves full well and full virtuously from 
 pride and presumption, or ever we meddle with 
 things divine. I have striven to set forth 
 these truths more fully in divers little books, 
 writ by me in our mother-tongue and in lay- 
 men^s language ; they relate to sundry matters 
 of faith and practice, and be altogether grounded 
 on Holy Scripture. Ho ! Basil !' said the 
 Bishop, turning to a young deacon, who rode 
 behind him, ' find me a copy of the Provoker 
 of Crist ten Men, the fairest and best indited 
 ye have with you, and bring it hither for this 
 Avorshipful knight.' 
 
 The deacon obeyed with great alacrity ; and 
 a small book, beautifully indited on vellum,
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 183 
 
 was presently brought to the Bishop^ and by 
 him presented to Sir Piers. The knight re- 
 ceived it with unaffected gratitude_, and a 
 pleasurable thought of the enjoyment it would 
 afford to Cecily. Bishop Reginald was pleased 
 too, for, to say the truth, if he had a foible, it 
 was that of regarding his ' litel bokes^ with 
 over-much complacency and fondness. We are 
 tempted to smile at the naivete with which he 
 introduces them to his readers as ' quikli and 
 smertli' written ; ' which bokes/ he adds, ' if 
 ye wolen rede diligentli and attend thereto 
 studioseli, and not for to take an hasti smel or 
 smatche in them, and soon laie them aside . . . 
 ye schuUen finde in them great witt and learn- 
 inge of Cristien religion/ But the smile is 
 soon repressed ; and as we read on we are struck 
 with the earnest piety and the strain of Chris- 
 tian gentleness w^hich breathe in every page; 
 and then we heave a sigh for the hapless 
 writer, and grieve that so good a man should 
 have fallen on such dark and perplexing times. 
 
 Sir Piers placed the book reverently in his 
 gypsire, then resumed the conversation, which 
 turned on lighter topics. 
 
 The Bishop talked agreeably of a journey he 
 had just taken in Yorkshire, and a visit he paid
 
 184 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 at Bolton Hall,* the seat of the Pudsey family, 
 and, as he justly remarked, one of the oldest 
 dwelling-houses in England. 
 
 He related how an attack of illness had 
 detained him in those parts, and said that he 
 was returning home by slow journeys, and 
 hoped to reach Chichester by Easter-day. They 
 touched upon politics, cautiously at first, but 
 with less reserve as each discovered that the 
 other^s sentiments coincided with his own. The 
 Bishop, however, spoke of impending events 
 in the peaceful, unworldly spirit that became 
 his calling, expressing his trust that the Duke 
 of York would not press his claim, and that the 
 present Chancellor, Cardinal Bourchier, who 
 was known to be a Yorkist in heart, might 
 mediate successfully between the two parties. 
 
 Piers shook his head despairingly, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 The sun was low in the heavens when they 
 reached an eminence whence Lichfield could 
 first be seen. That beautiful city wore a far 
 sterner aspect then than now. It was encom- 
 passed with a wall, and guarded on the east 
 
 * This visit of Bishop Pecock's is mentioned in the 
 Antiquarian Rejpertory, vol. iii.
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 185 
 
 side by a strong castle, of which not a vestige 
 is left. Both were the work of Bishop Clinton 
 in the twelfth century. The Cathedral, in its 
 prime of beauty and glory, stood forth, dark 
 and still, its three spires shooting up far into 
 the glowing sky. The Close was not, as now, a 
 green and peaceful spot, but strongly fortified 
 with walls and bastions, and defended by a 
 deep ditch on the north and east sides; the 
 south and west were flanked by the Minster 
 Pool, a sheet of water with marshy banks, 
 stretching eastward towards St. Chad's. The 
 white mists of evening were floating over it, and 
 caught something of the rosy hues of sunset. 
 
 A fine causeway and drawbridge, the work 
 of that magnificent prelate Walter de Langton, 
 connected the west-end of the Close with the 
 city, and so did a smaller bridge and postern- 
 gate on the south side. Many substantial 
 houses, several monasteries and hospitals, and 
 two or three church spires were grouped 
 picturesquely round the Minster; but she rose 
 above them all in queenly state, or rather as the 
 very emblem and type of the Church militant 
 here in earth, prepared to resist the attacks of 
 enemies below, but all the while pointing stead- 
 fastly to heaven.
 
 186 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Nor was the stir of life wanting to give 
 cheerfulness to the scene. The Lord of 
 Audeley's party, a gay and gallant train, 
 came in view, and were recognised and soon 
 joined hy the travellers. The sound of church 
 and convent bells, and the voices of comers and 
 goers rose through the air cheerily. Only one 
 mournful and loathsome spectacle, a very usual 
 one then near great towns, disfigured the 
 view ; and that was a row of gibbets, on one of 
 which hung the body of a lately- executed 
 criminal. There was a throng collected at this 
 spot ; and as our party drew near, they could 
 distinguish a squalid-looking peasant, in aleather 
 jerkin and with a red cap drawn low upon his 
 brows, struggling in the hands of some officers 
 of justice. They were endeavouring to drag 
 him to the foot of the gibbet, he clinging with 
 all his might to the stone cross which marked 
 the place of execution. Two monks from the 
 Grey-friars' house in Lichfield were urging 
 him to confess and seek absolution, but their 
 zealous exhortations were unheard in the des- 
 perate struggle for life. A third monk, habited 
 in black, stood by, watching the contest with 
 a mixture of distress, curiosity, and compassion 
 in his face. To him Lord Audeley turned for
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHEIELD. 187 
 
 some account of the disturbance; tlie monk 
 eyed him shrewdly for a moment, then 
 answered, — 
 
 ' So please you, noble sir, this is a male- 
 factor justly doomed to die by the Guild- 
 master of Lichfield and his fellows, who doth 
 yet stubbornly refuse to submit to his sen- 
 tence/ 
 
 ^ What was his offence, I pray you, good 
 brother V inquired Bishop Reginald. 
 
 ' A heinous one, Lord Bishop, for such I 
 perceive you to be ; even the murder of a poor 
 monk who, with me, travelled hither last 
 week from Coventry. We are both from the 
 Abbey of Chester, and I, whom men call ' Don 
 xlenry Francis,' am known to some as the 
 reviver of the Mystery plays writ one hundred 
 years ago by the monk Randall Heguenette, 
 in our mother tongue, but lately much disused. 
 Whitsun plays they be called, being mostly 
 performed at that joyful tide.' 
 
 ' I have heard of you,' said the Bishop ; 
 ^you were thought a bold man for bringing 
 those plays into notice ; but it is ray belief the 
 Church oweth you thanks for so doing. Proceed, 
 friend.' 
 
 ' At Shrovetide/ pursued Don Henry, ' we
 
 188 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 did, with the Bishop's permission, perform one 
 play at Coventry ; and now the townsmen of 
 this place have prayed us to make a part of 
 their Easter pageant. On our way hither, last 
 week, our baggage, consisting of the needful 
 gear for the 'Mystery play/ and sundry 
 precious relics besides, excited the cupidity of 
 this bad fellow. He and others fell upon us 
 unawares ; but we fought stoutly for our gear, 
 specially brother Jerome, who was a man of 
 stalwart frame and brave spirit. Alas, he fell, 
 pierced in the back by those ruflBans. A party 
 of traders coming by saw our distress, and 
 giving chase to the murderers, apprehended this 
 man.' 
 
 ' Come away, my Lord,' said the Baron to 
 Bishop Reginald. 'I read in your face the 
 merciful wish of your heart; but, in sooth, in- 
 tercession for one so flagrantly guilty were 
 weakness, not compassion.' 
 
 ' Most true,' replied the Bishop. 'It were a 
 gross abuse of mine episcopal privilege to beg a 
 life so justly forfeited ; but for the soul of this 
 poor wretch I would fain make some effort. 
 Would that he might be brought to shrift and 
 true penitence !' 
 
 ' His time waxeth short,' observed Don
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 189 
 
 Henry, pointing to the western sky. ^ Our 
 brethren of the Friars Minors have wrestled 
 with him since three of the clock, but to no 
 purpose. At sunset his time of grace doth ex- 
 pire, and much I fear he will depart ^unhouseled, 
 unanealed.^ ' 
 
 In fact the red sun now touched the horizon 
 with his disk ; the culprit's struggles relaxed 
 from mere exhaustion, and his arms dropped 
 hopelessly by his side. Silently and vacantly 
 his eyes wandered round the circle of spec- 
 tators till they rested on the face of young 
 Hamo, then with a low groan and convulsive 
 movement he turned aside as if to hide his 
 shame and misery. 
 
 ^ Holy ]Mary/ cried Hamo, turning pale, 
 ' 'tis Black Skelhorne himself from our green.' 
 
 The lad drew back, but at a sign from Sir 
 Piers approached the criminal, who seemed 
 suddenly desirous of speaking with him. 
 
 ' Hamo,' he said, hoarsely but vehemently, 
 ' an thou lovest thine own mother, let not mine 
 know of this. The word gallows hath an ugly 
 sound; never let her hear it breathed, lad, 
 never, never !' 
 
 He stopped with a strange choking in his 
 throat. The Bishop, who had dismounted and
 
 190 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 drawn near, urged by compassion for that 
 sinful soul, now turned to the Guildmaster's 
 deputy,— 
 
 ' Grant me one boon, good sir,^ he said ; 
 ' even that this poor wretch may live till 
 curfew-toll. Myself will stay with him, and 
 by God^s help urge him to a free confession of 
 his crimes.' 
 
 The words, uttered with mild dignity, 
 sounded like an entreaty, but were felt to be a 
 command. 
 
 Lord Audeley and his party rode on, leaving 
 the Bishop attended by two of his chaplains, 
 and by Basil, the young deacon-secretary 
 already mentioned. Hamo remained behind, 
 and so did Sir Piers, whose thoughts now 
 recurred to the murder of his pursuivant, with 
 redoubled suspicion that Skelhorne had had a 
 share in that deed, what share, he quickly 
 resolved to ascertain from the villain's own 
 lips. 
 
 When Cecily looked back she saw Skelhorne 
 kneeling, with head declined, at the foot of the 
 ' weeping cross.' The Bishop knelt beside 
 him, and in low, earnest tones pleaded alter- 
 nately with the sinner and with God. It would 
 have lightened her heart to know how soon
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 191 
 
 those pleadings, uttered in the dear ' moderns 
 tongue/ broke down all reserve, how fully and 
 freely the torrent of wild, broken confession and 
 self-accusation burst from the sinner's lips. 
 We need not enter into the details of Skelhorne's 
 dark story, nor trace back as he did his first 
 acquaintance with desperate crime, to the day 
 when he became a tool in Sir Roger's hands. 
 A few burning words from Piers made clear 
 to the Bishop the object of this conspiracy,, Sir 
 Roger's long-standing grudge against the 
 Dones, and against the knight himself, his 
 malignant desire to break off the marriage, and 
 the sordid love of money which had prompted 
 him to sell back the dispensation to its owner 
 for fourscore pieces of gold. 
 
 Skelhorne owned to the murder of Lancelyn, 
 and with no attempt at self-defence; but in the 
 plain language of truth told how Sir Roger, 
 maddened by the fear of detection, had urged 
 him to it. This, his first deed of blood, had 
 filled Skelhorne's mind with remorse ; and Sir 
 Roger's artful persuasions, strengthened by a 
 bribe, had easily persuaded him and his accom- 
 plices to fly the country. The Vicar for his 
 own ends spread the report that they had taken 
 refuge in Wales or Lancashire. They had.
 
 192 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 however, joined a gang of outlaws in Cannock 
 Chase ; but the ' vengeance which suffereth not 
 a murderer to live/ had swiftly overtaken them. 
 Skelhorne^s fate we know, and his partner in 
 crime had already been apprehended for some 
 previous offence,, and was awaiting death in the 
 dungeons of Stafford Castle. 
 
 The rapid confession was ended, and its 
 main facts committed to writing by the Deacon 
 Basil. The Bishop then dismissed Sir Piers 
 and Hamo, and remained alone with the cul- 
 prit and his guards. Twilight had crept over 
 earth and sky, and was giving way to dusky 
 evening, when the first curfew-toll was heard. 
 Its clangom' made the air vibrate for awhile, 
 then died away. Bishop Reginald's mournful 
 task was over, and he pursued his way, heav}^ 
 and oppressed in spirit, yet not altogether 
 hopeless, that the absolution spoken on earth 
 might have been ratified in heaven. His was 
 the overflowing, boundless charity which can 
 ' view God^s least and worst with hope to meet 
 again.' 
 
 Lord Audeley and his cavalcade had reached 
 Lichfield without further adventures. Outside 
 the gate John Button dismounted to exchange 
 his ' stout Irish nagge' for the ' great gambaul-
 
 0¥ THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 193 
 
 ding horse he was used to goe through townes 
 upon/ As he rode along he made his spirited 
 animal prance and curvette repeatedly, and by 
 this manoeuvre became the ' observed of all 
 observers' in the unusually -thronged streets 
 and market-place. 
 
 Divers of the neighbouring gentry were to 
 be met coming into their town-houses for the 
 approaching solemnities ; carts laden with pro- 
 visions and furniture, and decked with the first- 
 budding branches to be borne in the procession 
 of the morrow, choked the narrow lanes ; and 
 within the Close stood two or three waggons, 
 containing the stage, dresses, masks, and other 
 paraphernalia requisite for the due performance 
 of Don Randal Heguenette's Mystery play. 
 
 Sir Ranulph, much fatigued by his journey, 
 was carried into the episcopal dwelling; a noble 
 mansion built at the east end of the Close by 
 Walter de Langton. Its hall was more than a 
 hundred feet long, lofty in proportion, and 
 surrounded by a series of pictures representing 
 the principal exploits of King Edward I. The 
 rude but vivid colouring of these storied walls 
 had a fine effect, though their subjects were 
 better suited to the abode of some warlike 
 baron than that of an ambassador of peace. 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 The state chamber^ prepared for Sir B-anulph, 
 was more appropriately fitted up, the walls 
 being covered with beautiful tapestry, repre- 
 senting the life and acts of the prophet Samuel. 
 The bed was hung with arras, a richer and finer 
 kind of tapestry, newly imported from the city 
 of that name in Flanders. A coved recess, 
 with a window looking to the Cathedral, was 
 fitted up as an oratory, and folding-doors at 
 one side of the room opened to the Bishop's 
 private chapel, a small but beautiful edifice in 
 the Early Decorated style. 
 
 Lord Audeley himself conducted Sir Ranulph 
 to his chamber, then left him to the tendance 
 of his granddaughters and Parnel. Cecily fol- 
 lowed him to the door with thanks for the con- 
 sideration which had surrounded her invahd 
 with luxuries, while the Baron's own apartment 
 was bare of all furniture but a truckle-bed, a 
 table, and two or three chairs. 
 
 But he replied somewhat gruffly — 
 ^ Tilly- vally, child ! Dost think these grisly 
 locks need a Venetian mirror to set them in 
 order by ? Go back to thy patient, and see 
 that Mistress Parnel (is not that her name ?) 
 do not overdrench him with her composing 
 or stimulating drinks. Marry, she and my
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 195 
 
 daiigliter Dutton do discourse of nothing but 
 simples, and right simple discourse I hold it 
 to he ! I am glad to see that saucy smile, 
 maiden. Now, farewell; and cocker thy 
 grandfather well, that he may be able to 
 receive a guest I purpose bringing to his bed- 
 side to-night/ 
 
 By the aid of the despised sedatives Sir 
 Ranulph obtained an hour^s calm sleep, and 
 was able to greet the Baron cheerfully when he 
 visited him after compline. 
 
 Lord Audeley half apologized for bringing 
 with him a gentleman-usher, newly attached 
 to his person, — ' a stripling,' he said, ' of great 
 promise, meet for courtly bower or tented field.' 
 
 With a glowing face, Maurice, for it was he, 
 came forward, and bent the knee to his grand- 
 father. Fear and anxiety as to his reception 
 clouded his fair young brow ; and shame was 
 there too, for well he remembered that he had 
 parted from Sir Ranulph in petulant displeasure. 
 Some hasty word, some slight to his boyish 
 dignity, too trifling to be remembered now, had 
 made the hot blood boil, and he had left him 
 in anger. And now he saw him again — wan, 
 wasted, suffering; and, at the sight, scalding 
 tears sprang to his eyes, 
 o 2
 
 196 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 The aged knight raised him, and kissed his 
 forehead with mingled tenderness and pride. 
 The passages between them which smote 
 Maurice^s conscience had vanished from Sir 
 Ranulph^s memory, together with the troubled 
 dreams and occasional delirium that haunted 
 his sick bed. He looked fondly at Maurice, 
 and murmured some lines from the old Ro- 
 maunce of King Home. 
 
 He is fayre, and eke bold, 
 And of fyfteene wynters old ; 
 White as any lilye floure, 
 Rosie red is his coloure ; 
 There is none that is his like 
 Not in all the king his reich.* 
 
 Then clasping the boy^s hand, he added — 
 
 ' Last hope of our ancient house, soon to be 
 its head ! Thou art young, ray son, to have this 
 burden laid upon thee. God make thee strong 
 to bear it — loyal to thy chief — kind to thy 
 sisters, — above all, true to thyself^ 
 
 He paused, much overcome ; but presently 
 said — 
 
 ' I can talk no more to-night, yet is thy pre- 
 sence soothing, my Maurice. Go, fetch thy 
 
 * Kingdom.
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 197 
 
 lute_, dear boy, and sing some of the lays thy 
 mother taught thee/ 
 
 Maurice turned away abruptly, as if in search 
 of his lute. Lettice placed it in his hand, and 
 hung over him, while, with trembling fingers 
 and face averted from the bright burning tapers, 
 he ran through a low prelude. Then he sang 
 a ballad, of which the first words are these : — 
 
 synge unto mie roundelaie, 
 
 drop the bryny tear with me; 
 Daunce ne moe at hallidaye, 
 Lyke a running river bee ! 
 My love is deade, 
 Gone to his death bedde, 
 All under the willow tree. 
 
 Sweet his tongue as throstle's note, 
 Quick in dance as thought can be ; 
 
 Deft his tabor, cudgelle stoute, 
 Oh ! he lies by the willow tree ! 
 My love is deade, &c. 
 
 * The lay is sweet,' said Sir Ranulph, ' and 
 mindeth me of days gone by ; yet is it of earth 
 — and I, methinks, am warned to trim my 
 wings for another sphere.' 
 
 ^ Brother,' whispered Letitia, ' sing our 
 mother's evening hymn.' 
 
 ' Alas ! Lettice, I have forgotten it,' said
 
 1D8 FOK AND AGAINST. 
 
 the boy, colouring ; ' such lays be never 
 heard at Shene save when the children of 
 the chapel sing to King Henry. But, now, 
 I bethink me, there is the song of Our Lady, 
 written by one Lydgate, a monk of Bury, and 
 much delighted in by our King's father, of 
 glorious memory. I will strive to recal it.^ 
 
 Sir Ranulph listened while Maurice chanted 
 in slow and measured strains Lydgate's grace- 
 ful lines to the Blessed Virgin. They ended 
 thus— 
 
 Now fayrest starre, O starre of starrys all, 
 Whose light to see the angels do delyte, 
 
 So let the gold-dewe of thy grace yfall 
 
 Into my breste, lyke scales fayre and white. 
 
 Me to inspire 
 
 As he sang the darkness without grew 
 thicker. Flickering clouds obscured the 
 young moon ; but, as if in answer to Maurice's 
 voice, one constellation after another came 
 sparkling out, clustering as it were round the 
 dark outline of the slender spires. Orion 
 and Spica Virginis glittered with peculiar 
 splendour over the south-east pinnacles of the 
 cathedral ; and now a small door in the north 
 transept opened, and a little band of choir boys 
 came forth, and wended their way two and two
 
 OF THE JOURNEY TO LICHFIELD. 199 
 
 towards their dormitory at the west end of the 
 Close. As they went they sang thus : — 
 
 JesUjfor Thy mucnele might, 
 
 Give us of Thy grace, 
 That we moe both day and night 
 
 Thinken of Thy face. 
 In mine heart it doth me good 
 When y think on Jesu's blood 
 
 That ran dowoi His syde ; 
 From His harte down to His foote 
 For lis He shedde His hartis bloode. 
 
 His woundes were so wide. 
 
 Rude as those lines were (and they date 
 among the oldest attempts at versification in 
 our language), they brought a glow of comfort 
 to the spirit of the sick man. With a tran- 
 quil smile he dismissed his children and friends. 
 They retired, Lord Audeley and Sir Piers, to an 
 anxious conference with Bishop Reginald and 
 the Guildmaster, touching Skelhorne's dis- 
 closures; the remaining inmates of the palace, to 
 sleep.
 
 200 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF THE JOUST. 
 
 Say who thou art 
 And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms ? 
 Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel ; 
 Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath, 
 And so defend thee Heaven, and thy valour ! 
 
 Richard II. 
 With dirge in marriage. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 LONG before sunrise ou Palm Sunday there 
 was a sound of voices and busy feet in the 
 old town, peasants and their families flocking 
 in, arrayed in holiday garb, and pilgrims going 
 to and fro between the city and the neighbour- 
 ing church and fountain of Stowe, dedicated 
 to St. Chad. The Close lay in aristocratic 
 repose and silence an hour or two later, then 
 woke to enjoy the sweet influences of a lovely 
 spring morning. At eight o^clock the west 
 gate was opened, the portcullis raised, and a 
 band of priests and choristers issued forth from 
 the Cathedral. They bore aloft a crucifix and
 
 OF THE JOUST. 201 
 
 a silver chest of relics^ and were accompanied 
 by a troop of incense bearers, young boys clad 
 in white. 
 
 The Guild master and his brethren, in their 
 robes of office, joined the procession as it moved 
 along the street. So did a number of the 
 townspeople, substantial burghers in cloth 
 robes bordered with fur, and their wives trimly 
 arrayed with black silk hoods and mantles 
 partly concealing their snowy partlets, and the 
 bunch of keys hangiug at their girdles. Each 
 carried a bough in his or her hand, to represent 
 the palm-branches of Judea. 
 
 Every town, probably every parish, in England 
 had its Palm-Sunday procession in those days ; 
 but this at Lichfield was unusually numerous 
 and imposing, from the number of strangers 
 who passed that way in travelling between 
 London and the North. As it wound by the 
 chief hostel of the place, a house with far pro- 
 jecting gables overhanging the narrow street, 
 some young gallants who were lounging at the 
 door came forward and joined its ranks. The 
 roving looks and loud whispers of two or three 
 of them showed that curiosity rather than 
 piety impelled them. 
 
 But the most distinguished of the number
 
 202 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 was a youug gentleman who kept aloof from 
 the rest, and accepted with graceful courtesy 
 the green branch offered him by a chorister. 
 He was slight, fair, and rather Italian than 
 English in dress and deportment. The absence 
 of beard and moustache made him look younger 
 than eight-and-twenty, his real age. He wore 
 no armour, nor any weapon except a gold-hilted 
 dagger of the richest Florentine workmanship. 
 Besides the Order of the Garter, he wore the 
 gold Collar of SS ; a badge first conferred, it 
 is said, by Henry V. after the battle of Agin- 
 court, and still worn by some of our great 
 functionaries.* He w^alked alone immediately 
 after the relic-bearers, and three of his servants, 
 olive-complexioned Italians, followed him. His 
 appearance excited much remark, to which, 
 however, he seemed entirely indifferent. But 
 when the procession re-entered the Close, he 
 looked up with evident admiration at the 
 glorious west front of the Minster, and its 
 richly-sculptured doorway. Near the draw- 
 bridge stood a group ready to fall in with the 
 
 * The letter S, of a succession of which linked to- 
 gether the collar is composed, is supposed by some to 
 stand for ' Souverayne,' the favourite motto of Henry IV.
 
 OF THE JOUST. 203 
 
 procession. Bishop Reginald, arrayed in 
 canonicals, and Lord Audeley, in full armour, 
 but bare-headed, were there; the Dutton 
 brothers, too, and Sir Piers. These last had 
 not been in bed all night, having ridden to- 
 gether to Stafford Castle to examine Skelhorne's 
 accomplice touching the murder of Lancelyn. 
 They had only just returned in time to don 
 their holiday attire, and join the throng of 
 worshippers. Lady Dutton, her son and 
 daughters, Eglanbie, and Sir Ranulph's three 
 grandchildren completed the band. And now all 
 poured into the nave of the Cathedral, which 
 looked glorious with the morning rays stream- 
 ing in through the stained windows of its apse. 
 They lighted up the vaulted stone roof and the 
 countless slender pillars which support it, and 
 the pavement of alternate squares of white 
 marble aud cannel coal, which was then among 
 the glories of the Minster. So grand was the 
 effect, that the highborn stranger we have 
 described drew aside to gaze upon it, and in 
 so doing he met the eye of Sir Piers, and a 
 glance of kindly recognition passed between 
 them. 
 
 Now the Dean and a body of clergy came 
 forward to meet the procession, chanting, as the
 
 204 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 custom was, ' Lo, tliy Kyuge milde and meke 
 cometli to thee;^ and all the people fell on 
 their knees, singing or saying, or in both man- 
 ners_, ^ Hail Thou whom the people of the Jews 
 meeting, confessed to be Jesus of Nazareth/ 
 
 So concluded this part of the ceremony. It 
 was followed by the celebration of the mass, 
 during which a few knelt on devoutly ; but the 
 most part considering themselves merely spec- 
 tators, stood up and greeted, or talked with 
 their friends with little restraint. 
 
 Such broken snatches of conversation as 
 these might be heard — 
 
 ' How daintily is our Guildmistress appareled 
 this day ! Mark you the fair embroidery on 
 her collar, and yon jewelled brooch she wears 
 in it, as broad as the boss of a buckler !' 
 
 ' And mark you, neighbour,^ was the reply, 
 ' her topknot of silk, set full high, and yon 
 purse of cloth of gold at her girdle ! ^Tis 
 a pretty poplette and a gay, and those scarlet 
 hosen beseem her tiny ankles well !' 
 
 ' Ay, ay,^ rejoined the neighbour ; ' and she 
 can foot it featly in the dance, too, while the 
 poor Guildmaster sitteth at home and sippeth 
 his posset ! Truly he must rue the day 
 when he wed yon black-eyed, weasel-waisted
 
 OF THE JOUST. 205 
 
 wench, a score and a half years younger than 
 himself/ 
 
 ' Good Joyce/ said Giles the armourer, to 
 a pale widow, who leaned wearily against one 
 of the columns, ' how sweetly thy boy Nicholas 
 singeth ! that treble of his is tuneable and 
 shrill as the note of the throstle in March V 
 
 The gratified mother looked first at her 
 white-robed boy, then at the kind-hearted 
 armourer, with fond delight. 
 
 ''Ah, Master Giles, he hath a sweet pipe 
 and a good skill in music, specially in plain 
 chant ; but, alack, music is not bread, and oft- 
 times he goeth hungry to bed ! We must 
 find some more profitable calling for him !' 
 
 * He hath the makings of a cunning clerk 
 about him,^ observed Master Giles ; ' could not 
 his uncle, the priest at Lutterworth, befriend 
 him?^ 
 
 ' Alas, no V replied the widow ; ^ he saith 
 there be no good livings to be had now-a-days ; 
 they be all given away to unlearned men for 
 gold, or else to foreigners, thrust upon us by 
 the Pope/ 
 
 'Verily,^ said Master Giles, 'he speaketh 
 true ; it is no rare sight now to see clerks of 
 good name and fame begging an alms about
 
 206 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 the country. Two of them came to my door 
 in grievous plight^ awhile back. They bare with 
 them certificates writ by the Chancellor of 
 Oxford to their good breeding and learning. 
 With these they had asked an alms at the 
 castle of a great lord, whose name ^twere best 
 conceal. He, being engaged in a drunken 
 revel, sent for them to make him sport, and 
 bade them write some rhymes in his honour. 
 They demurred, as honest men well might, 
 whereat he waxed wroth, and, dragging them 
 to the castle well, thrust them into the buckets 
 thereof, and caused them to be lowered, first 
 one, then the other, into the water, until the 
 couplets were devised.' 
 
 ' Ah, well-a-day,' sighed the widow ; ' my 
 boy shall not be a clerk. Well, God amend 
 all, for there is great need !' 
 
 ' I meant not to dishearten ye, good mother,' 
 said Master Giles ; ' there's the attorney's or 
 the scrivener's trade open to a lad of parts ; 
 and if all trades fail, send him to me — there be 
 worse callings than an armourer's, and if men 
 say true, weapons will be needed soon ; many an 
 esquire of name hath sent me his hauberk already 
 to break up into a newer fashion of armour.' 
 
 So saying, he moved away, after thrusting a
 
 OF THE JOUST. 207 
 
 demi-salut* into the widow's hand. Before she 
 had recovered her surprise, he was at the other 
 side of the nave, discussing with some of his 
 own craft the fashion of Lord Audelev's 
 corslet, and the length of his pole-axe. 
 
 That nobleman, true to his notions of dis- 
 cipline, in church as on the battle-field, neither 
 spoke nor moved till mass was said. Then, 
 coming forth through the exquisitely-sculp- 
 tured north doorway, he returned with a 
 cordial ^ God save you, friends,' the greetings 
 of many bystanders. It was true of him, as of 
 his great rival the king-making Warwick, that 
 'full fraught was he with good qualities, right 
 excellent and manie; all which a certain 
 natural grace did so far forth recommend, 
 that with high and low he was held in 
 singular favour and good liking.' Seeing the 
 noble stranger in conference with Sir Piers, 
 the Baron accosted him with a hearty invitation 
 to the banquet they were about to sit down to. 
 
 ' My Lord of Worcester,' he added, ' I am 
 fain to see you here. You and I have met 
 full seldom; but, in your noble father, the 
 Lord Tiptoft's day, 'twas otherwise. Many a 
 
 * A silver coin of that day.
 
 208 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 time and oft have we two sat together^ as triers 
 of petitions in the House of Peers, and his 
 calmer judgment was ever a stay to mine ; say, 
 by what chance come you hither V 
 
 "^ It is a good and happy chance,' replied 
 Lord Worcester, '^that procureth me this 
 meeting with my father's friend. I am from 
 Derbyshire, my Lord, where I have some 
 patrimonial estates that needed inspection, ere 
 my purposed departure from England.' 
 
 ^ I grieve to hear of such a purpose,' said 
 the Baron, ^ especially at this time of straitness 
 and peril ; but perchance, my Lord, you go 
 not further than the ^narrow seas,' whereof you 
 have been the brave and vigilant guardian this 
 last year and a half.' 
 
 ' My duty there is expired,' replied Lord 
 Worcester ; ' and sooth to say, I would have 
 resigned, had it not. Meseems it is high time 
 to do so when the Duke of Somerset, England's 
 foe and mine, is preferred to the captainship of 
 Calais, and Richard of York ignominiously 
 thrust out of it.' 
 
 ^ Is that so ?' exclaimed Lord Audeley. 
 ' Somerset, Captain of Calais ? Somerset, who 
 lost us Normandy, entrusted with the key of 
 that most precious jewel of the Crown ? Speak
 
 OF THE JOUST. 209 
 
 again, Jolin Tiptoft ; say it is impossible — 
 mere moonstruck madness '/ 
 
 ^ Myself heard it proclaimed by royal ordon- 
 nance/ replied the Earl ; ' and methought the 
 words thrilled through mine ear like the first 
 trumpet-call to battle ; great wrath and search- 
 ings of heart did they cause among the citizens 
 of London, who already haug more to Richard 
 of York than to the King/ 
 
 ' Why, His but the other day,^ observed Sir 
 Piers to the Bishop, ' that the Duke of York 
 had a grant of Calais made to him under Privy 
 Seal, and that for seven years; this is the 
 Queen's doing/ 
 
 The good prelate shook his head, ^ Quem 
 Deus vult perdere, prius dementat,' said he, 
 mournfully. 
 
 Lord Audeley was much perturbed, and the 
 indignation which his good, old-fashioned 
 loyalty suffered him not to express, found 
 itself another channel, and flowed forth like a 
 stream of lava. 
 
 ' Is this the time you choose for foreign 
 travel V he said, turning to the Earl of Worces- 
 ter. ^ You, my lord, on whom our King hath 
 heaped honours, possessions, offices — nay, that 
 most weighty of charges, the High Treasurer- 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 FOE AND AGAINST. 
 
 ship of this realm ; truly, it were ill-done to 
 forsake him now, for England's last hope of 
 cure departs with her best and noblest sons/ 
 
 Lord Worcester, though calm by nature, 
 and not easily roused to anger, was stung by 
 this taunt, and might have answered warmly, 
 but Sir Piers said in his ear, ^ Answer him 
 gently; if he speak in bitterness, it is not 
 against you; his eldest son hath even now 
 plucked the White Rose of York/ 
 
 The Earl replied calmly to Lord Audeley — 
 
 ' His Majesty hath indeed been gracious 
 beyond my deserts, and beyond my desires 
 also; Heaven knoweth I lay these offices 
 down with more joy than ever I took them up. 
 Dearer to me the banks of Isis and its 
 shading elms than all the glitter of courts ; 
 and since, even in those sacred cloisters, peace 
 no longer may be found, I seek it in the 
 learned halls of Padua and Rome/ 
 
 ' Strange,' said the Baron, ^\\ih. restored 
 serenity, ' that book-lore should hold such 
 empire over the mind ; yet so it is, and my 
 clerkly son Edmund loveth his prebendal 
 cloister at York better than tilt or tournament. 
 But we are observed; hence, gentles all, and 
 let us to dinner with what appetite we may.^
 
 OF THE JOUST. 211 
 
 The guests obeyed the hospitable summons, 
 Lord Worcester first beckoning two of his 
 servants_, and dispatching them to the hostel 
 with orders to fetch him a certain casket. 
 With a quick glance and ' Subito_, Eccellenza/ 
 they vanished ; but ere the guests had finished 
 washing their hands in the silver basins of 
 perfumed water prepared for them^ they re- 
 turned, and presented the casket to their 
 master. He unlocked it, and laid before Sir 
 Piers, with a look of triumph, the long-wished- 
 for parchment, containing a permission for his 
 marriage. 
 
 ^ See, my Piers/ said the Earl, ' the study 
 of Virgihus and Strabo hath not made me 
 forgetful of thy matters. I have haunted the 
 Court of Arches night and morning, till the 
 poor dean was glad to rid him of me at any 
 cost; nay, I have besieged your Bishop and 
 the Cardinal Primate himself till they began 
 to look askance at me j lo, here is the happy 
 fruit of so much importunity V 
 
 The knight wrung his friend^s hand in silent 
 gratitude, and Lord Worcester continued — 
 
 ^ Now, I pray thee, bring me to speech of 
 thy affianced wife; St. Chad forgive me if 
 mine eyes wandered sometimes from his 
 p 2
 
 212 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 jewelled shrine in the minster to seek her 
 out ! So well hadst thou portrayed her to 
 me. Piers, that I knew her at once among the 
 kneeling throng. With the palm-b ranch from 
 Nazareth in her hand, and the snowy veil over 
 her brow, she looked like one of those heavenly 
 messengers whom the divine limner Angelico 
 of Fiesole doth paint — kneeling as he paints !' 
 
 ^ She Cometh even now,' said Sir Piers, as 
 Cecily was seen running noiselessly down the 
 broad staircase from her grandfather's chamber. 
 She paused at his call, and with modest grace 
 received the greetings of his friend, and suf- 
 fered Lord Worcester to lead her to her place 
 in the banqueting-hall. 
 
 ' We were even now,' he said, ' speaking of 
 the most marvellous painter the world ever 
 saw, brother John of Fiesole, rightly named 
 the Angelic. When Piers and I were together 
 in Rome, two years since, he was by command 
 of Pope Nicholas adorning his private chapel 
 with most exquisite paintings. Often did we 
 two sit watching his pencil, and deem it dipped 
 in the very hues of heaven.' 
 
 ' It is so dipped,' said Cecily, ' if report 
 speak true; for I have heard that he ever 
 beginneth and endeth his work with prayer.'
 
 OF THE JOUST. 213 
 
 Lord Worcester smiled at her enthusiasm. 
 
 'Would you could see him^ lady^ with his 
 benign and venerable aspect^ making stem self- 
 denial appear lovely ; the praise of man affects 
 him not, and he hath refused the pastoral 
 crozier of Florence, and all other dignities, that 
 he may promote the glory of God by his own 
 divine art/ 
 
 So they talked, Cecily growing more bright 
 and eager each moment; her only interruption 
 was an occasional glance towards Maurice, who 
 was performing his new duties of gentleman- 
 usher, and marshalling the little band of yeomen- 
 ushers placed under his control, to the Lady of 
 Dutton^s perfect satisfaction. 
 
 ' Italy is a land of marvels, a heaven on 
 earth to such as delight in all things beautiful,' 
 resumed Lord Worcester ; ' if the sublime and 
 fearful have charms for you, lady, there is the 
 Campo Santo of Pisa, a burying-place for the 
 faithful. Its very earth is hallowed soil from 
 Palestine, and round it be awful pictures of the 
 ' Day of Doom,' painted by Andrea di Orcagna, 
 the Dante, to my thinking, as Fra Angelico is 
 the Petrarch, of his art.' 
 
 ' Oh, I have pondered these things from a 
 child,' said Cecily. ' My dearest mother so-
 
 214 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 journed at fair Florence in her youth, and 
 taught me to love Italy, its clear skies, its blue 
 and tideless sea, its shores fringed with myrtle 
 and orange-groves ; oft I dream of them with 
 thirsty heart/ 
 
 The man of the world was both touched and 
 amused by these guileless revelations ; but he 
 said, earnestly — 
 
 '^Then, lady, add your influence to mine, 
 with Sir Piers, and he will not say you nay ; 
 urge him to quit for a few short years this 
 island of fogs and storms, of civil broils and 
 divided allegiance ; let him bring you to Italy ; 
 there, amid all that is precious, of art and 
 nature, and congenial friendships, you shall own 
 that your brightest dreams fell short of the 
 truth.' 
 
 '^My lord,' Cecily began, with faltering 
 voice and heightened colour; but the Earl 
 continued — 
 
 ' Tell him the dark waters of ruin wiU soon 
 overflow this land, and then where shall his 
 dove find a rest for the sole of her foot so safe 
 as the olive-groves of Italy ? Say, gentle Cecily, 
 hath the thought no delights for you ?' 
 
 ' It is infinitely delightful,' she replied, 
 eagerly ; but the colour faded as she spoke, and
 
 OF THE JOUST. 215 
 
 with changed expression, and a look of serious 
 resolve, she said — 
 
 ' I know his mind^ my lord, on this sub- 
 ject, and it is made up ; I durst not, if I would, 
 strive to shake him; for, as a son loveth his 
 mother, so doth Piers his country. Much 
 hath he pondered the part that he ought to take 
 in the forthcoming struggle, and full well I 
 know he would deem it a sin to shrink there- 
 from/ 
 
 ^ And your safety, your peace, shall these be 
 unregarded by him V asked Lord Worcester. 
 
 ^ God and His angels will care for them,' she 
 answered ; ' and I too have ties at home ; — oh, 
 how precious ! Out upon me that I could for 
 one instant forget them V 
 
 She saw him wince_, and could not fully 
 divine why ; but added, with a smile — 
 
 ^'Twere best speak no more on this 
 matter. It was but yesterday I read of an 
 Arabian prince who was journeying towards 
 Damascus. As he drew near, and saw the 
 surpassing beauty and glory of the city, his 
 soul was at first ravished within him; but 
 when he looked again, he wept, and said, 
 ^ Let us turn back, for it is not granted to 
 mortal man to enjoy more than one Paradise/
 
 216 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 So, perchance^ Piers miglit say to us^ were we 
 to play the part of tempters/ 
 
 Lord Worcester rose abruptly. 
 
 ' The bleakest path/ he said, ' is Paradise to 
 him who hath an angel at his side/ 
 
 So their discourse ended. The Bishop and 
 Lord Audeley_, meanwhile_, were engaged in con- 
 versation with Sir Piers and the Buttons, touch- 
 ing their midnight ride to Stafford, and its 
 results. The deputy guildra aster had accom- 
 panied them, and obtained leave to examine the 
 prisoner, whose witness agreed on every point 
 with that of Skelhorne. There could no longer 
 exist a doubt of Sir Roger's guilt, and now the 
 next consideration was, how to deal with him. 
 The guildmaster, who was old and timid_, 
 having heard from his deputy the state of 
 affairs, hastened to solicit an interview with 
 Lord Audeley, and earnestly prayed that the 
 matter might be hushed up. 
 
 This the Baron indignantly refused to sanc- 
 tion; nor was the meek Bishop Reginald less 
 decided as to the duty of prosecuting so fla- 
 grant a criminal. He even undertook to lay 
 the matter in a day or two before the Bishop 
 of Lichfield and Coventry, whose diocese, be 
 it remembered, then included the county of
 
 or THE JOUST. 217 
 
 Chester. The Cardinal Primate was^ it was 
 well-known^ a zealous advocate for Church 
 reform, and he, Lord Audeley, confidently 
 hoped, would lend a helping hand towards the 
 punishment, or at least the expulsion, of the 
 offender. The discussion was brief but satis- 
 factory, and Piers undertook to write all 
 needful particulars respecting it to Sir Armine, 
 and to despatch the letter next day by the 
 hand of Hal Nixon, whose secrecy he could 
 entirely depend upon. The guildmaster, find- 
 ing himself thus overruled, was fain to console 
 himself with fierce attacks on the venison 
 pasty, and with plentiful potations of Lord 
 Audeley's excellent sack. 
 
 None of these harassing discussions reached 
 Sir E-anulph^s ears. His last anxiety respect- 
 ing his grandchildren's future prospects had 
 been set at rest by Letitia's acceptance of the 
 post offered her in the Queen's nursery, and by 
 Lady Kynderton's written promise of watching 
 over her as she would over her own child. 
 And henceforward his undivided thoughts were 
 fixed on God and on the unseen awful state, 
 inscrutable to the eye of sense, yet near to 
 every one of us. The absence of Sir Armine 
 was a severe loss to him at this time; for the
 
 218 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 confessor into whose hands he fell was nar- 
 row-minded and severe, bigoted as to out- 
 ward observances, but unskilled to minister 
 to a mind ill at ease. His presence had a 
 visible effect in depressing the aged knight, 
 and many times Cecily and Lettice wept to 
 see that voluntary penances, the scourge, the 
 haircloth shirt, the broken sleep, were added 
 to his burden of pain and infirmity. 
 
 'Forgive me, dear father,^ Cecily wrote to 
 Sir Armine ; ' you have ofttimes told me not 
 to lean on man, nor on man's wit and wisdom, 
 and truly I do strive to stay myself on God 
 alone, and commit my dear grandfather to 
 Him ; yet, think I sometimes, if you were here, 
 his vexed soul might find rest ; if that may not 
 be, I beseech you slack not your intercessions 
 for him. I misgive me our Easter will not be 
 a joyful one; but would fain have others re- 
 joice, and therefore enclose a golden angel,* 
 praying you distribute it among the poor lepers 
 in the spital ; 'twill add something to their 
 dinner, poor caitiffs !' 
 
 It might add something to Cecily's weari- 
 ness of spirit during the ensuing week that she 
 
 * A coin worth 6s. 80?. in the first year of Henry YI.
 
 OF THE JOUST. 219 
 
 saw little or nothing of Sir Piers. He was 
 engaged in visiting, and, according to the Duke 
 of York^s instructions, ^ sounding^ such of the 
 Staffordshire gentlemen as were thought to be 
 well affected to his cause. They were not nu- 
 merous, but very stanch, and at this moment 
 in a state of increased irritation against Queen 
 Margaret and her supporters, from having heard 
 of the fresh honours heaped on the Duke of 
 Somerset. They justly regarded these as so 
 many public insults to Richard of York, and 
 longed that he should come forward and openly 
 assert his claim to the throne. They were, 
 therefore, somewhat disappointed to learn from 
 Sir Piers that he had no intention of doing this, 
 but merely assembled an army to secure his 
 personal safety, and intimidate the Queen into 
 a change of ministers. Moderation, in those 
 rude days, was a virtue that gained its possessor 
 little credit; and scarcely one in ten of the 
 Duke's friends honoured him as he deserved for 
 his horror of bloodshed, and deep reverence to- 
 wards his anointed King. Sir Piers was of 
 great use in setting his master's views in their 
 true light, and in putting the Yorkist gentlemen 
 in communication with one another. It was 
 determined that each should collect and arm his
 
 220 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 retainers^ and be ready at the shortest notice 
 to join the Duke either at Wigmore or any- 
 other place he should appoint. The knight 
 spent two days at the Halsteds, occupied in 
 ordering his affairs and preparing for the worst ; 
 and it was not till late on ]\Iaundy Thursday 
 that he was able to return to Lichfield. 
 
 As he rode through the town he could not 
 but observe that all eyes were upon him^ and 
 that his appearance was hailed with general 
 satisfaction. Some remarks that came to his 
 ear, and the sight of many Trowtbecke men-at- 
 arms hanging about the streets and swarming 
 round the hostel where he and his followers 
 also put up, made it clear that the intended 
 joust between him and Adam de Trowtbecke 
 had been publicly announced. He was there- 
 fore not surprised, on alighting at the palace, 
 to find his rival added to the number of Lord 
 Audeley's guests at supper. His father^ Sir 
 William, a bluff, burly personage^ was also 
 there. Before him stood the baron^s magnifi- 
 cent peg-tankard (so called from the pegs in- 
 side it^ measuring half a pint each) : it was 
 made of massive silver, and supported by twelve 
 figures of the Apostles, of exquisite workman- 
 ship : the lid was richly chased, and surmounted
 
 OF THE JOUST. 221 
 
 by a representation of St. George and the 
 Dragon. When filled, as now, to the brim 
 with foaming ale, it taxed the strength of 
 Maurice's young arm to lift it. He was in 
 the act of doing so to replenish Sir William's 
 goblet, the jovial old chamberlain expatiating 
 meanwhile on the amber-like clearness of the 
 ale, and exalting its virtues as eloquently as 
 Falstaff was supposed to have done those of 
 sack forty years before. But he broke off this 
 harangue on Sir Piers' entrance, a circum- 
 stance of which his son's flashing eye and rising 
 colour informed him speedily. Setting down 
 the goblet, the old knight eyed him of the 
 'greyhound' attentively ; apparently the result 
 of the scrutiny was satisfactory, for he nodded 
 to the baron, then, with stentorian strength of 
 lungs and huge out-stretched hand, called Sir 
 Piers to him. 
 
 'I' faith, a proper man — a proper, goodly 
 man !' he said, complacently. ' I have heard 
 of your quarrel with my son, sir, and am come 
 thus far to see it voided ! If he can vanquish 
 you, 'twill be a jewel in his cap, sir — a jewel 
 of no mean price ; nay, frown not, son Adam, 
 I will have no ill blood betwixt two lads of 
 mettle.'
 
 222 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Heaven knows, Sir William/ said the 
 Knight of Holforde, ' I bear no grudge towards 
 this young gentleman. Not against me, bnt 
 against the noble Duke to whom I owe my 
 spurs, hath he uttered words of railing; and 
 the Lord of Audeley, before whom I laid the 
 matter, doth opine, as all honourable men must 
 do, that such words cannot be passed by un- 
 atoned.^ 
 
 ' Certes they cannot,^ cried the baron ; 
 ' and if thou wert capable of drawing back from 
 such a quarrel. Piers, I would chop off thy 
 spurs myself. But let nought be done in 
 malice. We ourselves. Sir William, will see 
 the lists erected in the market-place ; I have 
 paced it already, and find there is ample space 
 and verge enough for the combat/ 
 
 ^ Good, good,' said the chamberlain, rubbing 
 his hands. ' 'Twill bring our young days 
 back, my lord, to see a joust once more; 
 ay, thou mayst smile, young gentleman-usher, 
 but I was once lithe and slim as a willow-wand 
 (come, fill my goblet, youngster), and could 
 take part in a joust, (who would set the best wine 
 Vernon ever grew against such ale as this ?) ay, 
 and come off victor, too. 'Twas at the siege 
 of ]Melun, Sir Piers ; your father and I fought
 
 OF THE JOUST. 223 
 
 side by side against that beleaguered town. The 
 besieged were obstinate and would not yield; so 
 King Harry of Agincourt bade us undermine the 
 walls. We did so, but the foe discovered our in- 
 tent and balked it. One day we heard a noise, as 
 of rats burrowing i^ the earth, and lo, a stroke 
 of my pickaxe — for esquire and serf worked 
 together there — brought down the thin wall of 
 earth between us, and we stood face to face 
 with the Frenchmeu ! We stared at one an- 
 other a space, by the light of our torches ; then, 
 how the merry-hearted varlets made the vault 
 ring with laughter at our begrimed faces and 
 soiled condition ! From that day forward that 
 dark den became a sort of lists, and many 
 knightly feats of arms were performed there. 
 King Hal himself dared the Duke of Burgundy 
 to single combat, and actually did break a 
 lance with the Sieur de Barbazan. All was 
 done in courtesy, and these jousts were publicly 
 proclaimed to the armies by all the bells in 
 Melun ringing. Your father. Sir Piers, was 
 greatly commended by King Hal for hi& skill 
 in jousting; but, alas! when the poor French- 
 men came to be starving, and scant measure of 
 horseflesh was all their food, their hands waxed 
 weak, and the strife unequal.^
 
 224 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 So they talked, of tilts and tournaments, of 
 the recent joust of Charlemagne's tree, in 
 which one Burgundian gentleman had dared 
 every knight in every court of Christendom to 
 break a lance with him, and of the noble- 
 hearted Chevalier Jacques de Lalaing, who wan- 
 dered through France, Spain, Portugal, and 
 Scotland in search of heroic adventures, and 
 whose recent death had made a gap in the 
 ranks of chivalry never to be replaced. 
 
 Maurice and Letitia felt their Burgundian 
 blood stir within them at these recitals ; and 
 the latter treasured them up for the benefit of 
 Cecily, whom duty and inclination alike kept 
 at her grandfather's side. 
 
 The party was broken up by Lord Audeley 
 at an earlier hour than altogether suited the 
 convivial chamberlain. The morrow. Good 
 Friday, was a day of solemn stillness, church 
 bells and organs being alike mute, and no 
 sound heard through the cathedral but the aw- 
 ful monotonous tones of the Miserere and the 
 rustle of pilgrims' garments, as they painfully 
 dragged themselves on their -knees to the feet 
 of a gigantic crucifix set up in the nave. The 
 soothing influences of the day —
 
 OF THE JOUST. 225 
 
 When Christ of purple did His banner sprede 
 On Calvarye, abroad upon the Koode, 
 To save mankynde, 
 
 reached even to Sir Ranulph on his sick bed, 
 and were a meet prelude to the holy calm of 
 Easter-eve. Before sunrise on Easter-day the 
 whole city was moved, and came forth in fes- 
 tive garb for the services of the forenoon. In 
 the afternoon it had been announced that, * for 
 the increase of good devotion and holsome 
 doctrin, a play, and declaration of divers 
 storyes in the Bible, beginning with the Fall of 
 Lucifer and ending with the Day of Boom, 
 should be rehearsed and played, at the cost of 
 the crafts of the city.' Hours before the time, 
 an immense crowd had collected outside the 
 west gate of the Close, where, for the conve- 
 nience of the clerks and monks attached to the 
 minster, Don Henry had caused his stage to 
 be prepared. This stage, or pageant, as it 
 was called, was ' a tall building, with a higher 
 and lower room, open on all sides, and set 
 upon four wheels,' so as to be drawn easily 
 from place to place. As three o'clock struck, 
 the Lord of Audeley and his friends having 
 taken their places on a kind of balcony over 
 the west gate, the play began. It was acted 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 by the tradesmen of the city, under Don Henry^s 
 superintendence^ and consisted of short dia- 
 logues or conversations in the rudest imaginable 
 verse, supposed to be carried on by Scriptural 
 personages. The actors, however, made no 
 attempt to carry out the illusion by imitating 
 Eastern dress or scenery, Abraham, Balak, and 
 King Herod, who figured in the first day\s 
 pageant, being all arrayed in parti-coloured 
 surcoats with slashed sleeves and peaked shoes ; 
 and Sarah and Rebecca coming forth in horned 
 head-gear and satin ' court-pies/* 
 
 The dialogues were freely interlarded with 
 remarks addressed to the audience and re- 
 sponded to by them. A copy of them is still 
 preserved in the British Museum, and can- 
 not be perused without astonishment at the 
 mixture they present of solemn scriptural truth 
 with the lowest bufibonery. Many fabulous 
 incidents are mingled with the sacred story, 
 some of a coarse and revolting nature ; these, 
 however, the spectators are permitted *■ to take 
 in sport,' as ^ not being warranted by any 
 writt.' The marvel is that persons of refine- 
 ment or education could tolerate and even 
 
 * * A kind of short cloak.' — Steutt.
 
 OF THE JOUST. 227 
 
 enjoy the ^ mystery plays/ as we read they did ; 
 and we can only suppose that the few grains of 
 Divine truth they contained outweighed bushels 
 of legendary chaff. As for the populace^ they 
 were alternately impressed with awe and moved 
 to shouts of boisterous laughter. No scene 
 was more enthusiastically received than one of 
 ' Noe and his Shippe/ in which Noah^s wife 
 resolutely declines going into the ark, adding — 
 
 * Withouten faile I will not out, 
 Out of this town ; 
 
 But (unless) I have my gossippes every each one, 
 One foote further I will not gone.' 
 
 Her ' gossippes ^ and she are represented as 
 
 drowning their fears of ' the flood flitting in full 
 
 fast^ in 
 
 A pottill of malmsey, goode and stronge, 
 Which will rejoice both harte and tongue. 
 
 Her sons, Japhet and Shem, at last force her 
 into the * shippe/ just as it begins to be lifted 
 off the earth ; and Noe exclaims in consterna- 
 tion — 
 
 * Over the lande the water spredes ; 
 God doe as He will !' 
 
 We must not linger over these details ; suf- 
 fice it to give one more specimen of the Chester 
 Play J a few lines from the prologue to the Day 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 of Doom, so solemn in their simplicity, that few 
 of the audience could hear them unmoved. 
 
 The coming of Christe to give eternal judgemente, 
 You weavers, last of all, your parte is to playe. 
 Domesday we call it, when the Omnipotente 
 Shall make end of this world, by sentence, I saye. 
 
 On His right hand to stand, God grant us that daye, 
 And to have that sweete worde in melodye. 
 Come hither, come hither, ' Venite, Benedicti !' 
 To which rest of wayes and endless habitation 
 
 Grant us free passage, that together wee. 
 Accompanied with angells and endless delectation. 
 May continuallye laudeGod, and prayse that King 
 of Glorye. 
 
 ' Amen V said Lord Audeley, fervently ; 
 then, half-ashamed of his own emotion, he 
 withdrew, after unbonneting to the players. 
 ' Ye have played well and lustily, my masters, 
 and set these mysteries before us to our lively 
 comfort; now forth with you to the High 
 Cross, where the worshipful Guild await your 
 coming. A fair good even to all.' 
 
 No state prisoner ever listened to the pre- 
 parations for erecting his scaffold with more 
 trepidation than did Cecily to the sounds of 
 hammering heard in the market-place on Easter 
 Monday morning. There the lists were being 
 prepared under the critical eyes of Lord Audeley,
 
 OF THE JOUST. 229 
 
 and of the Earl of Worcester_, who had returned 
 to Lichfield after a week^s absence, to be pre- 
 sent at the expected trial of arms. The lists 
 were square, and enclosed by a strong double 
 palisade; at the north and south ends were door- 
 ways leading into the two tents prepared for the 
 combatants. These tents were small, but of 
 rich material, Adam de Trowtbecke's being 
 covered with striped damask, blue and white. 
 He had chosen for the motto, embroidered 
 round it in large letters, ' Disdayne answereth 
 disdayne.' Sir Piers' tent was white, with the 
 device, ' Constancie, Devocyon,' chosen, I need 
 hardly say, by him as a covert allusion to the 
 initials of Cecily Done. On the right side of 
 the lists a platform richly decked with tapestry 
 was prepared for the Baron, as arbiter of the 
 fight, and for his numerous friends. A strong 
 body of armed townsmen occupied the space 
 between the two palisades, and guarded the 
 arena of combat. It was thickly strewn 
 with sand, and open, as was the platform also, 
 to the blue and cloudless sky. 
 
 The minster clock tolled three, and all was 
 ready for the encounter. The umpire was in 
 his place, with a bright assemblage of knights 
 and ladies round him. Eglanbie Trowtbecke
 
 230 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 sat on one side of him^ proud and calm ; Cecily 
 on the other, for her grandfather, feeling un- 
 usually strong and cheerful, had insisted on her 
 being present at the joust. She, too, was out- 
 wardly calm, though her heart beat as fast as 
 that of a newly caught wood-pigeon. The 
 sight of the lists themselves, of the eight men- 
 at-arms, with white wands in their hands, stand- 
 ing within them, and of the thousands of spec- 
 tators, clustering even on the house-tops, 
 appalled her at first ; but all fear vanished, and 
 the throbbings of her bosom were those of 
 pride and delight, as, at the sound of a bugle, 
 her knight, new-shriven, rode into the arena. 
 He wore a rich, but not fantastic suit of armour, 
 and round his neck the collar of SS. and a 
 chaplet cf mother-of-pearl made at Jerusalem. 
 His sword was also of Oriental fashion, and 
 exceedingly beautiful, though somewhat dinted 
 by frequent use. It was an heirloom from 
 crusading ancestors, and round the hilt was a 
 narrow white scarf, on which the words ^ Christi 
 crux est mea lux ^ were embroidered in golden 
 hair. He rode slowly to the foot of the plat- 
 form, dismounted, and bowed reverently to the 
 Baron and those around him. 
 
 Adam de Trowtbecke now came forth, in gay
 
 OF THE JOUST. 231 
 
 and gallant trim, in all the beauty of perfect 
 proportion and youthful strength. His helmet 
 was adorned with a rich border of pearls, and 
 over the forehead was engraven ' Jesu Naza- 
 RENus Rex.'* Like Sir Piers, he rode at once 
 to the platform and dismounted. There, kneel- 
 ing on one knee, he prayed the Baron, but in 
 a clear and somewhat haughty voice, to confer 
 upon him the honour of knighthood. Lord 
 Audeley came down the tapestried flight of 
 steps which led from the platform to the lists, 
 and, by a grave bend of the head, signified his 
 assent to the petition. Then the heir of Trowt- 
 becke drew his sword from the sheath, kissed 
 it, and placed it in the Baron's hand. A light 
 but firm stroke descended on his shoulder, and 
 made his corslet clatter ; the Baron raised 
 him from the ground, and said aloud — 
 
 ' In the name of God, our Lady, and good 
 St. George rise. Sir Knight.' 
 
 The combatants took their places, Maurice 
 Done acting as esquire to Sir Piers, and 
 a young Clifford undertaking that office 
 towards the heir of Trowtbecke. Mistress 
 
 * See Obmeeod, vol. ii. p. 27, Monuments of the 
 TrowtbecJces.
 
 232 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Eglanbie's swarthy page sounded a liorn_, the 
 heralds cried_, ' Do your devoir V and the fight 
 began. 
 
 It were tedious to tell the various turns of 
 fate in this first encounter of the knights, and 
 what wonderful sagacity and training their 
 horses displayed, seeming to divine the various 
 risks their masters ran, and to obey the very 
 slightest touch of the bridle. Sir Adam, for so 
 we must now call him, wore, according to the 
 newest fashion of armour in that day, 'roundels,' 
 or little wings of steel, attached to his wrists, 
 elbows, and shoulders. So accurate, and so 
 rapidly dealt were the blows of his adversary, 
 who invariably aimed at those joints of his 
 armour, and caught the roundels on the point 
 of his lance, that, to his bitter mortification, he 
 was not once able to return Sir Piers' strokes. 
 Cursing in his heart the vanity that had led 
 him to put on this suit, he looked entreatingly 
 up towards the Baron. Lord Audeley saw 
 and pitied his dilemma, and by a sign of his 
 white wand arrested the combat. The ob- 
 noxious roundels were easily taken oflP, and, to 
 Eglanbie's relief, the fight recommenced with 
 increased ardour. 
 
 Time passed on, blood flowed, but not the
 
 OF THE JOUST. 233 
 
 hearths blood of either knight. More than a 
 score of lances lay shivered on the sand; and 
 Lord Audeley, seeing that neither party had 
 gained a decided advantage, thought it high 
 time to stop the fray. 
 
 ' You have done well, bold knights, well and 
 nobly,' he said, throwing down his white wand 
 into the lists. ' It is enough.' 
 
 Sir Piers, as a true knight should, submitted 
 at once to the Baron's arbitrement, and riding 
 up to Adam de Trowtbecke, offered him his 
 hand ; but it was petulantly rejected. 
 
 ^ Lord of Audeley,' cried the fiery youth, 
 turning towards the dais, ' as you tender your 
 own honour, I beseech you, nay, I require 
 of you, to grant me one more trial of arms. 
 Bid this proud knight dismount, and meet me 
 on foot, battle-axe in hand.' 
 
 ' Your prayer is against the laws of chivalry,' 
 replied the Baron, dryly ; ' nevertheless, as you 
 adjure me by mine honour, I dare not say you 
 nay. Sir Piers, what is your pleasure in this 
 matter ? The decision thereof, and the choice 
 of weapons, rest with you.' 
 
 ' Be it then, my lord, as Sir Adam de 
 Trowtbecke craveth ; an encounter on foot, our 
 weapon the battle-axe — and lose we not an
 
 234 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 instant, for our shadows lengthen on the 
 sand/ 
 
 A few moments sufficed to wash the blood 
 from the warriors' slight wounds, to make such 
 changes in their accoutrements as the change 
 of weapons rendered needful, and last, not 
 least, to refresh them with a cup of spiced wine. 
 
 They then re-appeared, each bearing in 
 his right hand a heavy sword, and in his 
 left a battle-axe. The weapons had been care- 
 fully proved by Lord Audeley himself, and 
 pronounced to be according to the rules of the 
 fight. Each warrior wore a small heart-shaped 
 shield on his left arm, and a dagger in his 
 girdle. They first attacked one another with 
 their swords, but with balanced success. Then 
 they drew off their shields and flung them at 
 one another's feet, each hoping to make the 
 other stumble. But they were too wary to be 
 thus surprised, and, seizing their battle-axes, 
 they fell to work with them in terrible earnest. 
 Young Trowtbecke, seeing that Sir Piers' visor 
 was up, aimed repeatedly and with desperate 
 energy at his face. He missed that, but suc- 
 ceeded in fracturing the shoulder-piece, and 
 disabling the left arm. Sir Piers, with con- 
 summate skill, still parried his attacks with
 
 OF THE JOUST. 235 
 
 the right, and availing himself of an instant's 
 pause, dealt such a blow at his helmet as made 
 the rash youth reel; his battle-axe slipped 
 from his hand, and he was for the moment at 
 his foe's mercy. Sir Piers stooped to pick 
 up the weapon, and returned it to Adam de 
 Trowtbecke. As he did so, vehement shouts 
 of applause, and cries of ' A Holforde ! a Hol- 
 forde !' greeted him from all sides. By uni- 
 versal acclaim he was pronounced victor, and 
 Lord Audeley, rising from the dais, declared 
 the joust at an end. He uttered in brief but 
 emphatic words, an encomium on both the 
 combatants ; and his opinion being a law to the 
 multitude, they echoed it by giving one cheer 
 for the heir of Trowtbecke. 
 
 Yes, the joust was at an end, and the crowds 
 who had looked on breathlessly were now 
 hurrying home. They poured along the narrow 
 streets, or across the Langtori Causeway, still 
 excited, and raising as they went such shouts 
 for the Knight of Holforde as startled the wild- 
 fowl on the Minster pool. Nay, even the old 
 grey walls of the minster itself found them- 
 selves faintly, and as it were against their con- 
 science, echoing back the voice of human 
 applause. Sir Piers was the popular idol at
 
 236 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 this moment, for his gallantry^ his imaffected 
 bearing, and his kindness to the fallen; but 
 perhaps the circumstance that had won him 
 most favour, was his having fought with vizor up; 
 a practice rarely ventured upon, on account of 
 its obvious peril, but thought especially knightly 
 in that age. To him the risk had been more 
 than made up for by the sight it procured him 
 of Cecily's face, earnestly bending towards him, 
 now glowing, now pale with shivering fear. 
 So had he seen her when, rashly perhaps, he 
 had stooped to restore the battle-axe to his foe; 
 but when^ at the moment of his triumph^ he 
 looked again, she was no longer there. Let- 
 tice's place was empty too, and, stranger still, 
 his young esquire Maurice had retreated into 
 the tent, and did not advance to meet him^ but 
 stood silent and with drooping brow. The 
 truth flashed upon Piers at once, even before 
 Maurice, hiding his face on his cousin's 
 shoulder, had time to say — 
 
 ' O, Piers, our grandfather is dying ! let us 
 haste to him ere it be too late.' 
 
 ' My poor Maurice ! and thou hast waited 
 for me !' exclaimed the knight. ' Hie thee 
 home at once ; myself will follow, tarrying but 
 to wipe oflP this blood and dust.'
 
 OF THE JOUST. 237 
 
 ^ Could I leave my post V asked Maurice, 
 raising his head. 
 
 He poured out some water from a silver 
 ewer, and with deft fingers washed away all 
 outward traces of the struggle. As for the 
 hurt received from Sir Adam's battle-axe, Sir 
 Piers would not hear of having it looked to 
 just then, though old Pamel, sent by Cecily, 
 appeared at the tent-door armed with surgical 
 instruments, and with ' spermaceti for an in- 
 ward bruise.' 
 
 Even her loquacity was subdued by the shock 
 just received, and she made way silently for the 
 Lords Audeley and Worcester, who entered the 
 tent ; the former wrung Sir Piers' hand, half 
 in congratulation, half in sympathy. 
 
 ' How long have you known of this V Piers 
 inquired, in the hushed voice with which we 
 speak of impending death. 
 
 ^ Scarce an hour,' replied the Baron. ' While 
 on his knees in the oratory he sank, over- 
 powered by a deadly faintness. Mistress Par- 
 nel's restoratives have called the flickering 
 spirit back for a moment, but for a moment 
 only.' 
 
 While thus talking, they walked rapidly to- 
 wards the Close.
 
 238 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' And Cecily V asked Sir Piers. 
 
 ' Poor child/ said the Baron, ' we hid the 
 truth from her awhile, for her heart and soul 
 were in the lists with thee, and the strife just 
 then looked perilous; but when a second mes- 
 senger sought me on the dais, bringing ill 
 tidings, we could no longer conceal them. As 
 arbiter of the joust, I durst not quit my post ; 
 but this good Earl with his train guarded her 
 and the child Lettice back to Sir RanulpVs 
 chamber-door. Lettice was sorely overborne 
 with this sudden grief, poor little one.^ 
 
 ' Her sister did whisper comfort in her ear, 
 though with white, quivering lips,^ added Lord 
 Worcester ; ' and did succeed in part in allaying 
 the passionateness of her sorrow.^ 
 
 He was interrupted by the first toll of the 
 passing-bell. It pealed loud and clear from 
 the cathedral-yard, t-eminding all who heard it 
 of their own mortality, and stirring them up to 
 a charitable prayer for the parting soul. Like 
 an electric shock, it thrilled through all hearts, 
 and hushed the hum and excitement which still 
 pervaded the town. The tramp of footsteps, 
 and the last lingering shouts for ' a Holforde ' 
 died into silence ; and now you could hear dis- 
 tinctly the trickling of an April shower that
 
 OF THE JOUST. 239 
 
 was beginning to fall, and the hoarse cawing 
 of flights of rooks and daws that circled round 
 the minster spires. At the Close gate young 
 Hamo accosted his master with the good news 
 that Sir Armine had arrived, and was in the 
 sick knight's chamber. Moved by the contents 
 of Cecily's and Sir Piers' letters_, he had only 
 waited to complete the services of Easter-day 
 and to provide for those of the ensuing week, 
 and then hastened to his dying friend. Hal 
 Nixon accompanied him, and they had ridden 
 since early morning, only halting once to re- 
 fresh their weary nags. 
 
 This was comfort, solid comfort; and know- 
 ing Cecily and her grandfather in such good 
 hands, Sir Piers could wait patiently, though 
 with intense anxiety, for admission to the sick 
 room. Maurice paced the corridor in feverish 
 restlessness till Lettice appeared, and softly 
 crept up to him. 
 
 ' He is without pain, and restful,' she said; ' he 
 recogniseth all, and his eyes seek ours lovingly; 
 he will call for us anon, Sir Armine saith.' 
 
 Silence again, till the door re-opened, and 
 Sir Piers was beckoned to. After short con- 
 ference, he returned with flushed cheek and a 
 strange gleam of joy in his dark eyes.
 
 240 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ^ My Maurice/ he said, ' go quickly, and bid 
 the Lords of Audeley and Worcester to the 
 chapel ; thy grandfather's bidding forestalls the 
 prayer I dared not utter, and grants me Cecily 
 for my wife this hour/ 
 
 Joyfully did Maurice spring up to perform 
 the errand. Half an hour later the doors of the 
 sick chamber had been thrown open to admit 
 Sir Ranulph's friends and servants ; the arras 
 hangings which screened it off from the chapel 
 had been drawn aside. The altar, with its 
 richly embroidered covering, the lighted tapers, 
 the choristers, white and noiseless as spirits 
 from another world, were there ; awful, by 
 contrast, was the twilight gloom around the 
 death-bed, relieved by the light of a tiny lamp 
 which hung by a silver chain from the ceiling. 
 Its flame flickered in the breeze that streamed 
 through an open window, and threw a dim 
 wavering light upon Sir Kanulph's ashy face. 
 He lay, or rather sat, propped up by many 
 cushions; his hands folded, his eyes closed 
 sometimes, but oftener raised to heaven, or 
 fixed on his children with unquenched intel- 
 ligence and love. And now the chantry priest 
 rose from his knees by Sir RanulpVs side, and 
 took his station at the altar. Sir Piers entered
 
 OF THE JOUST. 241 
 
 the chapel in complete armour, and accom- 
 panied by Maurice and Lord Worcester. Lord 
 Audeley followed, armed also, and leading Cecily 
 by the hand. A veil of purest white had been 
 hastily adjusted over her fair head, and hung 
 down nearly to the ground. Lettice, and 
 young Anne, and Elinour Dutton clustered 
 round her, still arrayed in the rich dresses they 
 had worn at the joust. And now the marriage 
 service was chanted, in subdued and thrilling 
 tones, and the marriage benediction was given, 
 and Sir Ranulph raised his head and firmly 
 said, ^ Amen.' No joyous peal from tower or 
 spire proclaimed that Piers and Cecily were one 
 in life and death, but the passing-bell tolled 
 on, measured and slow as the breathings of the 
 dying knight. A humble entreaty for pardon 
 from any of his servants or children whom he 
 might have grieved or hurt, a few low words of 
 trust and peace, a blessing pronounced on his 
 three orphans, and a peculiar emphasis of bless- 
 ing on Cecily — these were his farewells to 
 earth and time ; and so the last prayer was 
 prayed, and the last breath drawn, and his 
 children, mournfully clinging together, knelt 
 on by the bedside, and felt that for them the 
 struggle of life had indeed begun. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF THE riRST BATTLE. 
 
 He is come to ope 
 The purple testament of bleeding war. 
 
 Shakspeabe. 
 
 Fondly we seek the dawning bloom 
 On features wan and fair. 
 
 Keble. 
 
 LIFE has been truly compared* to the dark 
 crypt of some glorious cathedral. We 
 grope our way through shadows, lighted by the 
 lamp of Faith, and often thi'ough our heedless- 
 ness, or the chill damp of the atmosphere, that 
 lamp burns dimly. Then our hearts sink 
 mthin us ; yet all the while there is light and 
 beauty and melody overhead, and if we watch 
 for them, we may catch from time to time 
 some faint notes of that melody, and see some 
 gleams of that light. They become specially 
 distinct as one by one those who have walked 
 
 * Longfellow's Kavanagh.
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 243 
 
 by our side are admitted to the radiant choir_, 
 and we look wistfully after them_, and^ as the 
 door uncloses to receive them, the splendour 
 and the harmony flash in for a moment. Such 
 gleams are granted by the All-Merciful to gild 
 those first moments of bereavement which 
 otherwise poor human nature could scarcely 
 bear ; and when they have passed away_, the 
 unselfish mourner treasures up the remem- 
 brance of them, and walks in its light, hope- 
 fully and thankfully. 
 
 Something of this comfort was felt by Sir 
 RanulpVs grandchildren during the first days 
 of absolute retirement which followed his death. 
 The good chantry priest was at hand to guide 
 their ' mourning fancies wild/ to chide Let- 
 tice's impatient sorrow, to brace Cecily for 
 the performance of new tasks in life, to remind 
 young Maurice, in his high but self-confident 
 resolves for the future, that only by self-denial 
 could those resolves bear the fruit of knightly 
 deeds. Moreover, he proved himself a sound 
 and wholesome adviser in temporal matters. 
 
 These now wore an anxious and complicated 
 aspect. On Easter Tuesday a messenger from 
 the royal palace of Greenwich had arrived, 
 bearing private dispatches for Lord Audeley. 
 
 R 3
 
 244 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Their purport was to inform him that the 
 Duke of York was known to be assembling a 
 considerable army in the marches of Wales 
 and the adjacent counties. What the desti- 
 nation of this army might be no one could 
 positively tell ; it was thought most probable 
 that the Duke would march towards London, 
 where his partisans were very numerous; 
 and accordingly the Dukes of Somerset and 
 Buckingham and many more were rallying 
 round the King, and preparing to defend the 
 metropolis from inward and outward foes. As, 
 however, the north-western counties were also 
 threatened, the King laid his commands on his 
 trusty and well-beloved lieutenant in those 
 parts, the Lord of Audeley, to put the shires of 
 Stafford and Chester into a state of defence, and 
 to be on the spot in case of their being invaded. 
 This left the Baron no choice but to retrace 
 his steps northward, the which he was pre- 
 paring to do, accompanied by Lady Dutton 
 and her children. Sir Thomas and his brother, 
 however, adhered to their original intention of 
 going on to town, the former for business, the 
 latter for amusement ; and they willingly under- 
 took to escort Letitia and Eglanbie to their 
 destination at Court. Sir William Trowtbecke
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 245 
 
 had left Lichfield for Chester early on Easter 
 Tuesday. Even his serenity^ 'good_, easy man/ 
 had not been proof against the mortifying 
 conclusion of the joust; and, with the rapid 
 change of feeling incident to weak-minded 
 people, he had vented his disappointment in 
 reproaches and sarcasms which his fiery son 
 could ill brook. They were engaged in hot 
 debate when Eglanbie entered and announced 
 the startling facts of Sir Ranulph^s fatal 
 seizure, and the marriage of Piers and 
 Cecily. This fresh blow filled up the measure 
 of young Adam^s mortification ; and so vehe- 
 ment was the explosion it caused, that the 
 old chamberlain was startled. He had not 
 imagined his son capable of so strong an 
 attachment ; he had never enjoyed his con- 
 fidence, and knew not how he had buoyed 
 himself up with the hope of obtaining Cecily, 
 as soon as her grandfather^s death should put 
 her under the guardianship of the Crown. So 
 he sat in astounded silence, till the storm of 
 passion had spent itself. Silently and sullenly 
 the youth then returned to his hostel, and ere 
 sunrise the next morning he and his followers 
 had left Lichfield. No one could tell which 
 direction they had taken.
 
 246 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Sir Piers was in a less enviable state of 
 mind than his defeated rival perhaps imagined. 
 He felt that the time was now come when it 
 was his duty openly to declare himself, and to 
 join the Duke of York. True, that Prince 
 had himself appointed the 3rd of May as the 
 time, and London as the place of their meeting, 
 but matters had changed their aspect since 
 then. Fresh affronts and wrongs had been 
 heaped on the Duke by those who mistook 
 his gentleness for want of power, and it be- 
 came incumbent on such as loved him to take 
 his part decidedly. Honour and gratitude, 
 therefore, urged Piers to hasten to Wigmore 
 Castle as soon as the last mournful offices 
 should have been performed over the remains 
 of his adoptive father. 
 
 The duty could hardly have pressed upon 
 him at a more inconvenient moment, for a 
 large amount of business had been suddenly 
 thrown upon his hands by Sir Ranulph's death; 
 but this consideration was as nothing compared 
 with the anxiety he felt to provide for Cecily^s 
 safety dm-ing his unavoidable absence. New- 
 bolde Manor would perhaps be the most secure 
 abode he could choose for her ; but, then, how 
 utterly lonely would she feel there, parted 
 
 M
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 247 
 
 from husband, sister^ and brother, and left to 
 brood over memories of the dead and dis- 
 quietudes for the living ! No, that must not 
 be ! Helegh Castle, Dutton, and other houses 
 were at all times open to her ; but her inde- 
 pendent spirit, and his, too, shrank from 
 trespassing for any length of time on the 
 hospitality even of tried friends. Cecily's own 
 inclination pointed to the Halsteds; and she 
 pleaded hard to be allowed to establish herself 
 there. With Hal Nixon for bailiff, and Gillian 
 (as his wife) to help her in the dairy and farm, 
 she thought she could do wonders ! The 
 gentlewomen of that day (as any one may con- 
 vince himself by reading the Paston Papers) 
 were no mere puppets, but sensible, practical 
 managers, capable, many of them, of ruling, 
 not a house only, but large estates, with 
 economy and liberality combined. Such a 
 manager it was Cecily's secret ambition to 
 become, all the more from a hidden conscious- 
 ness that hitherto her taste had been for 
 dreamy and desultory pursuits. Piers had 
 always been very indulgent to these pursuits, 
 nay, had loved to share them in his brief 
 moments of leisure ; and now she would show 
 her sense of this kindness by the most diligent
 
 248 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 attention to his interests. But these castles in 
 the air quickly vanished ; Piers himself was 
 unwillingly compelled to demolish them, the 
 lawless state of the country at that time ren- 
 dering the Halsteds an unsafe residence in the 
 absence of himself and most of his able- 
 bodied tenants. 
 
 These anxious discussions had not hitherto 
 reached Lettice^s ears^ but when they did^ they 
 were received by her with a fresh burst of grief. 
 Lettice^s bright_, determined spirit seemed for 
 the time quite crushed. The introduction at 
 Court, which Eglanbie Trowtbecke^s glowing 
 descriptions had taught her to anticipate with 
 delight, had now become distasteful; and she 
 turned away from Eglanbie herself, her former 
 beau-ideal of beauty and wit, as we turn from 
 the touch of a brilliant icicle. This revulsion 
 of feeling brought her nearer than ever to 
 Cecily, and she wept so bitterly at the thought 
 of an immediate parting, that Cecily's heart 
 melted within her. 
 
 ^ Dear Piers,' she said to her husband_, after 
 much cogitation, ' suffer me, I pray you, to 
 go with my Lettice to London, and commend 
 her myself to the motherly care of the Lady 
 Kynderton ; when that is done, I would, so
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 249 
 
 please you, betake myself to St. Mary's nun- 
 nery at Clerkenwell, where as a child I passed 
 many happy days Avith my dear mother. The 
 good nuns will be fain to see me, I know; and 
 in that green and quiet retirement I could 
 pray for you, Piers, till such time as you shall 
 recall me to your side/ 
 
 ' Unto which good time God bring us 
 quickly,' answered the knight; and so the 
 matter was settled, to Letitia's infinite re- 
 lief. The day after the joust, the Earl of 
 Worcester had taken his departure for Italy, 
 and on Thursday in Easter week the party in 
 the Episcopal Palace broke up. The body of 
 Sir Ranulph, which had been laid in the 
 chapel with taper and requiem, and watched 
 by, through the last night, by his sorrowing 
 children, was now placed on a litter, and began 
 its mournful journey into Cheshire. Lord 
 Audeley, Maurice, and Sir Piers accompanied 
 it, the last-mentioned taking with him a strong 
 body of retainers, both as a mark of respect 
 to the dead, and in order to save delay by 
 proceeding at once from the Manor to Wigmore. 
 The chantry priest was of course one of the 
 funeral procession. 
 
 It were easier for you to imagine than for
 
 250 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 me to describe the bitterness of the partings that 
 morning ; how Lettice twined her arms round 
 Maurice's neck^ and could hardly let him go ; 
 how Sir Piers looked back to the Minster gate, 
 where his young wife stood, and felt that life 
 had acquired new value in his eyes j how 
 Cecily waved a last farewell, then turned into 
 the cathedral to weep and pray ; how Lettice 
 wept, but could not pray, for sorrow was 
 strong in her young heart, and faith was 
 weak. 
 
 The heavy day passed away, however, as all 
 heavy days do; and the night, which was all 
 but sleepless to Cecily, brought soothing rest to 
 the sister, round whom her arms were clasped. 
 Next morning, the party were up betimes, and 
 ready equipped for their journey southwards. 
 They rode as before, Cecily attended by Hamo 
 and Hal Nixon, Lettice by two Done retainers 
 and by good Parnel, who was to remain with her 
 at Court ; so Cecily had ordered^ well knowing 
 that, in spite of some eccentricities, the faithful 
 creature would be a real protection and comfort 
 in the untried world upon which Lettice was 
 about to enter. 
 
 The first day or two the poor girl rode by 
 her sister's side, with drooping head, scarcely
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 251 
 
 able to smile at Sir Thomas Dutton-'s frequent 
 quips and cranks, or to observe the scenery round, 
 which indeed had gradually become flat and un- 
 interesting. But such a state of things could 
 not last long at fifteen; and as they entered 
 upon a totally new country, Lettice's atten- 
 tion was roused, and she began to observe 
 and enjoy what passed around her. The im- 
 mense pastures, dotted with thousands of sheep, 
 whose wool was then a staple article of com- 
 merce in the midland counties ; the enclosed 
 parks full of magnificent timber, the property 
 of peers and prelates; the city of Coventry, 
 with its cathedral and priory, often resorted to 
 by King Henry in his progresses, — these were 
 objects of interest. Further south, the chalk 
 range of Bedfordshire hills, glittering in sun- 
 shine, came in view ; and then, by way of con- 
 trast, the green expanse of Whittlebury Forest, 
 seen at a distance, refreshed the eye. Each 
 night (for they proceeded leisurely, time being 
 no pressing object, and travelling after sunset 
 by no means safe) they slept at some hostel, or 
 at the mansion of some hospitable acquaintance. 
 The Duttons and Eglanbie Trowtbecke were 
 welcome additions to society wherever they 
 went. Our two sisters, of course, were held
 
 252 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 excused, by their recent loss and deep mourning 
 weeds, from mixing with strangers ; but they 
 met with much kindness ; and even zealous 
 Lancastrians, to whose ears the name of Piers 
 Holforde was no welcome sound, and who, 
 scarce a month later, met him in fierce struggle 
 on the battle-field, showed willing courtesy to 
 his gentle bride. 
 
 Our travellers reached St. Albans on the 
 30th of April, the eve of St. Philip and St. 
 James's day. People, in those rude times, 
 were generally too deeply immersed in care 
 and strife to have a disengaged eye for the 
 picturesque. Nevertheless, the whole party, 
 even Eglanbie herself, looked up in wondering 
 awe towards the venerable town. It was then 
 composed of narrow, straggling streets, wind- 
 ing up the side of a steep eminence. The 
 immense cross -shaped church, six hundred 
 feet long, crowned the summit, and covered 
 the ' flowery hilP where beams of glory were 
 said to have streamed upward from St. Alban's 
 grave. 
 
 Close by stood the monastery, a vast battle- 
 mented pile of most imposing appearance, 
 worthy to be the ' premier' abbey of England.
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 253 
 
 Our travellers caught but an imperfect glimpse 
 of it as it fronted the south side of the hill^ 
 but the sound of its deep-toned bell boomed 
 through the evening air solemnly. 
 
 Thej crossed the river of Verulam, and 
 passed the site of Kingsbury, Saxon Edgar's 
 favourite residence. Then they began to 
 ascend Fishpool-street, so called from the 
 green flat on its right, "which had once been 
 covered with water, and rode through the nar- 
 row and dirty streets till they reached the 
 * Chequer ' hostel, in Holywell-lane. Here 
 they dismounted, and entered a hall where a 
 large and motley assemblage of travellers were 
 already at supper. So noisy and disorderly 
 were they, that Sir Thomas, though, as he said, 
 ^ nothing queasy for himself,' proposed to his 
 young companions to adjourn to the neigh- 
 bouring hostel of the ' Key.' On hearing this, 
 however, the trim and glib-spoken hostess of 
 the ' Chequer ' bestirred herself, and smoothing 
 her snow-white ' barmecloth,' or apron, invited 
 them to follow her into a less crowded apart- 
 ment. It was a long, low room, ceiled and 
 panelled with oak, with an oriel window look- 
 ing towards the abbey at the furthest end.
 
 254 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Two men sat in this recess_, talking together 
 in earnest whispers. Their figures were not 
 clearly discernible in the dim twilight, but 
 there was something in the voice of one of 
 the speakers which riveted Eglanbie Trowt- 
 becke's attention. Seeing her beautiful head 
 frequently turned that way with ill-repressed 
 curiosity, John Dutton suggested that the 
 strangers should be asked to join their party. 
 He stepped daintily towards the oriel as 
 ambassador to the rest, and thus accosted 
 them : — 
 
 ' Fair sirs, if ye mislike not the society of 
 these my co- travellers, the Lady Holforde 
 and her sister. Mistress Eglanbie Trowtbecke, 
 and the worshipful Knight of Dutton, I pray 
 you make one with us at our evening refection, 
 and partake of these conserved fruits, and this 
 potted wild-fowl we have brought from the 
 north. To the which,^ he added, seeing the 
 hostess enter, 'shall be added hypocras and mead 
 of fair Mistress Joyce^s concocting, and wafers 
 piping hot from her oven.^ 
 
 The two strangers rose, and advanced towards 
 the party. The shorter of them, a plain man 
 of about five-and-forty, habited as a London 
 merchant, but with the slouching shoulders
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 255 
 
 and sunkj dim eyes of a student, replied 
 simply: — 
 
 ' Thanks, sir, and gentles all ; myself have 
 supped already, and am, besides, too dust- 
 stained and travel-wearied to be fit company 
 for your nobility. I am plain William Cax- 
 ton, of the Mercers^ guild, and awaiting a sum- 
 mons from the Lord Abbot here, who desireth 
 to see my wares/ 
 
 ' Your wares, good Master Mercer ?' in- 
 quired John Dutton, glancing first at his own 
 apparel, from which every speck of dust had 
 just been brushed, and then at a certain 
 square chest that stood near Master Caxton; 
 * anything new at court, either in shape or 
 texture ?' 
 
 ' My wares,^ replied Caxton, smiling, ' are 
 not what your worship supposes.* I have 
 travelled much in the Low Countries and 
 Germany, and dealt largely in missals and 
 fair blazonings. At Mentz I have consorted 
 with Faust and Guttenberg, men which are 
 adepts in the new mystery of imprinting, and 
 
 * • It is very probable that mercers in those days were 
 general merchants, trading in all sorts of rich goods, and 
 that even books formed a part of their traffic' — Chal- 
 MEEs' Biographical Dictionary/, vol. viii. p. 507.
 
 256 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 they have sent by me to the learned Abbot 
 of St. Albans a marvellous specimen of their 
 art/ 
 
 So saying, he opened the chest, and with 
 the fond delight with which a mother lifts her 
 baby from its cradle, took out a large book, 
 bound in carved oak boards. He unclasped it 
 with reverence, and exhibited the title-page of 
 the famous ^ Forty-six line Bible,' a Latin ver- 
 sion of the Scriptures, beautifully printed on 
 fair paper, from the first types ever cast in 
 metal . Neither of the Duttons felt or afiected 
 any interest in this prodigy of art, for such it 
 really was ; but their apathy was made up for 
 by the genuine enthusiasm of Cecily and 
 Eglanbie. With a gratified smile, Caxton 
 looked from one to the other, and said — 
 
 'By the help of God and His saints, we 
 will have many such in England, fair dame 
 and damosel, ere your bright locks be grey.' 
 
 ' Would that my Lord of Worcester were 
 here to see this sight,' exclaimed Cecily ; ' it 
 would rejoice him mightily.' 
 
 ' He saw it but yesterday,' replied Caxton ; 
 ' he is the truest lover this new art hath, and 
 often visiteth my poor den in Westminster to 
 discourse of the progress thereof.'
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 257 
 
 The taller stranger drew near to examine 
 the book. His aspect and clear olive complexion 
 showed him a foreigner; his features were 
 regular and beautiful^ full of expression and 
 acuteness, especially the thin, short upper lip 
 and the deep-set eyes. These met Eglanbie^s 
 with a warning glance, as she was about to 
 speak to him ; the half-uttered ^ Padre Fabrizio ^ 
 died on her lips, and she looked down like a 
 chidden child. 
 
 ^ And these be your talismans V said the 
 Italian, thoughtfully, handling a few types which 
 Caxton had placed before them ; ' marvellously 
 small engines be these, to shake the whole globe 
 withal ! They, having of themselves neither 
 speech nor language, shall yet pronounce an 
 ^ Ephphatha^ in the ears of millions yet unborn ! 
 Say, Master Caxton, how long will it be ere 
 the words of the divine Plato shall by this art be 
 brought within reach of the poorest scholar ?' 
 
 ' Not long, I trust,' answered Caxton ; 
 ^ prince of sages though he be, yet it is meet 
 that his words should come second to those 
 recorded in this volume. Here is the key to the 
 door of life immortal V 
 
 ' A low and narrow door, truly,' murmured 
 the Italian, with curling lip. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Yet the only one revealed to man/ Master 
 Caxton answered, meekly ; ' man^s true great- 
 ness lieth in lowliness/ 
 
 He shouldered the box with its precious 
 contents, and departed, after making humble 
 obeisance to the company. The Italian like- 
 wise took his leave, and shortly after the sisters 
 and Eglanbie retreated to the only dormitory 
 Parnel had been able to secure for them. It 
 was a long, narrow, dreary apartment, at the 
 top of the house, with walls scarcely three feet 
 high, and a forest of oak-beams and rafters 
 forming the high-pitched roof. The furniture 
 of this chamber was scanty, and the beds so 
 uninviting, that our travellers, though not over 
 nice, preferred sitting up, wrapped in their 
 hoods and mantles. They thought this no 
 great hardship ; and found occasiorr for mirth 
 in their discomforts, and in ParneFs despair 
 and wrath at what she called * such a mis- 
 using of the nobility.-' Eglanbie especially, 
 whom the sudden rencontre with her former 
 preceptor had greatly excited, was little dis- 
 posed for sleep. Seating herself opposite the 
 latticed window, through which the stars 
 gleamed faintly, she tried to collect her 
 thoughts. She recalled her former intimacy
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 259 
 
 with Fabrizio^ and the absorbing delight she 
 had taken in the pursuits to which he had in- 
 troduced her. It had been a justifiable delight 
 at firsts for the study of astrology had combined 
 with it much knowledge of the mechanism of the 
 heavens ; alchemy^ too, had opened to her many 
 wonders of natural history, chemical secrets, 
 since lost, and which our modern savans are 
 trying to recover. So far might have been 
 well ; but man may not with impunity look into 
 the marvels of creation and ignore his Creator, 
 and therefore Fabrizio^s infidel spirit poisoned 
 every research. Alchemy naturally led to magic, 
 the belief in which was then universal, thoug^h 
 few women ventured to practise it.* Eglanbie 
 had entered this unhallowed region secretly 
 and with shuddering ; but its mysteries soon 
 exercised a bewitching influence upon her, and 
 made all household and ordinary duties appear 
 utterly insipid. It was her neglect of these 
 that had first drawn upon her the displeasure of 
 the chamberlain ; then followed, as we have else- 
 where narrated, Fabrizio^s expulsion, and such 
 
 * Jaquetta, Duchess of Bedford, was an adept in the 
 arts of magic, and brought it into vogue some years later 
 in the Court of Edward lY. 
 
 s 1
 
 260 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 a burst of wrath against herself that, trembling 
 and overwhelmed, the haughty maiden was glad 
 to appease it by an unconditional promise never 
 to speak or correspond with Fabrizio more. Blank 
 listlessness of mind had followed this excite- 
 ment, and for many months weighed her down; 
 but in Queen Margaret's Coui't she recovered 
 her spring, and soon entered heart and soul 
 into the political intrigues that abounded there. 
 She devoted herself to the beautiful Queen 
 with a passionate, exclusive love, which could 
 scarcely brook a rival. She threw herself into 
 the petty factions which split up the Court, had 
 her political attachments and her political 
 hatreds, and cherished the latter with a vehe- 
 mence which perplexed and confounded her 
 guardian the Baroness of Kynderton. 
 
 These new interests had put the old thoughts 
 out of mind for a time ; ,but the meeting with 
 Fabrizio brought back the forgotten past with 
 startling vividness. His evident wish to escape 
 observation, and the fact that he no longer 
 wore the dress or preserved the tonsure com- 
 mon to ecclesiastics, excited her curiosity ; and, 
 forgetful of the promise made to her father, 
 she longed to speak with him once more. Her 
 wish was speedily gratified.
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 261 
 
 ^ How breathlessly hot is it here !^ Eglanbie 
 suddenly exclaimed, as she and Cecily sat talk- 
 ing together in undertones. The previous day 
 had been one of those oppressive ones which 
 often visit us in April, and the sun^s rays on 
 the steep roof had thoroughly heated their gar- 
 ret chamber. Its little window pertinaciously 
 refused to open, and they had been obliged to 
 bolt the door against intruders, the inn being 
 full, Parnel said, of ' roystering gallants, that 
 kept their Pasque festival after a heathenish 
 fashion.^ Their rude laughter and occasional 
 brawls rang through our travellers' attic, and 
 added to their unrest. So did the loud 
 breathing of old Parnel, whose discontents had 
 gradually subsided into inarticulate mutterings, 
 ending in sound sleep. Lettice had caught 
 the infection, and lay in calm repose, her head 
 pillowed on Cecily's knee. 
 
 ' How hot it is !' Eglanbie repeated, making 
 one more attempt to unfasten the obdurate win- 
 dow. This proving vain, she took up the lamp 
 to examine into the cause of a faint streak of 
 light visible through one place in the wall. 
 To her surprise she found a little door, whicli 
 yielded at once to her touch. A stream of 
 fresh air blew in her face, and, with a sensa-
 
 262 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 tion of relief, she beckoned Cecily to the 
 spot. 
 
 ^Anon/ Cecily answered_, pointing, with a 
 smile, to the sleeping girl. So Eglanbie set 
 down the lamp, stooped under the low door- 
 way, and came forth on the edge of the tiled 
 roof. The soft night breeze, the bine arch of 
 heaven bending over her, the awful outline of 
 church and abbey seen from that lonely pin- 
 nacle, were more like enchantment than reality. 
 She looked up to the glittering stars, but they 
 filled her with dread and perplexity, for she 
 sought to read in their bright alphabet, not 
 the glory of God, but her own future destiny. 
 ^ Wherefore should I strive to pierce the gloom 
 of futurity V she said, half aloud ; '^ to me it 
 cannot bring repose.^ She was turning back 
 with a sigh, when her eye was caught by some- 
 thing of unnatural brightness in the western 
 sky. An opposite gable hid out all but the 
 skirts of this brightness, but it was observed 
 from below, and passengers going along the 
 dark streets stopped short, others joined them, 
 and by degrees there was a hum and a gather- 
 ing. The garden plot between the ^ Chequer' 
 and ' Key ' filled with gazers, and a slirill voice 
 was heard among the crowd exclaiming, ' Good 
 save us, the like hath not been beheld since
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 263 
 
 Shrewsbury fight '/ With her usual impe- 
 tuosity^ Eglaubie looked round for some spot 
 whence the strange appearance could be seen ; 
 she retraced her steps more rapidly than was 
 safe to the little door, and thence to a point 
 where the projecting gable that formed their 
 dormitory joined the main body of the house. 
 Here there was easy footing among the tiles, 
 and the ascent of a few steps brought Eglanbie 
 full in view of the western sky. A thick mist 
 was floating on the horizon, and above that a 
 dull red vapour, in the centre of which glowed 
 and burned a cresset of most vivid light. Some- 
 times it remained still, and, as it were, veiled 
 for a moment, then flashes of red light darted 
 downwards from it, crossing one another like 
 swords in deadly fray. It lit up tower and 
 town with a lurid glare, and fell on the pale, 
 upturned faces of the multitude. For the 
 boldest, in that credulous age, it was a sight 
 of fear, and Eglanbie's high courage quailed 
 as the meteor shook its fiery tresses in her 
 face.* The breeze seemed to have died away 
 into a thundery stillness, and for a moment 
 the pulsations of her proud heart died away 
 also. Her head grew dizzy, and she was feel- 
 
 ^ This cresset was seen in many parts of England in 
 the spring of 1455.
 
 264 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ing for something to cling to, -nlien a firm 
 hand grasped hers_, and the voice of Fabrizio 
 said — 
 
 ' You tremble. Madonna ; my pupil was not 
 wont to be thus easily appalled/ 
 
 '^ Padre Fabrizio/ Eglanbie replied, but he 
 interrupted her, saying quickly — 
 
 ^ Padre no longer ; forget, Madonna, that 
 phase in my former history, the thraldom to 
 which not my will but my poverty consented — 
 another career is now open before me/ 
 
 ^ Cavaliere Fabrizio, then,' Eglanbie replied 
 slowly, as if waking from a dream. * I now 
 recognise in you one whose fame has reached 
 Queen Margaret's Court — one whom Louis, the 
 dark Dauphin, and Philip of Burgundy consult 
 rather than their ablest counsellors, one skilful 
 to draw the horoscopes of princes and cast the 
 nativities of their children ! Is it not true ? 
 Speak, for I have suspected this before.' 
 
 ' It is true,' replied the astrologer. ' All that 
 man doth most covet — influence, favour, gold — 
 are showered upon me in the path I have shaped 
 for myself; but, mark me, lady, there is a re- 
 verse to the picture — disgrace, torture, death, 
 may be the lot of him whose predictions fail or 
 please not ; they may be the lot of him who
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 265 
 
 now stands before you, and that at no distant 
 day. I shrink not from them ; I have staked ex- 
 istence on one throw, and am content to triumph 
 or to perish/ 
 
 ' And what do you in England V asked Eg- 
 lanbie, turning pale. ^ Scarcely can this isle 
 be a safe abode for him who, if report err not, 
 hath predicted unparalleled miseries shortly to 
 come upon us.' 
 
 ' I am but one of many,' replied Fabrizio, 
 ' who read in the approaching conjunction of 
 Mars, Jove, and Saturn a fearful augury of 
 bloodshed and foul crime. Since such miseries 
 be at hand, is it not well to know and provide 
 against them ? But I speak to one who hath, 
 doubtless, obeyed her father's commands to the 
 letter, and banished from her memory all such 
 lore as this ; one who may, perchance, betray 
 and undo me, by proclaiming what I was and 
 what I am.' 
 
 ' Fabrizio,' replied the maiden, proudly, ' thou 
 knowest full well that thy secret is safe with 
 me ; that I would not betray thee, neither undo 
 thee, for all the gold thou and thy brother 
 alchemists could make. As for the lore thou 
 didst once teach, it is not forgotten, as thou dost 
 falsely surmise. Almost I would it were, for do I
 
 266 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 not know and read in the heavens now that yon- 
 der cresset, which glares so fiercely on thee and 
 me, is in the eighth house — the house of death V 
 
 ' Thou hast remembered aright, maiden/ 
 answered the astrologer; ^ the augury is evil, but 
 what of that ? If life be short, shall we not do 
 the more to make it famous? Say, ere we 
 part — for part we must, and that right soon — 
 doth thy royal mistress afiect these mysteries V 
 
 ' Scarcely/ replied Eglanbie ; ^ she is one 
 who shapeth her own ends boldly, and would 
 liefer control the planets than read them ; yet, 
 in moments of great fear and tribulation, I 
 have seen her incline to the predictions of 
 soothsayers/ 
 
 ' Sway her to do so/ said the wily Italian ; 
 ' it may be for her good. And now farewell. 
 Madonna ; and shouldst thou need my help, 
 there is one named Craven at the ' Tabard,^ in 
 Southwark, who shall at all times know where 
 to find me/ 
 
 He left her, and returned to the deep calcu- 
 lations for which he had chosen that bright 
 and cloudless night. But the housetop was no 
 longer solitary ; many gazers Avere crowding up 
 to it, and Cecily appeared at the little door, 
 and prayed Eglanbie to return to her. Sleep
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 267 
 
 was out of tlie question ; so our trio heard with 
 satisfaction the voices of Sir Thomas Button 
 and his brother calling them forth to view the 
 prodigy from a neighbouring eminence. To- 
 wards morning it gradually faded away, and 
 with it some of the feelings of terror and op- 
 pression it had created. May-day broke calm 
 and lovely, and before the snn had mounted 
 high in heaven voices of mirth were heard on 
 all sides. The maypole,, drawn by oxen with 
 garlands tied to the top of their horns, was 
 brought to the open place where it was to be 
 erected. Handkerchiefs and ribbons streamed 
 from it, and a crowd of men, women, and 
 children followed it ; the boys bearing white 
 willow wands wreathed round with cowslips, 
 the girls carrying chaplets of real or artificial 
 flowers, to be hung up in the churches when 
 the day's festivity was over. Minstrels pa- 
 raded the streets with song and tabor, and 
 children added to the noise, though not to the 
 harmony, by blowing with all their might 
 through cows^ horns and hollow canes. Such 
 were the diversions of those days, when kings 
 and nobles used to go a-maying, and mingle 
 freely on holidays with the meanest of their 
 subjects.
 
 268 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Our travellers were growing anxious to reacli 
 their journey^s end, but tarried to hear early 
 mass in the abbey church. Some little they 
 were detained also by the hospitable abbot,* 
 who pressed Sir Thomas and his brother to 
 partake of refreshment, and afterwards showed 
 them the many splendid decorations he had 
 added both to the church and convent 
 library. In the latter there was not much 
 that his guests could appreciate ; but their 
 curiosity was roused by seeing the dark Italian, 
 whom they had met at the ^ Chequer/ seated in 
 an obscure nook, poring intently over some 
 ancient parchments. They inquired into his 
 history, and the Abbot made answer — 
 
 ' Whence he now cometh I wot not. He is 
 of a noble race in Florence, and hath, by his 
 learning and deep skill in science, won the fa- 
 vour of Duke Philip of Burgundy and of the 
 French Dauphin. The former hath given him 
 letters to the Cardinal Primate, who hath re- 
 commended him to me for certain researches 
 he is desirous to make in this our library. He 
 is an erudite and witty scholar, and talketh 
 
 * John of Wheathamstede, author of the Chronicle of 
 St. Albans.
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 269 
 
 readily of books ; but on all other matters is 
 fenced in impenetrable reserve. I gather from 
 him that this is his first visit to England.^ 
 
 About midday the party quitted St. Albans; 
 they rode by a long, ancient wall_, built of stone 
 mixed with flints and great numbers of Roman 
 tiles. Letitia looked curiously through a door- 
 way in this wall, and caught a glimpse of an old 
 conventual building screened by fine trees. 
 ' This/ said Sir Thomas, ^ is the nunnery of 
 Sopewell, whereof Dame Juliana, sister of my 
 friend Lord Berners, is prioress. She is a 
 woman renowned for beauty and sprightly wit 
 as much as for virtuousness of life. Moreover, 
 her skill in hunting and hawking exceedeth 
 that of most men/ 
 
 '^I have heard of her,' said Eglanbie, smil- 
 ing ; ^ she resembleth not the prioress of whom 
 Master Chaucer writ, as being ' full simple and 
 coy.' ' 
 
 ^ Marry that doth she not,' replied Sir 
 Thomas, laughing, ' neither would she, like that 
 same prioress, ^ wepe if that she saw a mouse 
 caught in a trappe,' for from girlhood she 
 hath hunted the wild boar, the roe, and every 
 beast either of sweet flight or unsavomy flight 
 known in this island. It is much if we do not
 
 270 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 meet witli lier to-day, for on each festival, I am 
 told, she taketh the pastime of the chase/ 
 
 The prophecy was verified instantlj^, for as 
 they entered a little thicket the tread of 
 horses^ feet and the musical tinkle of falcons^ 
 bells Tvere heard approaching. Dame Juliana 
 on her palfrey was before them — a woman of 
 majestic presence and open, beaming face. She 
 wore the Benedictine habit — a tunic of black 
 undyed wool, a white wimple and scapular, and 
 over her shoulders a long black robe. She 
 wore no cowl, reserving that for the chapel and 
 other solemn occasions. Round her neck was 
 a massive gold chain, with a plain gold cross 
 suspended to it. 
 
 But Letitia^s attention was riveted by the 
 falcon perched on Dame Juliana^s wrist, a 
 bird of exquisite beauty, and perfect training ; 
 she (for the female bird was reckoned more 
 courageous and active than the male, and con- 
 sequently preferred) was hoodwinked and held 
 by jesses, or leather-straps fastened round her 
 yellow legs. A tiny silver bell made in Milan 
 was attached to each foot, and gave forth a 
 shrill but pleasant sound. The body of the 
 falcon was ash-coloured, spotted with brown, 
 and her tail was crossed by four or five black-
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 271 
 
 ish bars. She turned her head proudly on 
 hearing the strangers approach_, exhibiting not 
 the slightest sign of shyness or fear. 
 
 Stately yet amicable greetings passed be- 
 tween Sir Thomas Button and the Prioress. 
 Then followed an introduction to his young 
 companions, and a few words touching the 
 events of the time,, the latest tidings from Lord 
 Berners, who was at Greenwich with the King; 
 and last, not least in importance, the portent 
 of the night before. But Dame Juliana was 
 soon recalled to the business in hand by her 
 falconer^s voice saying in her ear, ^ Madam, 
 there is a heron at siege by the pool. Shall 
 we let fly V 
 
 * Ay, and that speedily,^ she answered. ' Sir 
 Thomas, I pray you tarry to see the end of 
 this gear. Bright-eye will fetch down the 
 heron at the first flight, I warrant me. Here 
 is a damoselle who, if I read her thoughts 
 aright, will back me in this suit, and plead for 
 a few moments^ grace.^ 
 
 Sir Thomas demurred an instant, then 
 yielded to the eager wish expressed in Letitia^s 
 eyes. They rode through the thicket, and 
 found themselves close to the edge of a pool 
 of no great size or depth, but pleasantly
 
 272 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 skirted with trees^ and fringed witli reeds and 
 water-irises. At its further end stood the 
 graceful heron^ absorbed in watching for its 
 prey_, and quite unconscious of danger at hand. 
 And now the party halted, and a falconer 
 crept as near the heron as he could, going 
 under the wind, with a haggard falcon on his 
 wrist. This bird, technically called the driver, 
 he let off, after unhooding her and loosing her 
 jesses. She immediately made for the heron, 
 which raised its slender head in alarm, and 
 prepared for flight, working in the wind a 
 second or two before it fairly took wing. Then 
 the Prioress slipped off Bright-eye's hood, and 
 softly whistled her off her wrist, beckoning 
 Lettice to do the same. It was an anxious 
 moment for Lettice, whose falcon, Deva, a young 
 and valuable bird, had never yet been let off 
 Avithout her creance, the long thread by which 
 hawks in training used to be reclaimed. Deva, 
 however, did her part admirably ; and it was 
 beautiful to see her and Bright-eye, first 
 wheeling in circles immediately overhead, then 
 rising, rising steadily against the blue sky. 
 They worked up above the heron, and then the 
 chase began; Bright-eye and Deva pouncing 
 occasionally, then descending to the wrist, then
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 273 
 
 rising and pouncing again ; the heron_, with its 
 head sunk between its shoulders, and its legs 
 outstretched, eluding their merciless talons. 
 From time to time it uttered its harsh wild 
 cry, half of defiance, half of distress. 
 
 The decisive moment came. Deva pounced 
 on the poor heron, trussed him, and bore him 
 fluttering and screaming to the ground. Dame 
 Juliana for a moment could not hide her dis- 
 comfiture at the defeat of her favourite, Bright- 
 eye. The next, however, she turned to 
 congratulate Lettice; but the eager girl had 
 urged her palfrey forward, and was cantering 
 over some rough ground to the scene of action. 
 At her first call, Deva resigned her prey to the 
 falconer, wheeled two or three times round her 
 young mistresses head, and finally settled on 
 the slender outstretched wrist. Lettice caressed 
 and hooded her, and was returning in triumph 
 to Sir Thomases side. Short triumph, alas ! 
 v»^as hers ! An adder crawling among the 
 loose stones and shrubs that covered that waste 
 ground, fastened upon her palfrey^s foot, and 
 inflicted so severe and fiery a bite, that the 
 terrified animal reared suddenly. Lettice was 
 thrown, and the back of her head came Avith 
 stunning force against the stump of a tree. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 There she lay as one dead, and with the 
 very hue of death on her face. She remained 
 unconscious while Sir Thomas raised her from 
 the ground and with womanly gentleness un- 
 fastened her capj and stanched the few drops 
 of blood that trickled amongst her fair hair. 
 When Cecily brought some water from the 
 pool, and sprinkled it on the pale forehead, 
 only a few shiverings and moanings told that 
 life was there. 
 
 ' Lettice, sweetheart, look up/ she cried, 
 wringing her hands ; ^ look up, my tender- 
 ling, open those blue eyes once more, and 
 smile upon me ! Oh ! she is gone again. 
 Will not these hot tears bring her to her- 
 self? But I waste time in idle sorrow. Help 
 me, Sir Thomas. Say, whither shall we carry 
 her?' 
 
 'To our house of Sopewell,' interposed the 
 Prioress, in a kind, decided voice. ' Sister 
 Scholastica hath ridden forward to put all in 
 readiness, and the hospital- sister will be here 
 anon with a litter.' 
 
 'Thanks, kind mother,' was all Cecily could 
 say, as, with Parnel's help, she divided the 
 long silky tresses, and sought for the wound 
 that must have been inflicted. There were
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 275 
 
 small outward tokens of it, except one gash, 
 from whicli blood continued to well slowly. 
 
 ^ Let it flow/ said the Prioress ; ' would it 
 flowed faster, for then should the o^er-fraught 
 brain find some relief.' 
 
 The litter soon appeared, and its uncon- 
 scious freight was placed in it and conveyed 
 to the nunnery. She was at once carried to 
 the infirmary, and laid on a small bed with 
 sheets and hangings of snowy whiteness. The 
 room was very peaceful, furnished simply but 
 invitingly, and looking out, through its long 
 narrow windows, on a green and quiet landscape. 
 It was calculated to hold eight or ten patients, 
 but seldom received even half that number, 
 as the convent itself was bound by statute to 
 admit but thirteen nuns. At this moment one 
 old and infirm sister was its only occupant. 
 The Prioress, therefore, placed the apartment 
 at the travellers' disposal; and quiet being 
 absolutely required for the patient, she au- 
 thoritatively dismissed all but Cecily and 
 Parnel. She then summoned the hospital- 
 sister, whose knowledge of leechcraft was by 
 no means contemptible, and after short con- 
 sultation, bleeding in the arm, a favourite 
 remedy in that age, was resorted to. Then, 
 
 T 2
 
 276 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 by Dame Juliana^s advice, or rather command, 
 for she was one of those persons whose will 
 is rarely disputed, the golden locks were all cut 
 off. This office Cecily would depute to none, 
 though it cost her some silent tears, especi- 
 ally when no recognition followed the loving 
 service. 
 
 But towards nightfall the symptoms altered 
 greatly ; the dead stupor passed away, and 
 the child began to move and utter inarticulate 
 sounds. Then the names of Maurice and Cecily 
 were audible, and by degrees her talk became 
 wild, rambling, and incessant. Fever had 
 come on, and with it delirium, and for several 
 days they defied all remedies. Neither good 
 Sister Bennett's decoction of feverfew, nor 
 Parnel's outward application of moonwort, con- 
 sidered then so ' singular for wounds,' were of 
 any avail. Perhaps the kerchiefs wrung out 
 of coldest spring water which Cecily applied 
 day and night, had most effect, for they pro- 
 duced from time to time a lull, and even half 
 an hour or so of troubled sleep. 
 
 It was in one of these intervals that Cecily 
 first found time to write to Sir Piers. Sister 
 Bennett was taking her turn of watch by the 
 sick girl ; and Parnel, by Cecily's orders, had
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 277 
 
 gone to bed. Curfew-toll had ceased, and the 
 ringing of a small bell had warned every in- 
 mate of the house to retire to her dormitory. 
 There, as well as in the cloister and refec- 
 tory, St. Benedict's rule of silence was strictly 
 enforced; so the stillness was profound within. 
 Not so without, for scores of nightingales were 
 singing, far and near, and their piercing notes, 
 vying with, and answering one another, rang 
 through the woods. 
 
 Immediately under Cecily's windows was 
 the little graveyard in which for more than 
 three hundred years the Sisters of Sopewell 
 had been buried. Lowly headstones marked 
 their resting-places, and crosses of more elabo- 
 rate workmanship distinguished those of such 
 former prioresses as were not interred in the 
 chapel. A nightingale poured forth its song from 
 a hawthorn within this quiet enclosure; and, 
 as Cecily leaned forth and listened, she thought 
 no sweeter or more soothing requiem could be 
 sung over the holy dead. But her thoughts 
 soon reverted to the living, and first of all to 
 Piers, who would be anxiously looking for tid- 
 ings of their arrival in town. She reproached 
 herself with having let three days elapse Avith- 
 out advising him of her present position, and
 
 278 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 resolved to send Hal Nixon (who, with Hamo, 
 was still at the ^ Chequer^ in St. Albans) to 
 Wigmore Castle the very next day. Not 
 without some difficulty, and a feeling of shy- 
 ness, did the young wife indite her first epistle 
 to her husband. It ran as follows : — 
 
 ' To the Worshipful Knight of Holforde be 
 this delivered in haste. 
 
 '^ Right Worshipful Husband, — I humbly 
 commend me to you, desiring most heartily to 
 hear of your welfare and safe arrival at Wig- 
 more; and also praying, night and day, that 
 counsels of peace, and not of strife, may attend 
 you there. Still I have little leisure, and less 
 skill for writing all I desire you to know. I pray 
 you interrogate Hal Nixon, who shall tell you 
 of our present heaviness, by reason of our 
 sister Letitia her grievous hurt. Liefer would 
 I gladden your heart with recounting the 
 goodness of the Lady Prioress of Sopewell, 
 who in gentle wise doth make us gentle cheer, 
 and doth entreat my Lettice as though she 
 were a daughter. 
 
 ^ I trust I am fulfilling your pleasure in 
 sending Hal to you at Wigmore. It were not 
 well that Hamo should tarry long at the
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 279 
 
 ^Chequer/ where there is much dicing and great 
 resort of jugglers and tymbesteres ; yet dare I 
 not despatch him elsewhere without knowing 
 your will in the matter. For monies we be 
 well furnished, for we have depensed full 
 little on the road, thanks to the courteous 
 Knight of Button, which oft-times would not 
 let us pay our reckonings, albeit we wrangled 
 with him in the matter. He is right fatherly, 
 and loves my Lettice well. He and his brother 
 and Mistress Eglanbie Trowtbecke rode to 
 Barnet on Monday last. The Lord Berners, 
 brother to Dame Juliana, our prioress, was here 
 yester morn; and by him, who seemeth a 
 courtly noble gentleman, I sent most lowly 
 excuses to her Highness the Queen, on 
 Lettice her behalf; also messages to the Lady 
 Kynderton. Let me hear of you soon, and 
 God and His holy ones have you in their keep- 
 ing evermore. Right worshipful husband and 
 most best beloved, I beseech you do nothing 
 rashly. My Lettice would have sent you 
 greeting, but, alas ! the fever hath acrazed her 
 brain ; she kuoweth me not, but ever babbleth 
 of the green Cheshire hills ; suing, in piteous 
 wise, for one draught, one sparkling draught, 
 from Woodcock^ s Well. Farewell. I have so
 
 280 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 washed this little bill with salt tears, that scarce 
 shall ye read it. Yet one thing shall ye ever 
 know, and, I trust, never misdoubt, that I am 
 ' Your true loving wife, 
 
 ^ Cecilie Holforde. 
 
 ' Writ at midnight, the Friday after 
 the Invention of the Cross.' 
 
 The postscript of this epistle (for ladies^ letters 
 lacked not postscripts in the fifteenth century) 
 was thus worded : — 
 
 ^ Hal is befurnished Avith 4 gold angels, 
 whereof he shall give account to you : he is an 
 honest knave and a clear-headed. I doubt not 
 ye have duly ordered that masses should be 
 sung or said for our grandfather, whose soul 
 the Heavens assoilzie ; Avould ye could be with 
 me here, to hearken to the jubilation of melo- 
 dious birds unknown in our Cheshire groves. 
 Farewell.' 
 
 Promptly and sagaciously did Hal fulfil the 
 behests of his young mistress ; and in ten days 
 he returned to Sopewell, bearing a reply from 
 Sir Piers. It was written from Cirencester, 
 whither the Duke of York had sent him on a 
 secret errand. Its contents brought micgled 
 comfort and anxiety to Cecily ; comfort from the
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 281 
 
 perfect confidence and love they breathed, 
 anxiety from the warlike tenor of their news. 
 
 ^ There be great power of fighting-men/ he 
 wrote, ' at the castle whence I come and 
 whither I return to-morrow; more than a 
 thousand Welsh and Yorkshire men, all vassals 
 of the Duke, and bearing his sable dragon with 
 the claws of gold. The white-headed Earl of 
 Salisbury is there also, with six hundred scarlet 
 jackets at his back : his son, Richard Nevill, is 
 daily looked for. This fiery lord, they say, 
 sweareth he will be revenged on Somerset, and 
 that speedily, for many indignities ; yet can he 
 not belash our much- wronged Prince into equal 
 fury, nor bring him to subscribe his hand to any 
 disloyal proclamation against our lord the King. 
 
 ^ Touching our private matters, your tidings 
 of our sister have wrought in me great hea\d- 
 ness of spirit. God grant she may amend 
 shortly, and, my dearest life, tarry not at Sope- 
 well a day longer than her estate needeth, for 
 methinketh it shall not be a safe harbour 
 long. Would ye were both housed in the walls 
 of Clerkenwell nunnery; for this end I have 
 given Hal such directions as shall expedite 
 your journey thither. Of ours to the Manor, 
 and of the sad pageant of Sir Ranulph's bury-
 
 282 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ing, Hal is instructed to report unto you. Wax 
 candles of the best shall burn in the chantry 
 till All Saints^-day, or till Christmas, if ye list; 
 Sir Ai-mine will see to it. The Vicar hath fled, 
 no man knoweth whither. There must be 
 commission had from the Bishop to call him in, 
 to be proclaimed thrice in church by a dean;* 
 and if he appear not in six months, he shall be 
 deprived, and the chancellor present to whom 
 he listeth. Rob Wantwit shall soon lose that 
 nickname, so cunning waxeth he in Sir Armine's 
 school : nathless, he still prophesyeth strange 
 things, the latest whereof is, that Duke 
 Richard's head shall be exalted high and wear 
 a crown by-and-by. And now, fare thee well, 
 my life, and our Lord preserve thee in His 
 keeping. ' Thine own 
 
 ^ Piers Holforde. 
 ' Cirencester, nintli day of May, 1455.' 
 
 When this letter arrived, Lettice's fever had 
 subsided, leaving her utterly exhausted, but in 
 her right mind and free from acute suffering. 
 All idea of removal for the next fortnight was 
 out of the question ; and so frank and gracious 
 
 Eiiral dean. — See Paston Pajyers, Letter 234.
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 283 
 
 was Dame Juliana^s hospitality^ and so strong 
 the regard between her and '^the child L3ttice ' 
 already^ that Cecily could not bear to think of 
 parting them, and resigned herself gladly to 
 the necessity of staying on. The qniet life 
 suited her own harassed mind perfectly, and 
 when Lettice^s danger ceased, the prioress 
 insisted on her occasionally joining the nuns 
 in cloister and refectory. She would wander 
 up and down the priory domain, carpeted with 
 sweet wild \iolets and golden anemone, or sit 
 in the garden and listen to the harmless gossip 
 of the good nuns. Sister Scholastica, a leading 
 spirit amongst them, loved to tell ' how, three 
 centuries ago, two holy women made them- 
 selves a poor dwelling of boughs, wattles, and 
 stakes near the brook which runneth through 
 the grove called Einwood. There they did 
 lead a most austere life, feeding scantily on 
 bread and water. Their pious demeanour 
 being made known to Abbot Geoffry, of St. 
 Albans, he was moved from on high to build a 
 cell on that spot, with proper little mansions 
 for holy women. The fame thereof advancing, 
 both in spirituals and temporals, the said abbot 
 endowed the cell and added a burial-ground 
 unto it ; and so it grew and flourished.''
 
 284 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' But^ alas V the sister added^ with a sigh, 
 ' too long sunshine doth often scorch and harden 
 the soil; and in course of time evil crept into 
 this prosperous foundation ; vain talking super- 
 seded the silence enjoined by our founder; 
 guests were admitted to the parlour before the 
 permitted hour of nones, and detained after the 
 tolling of couvre-feu ; and the cowl and veil of 
 our order were disused, as savouring too much 
 of distasteful strictness. These crying evils 
 Abbot Michael reformed, enjoining sharp pe- 
 nance for every delict/ 
 
 ' Perchance,' remarked Cecily, ' this disci- 
 pline hath helped to perpetuate the great name 
 for sanctity this house hath obtained/ 
 
 ' Long may it keep that fair name,' ob- 
 served Sister Scholastica, not without asperity ; 
 but truly the talk we now hear of hawks and 
 hounds sorteth not with cowl and scapular. 
 'Twas but last even, I am credibly assured, our 
 Prioress was seen pacing the cloister with a 
 falcon on her fist !' 
 
 ' Content you, good mother,' answered Cecily, 
 with a smile; "twas but an act of charity on 
 that gracious lady's part, to humour a child's 
 sick fancy by bringing my Lettice the bird she 
 pined after.'
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 285 
 
 ' Good, good V said the sister, somewhat 
 appeased ; ' yet had Abbot Michael heard the 
 clink of that falcon^s bells i^ the cloister, he 
 would eftsoons have wrung her neck, I wis V 
 
 Events were rife which drove the petty bicker- 
 ings and heart-burnings of that small society 
 into the background. Lord Berners, a stout 
 and chivalrous Lancastrian, frequently came 
 from Westminster to confer with his sister at 
 Sopewell, and it was observed that Dame 
 Juliana ever looked pre-occupied after these 
 conferences. Her genial smile and cheerful 
 voice became overclouded and sad, and though 
 kind as ever, she gi'cw more reserved towards 
 Cecily. 
 
 It was not till the 19th of May, St. Dun- 
 stan^s-day, that Lady Holforde learnt the true 
 state of matters from Sir Thomas Button, who 
 came to Sopewell on his way north to inquire 
 for tidings of Lettice. The Duke of York, 
 with the Nevills, father and son, Lord Cobham, 
 and others, were expected daily to march east- 
 ward; and it was thought that the Londoners, 
 the majority of whom were stanch Yorkists, 
 would readily join them. The King, on his 
 part, showed no lack of spirit. With the aid 
 of the Dukes of Somerset and Buckin^cham,
 
 286 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 and many other nobles_, lie levied more than 
 two thousand soldiers^ and prepared for action. 
 
 ' On the 2oth of May the King/ says Ho- 
 linshed, ' meaning to meet with the Duke 
 rather in the north parts than about London, 
 where he had so many friends, departed from 
 "Westminster and laie the first night at 
 Watford/ 
 
 Two days later the Duke of York, with a 
 force of three thousand men, marched upon St. 
 Albans ; but ere he could enter the town the 
 royal army had taken possession of it; the 
 King's standard was planted in St. Peter^s- 
 street, and Lord Clifford, with a strong body 
 of retainers, undertook to guard the gates, and 
 prevent the possibility of a surprise. 
 
 All that night and the previous day had the 
 Lancastrian troops passed along the road which 
 skirted the S ope well domain. There were 
 pikemen, billmen, bowmen, armed retainers, 
 known by the various cognizances of the Lords 
 Stafford, Pembroke, Wiltshire, Sudeley, Berners, 
 Roos, and many more, all hurrying towards 
 their rallying- point, round the King's banner. 
 It could no longer be hid from Lettice, wh6 
 was now convalescent, that a battle Avas at 
 hand, and contending fears and hopes agitated
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 287 
 
 her breast^ and sent a hectic flush to her cheek 
 as she thought of Maurice and looked at 
 Cecily. True, Maurice was not there ; he and 
 his gallant master were far away, and the post 
 of duty was for once the post of safety too ; but 
 how long would it be so ? 
 
 And Cecily ? lonely in spirit and restless 
 in body, she paced the greensward all that day, 
 stopping from time to time to listen at the 
 postern-gate. Towards ten o'clock, Hamo 
 came breathlessly. 
 
 ^ My master sendeth you this ring, madam,' 
 he said, ' and biddeth me rehearse to you how 
 matters stand. At early dawn King Henry 
 sent no less a messenger than the Duke of 
 Buckingham to ask what meant this warlike 
 array of the Duke of York. Then answered 
 Duke Richard and his liegemen, and my master 
 stood amongst them, ^ We be his Majesty's 
 true subjects, and intend no harm at all to 
 him ; let but that wicked and naughty man 
 the Duke of Somerset be delivered unto us, 
 who hath lost Normandy and Guienne, and 
 brought this realm to such miserable estate, 
 that whereas it was the flower of nations, it is 
 now most desolate. Let but that bad man be 
 delivered to us, I say, and we be ready without
 
 288 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 breach of peace to return to our own countrie.' 
 But the King, or those about him, returned 
 answer ^ that he would make no conditions 
 with traitors, and by the faith he owed to St. 
 Edward and to the crown of England, all such 
 should die, every mother^s sonne of them, and 
 eke be hanged, drawn, and quartered, for ex- 
 ample to others/ And so, madam, the parley 
 ended ; and so my master bids you pray for 
 the right and for him/ 
 
 The eager stripling returned through a thou- 
 sand perils to his master^s side; and Cecily, 
 shuddering as she heard the first trumpet-call 
 to arms, resumed her solitary walk. The 
 battle-cries were distinctly audible at that dis- 
 tance ; shouts of ^ A Warwick ! a Warwick !' 
 rent the air as that nobleman^s troops broke 
 down the garden-wall between the ' Key ^ and 
 ' Chequer -^ and fiercely setting on the King's 
 vanguard, in a short time discomfited the 
 same. Right sharp and cruel was the fight, 
 Somerset and the other lords returning again 
 and again to the rescue of their worsted com- 
 rades, and the Duke of York, on his side, ever 
 sending fresh relays to help the weary and 
 replace the slain. 
 
 As the day advanced, every inmate of Sope-
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 289 
 
 well repaired to the chapel, and even Lettice 
 found strength to leave her sick room and join 
 the trembling worshippers; but soon a cry of 
 terror rose amongst them, as Parnel entered 
 with the intelligence that Somerset was slain. 
 He, who had long before been warned to shun 
 all castles, had died under the sign of the 
 ^ Castel. ' By his side lay gallant Henry Percy, 
 Earl of Northumberland, Humphry Lord 
 Stafford, son of the Duke of Buckingham ; 
 Lord Clifford, so frigthfuUy avenged in after 
 years by his ruthless son; Sir Bertram An- 
 thAvisell, and many, many more, weltering in 
 their blood ; and at the sight of this ghastly 
 array of corpses, Buckingham, Lord Wiltshire, 
 and most of their following — men ' better 
 skilled to play the courtier than the warrior' — 
 fled; through hedges and woods, under shrubs 
 and copses, they sought a hiding-place till the 
 fury of the battle was spent. Only King 
 Henry would not flee ; and though wounded in 
 the neck by an arrow, he stood silent and 
 motionless under his drooping banner, till not a 
 single man remained at his side. Then, says 
 the chronicler, * he withdrew himself into a 
 poore man\s house, to shun the shot of arrowes 
 that flue about him as thicke as snowe.^ 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Sir Piers had done his part that day boldly, 
 and with no wavering arm had sought the 
 overthrow of Somerset, whom in his heart he 
 believed an enemy to the realm and traitor to 
 the King. But when victory had declared 
 itself for the White Eose, and the Lancastrians 
 had taken to flight, his aim became rather to 
 save life than to destroy it. He looked on, 
 not unmoved, while Richard of York and the 
 Nevills twain bent their knee before King 
 Henry, beseeching him to grant them grace 
 and forgiveness of that they had done, and 
 earnestly protesting themselves his true liege 
 men. He heard the King's brief agonized 
 reply, ' O cease the slaughter; let my subjects 
 live !^ and hastened forth, armed with full 
 powers by the Duke of York to see this royal 
 command obeyed. It was high time, for ter- 
 rible excesses were beginning to be committed 
 by the victorious soldiery. They roamed the 
 narrow streets, red with Lancastrian blood, and 
 choked up at many points with dead bodies — 
 these they stripped for the sake of booty — and 
 then, penetrating into the houses, terrified and 
 plundered the harmless burghers and their 
 families. The inmates of the abbey began to 
 tremble for its safety ; but happily it stood at
 
 OF THE FIRST BATTLE. 291 
 
 some distance from the scene of conflict^ and 
 order was in a measure restored before the 
 spoilers could reach it. 
 
 Towards evening large bodies of flushed and 
 excited soldiery spread up in the direction of 
 S ope well, and the good nuns quaked as they 
 heard their drunken shouts, and saw the gleam 
 of their blood-stained pikes. Only the Prioress 
 continued firm, though her mind was torn with 
 deeper anguish than she chose to reveal ; for 
 since noon no tidings had reached her of the 
 gallant Lord Berners. Twilight fell upon the 
 blood-stained town, the sounds of riot and 
 licence grew louder, and as Dame Juliana 
 looked at her helpless sisters, and at the 
 jewelled shrine and costly offerings in her 
 guardianship, her hitherto fearless spirit began 
 to die within her. But God had not forgotten 
 her good deed and losing charity towards the 
 distressed travellers; and now she found, that 
 in harbouring and cherishing Lettice and Cecily 
 she had entertained angels unawares. 
 
 At the very height of the tumult, horses' 
 feet came trampling up to the postern-gate ; a 
 sudden lull and quietness ensued, and, looking 
 out. Dame Juliana saw a double hedge of armed 
 men posted round her -domain. A steel-clad 
 
 U 2
 
 292 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 knight dismounted and reverently craved one 
 moment's speech with the Lady Prioress and 
 her guests in the parlour. So Cecily saw her 
 husband again, unscathed and victorious, and 
 through the iron grating that divided them his 
 mailed hand sought and for an instant grasped 
 her trembling fingers; and as Dame Juliana 
 heard of her brother's safety,, and learnt that 
 he had met with such usage at the hands of 
 the victorious Prince as one Christian knight 
 should show to another, her spirit revived, 
 and comfort and thanksgiving mingled with 
 the sadness of defeat. She rejoiced also to 
 know that the King's hurt had proved slight, 
 and that he was ' greatly consoled ' with the 
 reverence and tenderness he met with from his 
 cousin of York ; but at the tidings that Cecily 
 and Lettice must leave Sopewell the next morn- 
 ing, and journey in the train of the King and 
 Duke of York to London, she turned her face 
 away and wept. 
 
 Sir Piers departed ; and after paying his 
 homage to King Henry in St. Albans Abbey, 
 spent the night in seeing to the burial of the 
 dead. ' The bodies of the noblemen were 
 buried in the Lady Chapel,' said Holinshed, 
 ' and the mean people in other places. This
 
 OF THE EIRST BATTLE. 293 
 
 was the end of the first battle of St. Albans_, 
 fought on the Thursdaie next before Penthe- 
 cost ; and upon the day next after, the King 
 and the Duke of York, the Earles of Salisburie 
 and Warwicke, came all to London, and were 
 lodged in the Bishop's Palace of London, and 
 there they kept their Whitsuntide with great 
 joye and solemnitie.' 
 
 END OF PART
 
 PART II.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 
 
 . goodly golden chayne wherewith yfere 
 The vertues linked are in lovely wyze ; 
 And noble minds of yore allyed were 
 In brave pursuit of chevalrous emprize, 
 That none did others' safety despise. 
 
 Spexsee. 
 
 TT7HICH is most beautiful^ the bright green 
 ^ * of fragrant spring, or the soft, mingled 
 colouring of an autumn landscape? Which 
 rivets eye and heart most, glowing youth in 
 her prime of beauty, or serene old age, full of 
 benignity, and of the hope that is not of earth ? 
 
 The springtide both of nature and of human 
 life will probably attract more votaries than its 
 decline ; yet look with me into yonder long low 
 chamber in the Palace of Westminster, where 
 a lady of seventy -five sits reading, and you will 
 agree that her face and form are such as to 
 withdraw the gaze even from the bright maiden 
 seated at her feet. 
 
 Yet has she drunk more deeply than most of 
 the cup of sorrow ; and since the day — fifty -five
 
 298 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 years ago — wlien her husband was nmrdered in 
 cold blood after the battle of Shrewsbury^ she 
 has never known exemption from those carking 
 cares which eat into the heart as deeply as 
 grief. The Baroness of Kynderton, for it was 
 shcj wore a robe of black brocade_, which fell in 
 ample folds round her tall, slight figure ; a cap, 
 or rather wimple, of snowy lawn, closely crimped, 
 covered her small head, and harmonized with 
 the delicate faded complexion. Narrow bands 
 of the softest grey hair defined the outline of a 
 forehead, not high, but broad and unwrinkled. 
 Her eyes were almond-shaped, and of the 
 deepest violet, softened, not dimmed, by the 
 lapse of time and by the many tears which 
 her own griefs, and the griefs of others, had 
 caused them to shed. A veil of Cyprus lawn, 
 worn over the wimple, denoted her a widow. 
 
 Closing her book — Chaucer^s Flower and 
 Leaf — she looked towards Letitia, who was 
 busily carving round a little ivory cup a bor- 
 der of Queen Margaret^s loved device, the daisy 
 flower. The girFs head was bent down, and 
 she spoke not at all, or but a few words under 
 her breath ; but the Baroness was pleased to 
 mark a brighter smile dimpling her cheeks than 
 had dwelt upon them for months past. For
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 299 
 
 three years and a half of Court life had made 
 our Lettice a sadder if not a wiser person. Hers 
 had been a chequered career. At one time^ 
 pinings after Maurice and her Cheshire home 
 had possessed her mind — for Maurice's visits 
 to the Court and to her had necessarily been 
 few and far between ; at another, the notice 
 and admiration excited by her grace and origi- 
 nality had been sufficiently delightful to stifle 
 all other longings. Suitors for her hand had 
 presented themselves from time to time, insti- 
 gated or encouraged by the Queen; but Lettice's 
 spirit revolted from marriage without affection, 
 — albeit the common practice of that day — and 
 not even the Queen^s arbitrary mode of match- 
 making could bend her will to it. And Mar- 
 garet, marking the deep attachment that existed 
 between her and her royal nursling, forbore to 
 press any suit that would remove her from the 
 Prince's service. So Lettice passed on, fancy free, 
 or supposed to be so, by the society she moved in. 
 Perhaps the piercing eye of Lady Kynderton saw 
 deeper, not without kindly regret, that she had 
 been the innocent cause of some intimacy be- 
 tween Lettice and her own high-spirited young 
 kinsman Hugh, Baron of Kynderton. She 
 might be mistaken ; but it appeared to her at
 
 300 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 one time that his knightly quahties had excited 
 something of unusual interest in the breast of 
 Lettice. If such a feeling existed, it was 
 promptly and proudly stifled on the return of 
 Eglanbie Trowtbecke to Westminster_, after one 
 of her frequent visits to some noble friends at 
 Bruges. AYeary of the Court_, where her 
 haughty temper had made many enemies, yet 
 loathing a home where her secret studies were 
 strictly forbidden, Eglanbie saw no escape from 
 either but in marriage. Her father was equally 
 anxious to provide an establishment for one 
 whom he could neither fathom nor control ; so, 
 after the fashion of those times, he opened a 
 negotiation with Sir Hugh. It was gladly re- 
 sponded to; not from the mercenary motives 
 which, to a remarkable degree, swayed the gal- 
 lants of that day, but from a sudden blinding ad- 
 miration, inspired by Eglanbie^s beauty. Piqued 
 by his dawning preference for Lettice, she had 
 spared no pains to attract him ; and, while doing 
 so, she had found herself attracted, nay, riveted. 
 She who had gained an ascendency over all that 
 came in contact with her, now shrank with an 
 unwonted sense of inferiority. Sir HugVs truth, 
 simplicity, scorn of evil, over-awed yet charmed 
 her • and she gave herself up, with all the pas-
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 301 
 
 sionateness of her nature, to this new feeling. 
 So the alliance had been concluded upon, to the 
 deep though secret regret of the aged Baroness ; 
 and the fact was announced to_, and received by, 
 Lettice without a word of comment. It was 
 no small consolation to Lady Kynderton that 
 her youngest and best-beloved grandson, 
 Richard Venables, was daily expected in Eng- 
 land, after two years^ campaigning in Spain 
 against the Moors. He had been trained under 
 her own eye from early childhood, in the love 
 of all that is good and great, and to him she 
 looked to realize, in every respect, her fondest 
 hopes, and to close her eyes in peace. 
 
 I have said that the few words uttered by 
 Lettice were in a whisper. A glance at the 
 interior of the chamber will show the reason of 
 this : its furniture had once been rich, but was 
 now much the worse for wear ; for the king's ex- 
 chequer, impoverished by years of prodigality, 
 had nothing to spare for household expenses. 
 Old-fashioned chairs and inlaid cabinets were set 
 round the walls. Two richly-carved beds helped 
 to darken the room, and beside them was a much 
 smaller bedstead, covered with a quilt of azure 
 silk, and distinguished by King Henry's device 
 of two feathers in saltire, the one gold, the
 
 302 rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 other silver, carved at its head. Here in deep 
 slumber lay the royal child, now five years old; 
 one little hand propped his fair curly head, 
 while the dimpled left arm was thrown round 
 Blanch, a white, silky-haired dog of the smallest 
 dimensions, the companion of his play, as now 
 of his slumbers. The Princess cheek was un- 
 usually flushed, and a tear lay upon it. This 
 the Baroness, who had risen to look at him, 
 softly wiped away ; then she said to Lettice : — 
 
 ' Came you to speech of our royal mistress 
 even now ?' 
 
 ' I did, lady,^ was the reply. ' Her Ma- 
 jesty holds her Court in the State Chamber 
 to-day, and it is her pleasure that the Prince 
 of AYales should attend her. I gather that 
 the Earl of Warwick will be there.^ 
 
 A start from Lady Kynderton encouraged 
 Lettice to proceed. ' The Queen is sore bestead, 
 and did at first vehemently protest she would 
 not see him. She stamped her foot, and cried, 
 ' York I could forgive, Salisbury I could for- 
 give; but Warwick never .^^ 
 
 ^And no marvel,^ rejoined the Baroness: 
 'those have but attacked her crown, he hath 
 stabbed her good name. He hath preferred such 
 foul charges against her wifely truth as woman
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 303 
 
 could scarce forgive ; and, alas ! such is his 
 credit with the people, that these rumours set 
 forth by him do gain wide credence/ 
 
 ^I know it/ said Lettice, with mournful 
 hesitation ; ' but you, lady — you, surely, do 
 not, cannot, believe them ?' 
 
 'Did I believe them,^ answered Lady 
 Kynderton, '^I would not tarry till another 
 sunset under this palace roof. No, no; our 
 Queen is lion-like in temper, fierce towards her 
 foes, and perchance too quickly swayed by 
 those she trusts, but she is true at heart/ 
 
 ' And that same lion-like port she hath 
 transmitted to this baby-prince,^ said Letitia. 
 * Right beautiful it is to see his eyes flash fire, 
 his broad chest heaving, his tiny hand clenched 
 in anger ; then speak but one soft word and 
 the wrath is gone ; and as ice on the hill -top, 
 so doth the gleam in his hazel eye melt into a 
 gush of tears and smiles/ 
 
 ' Ah, Lettice,^ said the Baroness, ' I could 
 chide thee sometimes for fostering, when thou 
 shouldst repress, these starts of pride. Thou 
 deemest them princely and becoming, fond girl, 
 and dost forget that he who is born to rule 
 must first perfectly obey. Oh ! beware how thou 
 dost touch the strings of this sweet human
 
 304 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 instrument^ drawing therefrom discord instead 
 of music. But see, he wakes/ 
 
 The sleeper now began to stir, and raising 
 hi^ head, looked around him wistfully; but, 
 seeing Lady Kynderton at his side, he grew 
 bright, and clasped his arms round her neck 
 caressingly. ^ Grandam, was it a dream ? or 
 was I of a truth froward even now V 
 
 ^It was no dream, your Highness,^ replied 
 the Baroness, gravely ; ^ you were disobedient, 
 and therefore chidden/ 
 
 ^ I do remember me,' said the child ; ^ I did 
 entreat poor Blanch full roughly in my anger. 
 Good grandam, I will not do it again, i' faith I 
 will not.* 
 
 ' V faith, say you, my Prince V Lady 
 Kynderton answered, with a smile. ' Well, I 
 may trust you, for a king's son will not lightly 
 break his faith. Now rise and let us make 
 ready for the presence-chamber.' 
 
 * And while Lettice combs these locks, 
 which my unquiet sleep hath so tangled, rehearse 
 to me, dear grandam, the story of the dragon 
 that hangs from thy girdle.' 
 
 The lady's keys, scissors, and lancet case, with 
 other articles, were attached by chains to a silver 
 lozenge, on which was engraved the Venables
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 305 
 
 crest; and this^ again^ was fastened by a liook into 
 her girdle. Her nursling fixed his clear eyes on 
 the dragon^ while she cheerfully made answer — 
 *" Of a truth, my Prince_, ye must know the 
 legend by heart, yet here it is. ^ Pour hundred 
 years agone. Sir Gilbert Yenables, cosyn-ger- 
 man to King William the Conqueror, came 
 with him to England, and for his prowess was 
 by him rewarded with the Lordship of Kyn- 
 derton in your own fair Earldom of Chester; 
 now, after that time, it chanced that a terrible 
 dragon did make his abode in a great swamp in 
 Moston Manor; this dragon, coming forth, 
 devoured all that came that way, the which 
 Thomas Yenables, descendant of the said 
 Gilbert, hearing of, did in his own person 
 valiantly set on him. First he shotte him 
 through with an arrowe, and afterwards with 
 other weapons manfully slew him ; at which 
 instant of time the said dragon was devouringe 
 of a childe.^ For this worthy and valiant act 
 was given to him the said Lordship of Moston, 
 and he and his heirs did assume for their crest 
 this dragon which you now see; His silver scaled, 
 and pierced with an arrow, gold-headed and 
 feathered silver, in its jaws a child, proper, 
 haired, gold.^ 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ^ Be there dragons now T asked tlie Prince, 
 with kindling eye. ^ I would I were of age to 
 wield a lance and. rid my father^s subjects of 
 them/ 
 
 ' There be no dragons abroad in the land 
 now-a-days/ the lady answered ; ' but England 
 hath yet worse foes, whom^ by God^s help^ your 
 Highness shall one day subdue ; and, oh my 
 Prince, within your nursery doors lurketh ever 
 the dragon of pride and self-will — beware, 
 beware of him, struggle with him even now 
 manfully, and, by Christ^s dear grace, you shall 
 come off victorious/ 
 
 The Prince was silent awhile, occupied with 
 those high thoughts and aspirations which stir 
 the childish heart more often and solemnly than 
 its most watchful guardians know. 
 
 ' I will pray my mother to-morrow take me 
 to matins,' he said at last, * and I will be still 
 when I am there.' 
 
 In another moment he was gambolling about 
 the chamber with Blanch, somewhat to the dis- 
 composure of the locks Lettice had been elabo- 
 rately disentangling ; however, the lady smiled 
 on these frolics, thinking it sound policy to let 
 the flow of spirits exhaust itself before the little 
 Prince was summoned to represent in the
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 307 
 
 audience-chamber. Two hours later he was 
 standing at his mother^s side^ receiving with 
 exemplary gravity the homage of a throng of 
 courtiers. They assembled in one of the state 
 rooms (now destroyed) of "Westminster Palace.* 
 The royal seat_, a broad, low divan, was placed 
 in a rich oriel, the blue vaulted ceiling of which 
 was powdered with gold stars ; it was lighted 
 from behind by several lancet-shaped windows, 
 through which the rays of the winter sun (for 
 it was the November of 1458) struggled feebly, 
 dimmed by the river mists. An arras of gold 
 and colours, representing the royal arms in 
 numerous chequers, was stretched from pillar to 
 pillar, forming the background to the seat where 
 Margaret kept her state. 
 
 King Henry was away on one of his frequent 
 pilgrimages to St. Albans Abbey, so she sat 
 alone in her majestic beauty. On her head 
 was a circlet of gold and gems, from which the 
 yellow hair escaped and flowed over her mantle 
 of royal purple. The pale gold of those tresses 
 contrasted with the darker hue of the straight 
 pencilled brows, and of the lashes which veiled 
 
 * This description is borrowed, in many particulars, 
 from Miss Strickland's account of the manuscript pre- 
 sented by Earl Talbot to Queen Margaret of Anjou. 
 X 2
 
 308 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 her piercing eyes. Her ladies^ riclily attired, 
 stood beliind ; tlie matrons wearing high, horned 
 head-dresses ; the maidens_, nets^ or small heart- 
 shaped caps, rich with jewels. 
 
 Eglanbie Trowtbecke, now the betrothed 
 bride of Sir Hugh of Kynderton, had adopted 
 the latter costume, and stood near her royal 
 mistress, cold, grave, and abstracted, but fault- 
 less in shape and feature. So thought mam' 
 who gazed upon her, and so thought Sir Hugh 
 as he watched her from a distance, inwardly 
 chafing at the etiquette which forbade him, 
 though knight-banneret and fourteenth baron 
 of his name,* to draw nearer to the dais. A 
 multitude of nobles, habited in full tunics 
 trimmed with rich furs, and not a few eccle- 
 siastics in court costume, now flocked to the 
 upper end of the chamber to pay their de- 
 voirs to the Queen. Some, as the Dukes of 
 Exeter and Somerset, and the Bishop-elect of 
 Lichfield, John Halse, she greeted with the 
 utmost cordiality. They were stanch and 
 avowed partisans of her cause. Towards others, 
 suspected of leanings to the House of York, her 
 
 * See Oemeeod's History of Cheshire: Barony of 
 Kynderton.
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 309 
 
 demeanour was cold and repelling, Tvith one ex- 
 ception only, that of the Primate and ex-Chan- 
 cellor, Cardinal Bonrchier. He "was a man of 
 high birth, connected, in fact, "vvith both the 
 Houses of York and Lancaster, and, moreover, 
 of such wary policy and smooth address, that 
 the most fiery partisan on either side could not 
 pick a quarrel with him. The Queen called him 
 to her, and said — 
 
 ' ^ATiat matter of grave import hath detained 
 our most reverend kinsman from the council- 
 board to-day ? We needed your help much, to 
 repress the truculent boldness of the Earl of 
 Warwick.^ 
 
 ' A weighty and mournful business, so please 
 your Majesty,^ replied the Cardinal ; ^ one the 
 like of which hath not been known in this 
 realm afore. Heresy hath reared her head 
 and shown her poisonous fangs in high places, 
 but I trust our morning^s work hath scotched 
 that snake.' 
 
 ^You speak of the matter of Bishop 
 Reginald Pecock ?' asked the Queen. ^ More 
 pressing concerns have so besieged me of late, 
 that I scarce know whereof he stands accused ; 
 yet could I not but marvel one so meek and 
 withal so scholarly should cause so great a stir.'
 
 310 FOR AND AGAINST, 
 
 ^ Metliinks it might be said of Dr. Pecock/ 
 replied the Priraate, ' much learning hath 
 made him mad. Your grace's hair would rise 
 on your head to hear but a tithe of the pro- 
 fanities wherewith he hath infected Oxford_, 
 nay_, the whole realm !' 
 
 *■ I have heard he denounced annates_, 
 Peter's pence, and such-like, as fond inven- 
 tions/ said the Queen, not without malicious- 
 ness. 
 
 ^Ay, your grace; and he would do the 
 sacred Scriptures into English, for the reading 
 of the vulgar, and, further, he impugneth the 
 infallibility of the Church — impugneth, said I ? 
 rather did impugn, for this morning, with 
 bitter tears, he read his recantation in my 
 court at Lambeth.' 
 
 Letitia Done, who lost not a word of this 
 discourse, turned away to drop a tear for the 
 unhappy prelate. The Queen, though made 
 of far sterner stuff, sighed, ^Poor man, and 
 what further punishment shall betide him V 
 
 ^Nothing less than a life-long captivity 
 can wipe out his offence,' answered the Car- 
 dinal ; ' but first, on some day not yet named, 
 he must recant, in the hearing of all people, 
 at Paul's Cross, and see his wicked and per-
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKEE. 311 
 
 nicious books deputed to the fire^ for the ex- 
 ample and terror of all others/ 
 
 Queen Margaret^s attention had wandered 
 while the Primate spoke ; and now she mecha- 
 nically rose, while a dark gleam shot from her 
 eye, and a deeper flush burnt on her delicate 
 cheek. The Earl of Warwick had entered the 
 presence-chamber. 
 
 The Kingmaker was distinguished at the 
 first glance by his great height, towering from 
 the shoulders upwards above the other nobles. 
 His breadth of chest and strength of limb and 
 muscle were equally remarkable ; and to these 
 nature had added a most commanding expres- 
 sion — a lofty forehead, coal-black eyes and 
 hair, and a demeanour perfectly unaflPected, 
 yet full of dignity. These qualities, and many 
 solid virtues (for Warwick, in a profligate age, 
 was the best of husbands and fathers), made 
 him the people-'s idol. ' They judged,^ says a 
 homely chronicler,* Hhe sunne was clerely 
 taken from the worlde when hee was absent; 
 his only name sounded in every song of the 
 common people, and no man had they in such 
 honour, nor to the clouds so high extolled.' 
 
 * Hall's Chronicle.
 
 312 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Such was this magnanimous, though tur- 
 bulent baron ; such the man whom Margaret 
 hated with deep personal hatred, and who, in 
 return, regarded her with aversion and dis- 
 esteem. After the battle of St. Albans, his 
 kinsman, Richard of York, had given him the 
 captainship of Calais, vacant by Somerset's 
 bloody death, and when, some months later. 
 Queen Margaret dexterously wrested the power 
 from York, such was Warwick's favour vvitli 
 the people, that she durst not dispossess him 
 of his office. But she heaped insult and con- 
 tumely upon him, and in 1457 either laid or 
 connived at a treacherous plot against his 
 liberty and life. He discovered it, and fled to 
 Calais. In the next year a semblance of 
 reconciliation between the contending factions 
 had been brought about by Cardinal Bourchier, 
 and a solemn procession to St. PauFs had 
 notified this accord to the people. Strange 
 sight it must have been ! The Queen walk- 
 ing lovingly hand -in-hand with Y^ork, young 
 Somerset with white-haired Salisbury, Exeter 
 with Warwick ! They were preceded by King 
 Hemy, the only true peace-lover amongst them, 
 habited in his vestments royal, and wearing 
 his crown upon his head. But the wall thus
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 313 
 
 flimsily built up_, and daubed witli ■untempered 
 mortar^ was soon to fall on their heads. 
 
 There was an involuntary hush while the 
 Earl paid his cold stern duty to Queen Mar- 
 garet. So defiant was the tone of her reply_, 
 that her little son looked up, his eyes full of 
 innocent surprise. They met those of the 
 Earl, whose eagle glance softened at once. 
 The Prince stood erect by his mother^s side, 
 with a look of quick observing intelligence on 
 his face, which did not in the least mar its 
 sweet roundness and joyousness. He wore a 
 crimson tunic with a deep border of ermine ; 
 a velvet cap with the well-known ostrich 
 feather sat lightly on his auburn curls. On 
 his left arm lay Blanch, curled up, and only 
 manifesting consciousness by an occasional 
 attempt to lick her master's hand. 
 
 And now, attracted by Lord Warwick^s 
 kindly gaze, the Prince instinctively extended 
 his right hand, and before [Margaret was aware, 
 the Kingmaker had imprinted a kiss upon it. 
 She drew her boy away, saying, bitterly — 
 
 ' Poor child ! friend and foe are alike to 
 thee ! thou knowest not whose lips have 
 touched thee.^ 
 
 The Prince looked up perplexed.
 
 314 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Mother — your pardon — I know well wlio 
 this lord is ; His your High Admiral^ the same 
 who, last summer, looked out from Calais town 
 and espied the great Spanish navy; then sailed 
 he forth, and fought a dreadful and sore battle, 
 and slew a thousand of his enemies, and took 
 the great ships. Didst thou not tell me so, 
 Lettice V 
 
 The Queen interposed. 
 
 ' In sooth, ^listress Letitia, you have learnt 
 him his lesson well,^ she said, with repressed 
 passion ; ^ yet were it good the Prince should 
 know the other side of this story ; wise men 
 there be in England not a few to whom this 
 doughty deed beareth the ugly aspect of piracy.' 
 
 Letitia's spirit was roused, and, though 
 trembling, she might have made an over- 
 bold reply ; but the Lady Kynderton advanced. 
 Gently laying her hand on the girVs lips, she 
 said : — 
 
 ' Good, your grace, the fault, if fault there 
 be, is mine; T have ever charged Mistress 
 Lettice to enamour his Highness of all valour- 
 ous and knightly achievements, and she hath 
 but sought, in her young simpleness, to carry 
 out this intent/ 
 
 ' Enough, enough, and too much of this 
 matter,' exclaimed IMargaret, impatiently.
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 315 
 
 ^ Let tlie Prince retire, good Kynderton,, and 
 see that Agnes Courcy begin her turn of service 
 to-night/ 
 
 There was no gainsaying the fiery Queen in 
 her ' lionhke moods/ as Lettice was wont to 
 call these outbursts of wrath ; so Lady Kyn- 
 derton signed the maiden instantly to with- 
 draw. She did so_, vanishing through a small 
 concealed door at that end of the chamber. 
 The Baroness was following with Prince 
 Edward when she felt her sleeve plucked by 
 Eglanbie Trowtbecke. 
 
 ' Mistress Lettice had best quit the palace for 
 a space/ she whispered_, hurriedly ; ' send her 
 to my father^s at Whitehall/ 
 
 ' A kindly thought/ said the lady ; ' but it 
 needeth not ; even had no untowardness 
 occurred, it was ordered she should lie at 
 my house in the Strand to-night, to see her 
 sister Holforde ; a wherry waits for her now at 
 "Westminster-gate.^ 
 
 ^ I will speak to Sir Hugh to see her safe 
 thither/ said Eglanbie, whose conscience, now 
 she saw Lettice in disgrace, smote her sorely, 
 for much secret and overt unkindness. Jealousy 
 had been at the bottom of all, a twofold jealousy, 
 excited not only, as we have said, by Sir Hugh's 
 cousinly intimacy with Lettice, but also by
 
 316 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 the peculiar favour often shown her by her 
 royal mistress. 
 
 For such clouds as had come between them 
 now were of rare occurrence^ and when they 
 did arise, rather enhanced Lettice's enjoyment 
 of the sunshine which, she trusted, would 
 follow. Her own temper was far from equable, 
 and her will strong ; no wonder, then, that she 
 found more charm in a fitful affection than in 
 calm, unvarying regard, that she saw more 
 beauty in the torrent than in the quiet rippling 
 stream. It is not often that in early youth 
 we learn the full value of steady, undemonstra- 
 tive affection. 
 
 It could not be disguised that the Queen's 
 outbursts of temper had of late become fre- 
 quent and terrible, and while Lettice, in the 
 solitude of her chamber, prepared for departure, 
 her spirit sank at the remembrance of that 
 withering glance and bitter sarcasm. The 
 sorrow of her nursling at parting from her 
 thus abruptly, though soothing, was trying too, 
 and she hastened to cut short the adieux and 
 be gone. Parnel had preceded her with the 
 baggage, and the kind Baroness insisted on 
 herself consigning her to the protection of Sir 
 Hugh and his small band of servants. So
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 317 
 
 they threaded together the labyrinth of 
 chambers opening one into another, and of 
 longj low_, damp corridors^ till they reached 
 the postern-door which faced the Thames. 
 
 On opening this_, a scene of marvellous, 
 though somewhat dreaiy, activity presented 
 itself, so peculiar to the olden times of which 
 we writCj that we must pause to describe it. 
 London presented then to the eye (as, indeed, 
 it does now) strangely rapid transitions from 
 grandeur to meanness. Rough hovels of all 
 sorts and sizes were grouped at the back of 
 the palace for the accommodation of the King^s 
 servants. The courts in which they stood were 
 ill-paved and ill-lighted, so that great con- 
 fusion often prevailed among the swarms of 
 royal retainers who were incessantly coming 
 and going. At this moment the presence of 
 a score or two of Nevill men-at-arms, known by 
 the ''ragged staff' on their scarlet jackets, and 
 by a certain haughtiness of bearing peculiar to 
 themselves, added to the hubbub not a little. 
 They were bandying high words wdth what was 
 then called the 'black guard,' that is, the 
 scullions, cooks, turnspits, &c., of the royal 
 kitchen. These made a formidable band, armed 
 as they were with ' spits, fire-forks, and
 
 318 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 cleavers/* The uproar increased every moment. 
 Lady Kynderton grew nneasy, and was glad 
 when slie saw the stalwart figure of her grand- 
 son forcmg his way through the crowd towards 
 them. To him she commended Lettice, with 
 a hasty but heartfelt blessing, and a promise 
 to intercede with the Queen on her behalf. 
 
 And now Sir Hugh, drawing Letitia^s arm 
 within his, and bidding his men keep close, 
 pushed manfully through the court- yard to- 
 wards a door in the strong wall opposite. Not 
 a word did he utter, except now and then a 
 muttered imprecation against the ' greasy 
 varlets^ that stopped the way. One or two 
 who beset Lettice^s path he thrust back with a 
 strength of arm that made them reel. One 
 black- faced turnspit turned upon him savagely, 
 and brandished a kitchen-knife in his face. 
 He put it aside with his gauntleted hand, and 
 reaching the door, drew its bolt, but found to 
 his surprise that it was also locked. There 
 was nothing to be done but to send back a 
 stout man-at-arms for the key, and wait his 
 return patiently. A sliding-panel in the door, 
 now partially open, gave some glimpses of the 
 
 * Holinshed's Chronicle.
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 319 
 
 river, reflecting faintly, throngh a wintry fog, 
 the rays of the declining sun. It was crowded 
 with wherries and barges. A busy hum came 
 up from it, with snatches of song, the old 
 boatman^s chorus, *^ Heave and how, rumbelow/ 
 or the new roundel, ^ Kow the boat, Norman,^ 
 composed five years before in honour of a 
 popular Lord ^layor. A narrow miry lane 
 led from the palace-postern to the Water-gate. 
 It was lined on both sides by booths, where all 
 manner of wares were hung out for purchase, no 
 bad speculation, as hundreds of persons passed 
 backwards and forwards daily. There were 
 Flemings crying out ^ Buy, my masters, buy ! 
 Fine felt hats ! Damask seven shilHngs the 
 yard ! Spectacles for to read withal, goodly 
 dame ! Lay down your silver, and here ye 
 shall speed !' Further on, apprentices with 
 blue caps and jaunty cloaks were offering 
 ' apes, and japes, and tailed marmosets/ spice^ 
 pepper, and saffron for sale. Saucy -looking lads 
 they were, with laughing eyes, white teeth, and 
 a ready knack of puffing off their goods, that 
 raised the mirth and opened the purse-strings of 
 many a passer-by. Beyond these was a stall for 
 manuscripts, where some few, mostly pale monks, 
 were gazing wistfully at ancient parchments, or
 
 320 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 missals ^ bedropped Tvith gold and azure.' But 
 the favourite resort of all was the eating -booth, 
 so vividly described by Lydgate in his comic 
 song of ' London Lyckpenny.' Here he re- 
 presents himself as having come to town in 
 search of legal redress for some wrong, and 
 wandering in a hungry and penniless condition 
 to Westminster-gate : — 
 
 And cooks to me they took good intent, 
 And proffered me bread, with ale and wine, 
 Eibs of beef, both fat and full fine ; 
 A fair cloth thej 'gan for to spread. 
 But wanting money, I might not be sped. 
 
 These various sights and sounds, and Sir 
 Hughes comments upon them, beguiled Lettice's 
 attention for a few minutes ; but a sudden fierce 
 shout from the palace-postern made them 
 start, and looking back they saw the Earl of 
 "Warwick issuing from it. After a fiery alter- 
 cation with the Queen, he was coming forth 
 to take barge and return to his mansion in the 
 Strand. Seeing a scuffle going on between his 
 servants and the King's, he hastened to call his 
 followers away from so unseemly a broil ; but 
 ere he could raise his voice of thunder — a voice 
 never yet disobeyed by one of the thousands 
 who gloried in wearing the ' ragged staff' on
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 321 
 
 tlieir breasts — a yell arose from the combatants. 
 A tile, or some such ignoble missile, flung by 
 a scullion, fell on the pate of one of the scarlet 
 jackets. Quick as lightning his comrades flew 
 to the rescue, felled the aggressor to the ground, 
 and left him for dead. Oaths, threats, and 
 blows quick as hail followed one another. 
 Blood began to flow, and the Earl himself was 
 in manifest jeopardy. His men, five-and- 
 thirty at most, now clustered round him, and 
 they stepped backwards in compact order towards 
 the outward door, facing their ignoble pursuers. 
 These being joined by a number of grooms, 
 porters, and low fellows ready for mischief, 
 amounted to more than three hundred. Some 
 few who would have stopped the fray got no 
 hearing, but were driven off with abuse and 
 blows. One figure in friar^s garb the Earl 
 noted gliding stealthily through the throng, 
 and exciting, not allaying, its fury. Something 
 he said in the ear of one or two ruffians whose 
 zeal in the cause seemed slackening, and they 
 instantly sprang upon the Earl, shouting, ' Ay, 
 ay, he saith well ! Queen ^Margaret shall give 
 its weight in gold for the Ne\T[irs head.^ 
 
 ' Oh, false ! oh, shame ! that our royal lady 
 should be so belied,' cried Lettice, shuddering. 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Sir Hugli, for her sake, and for tlie brave 
 EarFs sake, hasten to him ; he is sore pressed — 
 he stumbleth — no, he stands upright again ! 
 Help him, for Heaven^s love ! lest he die/ 
 
 ' And you, Lettice^ what can you do V 
 
 ' Oh, care not for me/ she said, pointing to 
 a bulwark at the angle of the strong wall which 
 then girt the palace. ' I will hide me there — 
 begone, good Sir Hugh.^ 
 
 No need to urge him. With one look of 
 gratitude he bounded to the EarFs side. 
 
 ^ Brave Nevill,^ he cried, ' I would give half 
 my barony to meet thee in fair field; but to 
 see thee hacked in pieces by base cullions, nay, 
 that passeth.^ 
 
 Letitia meanwhile hastened into the friendly 
 bulwark. It was nearly filled up with earth 
 round the sides; but a hollow in the centre 
 afforded good shelter from the stones, iron bars, 
 and other missiles that were flying perilously 
 about. The din increased, and was responded 
 to from outside, a mass of people from West- 
 minster-gate and its purlieus having collected 
 below the rampart. A voice, as of some one 
 in authority, called out, * What ho ! what 
 meaneth this uproar ? Open, in the King's 
 name ! in the Lord Abbot's name I bid you
 
 o o o 
 
 open '/ But the summons was disregarded or 
 unheard. Looking through a loophole_, Lettice 
 espied a grave, resolute -looking functionary in 
 black_, backed by a score of well-armed officials. 
 She knew him at once to be reeve or bailiff to 
 the Abbot of Westminster, in whose hands the 
 whole temporal, as well as spiritual, jurisdic- 
 tion of the borough then lay. Behind him 
 was a motley collection of burgesses, watermen, 
 women and children detained against their will 
 and crying out for fear, apprentices wielding 
 cudgels or bludgeons. Like the Ephesian mob 
 of old, ^ the more part knew not why they had 
 come together.^ Lettice waved her kerchief. 
 
 ''Help! my masters,^ she cried; ^the Earl of 
 Warwick is foully set upon. Help ! break open 
 the door — clear his way to the river.' Then 
 clasping her hands, she added, faintly, ' Oh, see ! 
 the villains have thrust between him and Sir 
 Hugh; he is left well nigh alone. Saint 
 Stephen guard him now !' 
 
 Then the ear?s voice was heard close to the 
 bulwark ; he shouted to the Lord of Kynderton, 
 whom the ^dolence of the mob had borne a con- 
 siderable distance from him, ^ Good Sir Hugh, 
 imperil not thyself further for me; let the 
 Nevill Bear shift for himself. It cannot be 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 tliat these kitchen kites and crows shall peck 
 out his eyes '/ The rash taunt was responded 
 to by a yell, and Lord Warwick found himself 
 pinned against the rampart, with scarce half a 
 dozen of his retainers about him. 
 
 ^ Cut down the traitor ! it shall be reckoned 
 good service/ was uttered by a voice among the 
 crowd, not loud but clear. Lettice knew the 
 voice, and she knew the dark -robed figure that 
 gave it utterance. She had come face to face 
 once before with this person, in the apartments 
 of the Duchess of Bedford — a notorious student 
 of magic and alchemy. That transient glimpse 
 had all but convinced her that she beheld the 
 former Yicar of Newbolde, Sir Roger, con- 
 cerning whom nothing had been known since 
 he absconded three years before. But she had 
 paid him no very close heed, her attention being 
 riveted by the more remarkable person in whose 
 train he came. This was no other than Fabrizio, 
 him whom we met before at the ^ Chequer^ in 
 St. Albans, now master astrologer to Philip of 
 Burgundy, and high in his trust for matters with 
 which, it was thought, the stars had little con- 
 cern. Whether Sir Roger were in this foreigner's 
 service, or occupied some obscure post in the 
 palace, Lettice could not be sure ; but she in-
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 325 
 
 clined to the latter belief, as he occasionally 
 Crossed her path, though furtively and at a 
 distance. Now she recognised him beyond a 
 doubt, and he ventured one glance towards her, 
 and that of so unfriendly a nature as showed 
 that past grievances had not been buried in Sir 
 Kanulph^s grave. However, this was no time 
 for vain surmising ; for the Earl, having freed 
 his right arm for a moment, so as to draw his 
 sword, now laid about Avith it so effectually as 
 to beat back his assailants and clear his way 
 into the bulwark. 
 
 He started when Lettice met his eye, cower- 
 ing under the wall that afforded her protection, 
 pale but resolved, with hands folded, parted lips, 
 and blue eyes dilated by anxiety and listening. 
 They beamed with comfort, however, when she 
 saw that the invader of her hiding-place was 
 no other than the Earl. 
 
 ' Ha ! a damsel,^ he said, ' and, by my faith, 
 the same that spoke gently of me in the court 
 of yon perjured Queen ! What dost thou here, 
 fair child, in this den of thieves ?' 
 
 While speaking, he stretched his arm to 
 shield her from a descending missile. It rattled 
 against his armour of proof and fell harmless; 
 but more were on the wing, and the risk mani-
 
 326 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 festly increased. The Earl looked through a 
 loophole and saw the thoroughfare to the river 
 lined with apprentices^ eager to take his part ; 
 so would the bargemen, he knew, for he was 
 their idol. Once out of the palace-yard then, 
 all would be welL 
 
 The excited rabble meantime, variously armed 
 with pikes, knives, or cleavers, were pressing 
 into the bulwark. Their wild looks, and the 
 shouts and jeers raised at the sight of Lettice, 
 terrified even her brave little heart, and she 
 turned her burning face away, while the Earl, 
 throwing himself before her, ground his teeth 
 in scorn and indignation Now a crash was 
 heard ; the joint efforts of his friends within 
 and without had burst the door, and Sir Hugh, 
 with a score of hard-pressed Nevills, was fight- 
 ing his way towards it. Eearful lest these 
 should escape their hands, the rabble rout set 
 upon them, leaving the Earl space to breathe 
 and look about him. 
 
 ^Now is our time,^ he said to the handful 
 of men around him. Yet he, the undaunted, 
 still wavered, fearing further to endanger 
 Lettice. 
 
 Under his shadow, however, she felt no fear. 
 Seeing her courage up, he crossed himself,
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 327 
 
 grasped lier firmly with his left hand_, placed 
 himself and his men between her and the as- 
 sailants^ and strode towards the doorway. His 
 brave band and Sir Hugh seeing him re-appear^ 
 thrust their way through the mob^ cheering 
 loudly, and in an instant rallied round him. 
 Friends and foes_, pell-mell^ now poured through 
 the gate. Here the reeve and his party came 
 manfully to the help of the Nevills, and drove 
 back the greater part of their ignoble pursuers. 
 
 Some feWj however, continued to harass 
 Lord Warwick even to the water's edge ; but he 
 could laugh at their malice now, for the nar- 
 rowness of the lane did not allow of their 
 pressing upon him as before, and his gallant 
 scarlet coats closed round him and Lettice, 
 rending the thick air with shouts of ^ A Nevill ! 
 a Nevill !' Moreover_, a small party of gentle- 
 men had landed from a wherry, and they and 
 their servants came vigorously to the rescue, 
 with flashing steel and cries of ' A Holforde V 
 ' A Venables !' 
 
 Lettice clapped her hands in delight as the 
 faces of Sir Piers, Gralam, and Hamo succes- 
 sively met her eye. No tim.e for greetings as 
 they forced their way through the booths and 
 interposed themselves between the Earl and
 
 328 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 his persecutors. A fierce onslaught drove this 
 rabble back maimed and howling, and our 
 little party reached the stairs without further 
 opposition. One circumstance in the short 
 but final struggle perplexed Lettice. Sir Hugh 
 Venables seemed ubiquitous. To the right, 
 to the left, in front, in rear, his flashing blade 
 and flashing eyes were visible. 
 
 ' There is wizardrie about him P exclaimed 
 the Earl, divining her thought ; then with a 
 ringing laugh he added — 
 
 ' The riddle is made plain ; here stands bold 
 Hugh, Lord of Kynderton's broad acres — 
 yonder his cousin_, bold Richard, the Sara- 
 cens' dread, and Rose of Chivalrie. Welcome, 
 Sir Knight, back to this perturbed land of 
 ours.' 
 
 Richard Yenables and his cousin now found 
 time to gi'eet one another, and right joyful was 
 the clasp of their mailed hands. 
 
 Richard had but just arrived from Falmouth, 
 at which port he had landed from Spain. He 
 and Sir Piers, old friends and fellow -soldiers 
 under the Duke of York in France and Ireland, 
 had casually met, and joined their fortunes as 
 far as Westminster stairs, Sir Piers in search of 
 Letitia, Richard intending to visit the aged
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 329 
 
 Baroness at the palace. This inteiition_, how- 
 ever, he postponed an hour or two^ persuading 
 himself that it lay with his honour to see the 
 Earl safe home ; secretly attracted also by the 
 sight of Letitia^ the bright plaything and com- 
 panion of his boyish years. 
 
 Lord Warwick^s splendid barge lay at the 
 foot of the stairs manned by rowers in scarlet^ 
 bright with fluttering pennon and pennoncelle, 
 and with the EarFs guidon, ^ powdered full of 
 ragged staves/ decorating the prow. Two 
 smaller boats were moored close by for his 
 retainers. In one of these Parnel had taken 
 refuge from the pressure of the mob. 
 
 Finding that the sharers of his late adven- 
 ture were^ like himself, bound for the Strand^ 
 he prayed them to take barge with him, and 
 they were soon floating on the * silent highway ^ 
 towards their destination. Only Sir Hugh 
 Venables remained behind, ^ as in duty bound/ 
 his cousin mirthfully said_, ' to report of his 
 safety to bright ^Mistress Eglanbie.' 
 
 The jest brought no answering smile_, for Sir 
 Hugh's dreams of love and joy had been trou- 
 bled of late. A fitful melancholy had stolen 
 over Eglanbie, and shown itself in caprice and 
 reserve towards him. He had m.ore than once
 
 330 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 sought access to her in vain, and afterwards 
 learnt that she had been closeted with the Duchess 
 of Bedford_, the woman in the whole court whom 
 he most disapproved of. When pressed by 
 him on this point that very morning, Eglanbie 
 had proudly asserted her right to choose her own 
 friends, and they had parted in anger. 
 
 ' Will she care to know me safe V thought 
 the Baron. ^ Is her heart mine or is it not ? 
 Nay, but this very day I will know !' So he 
 returned to the palace and sought her out at 
 once. But alas for the firmest resolves man 
 can make ! Eglanbie met him with bright 
 smiles that seemed to plead for forgiveness; 
 in their sunshine he forgot all grievances, asked 
 no explanation of the past, exacted no promise 
 for the future ; and when, after an hour^s in- 
 terview, he bade her farewell, she felt that he 
 was more than ever her own. 
 
 To return to Lettice and her illustrious pro- 
 tector. After awhile the Earl grew silent and 
 abstracted, shaping in his mind the course 
 which this unlooked-for explosion would compel 
 him to take. He rapidly resolved on setting 
 out that same night to his Castle of Middle- 
 ham in Yorkshire, and thence conveying his 
 Countess and infant children to Calais. From
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 331 
 
 that impregnable stronghold^ whose key he held 
 in his hand, he would bring the proud Queen 
 to a better mind, or know the reason why ! 
 
 Silently the barge floated on till it came 
 alongside of the Strand, with its many pic- 
 turesque stairs leading up to noble mansions. 
 They stood wide apart from each other_, embo- 
 somed in orchards or groves of trees, which 
 from this point concealed the mean hovels that 
 clustered round them. Glimpses of the setting 
 sun might now and then be caught, about to 
 dip below the horizon, round as a shield, and 
 red as a glowing bar of iron. It was not lost 
 upon Lettice that the barge glided past Lord 
 Warwick's own princely dwelling, known by 
 the white bear and ragged staff floating in 
 broad folds on its octagonal tower. By his com- 
 mand the rowers slacked not till they reached 
 the stair (or bridge,, as it was then called) 
 opposite Lady Kynderton^s humbler abode. 
 
 Here Cecily had stood an hour at least, 
 much marvelling that her sister came not, much 
 discomposed by strange rumours of a fray at 
 Westminster, brought in a crude, disjointed 
 manner by chance passers-by on the river. 
 However, * all is well that ends welP — the 
 sisters were folded in one another's arms.
 
 332 rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Lettice in enthusiastic gratitude had kissed the 
 great Earl's hand, and prayed the ' good saints 
 have a care of him/ with an earnestness she 
 blushed a few moments later to think of. He, 
 courteously commending the ' pale lilye flowere' 
 to Cecily's care, waved an adieu, and was gone. 
 The weary girl was soon seated by a blazing 
 hearth, and tended in loving and matronly 
 fashion by her sister. She speedily revived, 
 and was as glad to tell, as Cecily and Piers were 
 eager to hear, the story of her escape. Kichard 
 Venables presently joined them, so cordial, so 
 full of old and dear reminiscences of former 
 times, that no one could consider him a stranger, 
 and all the while Cecily's boy, now a year old, 
 was springing and crowing in Letitia's arms, 
 and exciting all the raptures that young aunts 
 and mothers felt in the fifteenth century as 
 much as now. So the afternoon passed_, Cecily 
 alternately listening to Letitia's details of her 
 career at court, or in undertones relating the 
 more tranquil passages of her own married life, 
 varied, however, by occasional visits to Wig- 
 more Castle and other great houses. Sir Piers 
 had, in his turn, to tell of the bloody scenes in 
 which he had taken part the year before, in the 
 desolating Border warfare carried on between
 
 THE COURT AXD THE KINGMAKER. 333 
 
 Scotland and England. Much might Richard 
 Yenables have added, on his part, — 
 
 Of haii'breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach, 
 And moving accidents by flood or field, 
 
 experienced in the south of France, or on the 
 snowy sierras of Spain. And Avhat little could 
 be drawn from him was hearkened to with no 
 indifferent ear ; that which had caused suffering 
 at the time brought enjoyment in the recital. 
 Hours slipped away ; the flame that had flickered 
 on the ceiling, and lit up the Yenables dragons 
 on either side of the hearth, died down, and the 
 clock of the dilapidated Savoy Palace* struck 
 nine. The compline chime sounded from tower 
 and belfry in every quarter. Oil lamps, pro- 
 tected by glass or horn, were placed in front of 
 the w^ealthier mansions; and in the narrow 
 streets through which Richard Venables threaded 
 his way to his hostel, the cry of ^ hang out your 
 lights^ was promptly responded to by the citi- 
 zens. By the help of this feeble illumination 
 he and other passers along reached their destina- 
 tions safely, in spite of the many cutthroats 
 and pickpurses who, in those unsettled times, 
 sculked about London. 
 
 * This palace was almost destroyed by Wat Tyler and 
 his adherents.
 
 334 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 That first evening had^ by one consent, been 
 dedicated to joy and harmony. All painful 
 subjects had been shunned, not from reserve, 
 but from a half unconscious dread of forestal- 
 ling the sorrows which all felt must be at hand. 
 The next morning Lettice woke full two hours 
 later than usual, and saw Cecily at her bed- 
 side, ready to offer the light breakfast of 
 milk and fine wheaten cake they had shared 
 in days gone by. She could not but observe 
 that Cecily was paler than of yore, and that 
 the little heart-shaped cap shaded cheeks that 
 were already losing their girlish roundness ; 
 and when Lettice asked if Sir Piers were at 
 home, her face became grave. ' No, he was 
 gone out ; he was at the King's Bench, accord- 
 ing to his wont. She prayed he might speed 
 well there.' Observing Lettice' s look of sur- 
 prise, her sister entered upon an explanation. 
 ^ Had not Lettice heard ? had not she or 
 Maurice writ to her of their late trouble ? how 
 that one John Cockayne, a far-removed cousin 
 of the Holfordes, by the mother's side, had laid 
 a claim to the Halsteds some three months be- 
 fore, and was leaving no stone unturned to 
 wrest it from Piers. Great trouble and cost 
 hath he already put us unto/ she added, ' and
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 335 
 
 he hath wrought upon the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, who is likewise Earl of Stafford, to back 
 him in his claim, threatening us with a forcible 
 ejectment if we resist. Hal Nixon and his fel- 
 lowship be sore afraid lest they should take us 
 unawares, and have made great ordnance within 
 the house, putting bars to bar the doors cross- 
 wise, and wickets on every quarter of the house 
 to shoot out at with bows and handguns. Like- 
 wise Piers is laying in good store of cross- 
 bows and quarrelles,* but me liopeth it shall 
 not come to that; for, though the Duke of 
 Buckingham be strong, and hath hated Piers 
 with a right good will ever since they crossed 
 swords at St. Albans, yet the Lord of Audeley, 
 lieutenant of our parts, is stronger, and will not 
 see wrong done even to a Yorkist.^ 
 
 ' Maurice will help,^ suggested Lettice, eagerly; 
 but Lady Holforde shook her head. 
 
 ' Alack ! sweetheart, would it were so ! but 
 sooth must be said, and he and Piers be twain 
 at this present. In his blind love for the 
 Queen and all that doth to her appertain, 
 Maurice cannot away with one who esteems her 
 
 * Square-headed arrows. For these and many other 
 details, see Paston Letters, vol. iii. p. 31^, &c.
 
 336 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 less. All tliat Piers does is ill done in his 
 eyes, and now they rarely meet. Yet/ she 
 continued, the tears filling her eyes, 'Piers, 
 though I say it who should not, hath been a 
 faithful husband to Maurice's impoverished 
 estate. I dare swear he hath nursed it more ten- 
 derly than ever he did his own, and specially now 
 that two years of drought, blasted harvests, and 
 heavy taxes have made the closest thrift needful. 
 Maurice shall one day see this, I trust.' 
 
 Lettice sat upright, in dumb sorrow at this 
 revelation, her sympathies divided, or rather dis- 
 tracted, between Piers whom she loved much, 
 and ]\Iaurice whom she loved more. After a 
 long pause Cecily spoke again, pursuing her 
 own train of thought. 
 
 . ' Piers rode to the manor on Soulmas-day, 
 and ordered all with Sir Armiue for the con- 
 tinuance of the month-mind* for our dear 
 grandfather. The land hath been legally 
 made over for this purpose, and Sir Armine 
 will see to its reverent performance in our 
 chantry. He and his very trusty good friend. 
 Sir Lucas, the vicar, have advised thereupon 
 together/ 
 
 * A commemoration of the dead, then usual.
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 337 
 
 ' And how fares it with good Sir Armine ?' 
 Lettice asked. 
 
 ' But poorly_, alas ! They say he droopeth 
 amain, feeding much on sad thoughts and pro- 
 gnostications touching the miseries and wicked- 
 ness of this our land ; yet doth he labour day 
 and night in his vocation, only of late a sharp 
 fit of sickness hath hindered him ; but for this 
 he had now been in London, helping the un- 
 happy Bishop Pecock, whose deadly strait ye 
 wot of/ 
 
 A happy diversion to gloomy topics now pre- 
 sented itself in the shape of the baby Waryn. 
 He entered, enthroned in the arms of Parnel, 
 whose youth seemed renewed as she held in her 
 embrace the first-born of her foster-son. His 
 infant gaze was riveted by her towering head- 
 gear, shrivelled animated features, and shrill, 
 cheery tones. She proclaimed him, in a breath, 
 ' her bird, her honey-bee, her crowned king, 
 her popinjay, the joy of her eld, the very re- 
 flexion of his knightly father, in eye, lip, and 
 carriage, and might he, by Jesu^s grace, prove 
 like him in worship, wit, and gentleness !^ All 
 this homage the heir of the Holfordes received 
 as his due, listening to it with head erect, 
 smiling dark eyes, and one mottled hand rest- 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 338 EOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ing on the old woman^s shoulder ; but at the 
 sight of his mother his face lighted up instan- 
 taneously, and he bounded from ParneFs hold 
 into her outstretched arms. 
 
 ' My little man/ she said, ' how can I grieve 
 at aught while I have thee so flygge and fair? 
 But come away with me, poppet, for thou and 
 I do rather hinder than help Aunt Lettice in 
 her arraying/ 
 
 Sir Piers returned home in better spirits 
 than heretofore about his suit, and imparted to 
 Cecily his hope that by the end of the next 
 week they might be free to leave London. Sir 
 Hugh Venables and his train, Sir William 
 Trowtbecke, his two sons and daughter, Kichard 
 Venables, and others, purposed travelling north 
 at that time ; ' and,^ he added, ' they be urgent 
 to have you and Lettice of their company, as 
 it is said there goeth many thieves betwixt this 
 and Chester.^ His own movements were un- 
 certain, doubly so since the crash caused by 
 the attempt on Earl Warwick's life. Richard 
 Venables returned from a visit to his grand- 
 mother full of court conjectures on the subject. 
 I need hardly say they were not picked up 
 from the discreet and conscientious Baroness, 
 nor did he learn them from Eglanbie Trowt-
 
 THE COURT AND THE KINGMAKER. 339 
 
 becke_, Avhose silent reserve had chilled and 
 disappointed him; but from other acquaintances 
 in the palace he heard of the Queen^s un- 
 bounded anger at the EarPs escape^ and bitter 
 invectives against him. Not content with 
 stifling all inquiry as to her servants' share of 
 the guilt, she sent officers to arrest Lord 
 Warwick, and lodge him in the Tower.* His 
 flight into Yorkshire saved him from this in- 
 dignity ; and now his aged but energetic father, 
 the Earl of Salisbury, after vainly demanding 
 redress, was preparing to follow him thither, 
 with vengeance in his heart and on his lips. 
 Richard Yenables, who had served under 
 Salisbury several years in France, was deeply 
 afifected by the recital of his wrongs ; and as he 
 told them again, paced the chamber in uncon- 
 trollable agitation. He was the bearer of a 
 letter from the Lady Kynderton to Lettice. 
 Her share in yesterday's fray had been reported 
 to the Queen ; and though a passive one, had 
 still further strengthened the ill-feeling against 
 her ; any intercession in her behalf, therefore, 
 would for the present be worse than useless, 
 but Lettice might rest assured she should not 
 
 * Fabtan's Chronicle. 
 Z 2
 
 340 rOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 "be forgotten ; and meanwhile^ added tlie 
 Baroness in a strain iinwontedly mournful_, ' I 
 count those happiest, my daughter, which have 
 least to do with the court. Our life being 
 but a thoroughfare and full of woe, and no 
 man knowing how soon he may be called hence, 
 they walk freest whose feet be not bound with 
 these golden fetters. Yet, perchance, in this 
 I write amiss, and from the sourness of a per- 
 turbed spirit ; for truly this fray and the woful 
 consequences to flow from it have ravished 
 my wits, and made me full heavily disposed.' 
 
 By the appointed day Sir Piers^ legal matters 
 were put in good train, and he himself was 
 on his way to Calais on a confidential errand. 
 Cecily also had completed to her satisfaction 
 her winter purchases. They consisted of dates 
 and almonds, ginger and oranges, raisins of 
 Corinth, murrey -coloured cloth for liveries, at 
 three shillings the yard, a ^ garnish or two ' of 
 pewter ewers, basins and candlesticks, and last, 
 not least, good store of frieze for Waryn's 
 winter coats, and of fine scarlet cloth for his 
 holiday suit. These and other important 
 matters being happily transacted, the sisters 
 felt more pleasure than regret at the prospect 
 of speedily quitting the capital.
 
 341 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 or THE TWINS. 
 
 Few are the hearts whence one same touch 
 Bids the sweet fountains flow. 
 
 Felicia Hemans. 
 
 The bloody-minded queen 
 That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
 As doth a sail filled with a fretting gust 
 Command an argosy to stem the waves ! 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 "TT7E have seen a picture by the hand of a 
 ' * great master in which the Seasons are 
 represented performing their mystic dance to 
 the sound of music played by Time. So full 
 of airy grace and blithe expression are the 
 figures, that we seem to see them move, and 
 hear the jubilant strain that gives wings to 
 their feet. 
 
 It is not often, however, except in the bright 
 region of fancy, that the seasons follow one 
 another thus gaily ; and at the epoch of which 
 our domestic chronicle treats, they lagged
 
 342 EOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 heavily along, mistrust, anxiety, and fear clog- 
 ging their nimble feet. The winter was spent 
 by Lancastrians and Yorkists in strenuous, 
 though secret endeavours to strengthen their 
 respective parties. Warwick remained at 
 Calais, sullen, but not inactive, and he kept 
 up a close correspondence with his father in 
 Yorkshire, and with the Duke of York at 
 Wigmore, or at his Castle of Sandal near 
 Wakefield. So menacing did his power^ and 
 that of the Nevills appear in the spring of 
 1459, that Queen Margaret resolved upon 
 making a royal progress through the counties 
 of Warwick, Stafford, and Chester, with a view 
 of counteracting their influence and of restoring 
 the King's decayed popularity. Sylvan spoi-ts, 
 for the benefit of his infirm health, were made 
 the pretext for this journey. 
 
 They set forth in the month of June, ac- 
 companied by the Prince of Wales ; and as 
 London and the refractory Londoners were 
 left behind, the Queen's spirits rose, and with 
 them increased her affability and power of cap- 
 tivating all hearts. 
 
 Many of the Lancastrian lords in those 
 shires joyfully prepared to receive the royal 
 travellers. The Yorkist chiefs held back, not
 
 OF THE TWINS. 343 
 
 so much from disaflfection to the King, whom 
 they still uniformly regarded as their liege 
 sovereign, but from distrust of Margaret. 
 This feeling had been a thousand-fold aggra- 
 vated by the fray at the palace ; ' a fracas/ 
 says Miss Strickland, ^ which, whether origi- 
 nating in design or accident, occurred in fatal 
 hour for the Queen, by affording a plausible 
 excuse to the great triumvirs of the adverse 
 party for drawing the sword against the House 
 of Lancaster. Never again was it sheathed 
 till it had drunk the life-blood of those dearest 
 to Margaret, her husband and her son/ 
 
 From Coventry to Coleshill, and thence by 
 Tamworth to Eccleshall, the royal party ad- 
 vanced slowly northwards. Their next resting 
 place was to be Helegh Castle, and on the day 
 before that fixed for their arrival, an unusual 
 degree of bustle and activity pervaded the 
 neighbourhood. Royal servants hurrying for- 
 ward with orders, relays of horses sent by the 
 neighbouring gentry for their majesties^ use, 
 knights and esquires hastening to pay their 
 dutiful homage, besides a throng of loyal or 
 cm'ious spectators, jugglers, and musickers, 
 choked the highways and byways. The ex. 
 citement reached even to the Halsteds, though
 
 344 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 situated several miles from the beaten tracks 
 and every able-bodied person about the esta- 
 blishment went forth to catch a view of the 
 royal procession or some stray member of it. 
 Even Gillian set out with her babe in her 
 armsj intending to go but a mile or two and 
 return home in milking time. She had tried 
 to persuade her uncouth brother-in-law, Eob 
 Wantwitj then a guest at the Halsteds, to ac- 
 company her ; but he vehemently declared he 
 would not, and finally slunk away to gather 
 millefoil (the herb now called yarrow) in the 
 neighbouring pastures. By the brook he met 
 Mistress Lettice, who had wandered forth, 
 moody and restless as himself. 
 
 Six months had elapsed since her adventurous 
 exit from Westminster, and, to her keen mor- 
 tification, no message of recal had been sent to 
 her. The good offices of the Lady Kynderton 
 had proved unavailing. Margaret, identifying 
 Lettice with the cause of Warwick, and further 
 displeased by hearing of her residence under 
 the roof of a Yorkist brother-in-law, would not 
 have her so much as named ; and the infant 
 Prince, with childish elasticity, had turned to 
 other companions, some of whom humoured him 
 more, though they loved him less.
 
 OF THE TWINS. 345 
 
 The impetuous girl felt this neglect acutely ; 
 she missed the stir and splendour, the friend- 
 ships and rivalries of that brilliant and fri- 
 volous court. Its levity had infected her, 
 though from its deeper corruptions, God and 
 His true servant, the aged Baroness, had hap- 
 pily shielded her. The Halsteds, though a 
 peaceful home, and brightened by frequent 
 visits from Richard Venables, did not satisfy 
 the cravings of her spirit. Six weeks spent with 
 Maurice at Button, and Helegh, and at 
 Utkinton Hall, the Cheshire residence of their 
 kinsman Sir John Done had brought some relief; 
 but on her return to Cecily, the waywardness 
 re-appeared, and with it a tinge of bitterness 
 against Sir Piers, imbibed from Maurice. Piers 
 was often away, and when at home much occu- 
 pied, so the fluctuations fell harmless as far as 
 he was concerned ; or, if he perceived them, he 
 blamed himself, and wondered, with a sigh, 
 whether he were indeed of a nature hard and 
 rough, or whether the times had made him 
 so. Then he would think to cheer her by pro- 
 posing a day's hawking by the Tern, and a 
 gush of the old love and unreserve would re- 
 turn between them. At such times she might 
 even jest with him and Richard Venables on
 
 346 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 the awfully real subject of politics_, and stake 
 her head unreproved at the white rose in their 
 bonnets^ for Richard could not^ and Sir Piers 
 would not_, find any fault in her. 
 
 Rob^s companionship was not without its 
 sting to-day ; he had been at the Halsteds a fort- 
 night, and Sir Armine, with kindly thought 
 for Lettice as well as for Rob, had commended 
 him specially to her care. 
 
 ' Ye shall do a good work, daughter/ he had 
 written, * in teaching this infirm lad ; he can 
 already say the Paternoster and Ten Hestes in 
 our mother tongue, not without some such 
 glimpse of their meaning as God doth sometimes 
 vouchsafe to His simple ones. It remaineth to 
 perfect him in the Credo, the which he shall liefer 
 learn from your lips than from another's.' 
 
 Thus urged, she had set about the duty zea- 
 lously, and with signal success ; but, alas ! after 
 a few days the excitement of novelty went ofi"; 
 Sir Piers and Richard Venables returned to 
 the Halsteds, bringing a fresh current of ideas 
 with them, and by degrees the task of teaching 
 was omitted or deputed to the more patient 
 Cecily. So not unremorsefully did Lettice 
 watch the idiot as he lay on the grass peering 
 intentlv into the stream.
 
 OF THE TWINS.. 347 
 
 ' What seest thou there, Rob?^ she said at 
 last. 
 
 ' I see the waters run red/ he muttered, 
 without looking up. 
 
 *" Mere craze/ she answered ; ' thy brain is 
 bewitched by that strange story Hal telleth 
 of the bloody shower that fell last Dunstan^s- 
 day in Bedford.' 
 
 ^ The waters run red/ he persisted, ^ blood red, 
 and do give forth a tolling like passing bells. ^ 
 
 ^Tush, Rob, speak not so wildly/ she said; 
 ^ here all is peace. Silver bright floweth' the 
 brook, crested with sparkles. Silver sweet 
 sound its many voices as it courseth onward 
 toward Bloreheath. So shall it run, and never 
 cease, till winter bind it fast in icy chains.^ 
 
 Rob looked earnestly, wistfully, in her face. 
 
 ' Ere yonder elms be yellow,^ he answered, 
 ^it shall have ceased to run, choked with 
 the bodies of the slain.' He rose, and was 
 shuffling away at a rapid pace when she laid 
 her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 ' Rob, thy words, though meaningless, chill 
 me with unknown fears. Speak again, strange 
 boy, for the love of Marj^, speak comfortably, 
 an thou canst, for these horrible imaginings 
 freeze up my soul.'
 
 348 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Ah, me/ cried Rob, ' comfort is none/ 
 He buried his head between his knees, trying 
 to shut out the visions that would crowd upon 
 his inward eye. Presently he raised it again, 
 and with a softened look went on : — 
 
 ' Said I comfort was none ? Blessed Son of 
 Mary, forgive that I so belied Thee. Of whom 
 speak the words of grace thine own lips taught 
 me, lady ? Speak they not of Him which 
 ' suffrid passion, rose fro' deathe to lyfe, 
 sitteth in the hevenes?' Speak they not of 
 ^ forgiveness, agen-risynge, lyfe everlasting T 
 lady, when thy tears shall drop faster than 
 autumn rain into this brook, think of these 
 words, and thou shalt not lack comfort.^ 
 
 Neither spoke again ; and they rambled on, 
 picking wild flowers as they went, till the sun 
 was low in heaven ; then Lettice turned, and 
 her uncouth guardian with her. 
 
 Not a creature did they meet on moor or in 
 meadow. At the bottom of the Halsteds- 
 garden grew a thick copse, screening a little 
 door in the wall, of which Lettice possessed 
 the key. She made towards it, but saw with 
 surprise in the shade of the trees near it a 
 cloaked figure holding two horses, and himself 
 mounted on a stout nag. She pushed on to
 
 OF THE TWINS. 349 
 
 the door, which was concealed from observation 
 by the trunk of an old hollow oak. Here she 
 came upon two men, who were so busy examin- 
 ing its fastenings that they did not hear her 
 approach. A whistle from their confederate in 
 the wood made them look round, and they 
 confronted Lettice and her strange companion. 
 Nothing abashed were they at their detection, 
 and their apparel and saucy carriage convinced 
 her that they were no private thieves^ but re- 
 tainers of some great lord, a class of men then 
 notorious for unbridled insolence. Though 
 startled, she neither turned back nor betrayed 
 the slightest fear, but deliberately applied her 
 key to the door, and pushed it open. 
 
 ' Keep close, Rob,^ she said, passing through 
 and locking the door behind her. 
 
 A bold stare from the men was the only 
 notice she received ; but they were less for- 
 bearing towards Rob, whose aspect and gait 
 provoked a volley of smothered gibes and 
 laughter. 
 
 He looked over the wall, and growled fiercely 
 at them : — 
 
 ' Laugh, my masters, ay, laugh while ye may. 
 Ere Barnaby bright have twice come round, ye 
 and your duke shall lie in one bloody shroud.
 
 350 EOR AXD AGAINST. 
 
 Lettice ran to acquaint Sir Piers with this sus- 
 picious rencontre. She found him and Richard 
 Venables just dismounting from their horses ; 
 but they sprang upon them again, and set 
 forth in search of the spies. Nothing, how- 
 ever, was to be seen but the distant outline of 
 three horsemen flying across the moor. From 
 their appearance, the direction they took, and 
 other circumstances previously known to him. 
 Sir Piers conjectured them retainers of his 
 enemy Buckingham, who, as Earl of Stafford, 
 was attending upon the Queen through those 
 parts. This lord being openly favourable to 
 John Cockayne in his iniquitous lawsuit with 
 Piers, it became incumbent upon the latter to 
 redouble his watchfulness, lest a forcible entry 
 into the Halsteds should be attempted. Such 
 proceedings were common in those days, when 
 civil war at once sharpened men^s rapacity, and 
 paralysed the arm of the law. So, after short 
 consultation with his friend. Sir Piers repaired 
 at once to Hal Nixon^s abode, which stood 
 about a bow-shot from his gate, and discussed 
 with his trusty verderer the best means of 
 defence. 
 
 Cecily, meanwhile, was in her bower re- 
 ceiving unexpected guests. Early in the even-
 
 OF THE TWINS. 351 
 
 ing — such a balmy evening as June often 
 brings — a mounted party, consisting of two 
 young gentlemen and their servants, had pre- 
 sented themselves at the gate. They were 
 forthwith admitted ; and the taller of the two 
 led the way through the hall, buttery, and 
 other apartments^ and introduced his com- 
 panions by a small postern-door to the garden, 
 where Hamo told them Lady Holforde was to 
 be found. It was a pleasant square inclosure, 
 kept with greater care than was often seen in 
 that rude age. Beds of sweet herbs converged 
 towards a dial which marked the centre. 
 E-ound its stem grew" a tangle of rosebushes, 
 white and red, intertwining their branches 
 lovingly. The rest of the garden, or rather^ 
 orchard, was studded Avith cherry and other 
 fruit-trees, that gave promise of a plentiful crop 
 by-and-by. To the eye of a modern horticul- 
 turist, the poverty of the landwould have appeared 
 extreme ; no potatoes or turnips, no pease or 
 beans, no currants or gooseberries were there, 
 for these and many other vegetable productions 
 now enjoyed by every cottager, were then un- 
 known, or only imported as a luxury from 
 Flanders. Mowers, too, were of few and not 
 choice kinds ; for it was not till a century later
 
 352 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 that they began to be cultivated for their own 
 sweet sakes^ independently of distilling or me- 
 dicinal purposes. 
 
 Cecily^s garden enclosure was bounded on 
 two sides by a low stone wall and sunk fence. 
 The house stood on the south side of it, and on 
 the east it was fenced in by such a box hedge 
 as Chaucer describes — 
 
 Thick as a castle wall, 
 That who that list without to stand or go, 
 Tho' he would all day pry-en to and fro, 
 He should not see if there were any wight 
 Within or no . . . wreathen so cunningly. 
 That every branch and leaf grew by measure. 
 
 This verdant wall was nine or ten feet high, 
 and another scarcely half that height ran 
 parallel with it, only divided by a nan^ow strip 
 of smooth shaven turf, a pleasant and fragrant 
 walk on summer evenings, especially after the 
 box had been clipped. The eye was regaled by 
 a tranquil home view of green meadows, through 
 which a brook had worked its own deep bed, 
 and ran swiftly towards the little river Tern, a 
 tributary of the Trent. The hedges were 
 united at the further end by an arbonr, ' well 
 y-wrought^ by the neat-handed Hal Nixon, 
 furnished with benches, and paved with fresh
 
 OF THE TWINS. 353 
 
 urves. Here sat Cecily^ with no companion 
 )ut her boy, enjoying the quietness of the 
 jveningj and soothed by the hum of her rude 
 pinning- wheel, which was in full activity. She 
 ooked up as her visitors drew near. The one 
 vas Piers Button, Sir Thomases eldest son, a 
 rank, merry-hearted lad of fifteen; Maurice was 
 ;he other, shot up since we last saw him into 
 L tall young man, mth more of the willow than 
 he oak in his slight figure, and with features 
 )f girlish delicacy, yet free from efieminacy. 
 Dhere was a mixture of joy and embarrassment 
 n the greeting of the brother and sister; 
 )ut in Maurice the latter prevailed, as he 
 Lsked with some abruptness if Piers were at 
 lome. 
 
 ^ Either he is, or will be anon,' Cecily 
 aid. ' He and Richard Venables rode this 
 norning to Stafford to pay their duty to his 
 Majesty.' 
 
 ' Indeed, be they so loyal ?' Maurice rejoined, 
 11 pleased ; ' why. Piers Button, these gallants 
 lave outstripped thee and me in the race of 
 oyalty ! and the Queen, Cecily, what degree 
 )f observance do they vouchsafe to her V 
 
 ' Such observance as true-hearted gentlemen 
 pay to a woman,' she said ; ' Piers is incapable 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 354 POR AND AGAINST. 
 
 4 
 
 of aught else, how bitterly soever he may 
 mourn the Queeu^s rash wilfuluess ; but, oh ! 
 dear Maurice,^ she added, lowering her voice ; 
 ^ one word ere Piers comes (and I hear his 
 horse^s hoofs even now), one brief prayer let me 
 make to thee — urge not his patience too far. 
 If thou have grievances, speak them plainly, 
 for he loveth frank dealing, and will answer 
 truth with truth ; but vex him not by those 
 keen darts of sarcasm thy ready wit is so apt 
 to let fly j they be ungenerous, Maurice, 
 therefore not worthy of thee.^ 
 
 ^Nay, sister mine,^ he answered, forcing a 
 laugh j ^ if a few random words, no sooner 
 said than rued, cut so deep, what shall Piers 
 deem of me when he knows what I have done ? 
 Truly, should he rave and storm at me, for a 
 graceless unthrift, ^twere no marvel.^ 
 
 * What have you done, brother V Cecily 
 asked, tremulously; and receiving no answer, 
 she went on : ' Piers hath boded mischief, and 
 so have I, from many signs lately ; from thy 
 strange avoidance of us these three months — 
 ever since, indeed, thou didst visit the court at 
 Easter -, from the mystery that hath hung about 
 thy doings, and from Lettice's moody reserve ; 
 specially hath Piers been disquieted by thy
 
 OF THE TWINS. 355 
 
 growing friendship with the wild galliard, 
 Adam de Trowtbecke_, whose profligate un- 
 dutifulness is breaking his father's heart/ 
 
 ' Call it not friendship/ Manrice answered, 
 with a look of disgust ; ' Adam hath been^ I 
 confess it, my boon companion, mine adviser too 
 often, but never my friend/ 
 
 ' With that belief Piers doth comfort him- 
 self/ replied Cecily : ' he saith that light and 
 darkness cannot be more opposed than thy 
 truth and his fickle frowardness, thy loyalty 
 and his base self-seeking/ 
 
 ' I owe him thanks for this good word/ ex- 
 claimed Maurice ; ' and now ^tis too late, wish 
 I had hearkened to him rather than to Adam. 
 Hear me, Cecily ; ^twas Adam whose ill per- 
 suasion wrought on me to quit Lord Audeley^s 
 service so soon as my three-years' duty expired. 
 He urged me to show myself mine own master, 
 and wear no colours but my own ! Fool that 
 I was, I did his bidding, thereby cooling the 
 fatherly kindness of the best lord that ever was.' 
 
 ^Maurice paused. They were alone, for Piers 
 Dutton had immediately gone in quest of his 
 favourite, Letitia ; but Cecily hesitated what to 
 say next, scarcely knowing how to avail herself 
 of the unwonted confidence. Lettice, his twin, 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 had been tlie chosen recipient of Maurice^s 
 thoughts from childhood^ the sharer of his day- 
 dreams, the fomenter of his passionate Lan- 
 castrian zeal. Cecily, though dearly loved, had 
 been content to take a second place, and, since 
 her marriage with a Yorkist, there had been a 
 further restraint in their intercourse. The 
 bitter feuds of those times, which brought a 
 chill to many a happy hearth, had told upon 
 theirs. Piers at times was tempted to turn 
 from Maurice as incorrigibly self-willed, Maurice 
 shunned Piers, and deemed him stern and un- 
 sympathizing. 
 
 Now was the golden opportunity, Cecily 
 thought, for bringing them together ; and she 
 must not, through over-zeal or over-timidity, 
 miss it. So she took both Maurice's hands in 
 hers, and said, ' Tell me all.' 
 
 ^ Look thus in my face,' he answered, ' thus 
 wistfully, as our mother used to look, and I will 
 tell thee all.' 
 
 The rapid confession followed. He had 
 parted from Lord Audeley in Easter week, and, 
 while debating whither to betake himself, had 
 encountered Adam de Trowtbecke. They went 
 together to London in the first instance. Sir 
 Adam was at this time at open variance with
 
 OF THE TWINS. 357 
 
 liis father ; a circumstance which aflfected him 
 the less, as through his mother^ one of the 
 wealthy house of Stanley, he had inherited a 
 considerable estate. This enabled him to gather 
 around him several hundred retainers^ armed_, 
 clothed, and maintained at his own expense. 
 He foresaw that civil war was at hand, and 
 having no fixed principles, was prepared, like 
 many other gentlemen of the time, to throw 
 himself on the winning side, whichever it 
 might be. At that moment the Red Rose was 
 in the ascendant, so, with a brave retinue at 
 his back, he presented himself before Queen 
 Margaret. She received him most favourably, 
 and lavished upon him those blandishments 
 and tokens of favour she knew so well how to 
 bestow. ' He was her good, her loyal knight,^ 
 she said, ' prop and stay of her cause in her 
 good county of Chester.^ Then she wept, and 
 said she had never greater need of friends than 
 now that traitors were at work to overturn the 
 throne. 
 
 Maurice stood by unnoticed, but his heart 
 burned within him at the sight of the beautiful 
 and distressed Queen. She read these feelings 
 in the flushed cheek and ingenuous brow, and 
 artfully worked upon them ; withdrawing the
 
 358 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 hand he humbly knelt to kiss, she turned away 
 with an air of marked coldness. She briefly 
 and bitterly alluded to Cecily^s marriage and 
 Letitia's alienation, and asked whether Maurice 
 meant to forsake her too ? Eagerly did he assure 
 her, in reply, of his loyalty and that of his house, 
 and of Letitia's undiminished faith and truth. 
 Still she demurred, and Maurice, stung to the 
 quick, swore ' on the hilt of his father's sword ' 
 to live and die in her cause. Then, like sun- 
 shine after storm, beamed upon him the smile 
 of transcendent beauty which bewitched who- 
 ever basked in it. 
 
 ^Meet me, young gentleman/ she said, ex- 
 tending her hand, ^ by Midsummer-day, in our 
 city of Chester, and bring with you such an 
 array of stout hearts and hands as our friend 
 Sir Adam hath here mustered.' 
 
 Intoxicated with delight and with a mixture of 
 feelings in which flattered vanity and awakened 
 chivalry were strangely mingled, Maurice left 
 the royal presence. Before his loyal delirium 
 had time to calm down he found himself, under 
 Sir Adam's auspices, in treaty with a noted 
 Jewish usurer — for there were Shylocks even 
 then — for the monies requisite to equip and 
 maintain a hundred men.
 
 OF THE TWINS. 359 
 
 How ruinous this bargain proved may easily 
 be imagined, though we confess ourselves un- 
 able exactly to specify its terms, or the process 
 by which it was brought to a conclusion. Sir 
 Adam vouched for Maurice^s being heir to an 
 estate of which in two years he would be mas- 
 ter, and with seeming generosity laid down a 
 considerable sum as earnest for the payment of 
 the rest. The next step was to find the men^ 
 for but a small number could be furnished by 
 Maurice's Cheshire estate, and of these not one 
 without Sir Piers' leave. Here again Adam 
 de Trowtbecke came to the rescue, and in a 
 few days Maurice's retinue was completed. 
 ^ Proper fellows,' Sir Adam called them ; but, 
 in truth, they were a motley crew, with little 
 recommendation beyond the ' swashing and 
 martial outside' they wore. Maurice felt some 
 lurking uneasiness, and on examining more 
 minutely into the qualifications of his new 
 serving-men, found, with indignation, that Sir 
 Adam had transferred to him some of the most 
 troublesome of his own retainers. In fiery 
 haste he flew to his treacherous friend, and 
 upbraided him with this meanness. 
 
 They quarrelled, and crossed swords, but 
 were happily parted before either had received
 
 360 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 mucli scathe. Now Maurice^s debt to Sir 
 Adam hung like a clog around him^ and in his 
 extremity he took pen in hand and poured out 
 his wrongs and distresses to Lettice. The 
 ' special post^ despatched on horseback with 
 this letter happily proved trusty, and in an in- 
 credibly short space returned to London, bear- 
 ing a casket and a letter, with ' haste, haste, 
 haste^ added to the superscription. The letter 
 overflowed with sympathy; the casket contained 
 fifty gold angels, all Lettice^s store of money, 
 and all her jewels and valuables besides. With 
 drooping head and unsteady voice Maurice told 
 of Lettice^s generosity, and his cheeks burnt as 
 he went on to relate how, in his sore need, 
 penniless himself, and wholly at Sir Adam's 
 mercy, he had disposed of the jewels to a gold- 
 smith in Chepe. Three hundred marks — the 
 price they fetched — was just sufficient to pay 
 the debt ; and so Sir Adam and he had parted, 
 with scorn on one side and rancour on the 
 other. The court having left London, no 
 rumour reached it of this disgraceful transac- 
 tion. 
 
 Maurice's retinue was now at Stafford, where 
 he was to join them that evening; but he must 
 wait for Piers first, and own to him how matters
 
 OF THE TWINS. 361 
 
 stood. Would that Piers had been by (Cecily 
 thought) to hear the candid though humili- 
 ating statement he had poured into her ear ! 
 while she stood aghast at his folly and reck- 
 lessness — at the poverty he had entailed upon 
 himself for years — at the defeat of all her hus- 
 band^s wise and kindly plans for his good — still 
 she could feel thankful that matters were not 
 worse. He had been kept free from baseness, 
 from vice, from any stain on his honour ; he 
 had happily shaken off Sir Adam^s blighting 
 influence. This sharp lesson, and the shame 
 with which Lettice's ready self-sacrifice had 
 filled him, were working better thoughts and 
 resolves, and soon she trusted would 
 
 Consideration come, 
 And whip the offending spirit out of him. 
 
 Piers now joined them, but not alone ; Lettice 
 
 and Richard Venables were with him, and Hal 
 
 Nixon, all in deep consultation as to the defences 
 
 of the house. 
 
 Old Parnel, who had entered the arbour 
 
 with a view to carrying off Childe Waryn to 
 
 his cradle-bed, lingered with the babe in her 
 
 arms in hopes of obtaining a word or glance 
 
 from Master Maurice. Her contemptuous 
 
 curiosity was also aroused by seeing Rob
 
 362 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Wantwit advancing towards the gronp^ his hair 
 more lank, and his 'lacklustre eye' more vacant 
 than usual. He had been sent for to furnish 
 some clue as to the intruders who had crossed 
 Mistress Letitia's path that evening, his fierce 
 invective against them having led to the suppo- 
 sition that he knew who they were ; but either 
 the words had been shot at random, or the 
 flash of prophetic light had died away, leaving 
 his mind dark and void. Not a syllable could 
 be extracted from him by Lettice's persuasions, 
 or Hal's threats of the cudgel — threats which 
 had indeed lost much of their efficacy, from the 
 circumstance of Gillian's invariably begging 
 the offender off". So he was dismissed, and 
 shambled away, only pausing to steal a look 
 at Babe Waryn ; a look of such intense, watch- 
 ful afiection as one sometimes sees a sheep- 
 dog bestow on some cottage-child entrusted to 
 his charge. Old Parnel bridled, frowned, and 
 drew a corner of her mantle round her nurs- 
 ling to 'save him,' she muttered, ' from the 
 e^dl eye yon lubberly elf doth cast upon him !' 
 But the babe was the better physiognomist of 
 the two. With bright glance and crow, he 
 peeped from behind his screen, and held out
 
 OF THE TWINS. 363 
 
 for admiration his dimpled arms, decked with. 
 daisy-chains of Lettice's weaving. Rob gazed 
 awhile in speechless ecstasy, then a shudder 
 crept over him, and he fled, gasping forth in 
 scarcely intelligible accents — 
 
 ' The Marguerite-flower ! the blood- stained 
 Marguerite-flower ! oh, see, her crown is all 
 bedropped with crimson, the life-blood of the 
 fairest, noblest in this land !' 
 
 Rob's ravings were unheeded amid the 
 welcomes now showered upon Maurice. A 
 flush of shame mingled with his joy at seeing 
 Lettice ; and to hide his agitation, he drained 
 at a draught the goblet of Yernon wine poured 
 out for him by Cecily. Sir Piers, little prone 
 to suspicion, did not observe that Maurice 
 avoided his eye ; nor blame the high, boyish 
 spirits that made him talk and laugh more 
 than his wont. The knight seemed, indeed, 
 glad to be beguiled from his own thoughts, 
 and laughed heartily over Maurice's quaint 
 recital of his travelling adventures. He told 
 with much humour of a burly friar (such an 
 one as Chaucer describes), ^ a wanton and a 
 merry,' and ^ the best beggar of all his house,' 
 whom he had rescued on Barnet Heath from
 
 364 FOE AND AGAINST. 
 
 the hands of St. Nicholases clerks. Then 
 he described a ^ doctour of physicke ' with 
 whom he had joined company for several 
 miles; a man learned in surgery^ and the 
 then kindred lore of natural magic and the 
 planets. This sapient * practisour^ had dis- 
 coursed much of a feat in chirurgery lately 
 practised abroad, by which a patient with 
 diseased sight had had both his eyes abstracted 
 from his head and a new pair inserted ! This 
 notable cure was the subject of much discussion 
 among our party ; some of whom were disposed 
 at first to be sceptical_, but soon came round 
 to the opinion that by the aid of occult lore 
 the thing might be done ! 
 
 From these abstruse topics they descended to 
 the gossip of the day and the approaching 
 marriage of Sir Thomas Dutton^s two eldest 
 daughters with the heirs of Molineux and 
 Sotheworth, young gentlemen of mark and 
 good repute. This double wedding was to be 
 celebrated at Chester on Midsummer-day, to- 
 gether with that of Eglanbie Trowtbecke 
 and the Baron of Kynderton, which Queen Mar- 
 garet had promised to grace with her presence. 
 
 Then Maurice produced one of several letters
 
 OF THE TWINS. 365 
 
 received by him while in London from John 
 Dutton. They contained little besides minute 
 directions to his tailor concerning a suit he 
 had ordered for the aforesaid weddings. 
 
 ^ Let the gown/ he wrote, ^ be of a goodly 
 scarlet red, purpled with gold and seed-y-pearl, 
 and I pray you see the slashes be not too 
 wide, otherwise the sleeve shall not sit hand- 
 somely. I would have the daisy-flower in fair 
 broidery on the instep of either shoe. And 
 for the hat, the fashion whereof I writ in my 
 two last, if ye have a man of trust with you 
 whose head is of mean size, let him bring the 
 hat upon his head, for fear of misfashioning of 
 it. For the richness of the suit spare not, since, 
 having neither wife nor babes to purvey for (the 
 Heavens be praised thereof), I have no need to 
 stint me in such gear.' 
 
 The mirthful sallies which this ungallant 
 sentiment drew forth subsided into sadness as 
 Sir Piers and Richard Venables related their 
 interview of that morning with the Kins:. 
 Queen Margaret was absent hunting on Can- 
 nock Chase. Henry, though passionately fond 
 of field sports, his chief mundane relief from 
 fits of melancholy, had remained at Stafford
 
 366 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 that day to celebrate with fast and prayer the 
 vigil of St. Barnabas. He had spent the 
 morning in visiting every shrine and altar 
 in the place, and was about to enter the ex- 
 quisite little Norman church of St. Chad when 
 the knights and their followers rode up. They 
 dismounted, and bending the knee, tendered 
 their homage, which was received by Henry 
 with tranquil benignity. They then attended 
 him into the church, and knelt awhile in the 
 shadow of its massive chancel-arch, rich with 
 the rude mouldings that marked the period of 
 its construction. On issuing forth from the 
 sacred edifice they again did lowly reverence, 
 and departed. Richard Venables proceeded to 
 Stafford Castle, where he obtained a few mo- 
 ments' interview with his kinswoman, the Lady 
 of Kynderton. He then rejoined Sir Piers, 
 and they rode home, much moved with the 
 ' meek usurper's ' bearing, his child-like inno- 
 cence, heavenly charity, and manifest and total 
 unfitness to occupy a throne. 
 
 After long silence Richard Venables turned 
 to his friend, and said, abruptly : — 
 
 ' Piers, were the strange freaks of destiny to 
 lodge yon holy king in a cloister, methinks he 
 were happier than now. He is more fit to
 
 OF THE TWINS. 367 
 
 wield the censer than the sceptre, to be 
 England's bedesman with the Most High than 
 her crowned sovereign/ 
 
 A silent gesture of assent was the only reply. 
 
 Cecily^s arbour had seldom witnessed a more 
 animated conversation than took place that 
 evening; and though, questionless, each indi- 
 vidual of the company, except the boy Piers 
 Dutton, was conscious of some secret achings 
 of the heart, yet with one consent they put 
 them by for the morrow. The sisters sat 
 side by side on the turf bench, and Maurice, 
 stretched at their feet, had stolen one arm 
 round Letitia's slender waist. Sir Piers and 
 his two guests had stationed themselves at 
 the entrance of the bower. A sunset flush 
 lit up the western horizon on which they 
 gazed, and filled the air overhead with rosy 
 cloudlets. In the pauses that now began 
 to occur in the conversation they heard the 
 ^ knell of parting day ' sounded from Drayton 
 church-tower. Flights of rooks were settling 
 down in the group of elms opposite, and merle 
 and mavis were trilling their evensong in the 
 fruit-trees close at hand. 
 
 The stillness was broken by Richard Venables, 
 who with a sudden start turned to Letitia.
 
 368 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 ' Marry, fairest mistress/ he said, ' I had 
 all but forgot a packet my reverend kinswoman 
 charged me withal for you. ^Tis a carcanet_, 
 or some such device, to be worn at the forth- 
 coming bridal.' 
 
 So saying he produced from his gypsire of 
 cloth of gold a little silken bag, secured with 
 silken twist, and laid it before Lettice. 
 
 * Whatever it be,' she answered, ' the kindly 
 remembrance of the gracious giver will make 
 it dear to me.' 
 
 She was laying the packet aside for future 
 inspection when young Dutton drew near. 
 
 ' Good Lettice, pretty Lettice,' he said, ' be 
 entreated, and show us the gaud now. T have 
 enough of mine Uncle John about me to love 
 the sight of such bravery.' 
 
 ' Simple boy,' she replied, laughing, ^ thy 
 request shall be granted for reasons twain ; 
 'tis easy to perform, and jumps with mine own 
 wish.' 
 
 Richard's keen-edged dagger cut the twist, 
 and Lettice, with speechless confusion, drew from 
 within the bag a golden ornament of great 
 price, one of the most costly of the trinkets she 
 had parted with for Maurice's sake. It was a 
 net to enclose the hair, so peculiar in form and
 
 OF THE TWINS. 369 
 
 texture as to be at once recognised beyond the 
 possibility of mistake. Its meshes were formed 
 of the most delicate gold chainwork, and 
 at each intersection was a rich boss, on 
 which was engraved the sacred monogram, 
 
 All present, except Ptichard, remembered the 
 beautiful trinket well ; and Sir Piers drew near 
 to examine it, as it dropped from Lettice^s 
 trembling fingers to her knee. His surprise 
 was increased by the sight of her face, down- 
 cast and mantling with blushes. There was a 
 pause, then Richard said : — 
 
 ^I remember me now ! the Queen's jeweller, 
 rich Master Simon, from Chepe, met her at 
 Warwick by her Highnesses desire ; Hwas in his 
 hand my kinswoman espied this gaud, and from 
 him she redeemed it, much marvelling by what 
 hap it had come into his possession.' 
 
 ^ Lost, questionless it must have been,' ob- 
 served Sir Piers, as if accounting to himself 
 for a circumstance at the first blush perplex- 
 ing ; ^ lost, and doubtless carried as a waif to 
 the rich goldsmith.' 
 
 Cecily guessed at his thought, but knew 
 not how to acquit Lettice in his eyes without 
 hurrying on humiliating disclosures touching 
 
 VOL. I. B B
 
 370 EOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 Maurice's conduct ; so she rose, merely 
 saying— 
 
 ' Come, let us to the house, the sun hath 
 set behind Bloreheath, and night-damps rise on 
 every side.' 
 
 But Lettice was too ingenuous to shelter 
 herself behind the excuse devised for her by 
 her brother-in-law. 
 
 ^ The trinket was not lost, Piers,' she said ; 
 then dropped the subject. 
 
 Quick as light the idea flashed through his 
 mind that Lettice must have sold the orna- 
 ment to relieve herself from some pressing 
 pecuniary strait during her residence at court. 
 How else account for her burning confusion, 
 or for the fact of the trinket, an heirloom 
 from her mother, being in the goldsmith's 
 hands ? ^ 'Twas passing strange,' for Lettice 
 had never been permitted to lack supplies, 
 adequate, and more than adequate, to her needs, 
 even in that prodigal court. Piers had always 
 made this his first care; he knew her to be 
 heedless and impulsive, but he had also ever 
 found her true, and the bare suspicion that she 
 had not dealt candidly with him, that his kind- 
 ness had been met by concealment or deceit, 
 brought the keenest annoyance. No ; he would
 
 OF THE TWINS. 371 
 
 not harbour the thought ; in spite of the con- 
 taminating influences of an artful Queen and 
 intriguing courtiers, Lettice was guileless still. 
 So he walked on musingly, with darkened 
 brow. 
 
 But, ere he had gone many paces, his arm 
 was vehemently grasped by ^Maurice. 
 
 ^ Hearken, Piers,^ he cried, in a voice tremu- 
 lous, yet defiant ; ^ thou wrongest Lettice by 
 that thought ; bend that frown on me, for I 
 am the unthrift/ 
 
 Sir Piers stopped short, perusing with 
 wonder the flushed features, which even now 
 had beamed with mirth and good-fellowship. 
 Steadfast almost to stubbornness himself, he 
 could little comprehend the mercurial temper 
 Maurice inherited from his unstable father, 
 and possibly from his Burgundian ancestors. 
 It was too much akin to French levity to find 
 favour in the eyes of a sturdy Englishman ; 
 and perhaps a touch of scorn in his voice be- 
 trayed this, as he made answer : — 
 
 ' Unwind me these riddles, brother ; for 
 much I have to hear, seeing that from Pasque- 
 tide till now thou hast neither spoken nor writ 
 to me. Yet stay,^ he continued, marking 
 Maurice^ s increasing irritation ; ' speak not
 
 372 EOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 here^ while so many eyes be upon us — not now, 
 while thy young hot blood is stirred by some 
 cause I may not guess/ 
 
 Self-reproach, hurt vanity, false shame, had 
 goaded Maurice into that mood of mind when 
 a calm reply is more chafing than any outburst 
 of wrath. 
 
 ' By your favour,^ he said, ^ it shall be here, 
 and now ; I would have each and all of this 
 fair company know my Lettice free of blame; 
 faultless, unless too great love for me, un- 
 worthy, be a fault/ 
 
 He paused, and Sir Piers^ face grew bright. 
 
 ^ Yonder ornament,^ pursued Maurice, ^ and 
 every other she possessed, did Lettice give to 
 help me at a great strait and pinch. ^ 
 
 ' And you did take them V asked Piers. 
 
 ' ' Ay, there^s the rub,' ' he answered ; ' I 
 took them, and sold them to Simon of Chepe ; 
 there thou hast me. Piers.' 
 
 ^ He doth belie himself. Piers,' interposed 
 Letitia ; ^ in sooth he doth ; 'twas on no private 
 end he lavished his store ' 
 
 She faltered, remembering that the cause 
 of Margaret of Anjou was one with which Piers 
 could feel no sympathy. 
 
 ' Speak on, Lettice, speak on,' cried the
 
 OF THE TWINS. 373 
 
 reckless boy ; ^ murder will out ; nor could I, 
 if I would, conceal that I have now one hun- 
 dred stout men-at-arms at my beck, ready to 
 back the Queen^s quarrel with bill, bow, and 
 lance/ 
 
 Sir Piers turned to Cecily for explanation. 
 
 ' Is this mere raving, or something more V 
 he asked. 
 
 ' Alas ! it is sad earnest,^ she replied, fixing 
 her eyes on the ground ; ^ that false evil-doer, 
 Adam Trowtbecke, hath so far beguiled his 
 youth, but not, I trust, corrupted his heart. 
 Give him a patient hearing. Piers, for my 
 sake."' 
 
 ^ Por thy sake, sweet ? That is a binding 
 adjuration, and in sooth much needed. The 
 rash blaze of youthful riot I could pardon, but 
 this wrong done to Lettice, this long conceal- 
 ment, and now the flint and hardness of his 
 fault ! Nay, by my halidame, 'twould vex a 
 saint.' 
 
 There was a pause. Sir Piers struggling to 
 preserve patience, Maurice hardening himself 
 in pride. In vain Lettice hung about him, 
 and whispered, ' Brother, brother, speak to 
 Piers ; anger not him who is in the place of 
 father to thee V
 
 374 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 He stood aloof, sullenly irresolute. Kicliard 
 Venables^ who liad hitherto kept silence^ now 
 laid his hand on Maurice^s shoulder, and 
 said — 
 
 *^ Young sir, pardon my freedom, and bear 
 •with me -while I say true knightliness lies not 
 in such stubborn bearing. The loftiest spirit 
 may stoop to own a fault, and be thereby no- 
 thing degraded.^ 
 
 ' Fair sir, I thank you for your counsel,^ 
 Maurice replied, not Avithout some touch of 
 deference ; ^ and would follow it had I aught of 
 excuse to plead which this knight were likely 
 to accept. But so long as he thinketh scorn 
 of our matchless Queen, the immortal Daisy- 
 flower whom I and all true hearts worship, 
 what concord of spirit can be between us 
 twain T 
 
 The knight^ s enforced patience now gave 
 way. 
 
 ^ Marry come up,^ he said ; ' am I to learn 
 my duty from a beardless boy ? Methought, 
 Richard Venables, thou and I had shed some 
 blood in our King^s quarrels ere this springald 
 could whip a top or shoot pellets of clay from 
 a hollow kex V Sir Piers checked himself sud-
 
 OF THE TWINS. 375 
 
 denly, for irony is ever foreign to a generous 
 nature. 
 
 ^ Maurice/ he resumed^ ' I see thee panting 
 to be gone^ and in sooth had liefer commune 
 with thee another day, when both our spirits 
 shall be cooler ; but one thing, rash youth, let 
 me say ere we part. Had it seemed good to 
 thee to call together thy Cheshire men-at-arms 
 in her behalf whom thou deemest more than 
 mortal, I less than woman, I had never gain- 
 said thee. Xot to enthral, but to guide thy 
 young judgment, hath been mine aim ; thou 
 shalt one day see this, perhaps. Meanwhile, 
 if from the holy heavens they do behold what 
 men do here on earth, I trust thy grandfather, 
 Sir Ranulph, shall smile upon me, and judge 
 me to have been not unfaithful to my trust .^ 
 
 He turned away, and strode into the house. 
 A few moments later Maurice was slowly walk- 
 ing across Bloreheath, with his horse's bridle 
 over one arm, and Lettice tearfully clinging to 
 the other. They parted in dim twilight by 
 the side of the babbling brook. He galloped 
 away over the springy ground, and when the 
 sound of his horse's footfall had died away, 
 she turned homewards, filled with dreamy
 
 376 FOR AND AGAINST. 
 
 thoughts. The deep shadows of evening had 
 quenched the sparkles on the stream, but 
 with increasing stillness its murmur grew more 
 audible, andj to her saddened ear, gave forth, 
 as Rob had said, ^ a tolling like unto passing- 
 bells/ 
 
 END or VOL. I.