The White Rose of Langley

by Emily Sarah Holt

  CHAPTER NINE.

  PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.

  "He that hath a thousand friends hath not a friend to spare, And he that hath one enemy shall find him everywhere."

  On the evening of Constance's arrival at Langley, two men sat in closeconference in the Jerusalem Chamber of the Palace of Westminster. Oneof them was a priest, the other a layman. The first priest, and thefirst layman, in the realm; for the elder was Thomas de Arundel,Archbishop of Canterbury, and the younger was Henry of Bolingbroke, Kingof England.

  The Archbishop was a tall, stout, portly man, with a round, fair, fatface, on which sat an expression of extreme self-complacency. A fineforehead, both broad and high, though slightly too retreating,surmounted a pair of clear, bright grey eyes, a well-formed nose, andlips in which there was no weakness, but they were just a shade toosmiling for sincerity. Though his age was only fifty-one, his hair wassnow-white. Of course his face was closely shaven; for it is an oddfact that the higher a man's sacerdotal pretensions rise, the moreunlike a man he usually makes himself--resembling the weaker sex as muchas possible, both in person and costume. This man's sacerdotalpretensions ran very high, and accordingly his black cassock fell abouthis feet like a woman's dress, and his face was guiltless of beard orwhisker.

  The age of the King was thirty-eight, and he was one of the tallest menin his kingdom. The colour of his hair, whiskers, and small forkedbeard, was only one remove from black. Dark pencilled eyebrows, of thatsurprised shape which many persons admire, arched over keen liquid darkeyes. The general type of the features was Grecian; their regularitywas perfect, but the nose was a trifle too prominent for pure Grecian.About the set of the lips, delicately as they were cut, there was apeculiarity which a physiognomist might have interpreted to mean thatwhen their owner had once placed a particular end before him, noconsiderations of right on the one hand, or of friendship on the other,would be allowed to interfere with its attainment. This was a veryclever man, a very sagacious, far-seeing man, a very handsome man, avery popular man; yet a man whom no human heart ever loved, and whonever loved any human being--a man who could stand alone, and who didstand alone, to the hour when, "with all his imperfections on his head,"he stood before the bar of God.

  "The match is no serviceable one," said the Archbishop.

  "Truth to tell," replied the King a little doubtfully, "I scarce doaccount my cousin herself an heretic:--yet I wis not--she may be. Butshe hath been rocked in the heresy in her cradle, and ever sithence hathbeen within earshot thereof. You wot well, holy Father, what her lordwas; and his mother, with whom she hath dwelt these ten years or more,is worser than himself. Now it shall never serve to have Kent lost tothe Church her cause. You set affiance on him, I know, and I the like:and if he be not misturned, methinks he may yet prove a good servant.But here is this alliance cast in our way! I know they be wed withoutmy licence: yet what should it serve to fine or prison him? To prisonher might be other matter; but we cannot touch her. So this done shouldnot serve our turn. Father, is there any means that you can devise tobreak this marriage?"

  "The priest that wed them is a Gospeller," returned the Archbishop witha peculiar smile.

  "A priest in full orders," objected the King, "of good life andunblemished conversation. Even you, holy Father, so fertile in wiseplans, shall scarce, methinks, be able to lay finger on him."

  "Scantly; without he were excommunicate of heresy at the time thiswedding were celebrate."

  "Which he was not," answered the King rather impatiently. "Would toSaint Edmund he had so been! It were then no marriage."

  The Archbishop made no reply in words, but drawing towards him a sheetof paper which lay upon the table, he slowly traced upon it a date sometwo months previous--the date of the Sunday before Constance's marriage.The King watched him in equal silence, with knitted brows and set lips.Then the two conspirators' eyes met.

  "Could that be done?" asked the royal layman, under his breath.

  "Is it not done, Sire?" calmly responded the priestly villain, pointingto the paper.

  The King was silent for a minute; but, unprincipled as he was, hisconscience was not quite so seared as that of Arundel.

  "The end halloweth the means, trow?" he said inquiringly.

  "All means be holy, Sire, where the end is the glory of God," repliedArundel, with a hypocritical assumption of piety. "And the glory of Godis the service and avancement of holy Church."

  Still Henry's mind misgave him. His conscience appears at times to havetortured him in his later years, and he shrank from burdening it yetfurther.

  "Father, if sin be herein, you must bear this burden!"

  "I have borne heavier," replied Arundel with a cynical smile.

  And truly, to a man upon whose soul eleven murders lay lightly, aninvalidated marriage was likely to be no oppressive weight.

  "Yet even now," resumed the King, again knitting his brows uneasily,"methinks all hardships be scarce vanished. Our good cousin of Kent ishe that should not be turned aside from his quarry [object of pursuit; ahunting phrase] by a brook in his way."

  "Not if an eagle arose beyond the heron he pursued?" suggested Arundel,significantly.

  "Ha!" said the King.

  "He is marvellous taken with beauty," resumed his priestly counsellor."And the Lady Custance is not the sole woman in the world."

  "You have some further thought, Father," urged Henry.

  "Methinks your Grace hath a good friend in the Lord Galeas, Duke ofMilan?"

  "Ay, of olden time," answered the King, with a sigh. Was it caused bythe regretful thought that if he could bring back that olden time, whenyoung Henry of Bolingbroke was learning Italian at Milan and Venice, hemight be a happier man than now?

  "He hath sisters, methinks, that bear high fame for fair and lovesome?"

  "None higher in Christendom."

  "And the youngest-born, the Lady Lucy, I take it, is yet unwed?"

  "She is so."

  "And cometh not behind her sisters for beauty?"

  "She was but a little child when I was at Milan," said the King; "but Ihear tell of her as fairest of all the fair Visconti."

  "Were it impossible, Sire, that the lady, in company of her youngbrothers, should visit your Highness' Court?"

  Henry readily owned that it was by no means impossible, if he were toask it: but he reminded the Archbishop that the Duke of Milan was poor,though proud; and that while he would consider the Princess Luciaeternally disgraced by marrying beneath her, he probably would notscruple to sell her hand to the highest bidder of those illustriouspersons who stood on the list of eligibles. And Kent, semi-royal thoughhe were, was not a rich man, his family having suffered severely fromrepeated attainders.

  "And what riches he hath goeth in velvet and ouches," [jewellery] saidthe Archbishop, with his cold, sarcastic smile. "Well--if the Duke'sGrace would fain pick up ducats even in the mire, mayhap he shall findthem as plenty in England as otherwhere. Your Highness can heald [pourforth] gold with any Prince in Italy. And when the lady is hither,'twere easy to bid an hunting party, an' your Grace so list. My cousinof Kent loveth good hawking."

  Again that keen, cruel smile parted the priestly lips.

  "Moreover, Sire, she must be a Prince's daughter, or my cousin, wholikewise loveth grandeur and high degree, may count the cost ere heswallow the bait. The Lady Custance is not lightly matched for blood."

  "You desire this thing, holy Father?"

  The eyes of the two evil counsellors met again.

  "It were an holy and demeritous work, Sire," said the priest.

  "Be it as you will," returned Henry hastily. "But mind you, holyFather! you bear what there may be of sin."

  "I can carry it, Sire!"

  The royal and reverend conspirators parted; and the Archbishop, mountinghis richly-caparisoned mule (an animal used by priests out of affectedhumility, in imitation of the ass's colt on which Christ rode intoJerusalem), rode straight to Coldharbour, the town r
esidence of hisniece, Joan Duchess Dowager of York. He found her at work in the midstof her bower-women; but no sooner did she hear the announcement of herMost Reverend uncle, than she hurriedly commanded them all to leave theroom.

  "Well?" she said breathlessly, as soon as they were alone.

  "Thy woman's wit hath triumphed, Joan. 'Twas a brave thought of thine,touching the Lady Lucy of Milan. The King fell in therewith, like afowl into a net."

  "Nay, the Lady Lucy was your thought, holy Father; I did but counsel totempt him with some other. Then it shall be done?"

  "It shall be done."

  "Thanks be to All-Hallows!" cried the Duchess, with mirth which it wouldscarcely be too strong a term to call fiend-like. "Now shall the proudminx be brought to lower her lofty head! I hate her!"

  "'Tis allowed to hate an heretic," said the Archbishop calmly. "And ifthe Lady Le Despenser be no heretic, she hath sorely abused heropportunities."

  "She shall never be Nym's true wife!" cried the Duchess fierily. "Iwill not have it! I would sooner follow both her and him to thechurchyard! I hate, I hate her!"

  "Thou mayest yet do that following, Joan. But I must not tarry. Peacebe with thee!"

  Peace!--of what sort? We are told, indeed, of one who is like a strongman armed, and who keepeth his goods in peace. And the dead sleeppeacefully enough--not only dead bodies, but dead souls.

  The Earl and Countess of Kent had been about a week at Langley, when aletter arrived from the King, commanding the attendance of the Earl atCourt, as feudal service for one of his estates held on that tenure.The Countess was not invited to accompany him. The Duke of York seizedhis opportunity, for his plot was fully ripe, and suggested that sheshould obtain the royal permission to pay a visit to Windsor, where thehapless heirs of March were imprisoned. Permission to do so was askedand granted, for the King never suspected his cousin of any sinisterintention.

  The Earl set out first for Westminster. Constance stood at her lattice,and waved a loving farewell to him as he rode away, turning severaltimes to catch another glimpse of her, and to bend his graceful head inyet another farewell. He had not quite recovered from the glamour ofhis enchantment.

  "Farewell!" said the Princess at last, though her husband was far beyondhearing. "Hark, Maude, to the Priory bells--dost hear them? What saythey to thee? I hear them say--`He will come--he will come--safely backagain!'" And she sang the words in the tone of the chime.

  Maude was silent. A dark, sudden presentiment seemed to seize upon herof unknown coming evil, and to her ear also the bells had a voice. Butthey rang--"He will come--he will come--never any more!"

  The bells told the truth--to one of them.

  The Duke of York escorted his sister to Windsor. She was accompanied byBertram and Maude, Eva, and several minor domestics. He left her fulldirections how to proceed, promising to meet her with a guard of men afew miles beyond Eton, and go with her overland as far as Hereford. Thefinal destination of Constance and her recaptured charges was to be herown home at Cardiff, but a rather roundabout way was to be taken tobaffle the probable pursuers. York promised to let Kent know of theescapade through one of his squires on the morning of their departurefrom Windsor, with orders to join them as quickly as possible by seafrom Bideford. At Cardiff the final stand was to be made, in favour ofRichard, if living--of March, if he were proved to be dead. The eveningof a saint's day, about ten days later, was selected for the attemptedrescue; in the hope that the sentinels, having honoured the saint byextra feasting and potations, might be the less disposed to extravigilance.

  The first point to be ascertained was the exact rooms in the Castleoccupied by the youthful captives. This was easily found out byBertram. He and Maude were the sole confidants of their mistress'ssecret. The second scene of the drama--which might turn either tocomedy or tragedy--was to obtain a mould of the lock in wax. This alsowas done by Bertram, who further achieved the third point--that ofprocuring false keys from a smith. Constance, whose ideas of truth wereelastic and accommodating, had instructed her messenger to say that thekeys had been lost, and the new ones were wanted to replace them; butBertram kept a conscience which declined to be burdened with thisfalsehood, and accordingly he merely reported that the person who hadsent him required duplicates of the keys.

  No idea of wrongfulness in aiding the plot ever occurred either toBertram or Maude. In their eyes King Henry was no king at all, but arebel, a usurper, and a murderer; and the true King, to whom alone theirfealty was due, was (if Richard were dead) the boy unjustly confined inWindsor Castle. To work his freedom, therefore, was not a bad deed, buta good one; nor could it fairly be called treachery to circumvent atraitor.

  The keys were safely secreted in Constance's jewel-box until the nightappointed for the rescue came.

  It proved to be fair, but cloudy, with a low damp mist filling the valeof the Thames. Bertram took no one into his confidence but his ownsquire, William Maydeston, whom he posted in the forest, at a sufficientdistance from the Castle, in charge of the four horses necessary tomount the party.

  The Princess went to bed as usual--about eight o'clock, for she keptlate hours for her time--with Maude and Eva in attendance. Both weredismissed; and Eva at least went peacefully to sleep, in happy ignoranceof the kind of awakening which was in store for her. At half-past ten,an hour then esteemed in the middle of the night, Maude, according toinstructions previously received, softly opened the door of her lady'sbedchamber. She found her not only risen, but already fully equippedfor her journey, and in a state of feverish excitement. She came out atonce, and they joined Bertram, who was waiting in the corridor outside.The little trio of plotters crept slowly down the stairs, and across thecourt-yard to the foot of the Beauchamp Tower, within which the childrenwere confined. It was necessary to use the utmost caution, to avoidbeing heard by the sentinels. Bertram fitted the false key into thegreat iron lock of the outer door. The door opened, but with such acreak that Maude shuddered in terror lest the sentinels should hear it.She was reassured by a peal of laughter which came from beyond the wall.The sentinels were awake, but were making too much noise themselves tobe easily roused to action. Then the party went silently up into theBeauchamp Tower, unlocked the door which they sought, and leavingBertram outside it to give an alarm if necessary, Constance and Maudeentered the first of the two rooms.

  A white, frightened face was the first thing they saw. In the outerchamber, as the less valuable pair of prisoners, slept the sisters, Anneand Alianora Mortimer, whose ages were fifteen and eleven. Alianora,the younger, slept quietly; but Anne sat up, wide awake, and said in atremulous voice which she tried in vain to render firm--

  "What is it? Are you a spirit?"

  Constance was by her side in a moment, and assured the girl at least ofher humanity by taking Anne's face between her hands. She looked on itwith deep interest; for this was the face that Dickon loved. A soft,gentle face it was, which would have been pretty if it had been lessthin and wan with prison life, and less tired with suspense and care.To her--

  "The future was all dark, And the past a troubled sea, And Memory sat in her heart, Wailing where Hope should be."

  For Anne Mortimer was one of those hapless girls who are not motherless,but what is far worse, unmothered. Her father, who lay in his bloodygrave in Ireland, she had loved dearly; but her mother was a merestranger somewhere in the world, who had never cared for her at all. Tothe younger ones Anne herself had been the virtual mother; they had beentended by her fostering care, but who save God had ever tended her?Thus, from the time of her father's death, when she was eight years old,Anne's life had been a flowerless, up-hill road, with nothing to lookforward to at the end. Was it any wonder that the face looked worn withcare, though only fifteen years had passed over it?

  The sole breaks to the monotony of this weary life occurred when theCourt was at Windsor. Then the poor little prisoners were permitted tocome out of durance, and--still under strict survei
llance--to join theroyal party. These times were delightful to the younger three, but theywould have been periods of unmixed pain to Anne, if it had not been forthe presence and uniform kindness of one person. She shuddered withinherself when the King or his Mentor the Archbishop addressed her,shrinking from both with the instinctive aversion of a song-bird to aserpent; but Richard of Conisborough spoke as no one else spoke to her--so courteously, so gently, so kindly, that no room was left for fear.No one had ever spoken so to this girl since her father died. And thus,without the faintest suspicion of his feelings towards her, the lonelymaiden's imagination wove its sweet fancies around this hero of herdreams, and she began unconsciously to look forward to the time when sheshould meet him again. Well for her that it was so! for she was a "palemeek blossom" unsuited for rough blasts, and the only ray of sunshinewhich was ever to fall across her life lay in the love of Richard ofConisborough.

  "Who is it?" Anne repeated, in a rather less frightened tone.

  "Hast thou forgot me, Nannette?" said Constance affectionately. "I amthe Lady Le Despenser--thine aunt now, the wife of thine uncle of Kent."

  "Oh!" responded Anne, with a long-drawn sigh of relief. The tone said,"How delightful!"

  "I thought you were a ghost."

  "Well, so I am, but within the body," whispered Constance with a littlelaugh.

  "That makes all the difference," said Anne, whose response did not gobeyond a faint smile. "Has your Ladyship then won allowance to visitus?"

  Her voice expressed some surprise, for certainly the middle of the nightwas a singular time for a visitor to choose for a call.

  "Nay, sweet heart. I come without allowance--hush!--to bear you allaway hence. Wake thy sister, and arise both, and busk [dress] youquickly. Where be thy brothers?"

  "In the inner cowche," [bedroom].

  Constance desired Maude to hasten the girls in dressing, which must bedone by the fitful moonlight, as best it could, and went herself intothe inner chamber. Both the boys were asleep. They were Edmund, theyoung Earl, whose age was nearly thirteen, and his little brother Roger,who was not yet eight. Constance laid her hand lightly on the shoulderof the future King.

  "Nym!" she said. "Hush! make no bruit."

  The boy was sleeping too heavily to be roused at once; but his littlebrother Roger awoke, and looked up with two very bright, intelligenteyes.

  "Are we to be killed?" he wanted to know; but his query was not put inthe frightened tone of his sister.

  "Not so, little one. Wake thy brother, and rise quickly."

  "'Tis no light gear to wake Nym," said little Roger. "You must shakehim."

  Constance put the advice in practice, but Edmund only gave a grunt andturned over.

  "Nym!" said his little brother in a loud whisper. "Nym! wake up."

  Edmund growled an inarticulate request to be "let be."

  "Then you must pinch him," said little Roger. "Nip him well--be notafeard."

  Constance, extremely amused, acted on this recommendation also. Edmundgave another growl.

  "Nay, then you must needs slap him!" was the third piece of advicegiven.

  Constance laughingly suggested that the child should do it for her.Little Roger jumped up, boxed his brother's ears in a decided manner,and finally, burying his small hands in Edmund's light curly hair, gavehim a dose of sensation which would have roused a dormouse.

  "Is he in this wise every morrow?" asked Constance.

  "Master Gaoler bringeth alway a wet mop," said little Rogerconfidentially. "Wake up, Nym! If thou fallest to sleep again, I musttweak thee by the nose!"

  This terrible threat seemed to be nearly as effectual as the mop.Edmund stretched himself lazily, and in very sleepy accents desired toknow what his brother could possibly mean by such wanton cruelty.

  "Where is thy breeding, churl, to use such thewis [manners] with alady?" demanded little Roger in a scandalised voice.

  "Lady!--where is one?" murmured Edmund, whose eyes were still shut.

  "Methinks thou art roused now, Nym," said Constance. "But when thoushalt be a knight, I pity thy squire. Haste, lad, rise and busk thee insilence, but make as good speed as ever thou canst Roger, see he turnethnot back to sleep. I go to thy sisters."

  "Nay, but he will, an' you pluck him not out of bed!" said little Roger,who evidently felt himself unfit to cope with the emergency.

  "Thou canst wring him by the nose, then," said Constance, laughing."Come, Nym! turn out--quick!" Edmund turned over on his face, buried itin the pillow, and tacitly intimated that to get up at the presentmoment was an impossibility.

  "He'll have another nap!" said little Roger, in the mournful tone of aprophet who foresaw the speedy accomplishment of his tragicalpredictions.

  "But he must not!" exclaimed Constance, returning. "Then you must pluckhim out, and set him on the floor," repeated little Roger earnestly."'Twill be all I can do to let him to [hinder him from] get in againthen--without you clap his chaucers [slippers] about his ears," he addedmeditatively, as if this expedient might possibly answer.

  Constance took the future master of England by his shoulders, and pulledhim out of bed without any further quarter. The monarch elect grumbledexceedingly, but in so inarticulate a style that very little could beunderstood.

  "Now, Nym!" said Constance warningly to her refractory and dilatorynephew, "if thou get into bed again, we will leave thee behind, andcrown Roger, that is worth ten of thee. By my Lady Saint Mary! a prettyKing thou wilt make!"

  "Eh?" inquired Edmund, brightening up. "Let be. Go on and busk thee.Roger! if he is not speedy, come to the door and say it."

  Constance went back to the girls. She found Anne nearly ready, butAlianora, who apparently shared the indolent disposition of her elderbrother, was dressing in the most deliberate manner, though Maude andAnne were both hastening her as much as they could.

  "Now, Nell!" said Constance, employing the weapon which had proveduseful with Edmund, "if thou make not good speed, we will leave theebehind."

  "Well, what if so?" demanded Alianora coolly, tying a string in the mostleisurely style.

  "If I have not as great a mind to leave you both behind!"--criedConstance in an annoyed tone. "I will bear away Nan and Roger, and washmine hands of you!"

  "Please, I'm ready!" announced little Roger in a whisper through thecrack of the door, in an incredibly short space of time.

  "Why wert thou not the firstborn?" exclaimed the Princess. "I wouldthou hadst been! What is Nym about?"

  "Combing his hair," said Roger, glancing back at him, "and hath beenthis never so long."

  Constance dashed back into the room with one of her quick, impulsivemovements, snatched the comb from his dilatory young Majesty, smoothedhis hair in a second, ordered him to wash his hands, and to put on hisgown and tunic, and stood over him while he did it.

  "The saints have mercy on thee, Nym, and send thee a wise council!" saidshe, half in earnest and half in jest. "The whole realm will go tosleep else."

  "Well, they might do worser," responded Edmund calmly.

  The two sluggards were ready at last, but not before Constance had losther temper, and had noticed the unruffled endurance of Anne.

  "Why, Nan, thou hast patience enough!" she said.

  "I have had need these seven years," answered the maiden quietly.

  "Now, Maude, take thou Lord Roger by the hand; and Nan, take thy sister.Nym, thou comest with me. Lead on, Sir Bertram; and mind all of you--no bruit, not enough to wake a mouse!"

  "It would not wake Nym, then!" said little Roger.

  They crept down the stairs of the Beauchamp Tower as slowly andcautiously as they had come. Down to the little postern gate, leftunguarded by the careless sentinel, who was carousing with his fellowson another side of the Castle; out and away to the still glade inWindsor Forest, where Maydeston stood waiting with the horses, allfitted with pillion and saddle.

  "Here come we, Maydeston!" exclaimed Bertram. "Now, Madam, an' it
likeyour Grace to mount with help of Master Maydeston, will it list you thatI ride afore?"

  For it was little short of absolute necessity that the gentleman shouldbe seated on his saddle before the lady mounted the pillion.

  "Nay--the King that shall be, the first!" said Constance.

  Bertram bowed and apologised. He was always in the habit of givingprecedence to his mistress, and he really had forgotten for a momentthat the somnolent Nym was to be regarded as his Sovereign. So hisfuture Majesty, with Bertram's assistance, mounted the bay charger, andhis sister Alianora was placed on the pillion behind him.

  The next horse was mounted by Constance, with Bertram before her; thethird by little Roger, very proud of his position, with Maude set on thepillion in charge of her small cavalier, and the bridle firmly tied toBertram's saddle. Last came Maydeston and Anne. They were just readyto start when Constance broke into a peal of merry laughter.

  "I do but laugh to think of Eva's face, when she shall find neither theenor me," she said to Maude, "and likewise his Highness' gaolers, wakingup to an empty cage where the little birds should be."

  Maude's heart was too heavy and anxious about the issue of the adventureto enable her to reply lightly.

  Through the most unfrequented bridle-paths they crept slowly on, tillfirst Windsor, and then Eton, was left behind. They were about twomiles beyond Eton, when a hand was suddenly laid on Constance's bridle,and the summons to "Stand and deliver!" jestingly uttered in a familiarand most welcome voice.

  "Ha, Dickon! right glad am I to hear thee!" cried his sister.

  "Is all well, Custance?"

  "Sweet as Spanish must [new wine]. But where is Ned?"

  "Within earshot, fair Sister," said Edward's equally well-known anddeeper tones. "Methinks a somewhat other settlement should serve betterfor quick riding, though thine were well enough to creep withal. SirBertram, I pray you alight--you shall ride with your dame, and I withthe Lady Countess. Can you set the Lord Roger afore? Good! then so do.Lord Sele! I pray you to squire the Lady Alianora's Grace. HisHighness will ride single, as shall be more to his pleasure. Now,Dickon, I am right sorry to trouble thee, but mefeareth I must needs setthee to squire the Lady Anne."

  Semi-sarcastic speeches of this kind were usually Edward's nearestapproach to fun. The fresh arrangement was made as he suggested; andthough little Roger would not have acknowledged it publicly on anyconsideration, yet privately he felt the change in his position arelief. Lord Richard of Conisborough was the last of the illustriouspersons to mount, and his squire helped Anne Mortimer to spring to herplace behind him. The only notice which Richard outwardly took of herwas to say, as he glanced behind him--

  "We ride now at quick gallop; clasp me close, Lady Anne."

  They were off as soon as he had spoken--at such a gallop as Anne hadnever ridden in all her life. But she felt no fear, for the one personin the world whom she trusted implicitly was he who sat before her.

  During part of the way, they followed the same route which Le Despenserand Bertram had taken five years before; and Bertram found a painfulinterest in pointing out to Maude the different spots where theincidents of the journey had happened. Meanwhile a dialogue was passingbetween Edward and Constance which the former had expected, and had madehis arrangements for the journey with the special view that her querieson that topic should be answered by no one but himself.

  "Ned, hast seen my Lord?"

  "But once sithence I saw thee."

  "How is it with him?"

  "Passing well, for aught I know."

  "Thou didst him to wit of all this matter?"

  "Said I not that I so would?"

  "But didst thou?" she repeated, noting the evasion.

  "I did so."

  In saying which, Edward told a deliberate falsehood.

  "And when will he be at Cardiff?"

  "When the wind bloweth him thither," said the Duke drily.

  "Now, Ned!"

  "Nay, Custance--what know I more than thou? The winds be no squires ofmine."

  "But he will come with speed?"

  "No doubt."

  "Sent he no word unto me?"

  "Oh, ay--an hogshead full!"

  "Ned, thou caitiff! [miserable wretch]--what were they?"

  "Stuff and folly."

  "Thou unassoiled villain, tell me them this minute, or--"

  "Thou wilt drop from the pillion? By all means, an' it so like thee. Ishall but be left where I am."

  "Ned! I will nip thee like a pasty, an' thou torment me thus."

  "Forsooth, Custance, I charged no memory of mine with such drastis,"[dross, rubbish].

  "Drastis!"

  "I cry thee mercy--cates [delicates, good things] and honey, if thouwilt have it so. 'Twas all froth and thistle-down."

  "I have done, Ned. I will not speak to thee again this month."

  "And wilt keep that resolve--ten minutes? By 'r Lady, I am no squire ofdames, Custance. Prithee, burden not me with an heap of fond glose,"[foolish flattery].

  "By Saint Mary her hosen, but I would my Lord had chosen a bettermessenger!"

  Constance was really vexed. Edward himself was in a little difficulty,for he had only been amusing himself with his sister's anxieties. Inreality, he was charged with no message, and he did not want the troubleof devising one suitable to Kent's character.

  "By Saint Mary her galoches," [loose over-shoes], he said jocularly,"what wouldst have of me, Custance? I cannot carry love-letters in minehead."

  "But canst not tell me one word?"

  Edward would have given a manor if she would have been quiet, or wouldhave passed to some other topic. But he said--

  "Lo' you, Custance! I cannot gallop and talk."

  "Hast found that out but now?" was the ironical response.

  "Well, if thou must needs have a word," replied he testily, "he said heloved thee better than all the world. Will that do?"

  "Ay, that shall serve," said Constance in a low voice.

  So it might have done--had it been true.

  There was silence for half an hour; when Edward said in his gravesttone--

  "Custance! I would fain have thee hearken me."

  "For a flyting?" demanded his sister in a tone which was not at allgrave. "Thy voice hath sound solemn enough for a justiciary."

  "_Ninerias_ [nonsense], Custance! I speak in sober earnest."

  "Say on, my Lord Judge!"

  "When I have seen thee in safety, I look to turn back to the Court."

  "Sweet welcome thou shalt find there!"

  "Maybe--if I scale yet again the walls of Eltham Palace, where the Kingnow abideth--as I sought in vain to do this last Christmas."

  "Scale the walls!--What to do, Ned?"

  "What thinkest, Custance?"

  "Ned! surely thou meanest not to take the King's life? caitiff though hebe!"

  "Nay," said Edward slowly; "scantly that, Custance--without I wereforced thereto. It might be enough to seize him and lock him up, as hedid to our Lord, King Richard."

  "I will have no hand in murder, caitiff!"

  Constance spoke too sternly to be disregarded. And it was in her natureto have turned back to Windsor that moment, had she been left withoutreassurance that all would go right.

  "Softly, fair Sister!--who spake of so horrid a thing? Most assuredly Imean no such, nor have any intent thereto."

  "Scale walls at thy pleasure," she said in a calmer tone, "and lockHarry of Bolingbroke under forty keys if thou list: I will not let thee.But no blood, Ned, or I leave thee and thy gear this minute."

  "Fair sister Custance, never had I no such intent, by All Hallows!"

  "Have a care!" she said warningly.

  After that they galloped in silence.

  The journey went on till the Welsh Marches were reached, of which theEarl of March was lord. Edmund began to hold his head higher, for heknew that the Welsh loyalists were ready to welcome him as King. LittleRoger innocently asked if he wo
uld be Prince of Wales when his brotherwas King of England; because in that case, he would pull down some ofthe big hills which it took so long to climb. At last only one day'smarch lay between them and the Principality.

  And on that morning Edward left them. Constance could not understandwhy he did not go with them to Cardiff. He was determined not to do so;and to the disappointment of every one, he induced his brother toaccompany him. Richard would rather have stayed; but he had been toolong accustomed to obey the stronger will of his brother to begin theassertion of his own. The yielding character which he had inheritedfrom his father prevailed; and however unwillingly, he followed Edward.

  On the morning of that last day's march, they had to traverse a narrowrocky pass. The path, though rough and stony, was tolerably level; andfeeling themselves almost safe, they slackened their pace. They hadjust been laughing at some remark of little Roger's, and they were allin more or less good spirits, feeling so near the end of their perilousjourney; when all at once, in a turn of the pass, the leading horse cameto a sudden halt.

  "Stand, in the King's name!"

  Before them was a small, compact body of cavalry; and at their head,resplendent in official ermine, Sir William Hankeford, Judge of theKing's Bench.

  Resistance and flight were equally impossible. Constance addressedherself to the old man whom she had cheated five years before, and who,having subsequently discovered her craftiness, had by no means forgottenit.

  "Sir William, you will do your commission; but I pray you remember thathere be five of the King your master's cousins, and we claim to be usedas such."

  The old Judge's eyes twinkled as he surveyed the royal lady.

  "So, Madam! Your Ladyship hath the right: my commission I shall do, andset the King my master's cousins in safe keeping--with a chimney-boardclapped to the louvre," [chimney].

  Constance fairly laughed.

  "Come, Sir, I should scantly play the same trick on you twice."

  "No, Madam, I will have a care you no do."

  "And for what look we, Sir William? May we know?"

  "Madam," said Hankeford drily, "you may look for what you shall find,and you may know so much as you be told."

  "We may bid farewell, trow?"

  "So it lie not over too much time."

  "Well! needs must, Nym," said Constance, turning to the boy who had sonearly worn the crown of England. "And after all, belike, it shall beworser for me than thee."

  "Nym won't care," spoke up little Roger boldly, "if my master yonderwill let him lie till seven of the clock of a morrow."

  "Till nine, if it like him," said Sir William.

  "Then he'll be as happy as a king!" added little Roger.

  "Nay, you be all too young to care overmuch--save Nan," respondedConstance, looking at Anne's white troubled face. "Poor maid! 'tis hardfor thee."

  "I can bear what God sendeth, Madam," said Anne in a low voice.

  "Well said, brave heart!" answered Constance, only half understandingher. "The blessed saints aid thee so to do!--Now, Sir William, disposeof us."

  Hankeford obeyed the intimation by separating them into two bands.Constance, Bertram, and Maude, he placed in the care of Elmingo Leget,an old servant of the Crown, with orders to conduct them direct toLondon, where Constance guessed that she at least was to undergo trial.The four young Mortimers he took into his own charge, but declined tosay what he was going to do with them. The three officers of the Dukeof York were desired to return to their master, the old Judge cynicallyadding that they could please themselves whether they told him of therecapture or not; while Maydeston was as cynically informed that SirWilliam saw no sufficient reason wherefore the King's Grace should be atthe charges of his journey home, but that he might ride in the companyif he listed to pay for the lodgings of his beast and his carcase. Towhich most elegant intimation Maydeston replied that he was ready to payhis own expenses without troubling his Majesty, and that he did preferto keep his master company.

  So the little group of friends were parted, and Constance began herreturn journey to London as a prisoner of state.

  But what was happening at Cardiff? And where was the Earl of Kent?

  We shall see both in the next chapter.