XV
THE FROWN OF FATE
It was the Countess' wish that the betrothal should remain secret for thepresent, and therefore none but Their Majesties and Sir John de Bury wereacquainted with it. The old Knight, when approached by De Lacy on thesubject, had clapped him heartily on the shoulder.
"Take her, lad," he exclaimed; "and be worthy, even as I think you will.The King, himself, has spoken in your behalf . . . to say naught of themaid herself. But by St. Luke! this fortune will bring its drag. TheCountess has had too many suitors for the favored one to escape unhated.Nay, do not shrug your shoulders . . . or, at least, there is no harm inshrugging if your wit be keen, your dagger ever ready, and your armstrong. Remember, De Lacy, that you are a stranger, high in favor withthe King, and that Beatrix has broad acres as well as a fair face."
"And also that there is a certain, flat-nosed, red-haired knave at large,who, perchance, may honor me, even as he did you."
"Spare him, lad, spare him for me! . . . Yet if he should come underyour sword, put a bit more force in the blow for my sake."
"Trust me for that. . . I shall split him six inches deeper--and tellhim why as I do it."
"It will make me still more your debtor. By the Holy Evangels! if I wereassured the Abbot Aldam of Kirkstall had aught to do with that attackupon me, I would harry his worthless old mummery shop so clean a mousewould starve in it."
"Hark you, Sir John," said Aymer, "I may resign the Flat-Nose to you, butI shall claim a hand in that harrying business if the time ever ripen."
"Sorry the day for the Cistercian when we batter down his gates," the oldKnight laughed, yet with a menacing ring in his words.
"Sorry, indeed, for those on the other side of the gates," came a voicefrom behind the arras, and the King parted the hangings. . . . "Thoughmay I ask whose gates are in to be battered and for what purpose?"
"The gates of Kirkstall Abbey, under certain conditions, so please YourMajesty," said De Bury.
Richard elevated his eyebrows ever so slightly.
"And the conditions?" he asked.
"Proof that the Abbot Aldam was concerned in a recent murderous assaultupon me, or that he harbors a certain flat-nosed ruffian who led it," SirJohn replied.
"Methinks you told me of this matter at the time," addressing De Lacy.
"Yes, my liege,--at Leicester."
Richard nodded. "Perchance, Sir John, you may solve the riddle some day,and by way of Kirkstall: though it were not best to work sacrilege.Mother Church is holy with us yet awhile, and must needs be handledtenderly. Nathless, there is no hurt in keeping a close watch upon theCistercian."
"And if it should be that he plots treason against the King of England?"De Bury queried.
Richard smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"In that event," he said, "there will be a new mitre to fit atKirkstall. . . And mon Dieu! John, how would you like to wear it?"
De Bury raised his hands in horrified negation. "Now God forefend thatI, in my old age, should come to that. Better take De Lacy; he is youngand blithesome."
"By St. Paul! John, best not tell your niece you sought to turn De Lacymonk!" . . . then went on: "Two days hence we fare Northward, but withoutHer Majesty, who will join us later . . . at Warwick likely. To you, SirJohn, I give command of her escort . . . De Lacy, you will ride with me.But of this, more anon," and he moved away--then stopped and saidsternly: "Sir Aymer, go to the Queen and say to her it is my commandthat, until we depart, you walk with the Countess of Clare on theterrace, or ride with her, or do whatever you two may wish." And then helaughed.
On the following Thursday, being the thirteenth of July, Richard departedfrom Windsor, and behind him rode the most imposing and gorgeouscavalcade that ever accompanied a King of England in a peaceful progressthrough his realm. There, gleamed the silver bend of Howard on itsground of gules; the red chevron of Stafford in its golden field; thegolden fess of De la Pole amid the leopard faces; the three goldstagheads of Stanley on the azure bend; the gold bend of Bolton, Lord ofScrope; the gold and red bars of Lovell; the red lion of De Lisle rampingon its field of gold; the sable bend engrailled of Ratcliffe; the redfess and triple torteaux of D'Evereux, Lord Ferrers of Chartley; thesable twin lions of Catesby; the golden chevron of Hungerford; the redengrailled cross and sable water bougets of Bourchier; and a score ofothers equally prominent and powerful. And with every Baron were hisparticular retainers; but varying in number up to the three hundred thatwore the Stafford Knot and ruffled themselves as scarce second even tothe veterans of the King himself.
Richard was mounted on "White Surray," the famous war horse that he rodefirst in the Scottish War, and was to ride for the last time in thefurious charge across Redmore Plain on that fatal August morning when thePlantagenet Line died, even as it had lived and ruled--hauberk on backand sword in hand. He wore no armor, but in his rich doublet andsuper-tunic of dark blue velvet with the baudikin stripes on the sleeve,he made as handsome and gallant a figure as one was wont to see, even inthose days of chivalry. And no reign, since his protonymicpredecessor's, gave promise of a brighter future. The people hadaccepted him without a murmur of dissatisfaction, well pleased that therewas to be no occasion for the riot of factions and favorites that a childKing always engenders. England had known Richard of Gloucester, evensince his boyhood, as a strong man among strong men--a puissant knight,an unbeaten general, a wise counsellor, a brilliant administrator; in allthings able, resourceful, proficient; combining, as it were, in the lastof the Angevines, all the keen statesmanship, stern will, and fiery dashof the great House that had ruled England for three hundred turbulentyears.
Since the evening in London when Buckingham had quitted the castle inanger at the denial of the De Bohun inheritance, the matter had not beenmentioned between them; nor did the Duke know that Richard had ever heardof his outburst. Yet it is sure that from that moment they haddistrusted each other, though they varied not a jot their former bearing.Stafford remained at Court in constant attendance, and the King continuedto grant him substantial favors and honors, and this day, as they rodeside by side toward Reading (as well as until Buckingham turned aside atGloucester for his demesne of Brecknock), the most astute observer couldnot have detected in the frank cordiality of their manner, the faintesttrace of unfriendliness on the part of either.
The King had thrown aside his haughty reserve, and laughed and chattedgayly with those about him. Toward the inhabitants, who were gathered incrowds along the highways, he was very gracious, doffing bonnet to thecurtsies of the women, and acknowledging with a gracious sweep of his armand hand the respectful salutations of the men. And many were theenthusiastic cries of "God save the King!" or "God save Your Majesty!" or"God save King Richard!" And they came from the solitary individual aswell as from the multitude; from the laborers in the country as well asfrom the tradesmen and artificers in the hamlets and small towns.
It was near evening on the twelfth day after leaving Windsor that thetall towers of Warwick Castle loomed in the distance, the giant "Caesar"rising high above its huge brothers, the "Gateway" and the "Grey," andcasting its grim shadow far across the country-side. During much of thisday's journey Richard had been very quiet, riding with his head sunk onhis breast; and observing this, his attendants, save only the particularKnight of the Body on duty, gradually drew further behind so that theirtalk would not annoy him. At intervals he summoned one or more of them,but after a short time his interest waned, his abstraction returned, andlike discreet courtiers, they quickly dropped again to the rear. As theyneared the fortress he roused himself, and when the bombard on the wallroared out the royal salute he waved his suite to him. At the same timeSir William Catesby, who had gone on in advance from Worcester theprevious day, came galloping to meet them with Sir James Gascoyne, theConstable of the Castle.
Richard supped alone that evening; and then for a while he paced thefloor in meditation, pausing finally at the open window. Presently hestru
ck the bell.
"Who waits?" he asked.
"Sir Aymer de Lacy and Sir Ralph de Wilton," replied the page.
"De Lacy," he said. . . "Come hither," as Aymer entered; "a crowdedcourtyard always entertains me. . . Sometimes much may be learned fromit; and this is very active now. Have you ever seen one so bright andbusy?"
"But once before in England, Sire."
"Where?"
"At Pontefract! the night I first met the Duke of Gloucester."
"Aye, that may be true--it was crowded in those days. . . Pardieu! it isscarce three months since then--and yet . . . Holy Paul, what, changes!"He half closed his eyes in retrospection. . . "It is marvellous whatmemory can show us in an instant," he said, and turning sharply from thecasement struck the bell again. . . "Summon the Lord Steward," heordered . . . then, to De Lacy, when the page had gone: "And do youattend to what is said and pay no regard to Stanley's glances ofuneasiness. . . You understand?"
De Lacy bowed. "I do, and with profound satisfaction."
"Why satisfaction?"
"That Your Majesty does not trust him."
Richard smiled grimly. "Trust him or his brother William? Rather lookfor faith and honesty in the Fiend himself. Nathless, I may not slightthem--yet awhile. It is watch and wait--now. And a trying task truly,for they are the shrewdest brained in the land."
"Save the King of England," Aymer added.
"Save none, as you some day may see."
"God forbid!" De Lacy exclaimed earnestly.
But Richard only shrugged his shoulders. "Nay, what boots it? As greatCoeur-de-Lion said: 'From the Devil we Plantagenets all come, and to theDevil shall we all go.'"
"Then Your Majesty will never be quit of the Stanleys."
"It would seem so," with a short laugh; "yet it is the live Stanley thatworries me now."
"The Lord Stanley awaits Your Majesty's pleasure," said the page,stepping within the arras.
"Admit him," the King ordered, choosing a place where his own face wouldbe in the shadow and the other's in the glare. . . "And would it were mypleasure, rather than my expediency, that awaited him," he added in anundertone.
Stanley came forward in his precise and cautious way and bent knee to theKing.
"Be seated, my lord," said Richard cordially. "I wish your advice upon amost important matter, if you can spare me a little of your time."
The Lord Steward bowed. "My time belongs to you, Sire," he said suavely;"though I fear my poor advice can aid but little your own keen judgment;yet it is flattering to be asked it."
Richard made a gesture of dissent. "I did not summon you for flattery,"he said; "if I did not value your discretion you would not be here."
"Then I trust your gracious confidence may not be misplaced."
"I am about to test it. . . Tell me, my lord, what is the gravest stateproblem that confronts me now?"
The Lord Steward's crafty blue eyes shot a sharp glance at the King, butRichard's black ones met it half way and drove it back in quick retreat.Now, Stanley had one weakness. He was vain of his astuteness and everready to display it; and he thought he had discerned instantly what wasin the King's mind.
"Your Majesty means the two Princes--Edward's sons," he said.
Richard's face showed blank surprise.
"Nay, my lord, I mean nothing in particular," he said. "I sought onlywhat, in your opinion, was my chief embarrassment and peril. . . And youanswer: the young Princes. . . By St. Paul! you may be right--give meyour reasons."
Stanley saw his blunder and grew hot with rage. He had been outwitted;and now, as between him and the King, he must ever bear the burden ofhaving first suggested Edward's sons as a menace to the State. The trapwas so easy; and yet he had never seen it until it had caught him tight.And between his anger and the strange influence which Richard exercisedover all men when in his presence, he blundered again--and worse thanbefore.
"When, since time began," he asked, "has a new King had peace or comfortwhile his supplanted predecessor lived to breed revolt?"
Richard seized the opening instantly.
"Great St. George! You do not urge the Princes' death?" he exclaimed.
And Stanley floundered deeper.
"Holy Mother, Sire, do not misunderstand me," he answered. "I urgenothing. But the problem, as I see it, is, not why to act, but how torefrain."
"Yet Parliament has declared them bastards and so never eligible to thecrown," Richard objected.
But Stanley had gone too far now to retreat and he pressed on, knowingthat he, himself, was incurring little or no danger by the advice.Richard alone would be responsible if he acted upon it, and all the openshame would fall upon him.
"The Beauforts were bastards," he answered, "and Parliament specificallyrefused them the royal dignity; yet who, to-day, is Lancaster's chief andclaimant for your Crown but the heir of those same Beauforts? Pardieu!Sire, you need not me to tell you that Parliament belongs to him whosewrit summons it."
"I would never countenance it," the King answered; "and it would surelydestroy me if I did."
Stanley smiled shrewdly. "Did the Fourth Henry sit less easy on thethrone when the deposed Richard died suddenly at Pontefract? . . . DidJohn tyrannize the less because of Arthur's cruel taking off?"
The King arose and paced the floor, looking straight before him. Stanleywatched him furtively, trying vainly to read behind the mask of thatpassionless face.
"Tell me, my lord," said Richard presently, halting beside him andputting a hand on his shoulder, "if you were King of England, what wouldyou do with the Princes?"
Stanley evaded the direct question. "Your Majesty is King of England,and I can never be aught but a subject--how can I know what a King woulddo?"
Richard nodded. "That is but fair, my lord," he said. "To decide asKing one must be King. Yet I would gather from our talk that you deemthe . . . removal . . . most essential--is it not so?"
Pushed into the corner, the shifty Baron hesitated and sought to evadeagain. But he managed badly, for now the King's eyes were hard upon hisface.
"Of a truth, Sire," he replied, "our talk this night has convinced me itwould be most expedient for Your Majesty."
Richard's lips softened into the very faintest smile.
"Our talk------!" he began.
Then suddenly Stanley started up and pointed to the window.
"Who is yonder listener?" he exclaimed.
Richard turned quickly, following the gesture.
"Are your eyes failing?" he asked. "It is De Lacy--he is on dutyto-night."
"Did you know he was there?"
"Most assuredly, my lord."
Stanley stared at the King in amazed silence, and despite his carefuldissimulation the indignation blazed in his eyes.
"If Your Majesty deem it wise to discuss such matters before a simpleattendant," he said, "it is not for me to criticise . . . yet, methinks,if it be not risky, it is at least unusual."
"Never fear, Lord Steward; I will answer for my Body-Knight," Richardresponded.
During the colloquy, De Lacy had been leaning on the window edge,watching idly the courtyard below, but paying strict attention to allthat was said behind him. Now he came forward and bent knee to Richard.
"My King's confidence," he said, "makes contemptible the insinuations ofthe fickle Stanley."
"How now, Sir------" Stanley began angrily; but Richard silenced him withan imperious gesture.
"Hold, my Lord Steward," he said sternly, "no words betwixt you two. Andhark you both, no renewal of this hereafter. You are each acquittancedof the other now."
De Lacy drew himself up stiffly and saluted.
"The King commands," he said.
"And you, my lord?" asked Richard, eyeing Stanley.
"Pardieu! Sire, I have no quarrel with Sir Aymer," he answered, andaffably extended his hand.
Just then there came loud voices from the outer room, followedimmediately by the entrance of the pag
e.
"May it please Your Majesty," the boy said, as the King's curt nod gavehim leave to speak, "Sir Robert Brackenbury craves instant audience onbusiness of state."
"Admit him!"
The next moment the old Knight strode into the room, spurs jangling andboots and doublet soiled by travel.
"Welcome, Robert," said Richard, giving him his hand. "What brings youin such haste?"
"Matters which are for your ears alone, Sire," said the Constable of theTower, with the abruptness of a favored counsellor.
The King walked to a distant window.
"Might the two-faced Lord Steward hear us?" Brackenbury asked.
"No danger, speak--what is amiss in London?"
"Enough and to spare. Edward's sons are dead."
Even Richard's wonderful self-control was unequal to such news, and hestarted back.
"Holy Paul!" he exclaimed, under his breath; then stood with benthead. . . "How happened it?"
"No one knows, certainly. As you expressly ordered, either thelieutenant or myself regularly locked their apartments at sundown andopened them at dawn. Two nights since I, myself, turned key upon them.In the morning I found them dead--in each breast a grievouswound--Edward's bloody dagger on the floor."
"And your view of it?"
"That Edward killed Richard and himself. He had lately been oppressedwith heavy melancholy."
The King shook his head. "Yes, that is doubtless the solution, yet scantcredence will be given it. To the Kingdom it will be murder foul. . .Yet, pardieu! who else know it?"
"None but my lieutenant."
"And his discretion?"
"Beyond suspicion. He has forgotten it long since."
Richard called De Lacy to him. "Let Suffolk, Lovel, Ratcliffe, D'Evereuxand Catesby be summoned instantly," he ordered.
"My friends," said he, when the last of them had come, "I have sore needof your wisdom and counsel. Hark to the mournful tidings Sir RobertBrackenbury brings."
Bluntly and simply the old Knight told the story. When he ended therewas deep concern on every face and all eyes turned toward the King.
"You perceive, my lords, the gravity of the situation," said Richard."What shall be done?"
None answered.
"Come, sirs; it is here and we must face it. What say you, Stanley?"
The Lord Steward swept the circle with a keen glance.
"Your Majesty has put a direful question and given us scant time forthought," he replied. "Yet but two courses seem possible: either toproclaim the Princes dead by natural causes and give them public burial;or to conceal the death, and by letting the world fancy them lifeprisoners so forget them. Each has its advantage; but on the whole, thelatter may be better. Nathless, this much is self-evident--the true taledare not be told. Daggers, blood, and death are inexplicable when Kings'sons are the victims, save on one hypothesis."
One after another endorsed these words, until finally it came back to theKing for decision.
For a long while he sat silent, staring into vacancy. Through the openwindows floated the noises of the courtyard--the neigh of a horse, thecall of a soldier, the rattle of steel on stone; from the anteroom camethe hum of voices, the tramp of a foot, the echo of a laugh. But within,no one spoke nor even stirred. Not a man there but understood thefatefulness of the moment and the tremendous consequences of thedecision, which, once made, might never be amended. At length he spoke.
"It is an ill-fated event and leaves a dismal prospect," he said veryquietly. "Sooner or later my nephews' death will be laid on me. Toproclaim them dead would be to declare me guilty now. To conceal theirdeath will be simply to postpone that guilt a time--a very little time,it may be. Curiosity will arise over their prolonged disappearance . . .then will come suspicion . . . and at length suspicion will becomeaccepted fact. . . So, my lords, their blood will be put on me--eithernow or in the future. That is my only choice--now or the future--. . .and I choose the future. We will not announce the death; and the bodiesshall be buried privately and in an unknown spot. To you, Sir RobertBrackenbury, I commit the task, trusting you fully. . . And, my lords,from this moment henceforth, let this council and its sad subject beforgotten utterly. . . Only I ask that when, in after days, you hearRichard Plantagenet accused of this deed, you will defend him or hismemory. . . And now, good night."
One by one they came forward, bent knee and kissed his hand; then quietlywithdrew, leaving him and De Lacy alone together.
"And yet, forsooth," he exclaimed, "Stanley advised that the Princes beremoved! By St. Paul! if he sought to persuade me to my injury, theFates have subserved his wishes well. Him I can baffle, but under theirfrown the strongest monarch fails."
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