VIII.
Of Tristram Lyndwood, the old Forester, and his Grand- daughter Mabel--Of the Peril in which the Lady Anne Boleyn was placed during the chase--And by whom she was rescued.
In consequence of the announcement that a grand hunting party would beheld in the forest, all the verderers, rangers, and keepers assembled atan early hour on the fourth day after the king's arrival at Windsor inan open space on the west side of the great avenue, where a wooden standwas erected, canopied over with green boughs and festooned with garlandsof flowers, for the accommodation of the Lady Anne Boleyn and her dames,who, it was understood, would be present at the chase.
At a little distance from the stand an extensive covert was fenced roundwith stout poles, to which nets were attached so as to form a haye orpreserve, where the game intended for the royal sport was confined;and though many of the animals thus brought together were of hostilenatures, they were all so terrified, and seemingly so conscious of thedanger impending over them, that they did not molest each other.The foxes and martins, of which there were abundance, slunk into thebrushwood with the hares and rabbits, but left their prey untouched. Theharts made violent efforts to break forth, and, entangling their hornsin the nets, were with difficulty extricated and driven back; while thetimid does, not daring to follow them, stood warily watching the resultof the struggle.
Amongst the antlered captives was a fine buck, which, having been oncebefore hunted by the king, was styled a "hart royal," and this nobleanimal would certainly have effected his escape if he had not beenattacked and driven back by Morgan Fenwolf, who throughout the morning'sproceedings displayed great energy and skill. The compliments bestowedon Fenwolf for his address by the chief verderer excited the jealousyof some of his comrades, and more than one asserted that he had beenassisted in his task by some evil being, and that Bawsey herself was nobetter than a familiar spirit in the form of a hound.
Morgan Fenwolf scouted these remarks; and he was supported by someothers among the keepers, who declared that it required no supernaturalaid to accomplish what he had done--that he was nothing more than a goodhuntsman, who could ride fast and boldly--that he was skilled in all theexercises of the chase, and possessed a stanch and well-trained hound.
The party then sat down to breakfast beneath the trees, and the talkfell upon Herne the Hunter, and his frequent appearance of late in theforest (for most of the keepers had heard of or encountered the spectralhuntsman); and while they were discussing this topic, and a plentifulallowance of cold meat, bread, ale, and mead at the same time, twopersons were seen approaching along a vista on the right, who speciallyattracted their attention and caused Morgan Fenwolf to drop thehunting-knife with which he was carving his viands, and start to hisfeet.
The new-comers were an old man and a comely young damsel. The former,though nearer seventy than sixty, was still hale and athletic, withfresh complexion, somewhat tanned by the sun, and a keen grey eye,which had lost nothing of its fire. He was habited in a stout leatherndoublet, hose of the same material, and boots rudely fashioned out ofuntanned ox-hide, and drawn above the knee. In his girdle was thrust alarge hunting-knife; a horn with a silver mouthpiece depended from hisshoulder, and he wore a long bow and a quiver full of arrows at hisback. A flat bonnet, made of fox-skin and ornamented with a raven'swing, covered his hair, which was as white as silver.
But it was not upon this old forester, for such his attire proclaimedhim, that the attention of the beholders, and of Morgan Fenwolf inespecial, was fixed, but upon his companion. Amongst the many lovely andhigh-born dames who had so recently graced the procession to the castlewere few, if any, comparable to this lowly damsel. Her dress--probablyowing to the pride felt in her by her old relative was somewhat superiorto her station. A tightly-laced green kirtle displayed to perfection herslight but exquisitely-formed figure A gown of orange-coloured cloth,sufficiently short to display her small ankles, and a pair of greenbuskins, embroidered with silver, together with a collar of the whitestand finest linen, though shamed by the neck it concealed, and fastenedby a small clasp, completed her attire. Her girdle was embroidered withsilver, and her sleeves were fastened by aiglets of the same metal.
"How proud old Tristram Lyndwood seems of his granddaughter," remarkedone of the keepers.
"And with reason," replied another. "Mabel Lyndwood is the comeliestlass in Berkshire."
"Ay, marry is she," rejoined the first speaker; "and, to my thinking,she is a fairer and sweeter flower than any that blooms in yon statelycastle--the flower that finds so much favour in the eyes of our royalHal not excepted."
"Have a care, Gabriel Lapp," observed another keeper. "Recollect thatMark Fytton, the butcher, was hanged for speaking slightingly of theLady Anne Boleyn; and you may share his fate if you disparage herbeauty."
"Na I meant not to disparage the Lady Anne," replied Gabriel. "Halmay marry her when he will, and divorce her as soon afterwards as hepleases, for aught I care. If he marries fifty wives, I shall like himall the better. The more the merrier, say I. But if he sets eyes on MabLyndwood it may somewhat unsettle his love for the Lady Anne."
"Tush, Gabriel!" said Morgan Fenwolf, darting an angry look at him."What business have you to insinuate that the king would heed other thanthe lady of his love?"
"You are jealous, Morgan Fenwolf," rejoined Gabriel, with a malignantgrin. "We all know you are in love with Mabel yourself."
"And we all know, likewise, that Mabel will have nothing to say to you!"cried another keeper, while the others laughed in chorus. "Come and sitdown beside us, Morgan, and finish your breakfast."
But the keeper turned moodily away, and hied towards Tristram Lyndwoodand his granddaughter. The old forester shook him cordially by the hand,and after questioning him as to what had taken place, and hearing howhe had managed to drive the hart royal into the haye, clapped him on theshoulder and said, "Thou art a brave huntsman, Morgan. I wish Mab couldonly think as well of thee as I do."
To this speech Mabel not only paid no attention, but looked studiouslyanother way.
"I am glad your grandfather has brought you out to see the chase to-day,Mabel," observed Morgan Fenwolf.
"I dame not to see the chase, but the king," she replied, somewhatpetulantly.
"It is not every fair maid who would confess so much," observed Fenwolf,frowning.
"Then I am franker than some of my sex," replied Mabel. "But who is thestrange man looking at us from behind that tree, grandfather!
"I see no one," replied the old forester.
"Neither do I," added Morgan Fenwolf, with a shudder. "You are wilfullyblind," rejoined Mabel. "But see, the person I mentioned stalks forth.Now, perhaps, he is visible to you both."
And as she spoke, a tall wild-looking figure, armed with ahunting-spear, emerged from the trees and advanced towards them. Thegarb of the newcomer somewhat resembled that of a forester; but hisarms and lower limbs were destitute of covering, and appeared singularlymuscular, while his skin was swarthy as that of a gipsy. His jet-blackhair hung in elf-locks over his savage-looking features.
In another moment he was beside them, and fixed his dark piercing eyeson Mabel in such a manner as to compel her to avert her gaze.
"What brings you here this morning, Tristram Lyndwood?" he demanded, ina hoarse imperious tone.
"The same motive that brought you, Valentine Hagthorne," replied the oldforester--"to see the royal chase."
"This, I suppose, is your granddaughter?" pursued Hagthorne.
"Ay," replied Tristram bluntly.
"Strange I should never have seen her before," rejoined the other. "Sheis very fair. Be ruled by me, friend Tristram--take her home again. Ifshe sees the king, ill will come of it. You know, or should know, hischaracter."
"Hagthorne advises well," interposed Fenwolf. "Mabel will be better athome."
"But she has no intention of returning at present," replied Mabel. "Youbrought me here for pastime, dear grandfather, and will not take me backat the recomm
endation of this strange man?"
"Content you, child--content you," replied Tristram kindly. "You shallremain where you are."
"You will repent it!" cried Hagthorne.
And hastily darting among the trees, he disappeared from view.
Affecting to laugh at the occurrence, though evidently annoyed by it,the old forester led his granddaughter towards the stand, where he wascordially greeted by the keepers, most of whom, while expressing theirpleasure at seeing him, strove to render themselves agreeable in theeyes of Mabel.
From this scene Morgan Fenwolf kept aloof, and remained leaning againsta tree, with his eyes riveted upon the damsel. He was roused from hisreverie by a slight tap upon the shoulder; and turning at the touch,beheld Valentine Hagthorne. Obedient to a sign from the latter, hefollowed him amongst the trees, and they both plunged into a dell.
An hour or two after this, when the sun was higher in the heavens, andthe dew dried upon the greensward, the king and a large company of lordsand ladies rode forth from the upper gate of the castle, and takingtheir way along the great avenue, struck off on the right when abouthalf-way up it, and shaped their course towards the haye.
A goodly sight it was to see this gallant company riding beneath thetrees; and pleasant was it, also, to listen to the blithe sound oftheir voices, amid which Anne Boleyn's musical laugh could be plainlydistinguished. Henry was attended by his customary band of archers andyeomen of the guard, and by the Duke of Shoreditch and his followers. Onreaching the haye, the king dismounted, and assisting the Lady Anne fromher steed, ascended the stand with her.
He then took a small and beautifully fashioned bow from an attendant,and stringing it, presented it to her.
"I trust this will not prove too strong for your fair hands," he said.
"I will make shift to draw it," replied Anne, raising the bow, andgracefully pulling the string. "Would I could wound your majesty assurely as I shall hit the first roe that passes."
"That were a needless labour," rejoined Henry, "seeing that you havealready stricken me to the heart. You should cure the wound you havealready made, sweetheart-not inflict a new one."
At this juncture the chief verderer, mounted on a powerful steed, andfollowed by two keepers, each holding a couple of stag-hounds in leash,rode up to the royal stand, and placing his horn to his lips, blew threelong mootes from it. At the same moment part of the network of the hayewas lifted up, and a roebuck set free.
By the management of the keepers, the animal was driven past the royalstand; and Anne Boleyn, who had drawn an arrow nearly to the head, letit fly with such good aim that she pierced the buck to the heart. A loudshout from the spectators rewarded the prowess of the fair huntress; andHenry was so enchanted, that he bent the knee to her, and pressedher hand to his lips. Satisfied, however, with the' achievement, Anneprudently declined another shot. Henry then took a bow from one of thearchers, and other roes being turned out, he approved upon them hisunerring skill as a marksman.
Meanwhile, the hounds, being held in leash, kept up a loud and incessantbaying; and Henry, wearying of his slaughterous sport, turned to Anne,and asked her whether she was disposed for the chase. She answered inthe affirmative, and the king motioned his henchmen to bring forward thesteeds.
In doing this, he caught sight of Mabel, who was standing with hergrandsire among the keepers, at a little distance from the stand, and,struck with her extraordinary beauty, he regarded her for a momentintently, and then called to Gabriel Lapp, who chanced to be near him,and demanded her name.
"It is Mabel Lyndwood, an't please your majesty," replied Gabriel. "Sheis granddaughter to old Tristram Lyndwood, who dwells at Black Nest,near the lake, at the farther extremity of Windsor Forest, and whowas forester to your royal father, King Henry the Seventh, of blessedmemory."
"Ha! is it so?" cried Henry.
But he was prevented from further remark by Anne Boleyn, who, perceivinghow his attention was attracted, suddenly interposed.
"Your majesty spoke of the chase," she said impatiently. "But perhaps youhave found other pastime more diverting?"
"Not so--not so, sweetheart," he replied hastily.
"There is a hart royal in the haye," said Gabriel Lapp. "Is it yourmajesty's pleasure that I set him free?
"It is, good fellow--it is," replied the king.
And as Gabriel hastened to the netted fencework, and prepared todrive forth the hart, Henry assisted Anne Boleyn, who could not helpexhibiting some slight jealous pique, to mount her steed, and havingsprung into his own saddle, they waited the liberation of the buck,which was accomplished in a somewhat unexpected manner.
Separated from the rest of the herd, the noble animal made a sudden darttowards Gabriel, and upsetting him in his wild career, darted past theking, and made towards the upper part of the forest. In another instantthe hounds were un coupled and at his heels, while Henry and Anne urgedtheir steeds after him, the king shouting at the top of his lustyvoice. The rest of the royal party followed as they might, and the woodsresounded with their joyous cries.
The hart royal proved himself worthy of his designation. Dashing forwardwith extraordinary swiftness, he rapidly gained upon his pursuers--forthough Henry, by putting his courser to his utmost speed, could havekept near him, he did not choose to quit his fair companion.
In this way they scoured the forest, until the king, seeing they shouldbe speedily distanced, commanded Sir Thomas Wyat, who, with the Dukes ofSuffolk and Norfolk, was riding close behind him, to cross by thelower ground on the left, and turn the stag. Wyat instantly obeyed,and plunging his spurs deeply into his horse's sides, started off at afurious pace, and was soon after seen shaping his rapid course through adevious glade.
Meanwhile, Henry and his fair companion rode on without relaxing theirpace, until they reached the summit of a knoll, crowned by an old oakand beech-tree, and commanding a superb view of the castle, where theydrew in the rein.
From this eminence they could witness the progress of the chase, as itcontinued in the valley beyond. An ardent lover of hunting, the kingwatched it with the deepest interest, rose in his saddle, and utteringvarious exclamations, showed, from his impatience, that he was onlyrestrained by the stronger passion of love from joining it.
Ere long, stag, hounds, and huntsmen were lost amid a thicket, andnothing could be distinguished but a distant baying and shouts. At lasteven these sounds died away.
Henry, who had ill brooked the previous restraint, now grew soimpatient, that Anne begged him to set off after them, when suddenly thecry of hounds burst upon their ears, and the hart was seen issuing fromthe dell, closely followed by his pursuers.
The affrighted animal, to the king's great satisfaction, made his waydirectly towards the spot where he was stationed; but on reaching theside of the knoll, and seeing his new foes, he darted off on the right,and tried to regain the thicket below. But he was turned by another bandof keepers, and again driven towards the knoll.
Scarcely had Sir Thomas Wyat reined in his steed by the side of theking, than the hart again appeared bounding up the hill. Anne Boleyn,who had turned her horse's head to obtain a better view of the hunt,alarmed by the animal's menacing appearance, tried to get out ofhis way. But it was too late. Hemmed in on all sides, and driven todesperation by the cries of hounds and huntsmen in front, the hartlowered his horns, and made a furious push at her.
Dreadfully alarmed, Anne drew in the rein so suddenly and sharply, thatshe almost pulled her steed back upon his haunches; and in trying toavoid the stag's attack, caught hold of Sir Thomas Wyat, who was closebeside her. In all probability she would have received some seriousinjury from the infuriated animal, who was just about to repeat hisassault and more successfully, when a bolt from a cross-bow, dischargedby Morgan Fenwolf, who suddenly made his appearance from behind thebeech-tree, brought him to the ground.
But Anne Boleyn escaped one danger only to encounter another equallyserious. On seeing her fling herself into the arms of Sir Thomas Wyat,Henry re
garded her in stern displeasure for a moment, and then callingangrily to his train, without so much as deigning to inquire whethershe had sustained any damage from the accident, or making the slightestremark upon her conduct, rode sullenly towards the castle.
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