When Knighthood Was in Flower

by Charles Major

  _CHAPTER XI_

  _Louis XII a Suitor_

  As soon as I could leave Brandon, I had intended to go down to Windsorand give vent to my indignation toward the girls, but the more Ithought about it, the surer I felt there had, somehow, been a mistake.I could not bring myself to believe that Mary had deliberatelypermitted matters to go to such an extreme when it was in her power toprevent it. She might have neglected her duty for a day or two, but,sooner or later, her good impulses always came to her rescue, and,with Jane by her side to urge her on, I was almost sure she would haveliberated Brandon long ago--barring a blunder of some sort.

  So I did not go to Windsor until a week after Brandon's release, whenthe king asked me to go down with him, Wolsey and de Longueville, theFrench ambassador-special, for the purpose of officially offering toMary the hand of Louis XII, and the honor of becoming queen of France.

  The princess had known of the projected arrangement for many weeks,but had no thought of the present forward condition of affairs, or shewould have brought her energies to bear upon Henry long before. Shecould not bring herself to believe that her brother would really forceher into such wretchedness, and possibly he would never have done so,much as he desired it from the standpoint of personal ambition, had itnot been for the petty excuse of that fatal trip to Grouche's.

  All the circumstances of the case were such as to make Mary's marriagea veritable virgin sacrifice. Louis was an old man, and an oldFrenchman at that; full of French notions of morality and immorality;and besides, there were objections that cannot be written, but ofwhich Henry and Mary had been fully informed. She might as well marrya leper. Do you wonder she was full of dread and fear, and resistedwith the desperation of death?

  So Mary, the person most interested, was about the last to learn thatthe treaty had been signed.

  Windsor was nearly eight leagues from London, and at that time wasoccupied only by the girls and a few old ladies and servants, so thatnews did not travel fast in that direction from the city. It is alsoprobable that, even if the report of the treaty and Brandon's releasehad reached Windsor, the persons hearing it would have hesitated torepeat it to Mary. However that may be, she had no knowledge of eitheruntil she was informed of the fact that the king and the Frenchambassador would be at Windsor on a certain day to make the formalrequest for her hand and to offer the gifts of King Louis.

  I had no doubt Mary was in trouble, and felt sure she had been makingaffairs lively about her. I knew her suffering was keen, but was gladof it in view of her treatment of Brandon.

  A day or two after Brandon's liberation I had begun to speak to him ofthe girls, but he interrupted me with a frightful oath: "Caskoden, youare my friend, but if you ever mention their names again in my hearingyou are my friend no longer. I will curse you."

  I was frightened, so much stronger did his nature show than mine, andI took good care to remain silent on that subject until--but I amgoing too fast again; I will tell you of that hereafter.

  Upon the morning appointed, the king, Wolsey, de Longueville andmyself, with a small retinue, rode over to Windsor, where we foundthat Mary, anticipating us, had barricaded herself in her bedroom andrefused to receive the announcement. The king went up stairs to coaxthe fair young besieged through two inches of oak door, and to induceher, if possible, to come down. We below could plainly hear the kingpleading in the voice of a Bashan bull, and it afforded us someamusement behind our hands. Then his majesty grew angry and threatenedto break down the door, but the fair besieged maintained a mostpersistent and provoking silence throughout it all, and allowed him tocarry out his threat without so much as a whimper. He was thoroughlyangry, and called to us to come up to see him "compel obedience fromthe self-willed hussy,"--a task the magnitude of which he underrated.

  The door was soon broken down, and the king walked in first, with deLongueville and Wolsey next, and the rest of us following in closeprocession. But we marched over broken walls to the most laughabledefeat ever suffered by besieging army. Our foe, though small, wasaltogether too fertile in expedients for us. There seemed no way toconquer this girl; her resources were so inexhaustible that in themoment of your expected victory success was turned into defeat; nay,more, ridiculous disaster.

  We found Jane crouching on the floor in a corner half dead with frightfrom the noise and tumult--and where do you think we found hermistress? Frightened? Not at all; she was lying in bed with her faceto the wall as cool as a January morning; her clothing in a littleheap in the middle of the room.

  Without turning her head, she exclaimed: "Come in, brother; you arequite welcome. Bring in your friends; I am ready to receive them,though not in court attire, as you see." And she thrust her bare armstraight up from the bed to prove her words. You should have seen theFrenchman's little black eyes gloat on its beauty.

  Mary went on, still looking toward the wall: "I will arise and receiveyou all informally, if you will but wait."

  This disconcerted the imperturbable Henry, who was about at his wit'send.

  "Cover that arm, you hussy," he cried in a flaming rage.

  "Be not impatient, brother mine! I will jump out in just a moment."

  A little scream from Jane startled everybody, and she quickly ran upto the king, saying: "I beg your majesty to go. She will do as shesays so sure as you remain; you don't know her; she is very angry.Please go; I will bring her down stairs somehow."

  "Ah, indeed! Jane Bolingbroke," came from the bed. "I will receive myguests myself when they are kind enough to come to my room." Thecover-lid began to move, and, whether or not she was really going tocarry out her threat, I cannot say, but Henry, knowing her too well torisk it, hurried us all out of the room and marched down stairs at thehead of his defeated cohorts. He was swearing in a way to make apriest's flesh creep, and protesting by everything holy that Maryshould be the wife of Louis or die. He went back to Mary's room atintervals, but there was enough persistence in that one girl to stopthe wheels of time, if she but set herself to do it, and the king cameaway from each visit the victim of another rout.

  Finally his anger cooled and he became amused. From the last visit hecame down laughing:

  "I shall have to give up the fight or else put my armor on with visordown," said he; "it is not safe to go near her without it; she is avery vixen, and but now tried to scratch my eyes out."

  Wolsey, who had a wonderful knack for finding the easiest means to adifficult end, took Henry off to a window where they held a whisperedconversation.

  It was pathetic to see a mighty king and his great minister of stateconsulting and planning against one poor girl; and, as angry as I felttoward Mary, I could not help pitying her, and admired, beyond thepower of pen to write, the valiant and so far impregnable defense shehad put up against an array of strength that would have made a kingtremble on his throne.

  Presently Henry gave one of his loud laughs, and slapped his thigh asif highly satisfied with some proposition of Wolsey's.

  "Make ready at once," he said. "We will go back to London."

  In a short time we were all at the main stairway ready to mount forthe return trip.

  The Lady Mary's window was just above, and I saw Jane watching us aswe rode away.

  After we were well out of Mary's sight the king called me to him, andhe, together with de Longueville, Wolsey and myself, turned ourhorses' heads, rode rapidly by a circuitous path back to another doorof the castle and re-entered without the knowledge of any of theinmates.

  We four remained in silence, enjoined by the king, and in the courseof an hour, the princess, supposing every one had gone, came downstairs and walked into the room where we were waiting.

  It was a scurvy trick, and I felt a contempt for the men who hadplanned it. I could see that Mary's first impulse was to beat a hastyretreat back into her citadel, the bed, but in truth she had in hermake-up very little disposition to retreat. She was clear grit. What aman she would have made! But what a crime it would have been in natureto have spoiled so perfect a
woman. How beautiful she was! She threwone quick, surprised glance at her brother and his companions, andlifting up her exquisite head carelessly hummed a little tune underher breath as she marched to the other end of the room with a gaitthat Juno herself could not have improved upon.

  I saw the king smile, half in pride of her, and half in amusement, andthe Frenchman's little eyes feasted upon her beauty with a relish thatcould not be mistaken.

  Henry and the ambassador spoke a word in whispers, when the lattertook a box from a huge side pocket and started across the room towardMary with the king at his heels.

  Her side was toward them when they came up, but she kept her attitudeas if she had been of bronze. She had taken up a book that was lyingon the table and was examining it as they approached.

  De Longueville held the box in his hand, and bowing and scraping saidin broken English: "Permit to me, most gracious princess, that I mayhave the honor to offer on behalf of my august master, this littletestament of his high admiration and love." With this he bowed again,smiled like a crack in a piece of old parchment, and held his boxtoward Mary. It was open, probably in the hope of enticing her with asight of its contents--a beautiful diamond necklace.

  She turned her face ever so little and took it all in with onecontemptuous, sneering glance out of the corners of her eyes. Thenquietly reaching out her hand she grasped the necklace anddeliberately dashed it in poor old de Longueville's face.

  "There is my answer, sir! Go home and tell your imbecile old master Iscorn his suit and hate him--hate him--hate him!" Then with the tearsfalling unheeded down her cheeks, "Master Wolsey, you butcher's cur!This trick was of your conception; the others had not brains enough tothink of it. Are you not proud to have outwitted one poor heart-brokengirl? But beware, sir; I tell you now I will be quits with you yet, ormy name is not Mary."

  There is a limit to the best of feminine nerve, and at that limitshould always be found a flood of healthful tears. Mary had reached itwhen she threw the necklace and shot her bolt at Wolsey, so she brokedown and hastily left the room.

  The king, of course, was beside himself with rage.

  "By God's soul," he swore, "she shall marry Louis of France, or I willhave her whipped to death on the Smithfield pillory." And in hiswicked heart--so impervious to a single lasting good impulse--hereally meant it.

  Immediately after this, the king, de Longueville and Wolsey set outfor London.

  I remained behind hoping to see the girls, and after a short time apage plucked me by the sleeve, saying the princess wished to see me.

  The page conducted me to the same room in which had been fought thebattle with Mary in bed. The door had been placed on its hinges again,but the bed was tumbled as Mary had left it, and the room was in greatdisorder.

  "Oh, Sir Edwin," began Mary, who was weeping, "was ever woman in suchfrightful trouble? My brother is killing me. Can he not see that Icould not live through a week of this marriage? And I have beendeserted by all my friends, too, excepting Jane. She, poor thing,cannot leave."

  "You know I would not go," said Jane, parenthetically. Mary continued:"You, too, have been home an entire week and have not been near me."

  I began to soften at the sight of her grief, and concluded, withBrandon, that, after all, her beauty could well cover a multitude ofsins; perhaps even this, her great transgression against him.

  The princess was trying to check her weeping, and in a moment took upthe thread of her unfinished sentence: "And Master Brandon, too, leftwithout so much as sending me one little word--not a line nor asyllable. He did not come near me, but went off as if I did notcare--or he did not. Of course _he_ did not care, or he would not havebehaved so, knowing I was in so much trouble. I did not see him at allafter--one afternoon in the king's--about a week before that awfulnight in London, except that night, when I was so frightened I couldnot speak one word of all the things I wished to say."

  This sounded strange enough, and I began more than ever to suspectsomething wrong. I, however, kept as firm a grasp as possible upon thestock of indignation I had brought with me.

  "How did you expect to see or hear from him," asked I, "when he waslying in a loathsome dungeon without one ray of light, condemned to behanged, drawn and quartered, because of your selfish neglect to savehim who, at the cost of half his blood, and almost his life, had savedso much for you?"

  Her eyes grew big, and the tears were checked by genuine surprise.

  I continued: "Lady Mary, no one could have made me believe that youwould stand back and let the man, to whom you owed so great a debt,lie so long in such misery, and be condemned to such a death for theact that saved you. I could never have believed it!"

  "Imp of hell!" screamed Mary; "what tale is this you bring to tortureme? Have I not enough already? Tell me it is a lie, or I will haveyour miserable little tongue torn out by the root."

  "It is no lie, princess, but an awful truth, and a frightful shame toyou."

  I was determined to tell her all and let her see herself as she was.

  She gave a hysterical laugh, and throwing up her hands, with heraccustomed little gesture, fell upon the bed in utter abandonment,shaking as with a spasm. She did not weep; she could not; she was pastthat now. Jane went over to the bed and tried to soothe her.

  In a moment Mary sprang to her feet, exclaiming: "Master Brandoncondemned to death and you and I here talking and moaning and weeping?Come, come, we will go to the king at once. We will start to walk,Edwin--I must be doing something--and Jane can follow with the horsesand overtake us. No; I will not dress; just as I am; this will do.Bring me a hat, Jane; any one, any one." While putting on hat andgloves she continued: "I will see the king at once and tell him all!all! I will do anything; I will marry that old king of France, orforty kings, or forty devils; it's all one to me; anything! anything!to save him. Oh! to think that he has been in that dungeon all thistime." And the tears came unheeded in a deluge.

  She was under such headway, and spoke and moved so rapidly, that Icould not stop her until she was nearly ready to go. Then I held herby the arm while I said:

  "It is not necessary now; you are too late."

  A look of horror came into her face, and I continued slowly: "Iprocured Brandon's release nearly a week ago; I did what you shouldhave done, and he is now at our rooms in Greenwich."

  Mary looked at me a moment, and, turning pale, pressed her hands toher heart and leaned against the door frame.

  After a short silence she said: "Edwin Caskoden--fool! Why could younot have told me that at first? I thought my brain would burn and myheart burst."

  "I should have told you had you given me time. As to the pain it gaveyou"--this was the last charge of my large magazine of indignation--"Icare very little about that. You deserve it. I do not know whatexplanation you have to offer, but nothing can excuse you. Anexplanation, however good, would have been little comfort to you hadBrandon failed you in Billingsgate that night."

  She had fallen into a chair by this time and sat in reverie, staringat nothing. Then the tears came again, but more softly.

  "You are right; nothing can excuse me. I am the most selfish,ungrateful, guilty creature ever born. A whole month in that dungeon!"And she covered her drooping face with her hands.

  "Go away for awhile, Edwin, and then return; we shall want to see youagain," said Jane.

  Upon my return Mary was more composed. Jane had dressed her hair, andshe was sitting on the bed in her riding habit, hat in hand. Herfingers were nervously toying at the ribbons and her eyes cast down.

  "You are surely right, Sir Edwin. I have no excuse. I can have none;but I will tell you how it was. You remember the day you left me inthe waiting-room of the king's council?--when they were discussing mymarriage without one thought of me, as if I were but a slave or a dumbbrute that could not feel." She began to weep a little, but soonrecovered herself. "While waiting for you to return, the Duke ofBuckingham came in. I knew Henry was trying to sell me to the Frenchking, and my heart was full of
trouble--from more causes than you canknow. All the council, especially that butcher's son, were urging himon, and Henry himself was anxious that the marriage should be broughtabout. He thought it would strengthen him for the imperial crown. Hewants everything, and is ambitious to be emperor. Emperor! He wouldcut a pretty figure! I hoped, though, I should be able to induce himnot to sacrifice me to his selfish interests, as I have done before,but I knew only too well it would tax my powers to the utmost thistime. I knew that if I did anything to anger or to antagonize him, itwould be all at an end with me. You know he is so exacting with otherpeople's conduct, for one who is so careless of his own--so virtuousby proxy. You remember how cruelly he disgraced and crushed poor LadyChesterfield, who was in such trouble about her husband, and who wentto Grouche's only to learn if he were true to her. Henry seems to beparticularly sensitive in that direction. One would think it was inthe commandments: 'Thou shalt not go to Grouche's.' It may be thatsome have gone there for other purposes than to have their fortunestold--to meet, to--but I need not say that I--" and she stopped short,blushing to her hair.

  "Well, I knew I could do nothing with Henry if he once learned of thatvisit, especially as it resulted so fatally. Oh! why did I go? Why_did_ I go? That was why I hesitated to tell Henry at once. I washoping some other way would open whereby I might save Charles--MasterBrandon. While I was waiting, along came the Duke of Buckingham, andas I knew he was popular in London, and had almost as much influencethere as the king, a thought came to me that he might help us.

  "I knew that he and Master Brandon had passed a few angry words at onetime in my ball-room--you remember--but I also knew that the duke wasin--in love with me, you know, or pretended to be--he always said hewas--and I felt sure I could, by a little flattery, induce him to doanything. He was always protesting that he would give half his bloodto serve me. As if anybody wanted a drop of his wretched blood. PoorMaster Brandon! his blood ..." and the tears came, choking her wordsfor the moment. "So I told the duke I had promised you and Jane toprocure Master Brandon's liberty, and asked him to do it for me. Hegladly consented, and gave me his knightly word that it should beattended to without an hour's delay. He said it might have to be donesecretly in the way of an escape--not officially--as the Londonerswere very jealous of their rights and much aroused on account of thekilling. Especially, he said that at that time great caution must beused, as the king was anxious to conciliate the city in order toprocure a loan for some purpose--my dower, I suppose.

  "The duke said it should be as I wished; that Master Brandon shouldescape, and remain away from London for a few weeks until the kingprocured his loan, and then be freed by royal proclamation.

  "I saw Buckingham the next day, for I was very anxious, you may besure, and he said the keeper of Newgate had told him it had beenarranged the night before as desired. I had come to Windsor because itwas more quiet, and my heart was full. It is quite a distance fromLondon, and I thought it might afford a better opportunity to--tosee--I thought, perhaps Master Brandon might come--might wantto--to--see Jane and me; in fact I wrote him before I left Greenwichthat I should be here. Then I heard he had gone to New Spain. Now yousee how all my troubles have come upon me at once; and this thegreatest of them, because it is my fault. I can ask no forgivenessfrom any one, for I cannot forgive myself."

  She then inquired about Brandon's health and spirits, and I left outno distressing detail you may be sure.

  During my recital she sat with downcast eyes and tear-stained face,playing with the ribbons of her hat.

  When I was ready to go she said: "Please say to Master Brandon Ishould like--to--see--him, if he cares to come, if only that I maytell him how it happened."

  "I greatly fear, in fact, I know he will not come," said I. "Thecruelest blow of all, worse even than the dungeon, or the sentence ofdeath, was your failure to save him. He trusted you so implicitly. Atthe time of his arrest he refused to allow me to tell the king, sayinghe knew you would see to it--that you were pure gold."

  "Ah, did he say that?" she asked, as a sad little smile lighted herface.

  "His faith was so entirely without doubt, that his recoil from you iscorrespondingly great. He goes to New Spain as soon as his health isrecovered sufficiently for him to travel."

  This sent the last fleck of color from her face, and with the wordsalmost choking her throat: "Then tell him what I have said to you andperhaps he will not feel so--"

  "I cannot do that either, Lady Mary. When I mentioned your name theother day he said he would curse me if I ever spoke it again in hishearing."

  "Is it so bad as that?" Then, meditatively: "And at his trial he didnot tell the reason for the killing? Would not compromise me, who hadserved him so ill, even to save his own life? Noble, noble!" And herlips went together as she rose to her feet. No tears now; nothing butglowing, determined womanhood.

  "Then I will go to him wherever he may be. He shall forgive me, nomatter what my fault."

  Soon after this we were on our way to London at a brisk gallop.

  We were all very silent, but at one time Mary spoke up from the midstof a reverie: "During the moment when I thought Master Brandon hadbeen executed--when you said it was too late--it seemed that I wasborn again and all made over; that I was changed in the very textureof my nature by the shock, as they say the grain of the iron cannon issometimes changed by too violent an explosion." And this proved to betrue in some respects.

  We rode on rapidly and did not stop in London except to give thehorses drink.

  After crossing the bridge, Mary said, half to Jane and half toherself: "I will never marry the French king--never." Mary was but agirl pitted against a body of brutal men, two of them rulers of thetwo greatest nations on earth--rather heavy odds, for one woman.

  We rode down to Greenwich and entered the palace without excitingcomment, as the princess was in the habit of coming and going at will.

  The king and queen and most of the courtiers were in London--atBridewell House and Baynard's Castle--where Henry was vigorouslypushing the loan of five hundred thousand crowns for Mary's dower, theonly business of state in which, at that time, he took any activeinterest. Subsequently, as you know, he became interested in thedivorce laws, and the various methods whereby a man, especially aking, might rid himself of a distasteful wife; and after he saw thetruth in Anne Boleyn's eyes, he adopted a combined policy of churchand state craft that has brought us a deal of senseless trouble eversince--and is like to keep it up.

  As to Mary's dower, Henry was to pay Louis only four hundred thousandcrowns, but he made the marriage an excuse for an extra hundredthousand, to be devoted to his own private use.

  When we arrived at the palace, the girls went to their apartments andI to mine, where I found Brandon reading. There was only one windowto our common room--a dormer-window, set into the roof, and reached bya little passage as broad as the window itself, and perhaps a yard anda half long. In the alcove thus formed was a bench along the wall,cushioned by Brandon's great campaign cloak. In this window we oftensat and read, and here was Brandon with his book. I had intended totell him the girls were coming, for when Mary asked me if I thought hewould come to her at the palace, and when I had again said no, shereiterated her intention of going to him at once; but my couragefailed me and I did not speak of it.

  I knew that Mary ought not to come to our room, and that if news of itshould reach the king's ears there would be more and worse troublethan ever, and, as usual, Brandon would pay the penalty for all. Thenagain, if it were discovered it might seriously compromise both Maryand Jane, as the world is full of people who would rather say andbelieve an evil thing of another than to say their prayers or tobelieve the holy creed.

  I had said as much to the Lady Mary when she expressed herdetermination to go to Brandon. She had been in the wrong so much oflate that she was humbled; and I was brave enough to say whatever Ifelt; but she said she had thought it all over, and as every one wasaway from Greenwich it would not be found out if done secretly.r />
  She told Jane she need not go; that she, Mary, did not want to takeany risk of compromising her.

  You see, trouble was doing a good work in the princess, and had madeit possible for a generous thought for another to find spontaneouslodgment in her heart. What a great thing it is, this human suffering,which so sensitizes our sympathy, and makes us tender to another'spain. Nothing else so fits us for earth or prepares us for heaven.

  Jane would have gone, though, had she known that all her fair namewould go with her. She was right, you see, when she told me, whileriding over to Windsor, that should Mary's love blossom into afull-blown passion she would wreck everything and everybody, includingherself perhaps, to attain the object of so great a desire.

  It looked now as if she were on the high road to that end. Nothingshort of chains and fetters could have kept her from going to Brandonthat evening. There was an inherent force about her that wasirresistible and swept everything before it.

  In our garret she was to meet another will, stronger and infinitelybetter controlled than her own, and I did not know how it would allturn out.