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Darnley

<h4>CHAPTER IX.</h4> <div class="poem0" style="margin-left:15%"> Welcome, he said: Oh, long expected, to my dear embrace!--Dryden. </div> "We must not think ourselves safe," said Longpole, when they had got about two miles from the park, "till we have put five estates between us and that double cunning fox, Sir Payan Wileton; for by break of day his horsemen will be out in every direction, and he will not mind breaking a little law to have us." "Which way are we going now?" demanded the knight; "I should judge towards Canterbury." "A little to the left we bear now," replied Longpole; "and yet the left is become the right, for by going left we get right off his land, my lord." "Call me not my lord, Heartley," said Darnley. "Did I appear before the king as Lord Darnley his grace might be offended, and especially the proud Wolsey; as, after many entreaties, made by the best in the land, the prelate refused to see either my father or myself, that we might plead our own cause; therefore, for the present, I am but Sir Osborne Maurice. Thou hast too much wit I know to give me my lord at every instant, like yon foolish clothier." "Oh, no! not I," replied Longpole; "I will Sir Osborne you, sir, mightily. But speaking of the clothier, your worship, how wonderfully the fellow used his legs! It seemed as if every step cried out ell-wide; and when he stumbled 'twas but three quarters. I hope he escaped, if 'twere but to glorify his running." "Even if they took him," said the knight, "Sir Payan would not keep him after he found I was gone." "If 'twere not for avarice," said Longpole; "the fellow had all his better angels in his bags, and Sir Payan has store of avarice. I've seen him wrangle with a beggar for the change of a halfpenny, when the devil tempted him to commit a charity. And yet avarice, looked upon singly, is not a bad vice for a man to have either. It's a warm, a comfortable solid sin; and if most men will damn their own souls to get money, he can't be much worse off who damns his to keep it. Oh, I like avarice! Give me avarice for my sin. But I tire your worship." "No, no, faith!" replied the knight. "Thy cheerfulness, together with the freedom of my limbs, give me new spirit, Heartley." "Oh! good your worship," cried Longpole, "call me something else than Heartley. Since the fit is on us for casting our old names, I'll be after the fashion too, and have a new one." "Well, then, I will call thee Longpole," said the knight, "which was a name we gave thee this morning, when thou wert watching us on the bank." "Speak not of it, Sir Osborne," replied he; "that was a bad trick, the worst I ever was in. But call me Longpole, if your worship chooses. When I was with the army they called me Dick Fletcher,[3] because I made the arrows; and now I'll be Longpole, till such time as your honour Is established in all your rights again; and then I'll be merry Master Heartley, my lord's man." "I fear me, Dick, that thou wilt have but little beside thy merriment for thy wages," said the knight, "at least for a while; for yon same Sir Payan has my bags too in safe custody, and also some good letters for his Grace of Buckingham. Yet I hope to receive in London the ransom of a knight and two squires, whom I made prisoners at Bouvines. Till then we must content ourselves on soldiers' fare, and strive not to grow sad because our purses are empty." "Oh! your worship, my merriment never leaves me," said Longpole. "They say that I laughed when first I came into the world; and, with God's will, I will laugh when I go out of it. When good Dr. Wilbraham, your honour's tutor, used to teach me Latin, you were but a little thing then, some four years old; but, however, I was a great boy of twelve, and he would kindly have taught me, and made a clerk of me; but I laughed so at the gods and goddesses, that he never could get on. The great old fools of antiquity, as I used to call them; and then he would cane me, and laugh too, till he could not cane me for laughing. I was a wicked wag in those days; but since then I have grown to laugh at folks as much as with them. But I think you said, Sir Osborne, that you had letters for the Duke of Buckingham: if we walk on at this pace, we shall soon be upon his land." "What! has he estates in this county?" asked the knight; "my letters were addressed to him at Thornbury, in Gloucestershire." "Oh! but he has many a broad acre too in Kent," answered Longpole; "and a fine house, windowed throughout with glass, and four chimneys at each end; not a room but has its fire. They say that he is there even now. And much loved is he of the commons, being no way proud, as some of our lords are, with their upturned noses, as if they scorned to wind their mother earth." "Were I but sure that his grace were there," said the knight, "I would e'en venture without the letters; for much has he been a friend to my father, and he is also renowned for his courtesy." "Surely, your worship," answered Longpole, "if his grace have any grace, he must be gracious; and yet I have heard that Sir Payan is the duke's good friend, and it might be dangerous to trust yourself." "I do not fear," said the knight. "The noble duke would never deliver me into the hands of my enemy; and although, perhaps, Sir Payan may play the sycophant, and cringe to serve his own base purposes with his grace, I cannot believe that the duke would show him any farther favour than such as we yield to a hound that serves us. However, we must find some place to couch us for the night, and to-morrow morning I will determine." "Still, we must on a little farther to-night," said Longpole. "That Sir Payan has the nose of a bloodhound, and I should fear to rest yet for a couple of hours. But the country I know well, every path and field, so that I will not lead your worship wrong." For nearly ten miles more, lighted by neither moon nor stars, did the two travellers proceed, through fields, over gates, and in the midst of woods, through which Longpole conducted with such unerring sagacity, that the young knight could not help a suspicion crossing his mind that his guide must have made himself acquainted with the paths by some slight practice in deer-stalking, or other gentle employments of a similar nature. At length, however, they arrived in the bottom of a little valley, where a clear quick stream was dashing along, catching and reflecting all the light that remained in the air. On the edge of the hill hung a portion of old forest ground, in the skirts of which was a group of haystacks; and hither Longpole led his master, seeming quite familiar with all the localities round about. "Here, sir, leap this little ditch and mound. Wait! there is a young hedge: now, between these two hay-stacks is a bed for a prince. Out upon the grumblers who are always finding fault with Fortune! The old lady, with her purblind eyes, gives, it is true, to one man a wisp of straw, and to another a cap and plume; but if he with the wisp wears it as gaily as the other does his bonnet, why fortune's folly is mended by content. I killed a fat buck in that wood not a month since," continued Longpole; "but, good your worship, tell not his Grace of Buckingham thereof." By such conversation Longpole strove to cheer the spirits of his young lord, upon whose mind all the wayward circumstances of his fate pressed with no easy weight. Laying himself down, however, between the two haystacks, while Heartley found himself a similar bed hard by, the young adventurer contrived soon to forget his sorrows in the arms of sleep; and as he lay there, very inconsiderately began dreaming of Lady Constance de Grey. Sir Payan Wileton also soon took his place on the imaginary scene; and in all the wild romance of a sleeping vision, they both contrived to teaze poor Sir Osborne desperately. At length, however, as if imagination had been having her revel after judgment had fallen asleep, and had then become drowsy herself, the forms melted gradually away, and forgetfulness took possession of the whole. It was bright daylight when the knight awoke, and all the world was gay with sunshine, and resonant with the universe's matin song. Longpole, however, was still fast asleep, and snoring as if in obstinate mockery of the birds that sat and sang above his head. Yet even in sleep there was a merry smile upon the honest Englishman's face, and the knight could hardly find the heart to wake him from the quiet blessing he was enjoying to the cares, the fears, and the anxieties of active existence. "Wake, Richard!" said he, at length, "wake; the sun has risen this hour." Up started Longpole. "So he has!" cried he; "well, 'tis a shame, I own, that that same old fellow the sun, who could run alone before I was born, and who has neither sat down nor stood still one hour since, should still be up before me in the morning. But your worship and I did not go to bed last night so early as he did." "Ay!" replied the knight; "but he will still run on, as bright, as vigorous, and as gay as ever, long after our short race is done." "More fool he then!" said Longpole; "he'll be lag last. But how have you determined, sir, about visiting the noble duke?" "I will go, certainly," replied the knight; "but, good Longpole, tell me, is it far from the manor, for all my food yesterday was imprisonment and foul words." "'Ods life! your worship must not complain of hunger, then, for such diet soon gives a man a surfeit. But, in troth, 'tis more than one good mile. However, surely we can get a nuncheon of bread at some cottage as we go; so shall your worship arrive just in time for his grace's dinner, and I come in for my share of good things in the second or third hall, as it pleases master yeoman-usher. So let us on, sir, i' God's name." Climbing the hill, they now cut across an angle of the forest, and soon came to a wide open down, whereon a shepherd was feeding a fine flock of sheep, singing lightly as he went along. <h4>SHEPHERD'S SONG.</h4> <div style="margin-left:10%"> "The silly beast, the silly beast, That crops the grassy plain, Enjoys more than the monarch's feast, And never tastes his pain. Sing oh! sing oh! for high degree, I'd be a sheep, and browse the lee. "The 'broidered robe with jewels drest, The silks and velvets rare, What are they to the woolly vest That shuts out cold and care? Sing oh! sing oh! for high degree, A woolly coat's the coat for me. "The king he feeds on dainty meat, Then goes to bed and weeps, The sheep he crops the wild thyme sweet, And lays him down and sleeps. Sing oh! sing oh! for high degree, A careless life's the life for me." </div> "This shepherd will have his hard-pressed curds and his brown bread," said Longpole; "and if your worship's hunger be like mine, no way dainty, we can manage to break our fast with him, though it be not on manchets and stewed eels." The knight was very willing to try the shepherd's fare; and bending their course towards him, they came up just as he was placing himself under an old oak, leaving his sheep to the care of his dogs, and found him well disposed to supply their necessities. His pressed curds, his raveled bread, and his leathern bottle, full of thin beer, were cheerfully produced; and when the knight, drawing from his pocket one of the few pieces that had luckily not been placed in his bags, offered to pay for their refreshment, the honest shepherd would receive no payment; his good lord, he said, the Duke of Buckingham, let none of his people want for anything in their degree, from his chancellor to his shepherd. "Content is as good as a king," said Heartley, as they proceeded on their way. "But, there! does not your worship catch a glance of the house where those two hills sweep across one another, with a small road winding in between them? just as if under yon large mass of chalky stone, that seems detached and hanging over the path, with a bright gleam of sunshine seen upon the wood beyond? Do you not see the chimneys, sir?" "I do, I do," answered Sir Osborne. "But, come, let us on, it cannot be far." "Not above half-a-mile," answered Longpole; "but we must go round to the other side, for on this lie the gardens, which, as I have heard, are marvellous rich and curious. There may be seen all kinds of foreign fruit, corn trees, capers, lemons, and oranges. And they say that by a strange way they call grafting, making, as it were, a fool of Dame Nature, they give her a party-coloured coat, causing one tree to bring forth many kinds of fruit, and flowers of sundry colours." "I have seen the same in Holland," replied the knight, "where the art of man seems boldly, as it were, to take the pencil from nature's hand, and paint the flowers with what hues he will." Walking rapidly on, they soon crossed the fields that separated them from the park, and skirting round the grounds reached the high road. This ran along for about a mile under the thick massy wall, which, supported by immense buttresses, and partially overgrown with ivy, enclosed the domain on all sides. Every here and there some of the old English oaks, the true aboriginal giants of our isle, waved their wide bare arms over the boundary; while still between, the eye rested on the various hues of tender green which the earlier trees just began to put forth, mingled with the dark shades of the pine and the yew. The thick wall continued uninterrupted till towards the middle, where, turning abruptly round to the right, it was seen flanking on both hands the wide road that led up to a pair of massy iron gates before the house. On each side of these gates appeared a square tower of brickwork, affording sufficient lodging for the porter and his men; and round about the doors of which was a crowd of paupers already collected, waiting for the daily dole which they received from the table of the duke. Through these Sir Osborne took his way, followed by Longpole; yet not without a sort of murmur amongst the beggar train, who, thinking everything that remained of the dinners in the various halls their own by right, grumbled at each person who went in, as if they thereby received an injury. The gate being open, the knight entered, and looked round for some one to answer his inquiries. The porter instantly stepped forth from his house; and although the stranger's dress had lost the saucy freshness of its first gloss, he doffed his cap with as much respect as if he had been robed in ermines; and thus it may be invariably observed, that where the noble and the great are affable and easy of access, their dependants are, in their station, civil and courteous; and where, on the contrary, the lord affects those airs of misproud haughtiness which offer but a poor comment on his mind's construction, his servants never fail, by their insolent rudeness, to afford a fine caricature of their master's pride. "Sir," said the porter, doffing his cap with a low bow, imagining that the knight came to dine at the table in the second hall, to which all strangers of respectable appearance were admitted; "'tis not yet eleven o'clock, and the dinner is never served till noon." "That will be more to my purpose," replied the knight, "as I wish to have an audience of his grace, if he be now in Kent." "His grace walks in the flower-garden," replied the porter, "and I know not whether he may be spoken with; but follow me, sir, and I will bring you to his chamberlain." So saying, he led the way across the court, and ascending the steps of the terrace on which the mansion was raised, he pushed open the hall-door, and conducted the knight through a merry group of servants, engaged in various sports, into a second hall, where were a number of ecclesiastics and gentlemen, of that intermediate grade which raised them above the domestics without giving them a title to associate with the persons admitted to the duke's own table. Here the porter looked round, as if searching for some one amongst the various groups that tenanted the apartment; and then begging the knight to wait a moment, he left him. Finding that all eyes were fixed upon him with that sort of glance of cool, impertinent inquiry, which few persons scruple to exercise upon a stranger who comes new into a place where they themselves are at home, Sir Osborne went up to some fine suits of armour which were ranged in order at the end of the hall. Amongst the rest was one of those beautiful fluted suits of Milan steel, which are now so rarely met with. It was arranged as for use, and the arm extended, with the gauntlet resting on the pommel of an immense double-handed sword, which was supported by a small rail of iron, placed there as a guard. The knight considered it all with the eyes of a connoisseur, and taking the sword from underneath the gauntlet, drew it partly out of the sheath. "You are a bold gentleman!" said one of the starers, coming up to the knight. "Do you know that these suits are my lord duke's? What are you going to do with that sword?" "To slit the ears of any one who asks me impertinent questions," answered the knight, turning suddenly round upon him. "Cast him out! cast him out!" cried a dozen voices. "Who is the beggarly rascal with his gray doublet? Cast him out!" But the knight glanced round them with that sort of fierce, determined look, which tells that an adversary would have no easy task to master the heart that so lights up the eye; and though some still cried to cast him out, no one thought fit to approach too near. "Peace! peace!" cried an old ecclesiastic, who had been sitting at the farther extreme of the hall, and who now advanced. "Peace! see ye not by his spurs the gentleman is a knight? My son," he continued, addressing Sir Osborne, "those arms are the noble Duke of Buckingham's, and out of respect for our patron, those who are admitted to this hall refrain from touching his ten suits. That which seems to have excited your curiosity was the prize at a tournament, given by an old friend of his grace some fifteen years ago, and it is one of the most handsome in his possession." "I should not have touched those arms, my good father," answered the knight, "had I not thought that I recognised the suit; and was drawing the blade to see if it was the same." "By what mark would you know it, young gentleman?" demanded the priest. "If it be that I mean," replied Sir Osborne, "there is written on the blade-- I will win my right. Or die in the fight." "True, true!" said the clergyman. "There is so; but you must be too young to have been at that tourney." "No matter," said the knight; "but, if I mistake not, here is his grace's chamberlain." As he spoke, a gentleman, dressed in a black velvet suit, with a gold chain round his neck, followed the porter into the hall, and addressed himself to the knight. "I have communicated your desire," said he, "to my lord duke, who has commanded me to say, that if your business with his grace be such as may pass through a third person, he prays you to inform him thereof by me; but if you must needs speak with him personally, he never denies his presence to those who really require it." Though he spoke with all courtesy, there was something in the manner of the chamberlain that Sir Osborne did not like; and he answered full haughtily-- "Inform his grace that my business is for his private ear, and that a moment will show him whether it be such as he can hear with pleasure." "Then I have nought left, sir, but to lead you to his grace," replied the chamberlain; "though, I am sure, you know that it is not well to trouble great men with small matters." "Lead on, sir!" said the knight, observing the chamberlain's eye glance somewhat critically over his apparel. "My doublet is not very new, you would say; but if I judge it good enough for your lord, it is too good for his servant's scorn." The chamberlain led on in silence through one of the side doors of the hall, and thence by a long passage to the other side of the dwelling, where, issuing out upon the terrace, they descended into a flower-garden, laid out much after the pattern of a Brussels carpet. Formed into large compartments, divided by broad paved walks, the early flowers of the season were distributed in all manner of arabesques, each bed containing those of one particular colour; so that, viewed from above, the effect was not ugly though somewhat stiff, and gay without being elegant. As Darnley descended, he beheld at the farther end a tall, dignified man, of about the middle age, walking slowly up and down the longest walk. He was dressed in one of the strait coats of the day, stiff with gold embroidery, the upper part of the sleeve puffed out with crimson silk, and held down with straps of cloth of gold. The rest of his attire was of the same splendid nature; the high breeches of silken serge, pinked with gold; the mirabaise, or small low-crowned bonnet, of rich velvet, with a thin feather leaning across, fastened by a large ruby; the silken girdle, with its jewelled clasp: all were corresponding; and though the dress might not be so elegant in its forms as that which we are accustomed to call the Vandyk, yet it was far more splendid in its materials, and had perhaps more of majesty, though less of grace. Two servants walked about ten paces behind, the one carrying in his hand his lord's sword, the other bearing an orange, which contained in the centre a sponge filled with vinegar. The duke himself was busily engaged in reading as he walked, now poring on the leaves of the book he held in his hand, now raising his eyes and seeming to consider what he had just collected. As the young knight approached, however, he paused, placed a mark between the leaves where he had left off, and advanced a step, with that affable smile and winning courtesy for which he was so famous. "I give you good morrow, fair sir!" said he. "My chamberlain says that you would speak with me. Methinks my good fortune has made me see your face before. Say, can Buckingham serve you?" And as he spoke he considered the young stranger attentively, as if he did really remember him. "Your grace is ever courteous," replied the knight; and then added, seeing that the chamberlain still staid--"but, in the first place, let me say that what I was unwilling to communicate to this your officer, I am equally unwilling to speak before him." "Leave us!" said the duke. "In truth, I know not why you stay. Now, fair sir, may I crave your name?" "'Tis now a poor one, my good lord," replied the knight. "Osborne Darnley." "Rich, rich, dear youth, in virtue and in merit!" cried the duke, taking him in his arms and embracing him warmly, which accolade did not escape the reverted eyes of the chamberlain; "rich in honour and courage, and every good quality. The Lord of Surrey, my good son-in-law, to whom you are a dear companion in arms, wrote me from Ireland some two months past that I might expect you here; evolved to me the plans which you have formed to gain the favour of the king, and prepared me to aid you to the best of my poor power. Hold you the same purpose of concealing your name which you proposed when you wrote from Flanders to Lord Surrey, and which you observed when last in this our happy country?" "I do, my good lord," replied the knight, "on every account; but more especially as it is the wish and desire of him I am bound most to honour and obey: my father." "My judgment goes with his and yours," said the duke, "more especially as for some cause that proud man Wolsey, when, not long since, I petitioned the king to see your noble father, stepped in and staid the wavering consent that hung upon his grace's lips. But think not, my dear youth, that I have halted in your cause! Far from it; I have urged your rights with all the noblest and best of the land; while your own merits, and the high name you have acquired in serving with the emperor, have fixed your interest on the sure basis of esteem; so that, wherever you find a real English heart, and but whisper the name of Darnley, there you shall have a friend; yet, indeed, I have much to complain of in my lord your father." "Indeed, indeed, your grace?" cried the knight, the quick blood mounting into his cheek. "Some misconception must make you think so. My father, heaven knows! is full of gratitude and affection towards you." "Nay, protest not," replied Buckingham, with a smile. "I have the strongest proof of his ingratitude and bad esteem; for what can be so great a proof of either as to refuse an offered kindness?" "Oh! I understand your grace," said Sir Osborne. "But though the noble, the princely offers, of pecuniary assistance which your grace held out to him were declined, my father's gratitude was not the less. For five long years I have not seen him, but in all his letters he speaks of the noble Duke of Buckingham as one whose virtues have shamed him from misanthropy." "Well, well!" answered the duke. "At least remember you were counted once as my page, when you were a child no higher than my knee: so now with you I will command, whereas with your father I could but beg; and I will say, that if you use not my house, my servants, and my purse, you hold Buckingham at nought. But we must be more particular: come into my closet till dinner be served, and tell me all, for young soldiers are rarely rich, and I will not have my purpose balked." We shall not pursue the farther conversation of the duke of Buckingham and the young knight: suffice that the frank generosity of his noble friend easily drew from Sir Osborne all his history, even to the very day. His plans, his wishes, and his hopes; the conduct of Sir Payan Wileton, and his desperate designs; his own intention to seek the court, and strive to win the favour of the king before he disclosed himself; were all displayed before the duke, who did not fail to encourage him to persevere, both by words of hope and proffers of assistance. "As to your enemy, Sir Payan Wileton," said the duke, "I know him well: he is a desperate villain; and yet such men are useful in great enterprises. You say you met that strange but wonderful man Sir Cesar. Did he not tell you anything concerning me? But no! he was wise. His grace the king might die without issue male; and then----God knows! However, we will not think of that!" And with these dark hints of some more remote and daring schemes, the Duke of Buckingham contented himself for the time, and returned to the more immediate affairs of him whose interest he now so warmly embraced. But in the midst of their conversation, the controller of the household entered to marshal the way to the banquet hall. "What said you, my dear youth, was the name you had adopted?" demanded the duke; "for I must gain you the acquaintance of my friends." "Ever since the sequestration of our estates," replied the knight, "and their transfer to Sir Payan Wileton, I have, when in England, borne the name of Osborne Maurice." "Osborne Maurice!" said the duke, with some emphasis, as if he found something extraordinary in the name. "How came you to assume that?" "In truth, I know not," answered the knight; "'twas fixed on by my father." "Yes, I now remember," said the duke, after musing for a while. "He was a dear friend of my good lord your father's: I mean the other Sir Osborne Maurice, who supported Perkyn Warbeck. But 'twill do as well as another; the name is forgotten now." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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