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<h4>CHAPTER XVII.</h4><div class="poem0" style="margin-left:15%"> There grows In my most ill-composed affection A quenchless avarice, that were I king I should cut off the nobles for their lands.--Macbeth. </div> Oh, the man in the moon! the man in the moon! What a prodigious sackful of good resolutions you must have, all broken through the middle. First, there are all sorts of resolutions of amendment, of every kind and description, except the resolution of a carter to amend his draught, or that of a gourmand whose appetite fails to drink Chateau Margaux instead of Lafitte. All, except these, my dear sir, you clutch by handfuls; and then you get all the resolutions of women of five-and-thirty never to marry whenever the opportunity happens; the resolutions of many young heirs not to be taken in, and of young coquettes not to go too far; of old gentlemen to look young, and of vulgar men to hold their tongues. Though I see, my dear sir, that your bag be almost bursting, yet I must trouble you with one more. I had determined, as I hinted in a former chapter, never to quit my hero and go vagabondising about in my history from one part to the other, like a gipsy or a pedlar; but, on the contrary, to proceed in a quiet, respectable, straightforward manner, telling his story, and nobody else's story but his; but it is this individual resolution that I am now under the necessity of foregoing, for it is absolutely necessary, that I should return to what took place at the mansion of the Duke of Buckingham, in Kent, even if I should risk the breaking of my neck, as well as my resolution, in scampering back again afterwards. Early in the morning of the day after that on which Sir Osborne had left the manor-house to proceed to the Benedictine Abbey, near Canterbury, Sir Payan Wileton, with a large suite, rode up to the gates, and demanded an audience of the duke, which was immediately granted. As the chamberlain marshalled him the way to the duke's closet, the knight caught a glance of the old man, Sir Cesar, passing out, from which he argued favourably for his purposes; doubting not that the discourse of the astrologer had raised the ambition and vanity of the duke, and fitted him to second the schemes with which he proposed to tempt him. When the knight entered, the princely Buckingham was seated, and with that cold dignity which he knew well how to assume, he motioned his visiter to a chair, without, however, deigning to rise. "He thinks himself already king," thought Sir Payan. "Well, his pride must be humoured. My lord duke," he said, after a few preliminary words on both parts, "I come to tender your grace my best service, and to beg you to believe, that should ever the occasion offer, you shall find me ready at your disposal, with heart and hand, fortune and followers." "And what is it that Sir Payan Wileton would claim as his reward for such zealous doings?" demanded the duke, eyeing him coolly. "Sir Payan's wisdom is too well known to suppose that he would venture so much without proportionate reward." "But your grace's favour," replied the knight, somewhat astonished at the manner in which his offers were received. "Nay, nay, Sir Payan!" replied the duke; "speak plainly. What is it you would have? Upon what rich lordship have you cast your eyes? Whose fair estate has excited your appetite? Is there any new Chilham Castle to be had?" "In truth, I know not well what your grace means," answered the knight, "though I can see that some villain behind my back has been blackening my character in your fair opinion. I came here frankly to tender you, of my own free will, services that you once hinted might be acceptable. Men who would climb high, my lord duke, must make their first steps firm." "True, true, sir knight," replied the duke, moderating the acerbity of his manner; "but how can I rise higher than I am? Perhaps, indeed, my pride may soar too high a pitch, when I fancy that in this realm, next to his grace the king, my head stands highest." "True," said Sir Payan; "but I have heard a prophecy, that your grace's head should be of all the highest without any weakening qualification next to any man's. His grace King Henry may die, and I have myself known the Duke of Buckingham declare, that there were shrewd doubts whether the king's marriage with his brother's wife were so far valid as to give an heir to the English crown. Kings may die, too, of the sharp sword and the keen dagger. Such being the case, and the king dying without heirs male, who will stand so near the throne as the Duke of Buckingham? Who has so much the people's love? Who may command so many of the most expert and powerful men in England?" The duke paused and thought. He was "not without ambition, though he was without the illness that should accompany it." No one did he more thoroughly abhor than Sir Payan Wileton; and, yet rich, powerful, unscrupulous, full of politic wile and daring stratagem, Sir Payan was a man who might serve him essentially as a friend, might injure him deeply as an enemy; and he was, moreover, one that must be treated as one or the other, must be either courted or defied. While a thousand thoughts of this kind passed through the mind of the duke, and connecting themselves with others, wandered far on the wild and uncertain tract that his ambition presented to his view, while the passion by which angels fell was combating in his bosom with duty, loyalty, and friendship, the eye of Sir Payan Wileton glanced from time to time towards his face, watching and calculating the emotions of his mind, with that degree of certainty which long observation of the passions and weakness of human nature had bestowed. At length he saw the countenance of the duke lighted up with a triumphant smile, while, fixing his eyes upon the figure of an old king in the tapestry, he seemed busily engaged in anticipations of the future. "He has them now," thought Sir Payan, "the crown, the sceptre, and the ball. Well, let him enjoy his golden dream;" and dropping his eyes on the table, he gathered the addresses of the various letters which Buckingham had apparently been writing: "The Earl of Devonshire"--"The Lord Dacre"--"Sir John Morton"--"The Earl of Fitzbernard, to be rendered to the hands of Sir Osborne Maurice"--"The Prior of Langley." "Ha!" thought the knight, "Lord Fitzbernard! Sir Osborne Maurice! So, so! I have the train. Take heed, Buckingham! take heed, or you fall;" and he raised his eyes once more to the countenance of the duke, whose look was now fixed full upon him. "Sir Payan Wileton," said Buckingham, "we have both been meditating, and perhaps our meditations have arrived at the same conclusion." "I hope, my lord duke," answered Sir Payan, returning to the former subject of conversation, "that your grace finds that I may be of service to you." "Not in the least," replied the duke, sternly; for it had so happened that his eyes had fallen upon Sir Payan just at the moment that the knight was furtively perusing the address of the letter to Lord Fitzbernard, and the combinations thus produced in the mind of the noble Buckingham had not been very much in favour of Sir Payan: "not in the least, Sir Payan Wileton. Let me tell you, sir, that you must render back Chilham Castle to its lord; you must reverse all the evil that you have done and attempted towards his son; you must abandon such foul schemes, and cancel all the acts of twenty years of your life, before you be such a man as may act with Buckingham." "My lord duke! my lord duke!" cried Sir Payan, "this is too much to bear. Your pride, haughty peer, has made you mad, but your pride shall have a fall. Beware of yourself, Duke of Buckingham, for no one shall ever say that he offended Sir Payan Wileton unscathed. Know you that you are in my power?" "In thine, insect!" cried the duke. "But begone! you move me too far. Ho! without there! Begone, I say, or Buckingham may forget himself!" "He shall not forget me," said Sir Payan. "Mark me, lord duke: you wisely deem, that because you have not shown me your daring schemes in your hand-writing, you are safe, but you have yet to know Sir Payan Wileton. We shall see, lord duke! we shall see! So, farewell!" and turning on his heel, he left the duke's closet, called for his horse, and in a few minutes was far on the road homeward. "Guilford," cried he, turning towards his attendants, "Guilford, ride up." At this order, a downcast, sneering-looking man drew out from the rest of the servants and rode up to the side of his master, who fixed his eyes upon him for a moment, shutting his teeth hard, as was his custom when considering how to proceed. "Guilford," said he at last, "Guilford, you remember the infant that was found dead in Ashford ditch last year, that folks supposed to be the child of Mary Bly----? ha!" The man turned deadly pale. "I have found an owner for the kerchief in which it was tied with the two large stones," proceeded Sir Payan. "A man came to me yesterday morning, who says he can swear to the kerchief, and who it belonged to. Fie! do not shake so! Do you think I ever hurt my own? Guilford, you must do me a service. Take three stout fellows with you, on whom you can depend; cast off your liveries, and ride on with all speed to the hill on this side of Rochester. Wait there till you see a courier come up with a swan embroidered on his sleeve; find means to quarrel with him; and when you return to Elham Manor, if you bear his bag with you, you shall each have five George nobles for your reward. But leave not the place. Stir not till you have met with him. And now be quick; take the three men with you; there will be enough left to return with me. Mark me! let him not escape with his bag, for if you do, you buy yourself a halter." "Which of them shall I take?" said the man. "There are Wandlesham and Black John, who together stole the Prior of Merton's horse, and sold it at Sandwich. They would have been burned i' the hand if your worship had not refused the evidence. Then there is Simpkin, the deer-stealer----" "That will do," said Sir Payan, "that will do; 'tis said he set Raper's barn on fire. But be quick; we waste time." It was late the next day before the party of worthies whom Sir Payan entrusted with the honourable little commission above stated returned to his house at Elham Manor; but, to his no small satisfaction, they brought the Duke of Buckingham's letter-bag along with them, which Master Guilford deposited on the table before Sir Payan in his usual sullen manner, and only waited till he had received his reward, which was instantly paid; for the honest knight, well knowing by internal conviction that rascality is but a flimsy bond of attachment, took care to bind his serviceable agents to himself by the sure ties both of hope and fear. If they were useful and silent, their hopes were never disappointed; if they were negligent or indiscreet, their fears were more than realised. The moment he was alone, the knight put his dagger into the bag, and ripped it open from side to side. This done, his eye ran eagerly over the various letters it contained, and paused on that to Lord Fitzbernard. In an instant the silk was cut, and the contents before his eyes. "Ha!" said Sir Payan, reading; "so here it is, the whole business; so, so, my young knight, 'the real name to be told to nobody till the king's good-will is gained.' But I will foil you, and blast your false name before your real one is known. Good Duke of Buckingham, I thank you! 'A villain!' If I am, you shall taste my villany. Oh! so he had charge to 'conduct the Lady Katrine Bulmer to the court: his feats of arms and manly daring shall much approve him with the king.' Ay, but they shall damn him with the cardinal, or I'll halt for it! Now for the rest!" With as little ceremony as that which he had displayed toward the letter addressed to Lord Fitzbernard, Sir Payan tore open all the rest, but seemed somewhat disappointed at their contents, gnawing his lip and knitting his brow till he came to the last, addressed to Sir John Morton. "Ha!" exclaimed he, as he read, "Duke of Buckingham, you are mine! Now, proud Edward Bohun, stoop! stoop! for out of so little a thing as this will I work thy ruin. But what means he by this? Sir Osborne Maurice! It cannot be him he speaks of. It matters not; it shall tell well, too, and in one ruin involve them both. Sir Osborne Maurice! I have it! I have it! Sure the disclosure of such a plot as this may well merit Wolsey's thanks; ay, and even, by good favour, some few acres off the broad estates of Constance de Grey. We shall see. But first let us track this young gallant; we must know his every step from Canterbury to Greenwich." Proud in supreme villany, Sir Payan trod with a longer stride, confidently calculating that he held all his enemies in his power; but, subtle as well as bold, he did not allow his confidence to diminish in the least his care; and calling to his aid one of his retainers, upon whose cunning he could count with certainty, he laid him upon the path of our hero like a hound upon the track of a deer, with commands to investigate, with the most minute care, every step he had taken from Canterbury to Greenwich. "And now," said Sir Payan, "to-morrow for Greenwich; I must not fail the party of Sir Thomas Neville. When enemies grow strong, 'tis time to husband friends;" and springing on his horse, he proceeded to put in train for execution some of those minor schemes of evil which he did not choose to leave unregulated till his return. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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