*CHAPTER XII.*
*PAGEANTRY.*
Oxford was keeping holiday. The Queen, sure that her husband was facingtrouble at too short a range, persuaded him--for her own pleasure, sheasserted--to hold a pageant in a field on the outskirts of the city. Itwas good, she said, that well-looking cavaliers should have a chance ofpreening their feathers until this dull waiting-time was over--good thattired ladies of the Court should get away from men's jealousies andwrangles, and air their graces. So a masque had been written andarranged within a week, the zest in it running side by side with theconstant expectation of the Metcalfs' coming.
The masque was fixed for twelve o'clock; and, an hour before noon, thecompany of players began to ride up the High Street on their way to theplaying field. Mary of Scots passed badinage with a Franciscan friar asthey rode in company; a jester went by, tickling Cardinal Wolsey in theribs until the great crowd lining either side the street laugheduproariously. The day was in keeping with it all--sunlight on thestoried houses, lush fragrance of the lilac, the song of birds fromevery branch of every tree.
From up the street there came, sudden as a thunder-clap, the clash ofhorses' feet. The masqueraders drew aside, to right and left, withlittle heed for wayfarers. And down the lane, bordered thick withfaces, there came a band of men who did not ride for pageantry.
In front of them--he had been thrust into leadership by the Squire ofNappa, who had guessed his ambition and his dream--rode a little man ona little, wiry mare. Blood was dripping from a wound on his cheek; hisright arm hung limp. He did not seem to be aware of all this disarray,but rode as a conqueror might do. The dream sufficed him.
A draper in the crowd, whose heart was bigger than the trade that hemmedhim in, raised a strident cry: "Why, it's little Blake! Wounds overhim, from head to foot--but it's little Blake."
And then Blake's dream came true. To the full he tasted the incense ofmen's praise, long worked for, yet unsought. All down the High Streetthe running murmur went that Blake was here; and the people saw hiswounds, the gay, courageous smile in answer to their greeting, and theircheers redoubled.
The pageant-makers, thrust aside by the steady, uncompromising trot ofthe Metcalfs, lost their first irritation--forgot the boredom that hadsettled on them during these idle days--and raised a cheer as lusty asthe townfolks'. The street was one sunlit length of white horses movingforward briskly, four by four; the big men on them were white with dust,and ruddier splashes of the warfare at Banbury showed here and there.It was as if the days of old were back again, and Northmen riding, witha single heart and purpose, to a second Flodden. They moved, not assix-score men, but as one; and when the old Squire drew rein presently,they, too, pulled up, answering the sharp command as a sword answers tothe master's hand.
"By your leave, sir," said the Squire, "we come in search of PrinceRupert. Can you direct us to his lodging?"
It happened that it was Digby he addressed--Digby of the soft voice, theface like a cherub's, and the tongue of an old, soured woman. "I couldnot say," he answered. Of all the Cavaliers there, he only was unmovedby the strength and fine simplicity of these riders into Oxford. "If Iwere aware where the Duchess of Richmond is to be found, I could directyou."
A stormy light came into the Squire's grey eyes. "We have heard of theDuchess. Her name is fragrant in the North, sir, save where ostlersgather at the tavern and pass gossip on for gaping yokels."
"Countered, you dandy!" laughed Digby's neighbour. "Grooms in Oxford andgrooms in the North--hey, where's the difference?"
"We shall prove it, sir, at dawn to-morrow," said Digby, his handslipping to his sword-hilt.
"Oh, content. I always liked to slit a lie in two, and see the twohalves writhe and quiver."
The Squire of Nappa, looking at these two, guessed where the danger ofthe King's cause lay. Men see clearly when heart and soul and purposeare as one. If two of his own company had offered and accepted such aduel openly, he would have taken them, one in either hand, and knockedtheir heads together, in the interests of discipline. In Oxford, itseemed usual that private differences should take precedence of theKing's service, and the Squire felt chilled for the first time since herode out from Yoredale.
Prince Rupert had shared a late breakfast with the Duke of Richmond andthe Duchess, who was, in heart and soul, a great lady beyond the reachof paltry malice. Rupert was moody, irritable. He was sick forpageantry in the doing--gallop of his cavalry with swords glancing onRoundhead skulls--blows given for the health of the reigning King,instead of play-acting to the memory of buried monarchs. He waspassionately disdainful of this pageant in which he was to play a part,though at the moment he was donning mediaeval armour.
"I should have held aloof from it all," he protested.
"No," said the Duchess. "There could have been no pageantry withoutyou. Believe me, it is good for us to have action, if only in theplaying--it lights dull days for us."
Rupert strode up and down the floor with his restless, long-leggedstride. "I'm to figure as Richard the Crusader," he said, tired ofhimself and all things. "I ask you, friends, do I show like aCrusader?"
"Your temper of the moment does not, but a man's past goes with him,"she broke in, with her soft, infectious laugh. "Of all the King'sgentlemen I know, my husband here, and you, stand nearest to the finecrusading days. To please us both, you will play your part?"
Rupert was beyond reach of blandishment. There was a fire from theover-world about him; men and women grew small in the perspective, andonly the vigour and abiding zeal he had for the King's service remainedto guide him, like a taper shining through a night of trouble.
"Friends," he said, simply as a child, "I had a dream last night. Idreamed that prayers were answered at long last, and that the sea rodeinto Oxford--a gallant sea, creamed with white horses riding fast."
"How should that be?" laughed the Duke. "It was a tired man's dream."
"It was more," said Rupert sharply. "It was a true vision of the daysto come. I tell you, the white horses rode into Oxford like a crestedsea. I knew they came to help me, and I grew tired of pageantry." Hesmiled at his own gravity, and reached out for his Crusader's sword."Come," he broke off, "Coeur de Lion should be punctual to the tryst."
They came into the High Street, the three of them; and Rupert checkedhis horse with a thrill of wonderment. Not until now had he guessedwhat the strain of these last idle days had been. He saw the gallant searide into Oxford, as in his dream--saw it ride down to meet him, creamedwith white horses moving at the trot. He was a free man again.
And then the crowd's uproar ceased. They saw Rupert, their idol, spurforward sharply, saw the company of Metcalfs halt as one man when theirSquire drew rein.
"You are the Metcalfs, come from York, I think," said Rupert. Ten yearsseemed lifted from him in a moment. "Gentlemen, we've waited for you.The King will make you very welcome."
"We came to find Prince Rupert," said the Squire of Nappa, uncovering,"and, God be thanked, I think we've found him. You are like my pictureof you."
The Squire's errand was accomplished. By hard stages, wakefulness o'nights, banter or the whiplash of his tongue by day, he had broughtthese high-mettled thoroughbreds into Oxford. It was a relief to takeorders now, instead of giving them.
"Sir, they're asking for pageantry in Oxford," said the Prince, "and, byRichard Coeur de Lion, they shall have their fill. Permit me to commandyour troop."
The Duchess, not for the first time, was surprised by theright-to-be-obeyed that Rupert carried with him. Instinctively theMetcalfs made a lane between their sweating horses, and she foundherself riding through the pleasant reek of horseflesh until they cameto the end of this long avenue of men.
Rupert was himself again--no longer an idler, exchanging growls withenemies in Council, but a man, at the head of the finest cavalry evenhis proved judgment had encountered so far. When they came to thepageant field
, he bade them dismount and do as they pleased for an hour;at the hour's end they were to be ready and alert.
When the King arrived by and by with his Queen, a great wave of loyaltywent put to greet them. However it fared with his shifting fortunes, hewas here among friends, and knew it. The knowledge was heartening; forCharles had gone through bitter struggle to keep an unmoved face whenall he loved seemed racing to disaster.
The pageant moved forward; but the crowd was lukewarm until Richard theCrusader came, and then they went mad about the business.
"How they love him!" said the King, his face flushed with pleasure.
The Queen touched him on the arm as only wives do who have proved theirmen. "And you--how the good city loves you! To have captured Oxford'sheart--ah, will you not understand how big your kingdom is? InLondon--oh, they are shopkeepers. In Oxford there is the great heartbeating. Gain or loss, it does not matter here."
When the Crusading scene was ended, and while some affair of royaltygranting a Charter to dull-witted burgesses was in the playing, Rupertcame to the King's side. "There's a modern episode to follow, sir, ifyou are pleased to watch it."
"Ah, no!" pleaded the Queen, with her pretty blandishment. "It would bea pity, Rupert, to be less than Coeur de Lion. The armour fits you likea glove."
"I think you lived once in those days, Rupert of the fiery heart,"laughed the King; "but no man thrives on looking back. Go, bring yourmodern mummers in!"
Rupert brought them in. He doffed his mediaeval armour somewhere in thebackground of the field, and donned the raiment he liked better.
"Are you ready, Metcalfs?" he asked, pleasantly.
With the punctilio that was part of the man, he insisted that the Squireof Nappa should ride beside him at the head of this good company. Theythundered over the field, wheeled and galloped back. It was all oddlyout of keeping with the pageantry that had gone before. In playingscenes of bygone centuries men gloss over much of the mud and trouble ofthe times; but here were six-score men who had the stain of presenttraffic on them.
The King himself, grave and reticent since the troubled days came,clapped hands as he watched the sweeping gallop, the turn-about, theprecision of the troop when they reined in and saluted as if one man hadsix-score hands obeying the one ready loyalty. But the Queen grewpitiful; for she saw that most of these well-looking fellows carriedwounds and a great tiredness.
"What is this scene you play?" asked the King.
"Sir, it is the Riding Metcalfs, come to help me raise recruits for therelief of York. Coeur de Lion died long ago, but these Northmen arealive for your service."
"My thanks, gentlemen," said Charles. "By the look of you, I think youcould relieve York without other help."
Rupert pressed home his point. "Grant us leave, sir, to go wide throughLancashire and raise the siege of Lathom first. My Lord Derby was hereonly yesterday, after long travel from the Isle of Man."
The Queen, knowing how persistently Lord Derby had been maligned, howmen had poisoned the King's mind against him, caught Rupert's eye andfrowned at him. His nimble wit caught the challenge and answered it.
"Sir," he said, with the swiftness and assurance of a cavalry attack,"remember Lady Derby there at Lathom. She has held out for wearymonths--a woman, with a slender garrison to help her--has held out forthe honour of the Stuart. Give me my Metcalfs, and other troops toraise, and grant us leave to go by way of Lathom House."
The King smiled. "I thought you a fighter only, Rupert. Now you're anorator, it seems. Go, rescue Lady Derby; but, as you love me, saveYork. There are only two cities on the map to me these days--York andOxford. The other towns count loss and gain, as tradesmen do."
Long stress of misunderstanding, futile gossip of courtiers unemployed,dripping poison into the King's mind, were swept away. "As God sees me,sir, I ride only for your honour. The Metcalfs ride only for yourhonour."
"Ah, Coeur de Lion," laughed the King, "have your own way of it, andprosper."
At Lathom House, three days ago, there had been a welcome addition tothe garrison. Kit Metcalf--he of the sunny smile, because he loved amaid and was not wedded to her whimsies yet--had ridden to the outskirtsof the house, had dismounted, left his horse to roam at large, and hadcrept warily through the moonlight that shone on sleeping men andwakeful sentries. On the left of the moat, near the rounded clump ofsedge that fringed its turning, he saw two sentries chatting idlybetween their yawns.
"It's a poor affair, Giles, this of keeping awake to besiege one woman."
"A poor affair; but, then, what could you look for from an officer ofRigby's breed? Sir Thomas Fairfax had no liking for the business.We've no liking for it."
Kit ran forward through the moonlight, gripped them with his right handand his left--neither hand knowing just what the other was doing--andknocked their skulls together with the strength given him by Providence.They tumbled forward over the brink of the moat, and Kit himself divedin.
When he came to the water's top again, he swam quietly to the furtherbank, then went in great tranquillity up the grassy slope that led himto the postern gate, and was surprised when he was challenged sharply.Remembering what he had gone through for the Stuart, he thought, in hissimple country way, that comrades of the same breed would know him, asdog knows brother-dog, without further parley. When he was asked whowent there, his temper fired, though the wet of his crossing should havedamped its powder.
"A Mecca for the King, you wastrel! Have you not heard of us?"
"By your leave, yes," said the sentry, with sudden change of front."All Lancashire has heard of you. What is your business here?"
"To see Lady Derby instantly."
He was passed forward into the castle, and a grey-headed man-servantcame to meet him. Again he said curtly what his business was.
"It is out of question, sir," the man protested. "My lady has had threesleepless nights. She gave orders that she should not be roused tilldawn, unless, indeed, there was danger from the enemy."
Kit was headstrong to fulfil his errand to the letter. "Go, rouse her!"he said sharply. "I come from the King at Oxford, and my news cannotwait."
The White Horses Page 12
