The White Rose of Langley

by Emily Sarah Holt

  CHAPTER SIX.

  TRUE GOLD AND FALSE.

  "Woe be to fearful hearts and faint hands, and the sinner that goeth two ways!"--Ecclus. two 12.

  Whatever may have been the feeling which possessed the mind of Constanceon her departure from Langley, the incident was felt by Maude as awrench and an uprooting, surpassing any previous incident of her lifesince leaving Pleshy. The old house itself had come to feel like a mutefriend; the people left behind were acquaintances of many years; theground was all familiar. She was going now once more into a new world,to new acquaintances, new scenes, new incidents. The journey over landwas in itself very pleasant. But the journey over sea from Bristol wasso exceedingly unpleasant, that poor Maude found herself acquainted witha degree of physical misery which until then she had never imagined toexist. And when at last the great, grim, square towers of the Castle ofCardiff, which was to be her new home, rose before her eyes, she thoughtthem absolutely lovely--because they were _terra firma_. It can only beascribed to her unusual haste on the one hand, or to her usual capriceon the other, that it had not pleased the Lady of Cardiff to give anynotice of her approach. Of course nobody expected her; and when hertrumpeter sounded his blast outside the moat, the warder looked forth insome surprise. It was late in the evening for a guest to arrive.

  "Who goeth yonder?"

  "The Lady and her train."

  "Saint Taffy and Saint Guenhyfar!" said the warder.

  "Put forth the bridge!" roared the trumpeter.

  "It had peen better to send word," calmly returned the warder.

  "Send word to thy Lord, thou lither oaf!" cried the irate trumpeter,"and see whether it liketh him to keep the Lady awaiting hither on aneven in January, while thou pratest in chopped English!"

  Thereupon arose a passage of arms between the two affronted persons ofdiverse nationalities, which was terminated by Constance, with one ofher sudden impulses, riding forward to the front, and taking thebusiness on herself.

  "Sir Warder," she said--with that exquisite grace and lofty courtesywhich was natural to every Plantagenet, be the other features of hischaracter what they might,--"I am your Lady, and I pray you to notifyunto your Lord that I am come hither."

  The warder was instantly mollified, and blew his horn to announce thearrival of a guest. There was a minute's bustle among the minorofficials about the gate, a little running to and fro, and then thedrawbridge was thrown across, and the next moment the Lord Le Despenserknelt low to his royal spouse. He could have had no idea of her comingfive minutes before, but he did his best to show her that any omissionsin her welcome were no fault on his part.

  Thomas Le Despenser was just twenty years of age. He was only ofmoderate height for a man; and Constance, who was a tall woman, nearlyequalled him. His Norman blood showed itself in his dark glossy hair,his semi-bronzed complexion, and his dark liquid eyes, the expression ofwhich was grave almost to sadness. An extremely short upper lip perhapsindicated blue blood, but it gave a haughty appearance to his features,which was not indicative of his character. He had a sweet low-tonedvoice, and an extremely winning smile.

  The Princess suffered her husband to lift her from the pillion on whichshe rode behind Bertram Lyngern, who had been transferred to her serviceby her father's wish. At the door of the banquet-hall the Dowager Ladymet them. Maude's impression of her was not exactly pleasant. Shethought her a stiff, solemn-looking, elderly woman, in widow's garb.The Lady Elizabeth received her royal guest with the lowest ofcourtesies, and taking her hand, conducted her with great formality to astate chair on the dais, the Lord Le Despenser standing, bare-headed, onthe step below.

  The ensuing ten minutes were painfully irksome to all parties.Everybody was shy of everybody else. A few common-place questions wereasked and answered; but when the Dowager suggested that "the Lady" mustbe tired with her journey, and would probably like to rest for an hourere the rear-supper was served, it was a manifest relief to all.

  A sudden incursion of so many persons into an unprepared house was lessannoying in the fourteenth century than it would be in the nineteenth.There was then always superfluous provision for guests who mightsuddenly arrive; a castle was invariably victualled in advance of theconsumption expected; and as to sleeping accommodation, a sack filledwith chaff and a couple of blankets was all that any person anticipatedwho was not of "high degree." Maude slept the first night in a longgallery, with ten other women; for the future she would occupy thepallet in her lady's chamber. Bertram was provided for along with theother squires, in the banquet-hall, the chaff beds and blankets beingcarried out of the way in the morning; and as to draughts, ourforefathers were never out of one inside their houses, and therefore didnot trouble themselves on that score. The washing arrangements,likewise, were of the most primitive description. Princes and thehigher class of peers washed in silver basins in their own rooms; but asquire or a knight's daughter would have been thought unwarrantablyfastidious who was not fully satisfied with a tub and a towel. A combwas the only instrument used for dressing the hair, except wherecrisping-pins were required; and mirrors were always fixtures againstthe wall.

  A long time elapsed before Maude felt at home at Cardiff; and she couldnot avoid seeing that a still longer period passed before Constance didso. The latter was restless and unsettled. She had escaped from therule of her step-mother to that of her mother-in-law, and she dislikedthe one only a little less than the other; though "Daughter" fell verydifferently on the ear from the lips of a child of ten, and from thoseof a woman who was approaching sixty. But the worst point ofConstance's new life was her utter indifference to her husband. Shelooked upon his gentle deference to her wishes as want of spirit, andupon his quiet, reserved, undemonstrative manner as want of brains.From loving him she was as far as she had been in those old days whenshe had so cruelly told his sister Margaret that "when she loved Tom,she would let him know."

  That he loved her, and that very dearly, was patent to the mostsuperficial observer. Maude, who was not very observant of others, usedto notice how his eyes followed her wherever she went, brightened at thesound of her step, and kindled eagerly when she spoke. The Dowager sawit too, with considerable disapproval; and thought it desirable to turnher observations to profit by a grave admonition to her son upon the sinand folly of idolatry. She meant rightly enough, yet it sounded harshand cruel, when she bluntly reminded him that Constance manifestly carednothing for him.

  Le Despenser's lip quivered with pain.

  "Let be, fair Mother," he said gently. "It may be yet, one day, that myLady's heart shall come home to God and me, and that she shall then sayunto me, `I love thee.'"

  Did that day ever come? Ay, it did come; but not during his day. Thetime came when no music could have been comparable to the sound of hisvoice--when she would have given all the world for one glimpse of hissmile--when she felt, like Avice, as though she could have climbed andrent the heavens to have won him back to her. But the heavens hadclosed between them before that day came. While they journeyed side byside in this mortal world, he never heard her say, "I love thee."

  The news received during the next few months was not likely to makeConstance feel more at home at Cardiff than before. It was one constantfuneral wail. On the 24th of March, 1394, her aunt Constanca, Duchessof Lancaster, died of the plague at Leicester; in the close of May, ofthe same disease, the beloved Lollard Queen; and on the first of Julyher cousin, Mary Countess of Derby. Constance grew so restless, thatwhen orders came for her husband to attend the King at Haverford, wherehe was about to embark on his journey to Ireland, she determined to gothere also.

  "I can breathe better any whither than at Cardiff!" she saidconfidentially to Maude.

  But in truth it was not Cardiff from which he fled, but her own restlessspirit. The vine had been transplanted, and its tendrils refused totwine round the strange boughs offered for its support.

  The Princess found her father at Haverford, but the pair were very shyof one
another. The Duke was beginning to discover that he had made ablunder, that his fair young wife's temper was not all sunshine, andthat his intended plaything was likely to prove his eventual tyrant.Constance, on her part, felt a twinge of conscience for her pettishdesertion of him in his old age; for to her apprehension he was now anold man: and she was privately conscious that she could not honestlyplead any preconsideration for her husband. She had merely pleasedherself, both in going and staying, and she knew it. But she spent herwhole life in gathering apples of Sodom, and flinging away one afteranother in bitter disappointment. Yet the next which offered was alwaysgrasped as eagerly as any that had gone before it.

  Perhaps it was due to some feeling of regret on the Duke's part that heinvited his daughter and son-in-law to return with him. Constanceaccepted the offer readily. The Duke was Regent all that winter, duringthe King's absence in Ireland; and, as was usual, he took up hisresidence in the royal Palace of Westminster. Constance liked her visitto Westminster; she was nearly as tired of Langley as of Cardiff, andthis was something new. And a slight bond of union sprang up betweenherself and her husband; for she made him, as well as Maude, theconfidant of all her complaints and vexations regarding her step-mother.Le Despenser was satisfied if she would make a friend of him aboutanything, and he was anxious to shield her from every annoyance in hispower.

  It appeared to Maude, who had grown into a quiet, meditative woman, thatthe feeling of the Duchess towards her step-daughter was not far frompositive hatred. She seemed to seek occasions to mortify her, and tomanufacture quarrels which it would have been no trouble to avoid. Itwas some time before Maude could discern the cause. But one day, in aquiet talk with Bertram Lyngern, still her chief friend, she asked himwhether he had noticed it.

  "Have I eyes, trow?" responded Bertram with a smile.

  "But wherefore is it, count you?"

  "Marry, the old tale, methinks. Two men seldom discern alike; and hethat looketh on the blue side of a changeable sarcenet [shot silk], cannever join hands with him that seeth nought save the red."

  "You riddle, Master Lyngern."

  "Why, look you, our Lady Custance was rocked in a Lollard cradle; but myLady Duchess' Grace had a saint's bone for her rattle. And her motheris an Arundel."

  "But so is my Lord's Grace of York [the archbishop] himself an Arundel."

  "Ay--as mecounteth you shall see, one day."

  "Doth not the doctrine of Sir John de Wycliffe like, him well?"

  "Time will show," said Bertram, drily.

  It was quite true that Archbishop Arundel had for some two years beenthrowing dust in Lollard eyes by plausible professions of conversion tosome of the views of that party. At a time when I was less acquaintedwith his character and antecedents, I gave him credit for sincerity.[Note 1.] I know him better now. He was merely playing a very deepgame, and this was one of his subtlest moves. His assumption ofLollardism, or of certain items of it, was only the assumption of amask, to be worn as long as it proved serviceable, and then to bedropped and forgotten. The time for the mask to drop had come now. Thedeath of Archbishop Courtenay, July 31, 1396, left open to Thomas deArundel the sole seat of honour in which he was not already installed.Almost born in the purple [Note 2], he had climbed up fromecclesiastical dignity to dignity, till at last there was only onefurther height left for him to scale. It could surprise no one to seethe vacant mitre set on the astute head of Gloucester's confessor andprompter.

  The Earl of Rutland presented himself at Westminster Palace before hissister left it, attended as usual by his squire, Hugh Calverley.Bertram and Maude at once wished to know all the news of Langley, fromwhich place they had come. Hugh seemed acquainted with no news exceptone item, which was that Father Dominic, having obtained a canonry, hadresigned his post of household confessor to the Palace; and a newconfessor had been appointed in his stead.

  "And who is the new priest?" asked Bertram. "One Sir Marmaduke deTyneworth." [A fictitious person.]

  "And what manner of man is he?"

  "A right honest man and a proper [a fitting, satisfactory man], say theywho have confessed unto him; more kindly and courteous than FatherDominic."

  "He hath then not yet confessed thee?"

  "I never confess," said Hugh quietly. The impression made uponBertram's feelings by this statement was very much that which would beleft on ours, if we heard a man with a high reputation for piety calmlyremark that he never prayed.

  "Never confess!" he repeated in astonished tones. "Not to men. Iconfess unto God only."

  "But how canst, other than by the priest?"

  "What hardship, trow? Can I not speak save by the priest?"

  "But thou canst receive no absolving!"

  "No can I? Ay verily, friend, I can!"

  "But--" Bertram stopped, with a puzzled look.

  "Come, out with all thy _buts_," said Hugh, smilingly.

  "Why, methinks--and holy Church saith it--that this is God's meanswhereby men shall approach unto Him: nor hath He given unto us other."

  "Holy Church saith it? Ay so. But where saith God such a thing?"

  Bertram was by no means ignorant of Wycliffe's Bible, and he searchedhis memory for authority or precedent.

  "Well, thou wist that the man which had leprosy was bidden to show himunto the priest, the which was to declare if his malady were trueleprosy or no."

  "The priest being therein an emblem or mystery of Christ, which is trueHealer of the malady of sin."

  "Ah!" said Bertram triumphantly, "but lo' thou, when our Lord Himselfdid heal one that had leprosy, what quoth He? `Show thyself to thepriest,' saith He: not, `I am the true Priest, and therefore thou mayestslack to show thee to yon other priest, which is but the emblem of Me.'"

  "Because," replied Hugh, "He did fulfil the law, and made it honourable.Therefore saith He, `Show thyself to the priest.' The law held gooduntil He should have fulfilled the same."

  "But mind thou," urged Bertram eagerly, "it was but the lither [wicked,abandoned] Pharisees which did speak like unto thee. What said theysave the very thing thou wouldst fain utter--to wit, `Who may forgyvesynnes but God aloone?' And alway our Lord did snyb and rebuke theseill fawtors."

  "Friend, countest thou that the Jew which had leprosy, and betook himunto the high priest, did meet with contakes because he went notlikewise unto one of the lesser? Either this confession unto the priestis to be used with, or without, the confession unto God. If to be usedwithout, what is this but saying the priest to be God? And if to beused with, what but saying that God is not sufficient, and the HighPriest may not act without the lesser priest do aid Him?"

  "But what sayest touching the Pharisees?" repeated Bertram, who was notable to answer Hugh's argument, and considered his own unanswerable.

  "What say I?" was the calm answer. "Why, I say they spake very sooth,saving that they pushed not the matter to its full issue. Had theyfollowed their reasoning on to the further end, then would they havesaid, and spoken truly, `If this man can in very deed forgive sin, thenis He God.' Mark, I pray thee, what did our Lord in this matter. Hebrought forth His letters of warrant. He healed the palsied man aforethem--`that ye wite,' saith He, `that mannes sone hath power in erthe toforgyve synnes.' As though He had said unto them, `Ye say well; nonemay forgive sins but God alone: wherefore see, in My forgiving of sin,the plain proof that I am God's Son.' To show them that He had power toforgive sin, He did heal this man of his malady. And verily I ask nomore of any priest that would confess me, but only that he bring forthhis letters of warrant, as did his Master and mine. When I shall I seehim to heal the sick with a word, then will I crede that he can forgivesin in like manner. Lo' thou, if he can forgive, he can heal: if he canheal by his word, then can _he_ forgive."

  The waters were rather too deep for Bertram to wade in. He triedanother line of argument.

  "Saint James also saith that men should confess their sins."

  "`Ech to othire'--well: when it liketh Sir Marm
aduke to knowledge hissins unto me, then will I mine unto him, if we have done any wrong eachto other. But look thou into that matter of Saint James, and thou shaltfind it to touch not well men, but only sick; which, knowledging theirsins when their conscience is troubled, and praying each for other,shall be healed of their sickness."

  "Moreover, Achan did confession unto Josue," said Bertram, startinganother hare.

  "Ah! Josue was a priest, trow?"

  "Nay, but if it be well to knowledge our sins each to other, it shallnot be worse because the man is a priest."

  "Nor better," said Hugh, in his quietest manner.

  "Nay!" urged Bertram, who thought he had the advantage here, "but an' itbe well to confess at all, it is good to confess unto any: and if toany, to a woman; or if to a woman, to a man; or to a man, then to apriest."

  Hugh gave a soft little laugh.

  "Good friend, I could prove any gear in the world by that manner ofreasoning. If it be good to confess unto any, then unto anything thatliveth; and if so, then to a beast; and if to a beast, then to yondercat. Come hither, Puss, and hear this my friend his confession!"

  "Have done with thy mocking!" cried Bertram. "And mind thou, the Lorddid charge the holy apostles with power to forgive sins."

  "Granting that so be--what then?"

  "What then? Why, that priests have now the like power."

  "But what toucheth it the priests?"

  "In that they be successors unto the apostles."

  "In what manner?"

  Hugh was evidently not disposed to take any links of the chain forgranted.

  "Man!" exclaimed Bertram, almost in a pet, "wist not that Paul didordain Timothy Bishop of Ephesus, and bade him do the like to other,--and so from each to other was the blessed grace handed down, till it gatat the priests that now be?"

  "Was it so?" said Hugh coolly. "But when and where bade Paul thatTimothy should forgive sins?"

  Bertram found it much harder to prove his assertion than to state it.He could only answer that he did not know.

  "Nor I neither," returned Hugh. "Nor Timothy neither, without I muchmistake."

  "I must needs give thee up. Thou art the worst caitiff to reasonwithal, ever mortal man did see!"

  Hugh laughed.

  "Lo' you, friend, I ask but for one instance of authority. Show unto meany passage of authority in God's Word, whereby any priest shall forgivesins; or show unto me any priest that now liveth, which shall bringforth his letters of warrant by healing a man all suddenly of hissickness whatsoever, and I am at a point. Bring him forth, prithee; orelse confess thou hast no such to bring."

  "Hold thy peace, for love of Mary Mother!" said Bertram, passing hisirrepressible opponent a plateful of smoking pasty, for the party wereat supper; "and fill thy jaws herewith, the which is so hot thou shaltoccupy it some time."

  "My words being, somewhat too hot for thee, trow?" rejoined Hughcomically. "Good. I can hold my peace right well when I am wanted soto do."

  When Constance returned home to Cardiff, she remained there for somelittle time without any further visit to Court. She alone of all thePrincesses was absent from the Church of Saint Nicholas at Calais, whenthe King was married there to the Princess Isabelle of France--a childof only eight years old. Something far more interesting to herselfdetained her at Cardiff; where, on the 30th of November, 1396, an heirwas born to the House of Le Despenser.

  That the will of "the Lady" stood paramount we see in the name given tothe infant. He was christened after her favourite brother, Richard--aname unknown in his father's line, whose family names were always Hughand Edward.

  In their unfeigned admiration of this paragon of babies, its mother andgrandmother sank all their previous differences. But when the difficultquestion of education arose, the differences reappeared as strongly asever. The only notion which Constance had of bringing up a child was togive it everything it cried for; while the Dowager was prepared to go along way in the opposite direction, and give it nothing in respect towhich it showed the slightest temper. The practical result was that theboy was committed to the care of Maude, whom both agreed in trusting,with the most contradictory orders concerning his training. Maudefollowed the dictates of her own common sense, and implicitly obeyed thecommands of neither of the rival authorities; but as little Richardthrove well under her care, she was never called to account by either.

  The year 1397 brought a political earthquake, which ended in thedestruction of three of the five grand traitors, the Lords Appellants.The commons had at last opened their eyes to the real state of affairs.The conspirators were meditating fresh projects of treachery, when bythe advice of the Dukes of Lancaster and York, Gloucester was arrestedand imprisoned at Calais, where he died on the 15th of September, eitherfrom apoplexy or by a private execution. Richard Earl of Arundel, thetool of his priestly brother, was beheaded six days later. The Earl ofWarwick, who had been merely the blind dupe of the others, was banishedto the Isle of Man. The remaining two--the ambitious Derby, and theconceited Nottingham--contrived in the cleverest manner, not only toescape punishment, but to obtain substantial rewards for their loyalty!Derby presented a very humble petition on behalf of both, in which heowned, with so exquisite a show of penitence, to having _listened_ tothe suggestions of the deceased traitors, and been concerned in "severalriotous disturbances"--professed himself and his friend to be soabjectly repentant, and so irrevocably faithful for ever henceforward--that King Richard, as easily deceived as usual, hastened to pardon therepenting sinners. But there was one man in the world who was notdeceived by Derby's plausible professions. Old Lancaster shook hiswhite head when he heard that his son was not only pardoned, butrestored to favour.

  "'Tis hard matter for father thus to speak of son," he said to his royalnephew; "nathless, my gracious Lord, I do you to wit that you have donea fool deed this day. You shall never have peace while Hal is in thiskingdom."

  "Fair Uncle, I am sure he will repay me!" was the response of thewarm-hearted Richard.

  "Ha!" said John of Gaunt, and sipped his ipocras with a grim smile."_Sans doute, Monseigneur, sans doute_!"

  Westminster Hall beheld a grand and imposing ceremony on the MichaelmasDay of 1397. The King sat in state upon his throne at the further end,the little Queen beside him, and the various members of the royal lineon either side--Princes on the right, Princesses on the left. TheDuchess of Lancaster had the first place; then the Duchess of York,particularly complacent and resplendent; the Duchess of Gloucester, whoshould have sat third, was closely secluded (of her free will) in theConvent of Bermondsey. Next sat the Countess of March, the elder sisterof the Duchess Joan, and wife of the Lollard heir of England. Thedaughters of the Princes followed her. Elizabeth, Countess ofHuntingdon, daughter of the Duke of Lancaster, whom that day was to makea duchess, and who bore away the palm from the rest as "the best singerand the best dancer" of all the royal ladies, held her place, beamingwith smiles, and radiant with rubies and crimson velvet. Next, arrayedin blue velvet, sat the only daughter of York, Constance Lady LeDespenser. Round the hall sat the nobles of England in their"Parliament robes," each of the married peers with his lady at his side;while below came the House of Commons, and lower yet, outside therailing, the people of England, in the shape of an eager, sight-seeingmob. There was to be a great creation of peers, and one by one thenames were called. As each of the candidates heard his name, he rosefrom his seat, and was led up to the throne by two nobles of the orderto which he was about to be raised.

  "Sir Henry of Bolingbroke, Earl of Derby!" The gentleman whoseunswerving loyalty was about to be recompensed by the gift of a coronet(!) rose with his customary grace from his seat, third on the right handof the King, and was led up by his father of Lancaster and his uncle ofYork. He knelt, bareheaded, before the throne. A sword was girt to hisside, a ducal coronet set on his head by the royal hand, and he roseDuke of Hereford. As old Lancaster resumed his seat, he smiled grimlyunder his white beard, and mutter
ed to himself--"_Sans doute_!"

  "Sir Edward of Langley, Earl of Rutland!"

  Constance's brother was similarly led up by his father and his cousin,the newly-created Duke, and he resumed his princely seat, Duke ofAumerle, or Albemarle.

  "Sir Thomas de Holand, Earl of Kent, Baron Wake!"

  Hereford and Aumerle were the two to lead up the candidate. He was theson of the King's half-brother, and was reputed the handsomest of thenobles: a tall, finely-developed man, with the shining golden hair ofhis Plantagenet ancestors. He was created Duke of Surrey.

  Hereford sat down, and Surrey and Aumerle conducted John Earl ofHuntingdon to the throne. He was half-brother of the King, uncle ofSurrey, and husband of the royal songstress who sat and smiled incrimson velvet. He had stepped out of the family ranks; for instead ofbeing tall, fair, and good-looking, like the rest of his house, he was alittle dark-haired man, whom no artist would have selected as a model ofbeauty. A strong anti-Lollard was this nobleman, a good hater, aprejudiced, violent, unprincipled man; possessed of two virtues only--honesty and loyalty. He had been cajoled for a time by Gloucester, buthis brother knew him too well to doubt his sincerity or affection. Hewas made Duke of Exeter.

  The next call was for--"Sir Thomas de Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham!" Andup came the last of the "Lords Appellants," painfully conscious in hisheart of hearts that while he might have been in his right place on thescaffold in Cheapside, he was very much out of it in Westminster Hall,kneeling to receive the coronet of Norfolk.

  A coronet was now laid aside, for the recipient was not present. Shewas an old lady of royal blood, above seventy years of age, the secondcousin of the King, and great-grandmother of Nottingham. Her style andtitles were duly proclaimed as Duchess of Norfolk for life.

  But when "Sir John de Beaufort, Earl of Somerset!" was called for, thepeer summoned rose and walked forward alone. He was to be created amarquis--a title of King Richard's own devising, and at that momentborne by no one else. The Earl came reluctantly, for he was veryunwilling to be made unlike other people; and he dropped his new title,and returned to the old one, as soon as he conveniently could. He had atall, fine figure, but not a pleasant face; and his religion, no lessthan his politics, he wore like a glove--well-fitting when on, butcapable of being changed at pleasure. Just now, when Lollardism was"walking in silver slippers," my Lord Marquis of Dorset was a Lollard.Rome rarely persecutes men of this sort, for she makes them useful inpreference.

  And now the herald cried--"Sir Thomas Le Despenser, Baron of Cardiff!"

  The Earls of Northumberland and Suffolk were the supporters of LeDespenser, who walked forward with a slow, graceful step, to receivefrom the King's hand an earl's coronet, accompanied by the ominous nameof Gloucester--a title stained by its last bearer beyond remedy. Intruth, the royal dukedom had been an interpolation of the line, and theKing was merely giving Le Despenser back his own--the coronet which hadbelonged to the grand old family of Clare, whose co-heiress was thegreat-grandmother of Thomas Le Despenser. The title had been kept as itwere in suspense ever since the attainder of her husband, the ill-fatedEarl Hugh, though two persons had borne it in the interim without anygenuine right.

  Three other peers were created, but they do not concern the story. Andthen the King rose from his throne, the ceremony was over; and ConstanceLe Despenser left the hall among the Princesses by right of her birth,but wearing her new coronet as Countess of Gloucester.

  Four months later, the Duke of Hereford knelt before the throne, andsolemnly accused his late friend and colleague, the Duke of Norfolk, oftreason. He averred that Norfolk had tempted him to join another secretconspiracy. Norfolk, when questioned, turned the tables by denying theaccusation, and adding that it was Hereford who had tempted him. Sinceneither of these noble gentlemen was particularly worthy of credit, andthey both swore very hard on this occasion, it is impossible to decidewhich (if either) was telling the truth. The decision finally arrivedat was that both the accusers should settle their quarrel by wager ofbattle, for which purpose they were commanded to meet at Coventry in thefollowing autumn.

  Before the duel took place, an important event occurred in the death ofRoger Mortimer, the Lollard Earl of March, whom the King had proclaimedheir presumptive of England. He was Viceroy of Ireland, and was killedin a skirmish by the "wild Irish." March, who was only 24 years of age,left four children, of whom we shall hear more anon, to be educated bytheir mother, Archbishop Arundel's niece, in her own Popish views. Heis described by the monkish chroniclers as "very handsome and verycourteous, most dissolute of life, and extremely remiss in all mattersof religion." We can guess pretty well what that means. "Remiss inmatters of religion," of course, refers to his Lollardism, while theaccusation of "dissolute life" is notoriously Rome's pet charge againstthose who escape from her toils. Such was the sad and early end of thefirst and only Lollard of the House of Mortimer.

  The duel between Hereford and Norfolk was appointed to take place onGosford Green, near Coventry, on the 16th of September. The combatantsmet accordingly; but before a blow was struck, the King took the matterupon himself and forbade the engagement. On the 3rd of October, licencewas granted to Hereford to travel abroad, this being honourablebanishment; no penalty was inflicted upon Norfolk. But some event--perhaps never to be discovered--occurred, or came to light during thefollowing ten days, which altered the whole aspect of affairs. Eitherthe King found out some deed of treason, of which he had been previouslyignorant, or else some further offence was committed by both Herefordand Norfolk. On the 13th both were banished--Hereford for ten years,Norfolk for life; the sentence in the former case being afterwardscommuted to six years. Those who know the Brutus-like character of Johnof Gaunt, and his real opinion of his son's proceedings, may accept, ifthey can, the representations of the monastic chroniclers that thecommutation of Hereford's sentence was made at his intercession.

  In the interim, between the duel and the sentence, Archbishop Arundelwas formally adjudged a traitor, and the penalty of banishment wasinflicted on him also.

  Constance was too busy with her nursery to leave Cardiff, where thisautumn little Richard was joined by a baby sister, who received the nameof Elizabeth after the Dowager Lady. But the infant was not many weeksold, when, to use the beautiful phrase of the chroniclers, she"journeyed to the Lord." She was taken away from the evil to come.

  It was appropriate enough that the last dread year of the fourteenthcentury should be ushered in by funeral knells. And he who died on thethird of February in that year, though not a very sure stay, was thebest and last support of the Gospel and the throne. It was withtroubled faces and sad tones that the Lollards who met in the streets ofLondon told one to another that "old John of Gaunt, time-honouredLancaster," was lying dead in the Bishop of Ely's Palace.

  But the storm was deferred for a few weeks longer. There were royalvisits to Langley and Cardiff, on the way to Ireland, the Earl ofGloucester accompanying the King to that country. And then, whenRichard had left the reins of government in the feeble hands of York,the tempest burst over England which had been lowering for so long.

  The Lady Le Despenser and the Countess of Gloucester were seated atbreakfast in Cardiff Castle, on a soft, bright morning in the middle ofJuly. Breakfast consisted of fresh and salt fish, for it was afast-day; plain and fancy bread, different kinds of biscuits (but allmade without eggs or butter); small beer, and claret. Little Richardwas energetically teasing Maude, by whom he sat, for another piece ofred-herring, and the Dowager, deliberate in all her movements, wasslowly helping herself to Gascon wine. The blast of a horn without themoat announced the arrival of a guest or a letter, and Bertram Lyngernwent out to see what it was. Ten minutes later he returned to the hall,with letters in his hand, and his face white with some terrible news.

  "Ill tidings, noble ladies!"

  "Is it Dickon?" cried the Countess.

  "Is it Tom?" said the Dowager.

  "There be no news of my
Lord, nor from Langley," said Bertram. "But myLord's Grace of Hereford, and Sir Thomas de Arundel, sometimeArchbishop, be landed at Ravenspur."

  "Landed at Ravenspur!--Banished men!"

  The loyal soul of Elizabeth Le Despenser could imagine nothing moreatrocious.

  "Well, let them land!" she added in a minute. "The Duke's Grace of Yorkshall wit how to deal with them. Be any gathered to them?"

  "Hundreds and thousands," was the ominous answer.

  "Ay me!" sighed the Dowager. "Well! `the Lord reigneth.'"

  Constance's only comment on the remarks was a quiet, incredulous shrugof her shoulders. She knew her father.

  And she was right. Like many another, literally and figuratively, Yorkwent over to the enemy's ground to parley, and ended in staying there.One of the two was talked over--but that one was not the rebel, but theRegent.

  Poor York! Looking back on those days, out of the smoke of the battle,one sees him a man so wretchedly weak and incapable that it is hardlypossible to be angry with him. It does not appear to have beenconviction, nor cowardice, nor choice in any sense, which caused hisdesertion, but simply his miserable incapacity to stand alone, or toresist the influence of any stronger character on either side. _He_ goto parley with the enemy! He might as well have sent his baby grandsonto parley with a box of sugar-plums.

  Fresh news--always bad news--now came into Cardiff nearly every day.

  The King hurried back from Ireland to Conway, and there gathered hisloyal peers around him. There were only sixteen of them. Dorset,always on the winning side, deserted the sinking ship at once. Aumerlemore prudently waited to see which side would eventually prove thewinner.

  Exeter and Surrey were sent to parley with the traitors. They were bothdetained, Surrey as a prisoner, Exeter with a show of friendship. Thelatter was too fertile in resources, and too eloquent in speech, not tobe a dangerous foe. He was therefore secured while the opportunityoffered.

  Then came the treacherous Northumberland as ambassador from Hereford,whom we must henceforth designate by his new title of Lancaster.

  Northumberland's lips dropped honey, but war was in his heart. Heoffered the sweetest promises. What did they cost? They were made tobe broken. So gentle, so affectionate were his solicitations to theroyal hart to enter the leopard's den--so ready was he to pledge wordand oath that Lancaster was irrevocably true and faithful--that the Kinglistened, and believed him. He set forth with his little guard,quitting the stronghold of Flint Castle, and in the gorge of Gwrych hewas met by Northumberland and his army, seized, and carried a prisonerto Chester.

  This was the testing moment for the hitherto loyal sixteen. Aumerle,who had satisfied himself now which way the game was going, went over tohis cousin at once. Worcester broke his white wand of office, andretired from the contest. Some fled in terror. When all the faithlesshad either gone or joined Lancaster, there remained six, who loved theirmaster better than themselves, and followed, voluntary prisoners,outwardly in the train of Henry of Lancaster, but really in that ofRichard of Bordeaux.

  These six loyal, faithful, honourable men our story follows. Theywere--Thomas Le Despenser, Earl of Gloucester; John de Montacute, Earlof Salisbury; Thomas de Holand, Duke of Surrey; William Le Scrope, Earlof Wilts; Richard Maudeleyn, chaplain to the King; John Maudeleyn(probably his brother), varlet of the robes.

  Slowly the conqueror marched Londonwards, with the royal captive in histrain. Westminster was reached on the first of September. From thatdate the coercion exercised over the King was openly and shamelesslyacknowledged. His decrees were declared to be issued "with the assentof our dearest cousin, Henry Duke of Lancaster." At last, on MichaelmasDay, the orders of that loving and beloved relative culminated in theabdication of the Sovereign.

  The little group of loyalists had now grown to seven, by the addition ofExeter, who joined himself to them as soon as he was set at liberty.They remained in London during that terrible October, and most of themwere present when, on the 13th of that month, Henry of Lancaster wascrowned King of England.

  There stood the vacant throne, draped in gold-spangled red; and by it,on either hand, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal. The hierarchy were,on the right, Arundel at their head, having coolly repossessed himselfof the see from which he had been ejected as a traitor; an expression ofcontemptuous amusement hovering about his lips, which might be easilytranslated into the famous (but rather apocryphal) speech of QueenElizabeth to the men of Coventry--"Good lack! What fools ye be!" Onthe left hand of the throne stood Lancaster, his lofty statureconspicuous among his peers, waiting with mock humility for the farce oftheir acknowledgment of his right. Next him was his uncle of York,wearing a forced smile at that which his conscience disapproved, but hiswill was impotent to reject. Aumerle came next, his face so plainly amask to hide his thoughts that it is difficult to judge what they were.Then Surrey, with a half-astonished, half-puzzled air, as though he hadnever expected matters really to come to this pass. His uncle Exeter,who sat next him, looked sullen and discontented. The other peers camein turn, but their faces are not visible in the remarkable painting byan eye-witness from which those above are described, with the exceptionof the tellers, the traitor Northumberland, and the cheery round-facedWestmoreland. These went round to take the votes of the peers. Therewere not likely to be many dissenting voices, where to vote No wasdeath.

  Henry stated his assumption of power to rest upon three points. First,he had conquered the kingdom; secondly, his cousin, King Richard, hadvoluntarily abdicated in his favour; and lastly, he was the true heirmale of the crown.

  "Ha!" said the little Earl of March, the dispossessed heir general,"_haeres malus_, is he?"

  It was not a bad pun for seven years old.

  If Henry of Bolingbroke may be credited, the majority of the loyal six,and Thomas Le Despenser among them, not only sat in his firstParliament, but pleaded compulsion as the cause of their petitionagainst Gloucester, and consented to the deposition of King Richard,while some earnestly requested the usurper to put the Sovereign todeath. While some of these allegations are true, the last certainly isfalse. One of those named as having joined in the last petition isSurrey; and his alleged participation is proved to be a lie. Knowinghow lightly Henry of Bolingbroke could lie, it is hardly possible tobelieve otherwise of any member of the group, except indeed thetime-serving Aumerle.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Note 1. See "Mistress Margery," preface, page six.

  Note 2. His mother, Alianora of Lancaster, was the daughter of EarlHenry, son of Prince Edmund, son of Henry the Third.