A Ladder of Swords: A Tale of Love, Laughter and Tears

by Gilbert Parker

  XIV

  It was Monday, and the eyes of London and the court were turnedtowards Greenwich Park, where the Queen was to give entertainment tothe French envoy who had come once more to urge upon the Queenmarriage with a son of the Medici, and to obtain an assurance thatshe would return to France the widow of the great Montgomery and hisvaliant lieutenant, Michel de la Foret. The river was covered withboats and barges, festooned, canopied, and hung with banners anddevices; and from sunrise music and singing conducted down the streamthe gayly dressed populace--for those were the days when a man spenton his ruff and his hose and his russet coat as much as would feedand house a family for a year; when the fine-figured ruffler withsables about his neck, corked slipper, trimmed buskin, and cloak ofsilk or damask furred, carried his all upon his back.

  Loud-voiced gallants came floating by; men of a hundred guildsbearing devices pompously held on their way to the great pageant;country bumpkins up from Surrey roistered and swore that there wasbut one land that God had blessed, and challenged the grinningwatermen from Gravesend and Hampton Court to deny it; and the sunwith ardor drove from the sky every invading cloud, leaving Essex andKent, as far as eye could see, perfect green gardens of opulence.

  Before Elizabeth had left her bed, London had emptied itself inGreenwich Park. Thither the London companies had come in their varieddazzling accoutrements--hundreds armed in fine corselets bearing thelong Moorish pike; tall halberdiers in the unique armor calledAlmain-rivets, and gunners or muleteers equipped in shirts of mail,with morions or steel caps. Here, too, were to come the GentlemenPensioners, resplendent in scarlet, to "run with the spear"; andhundreds of men-at-arms were set at every point to give garishbravery to all. Thousands of citizens, open-mouthed, gazed down thelong arenas of green festooned with every sort of decoration andpicturesque invention. Cages of large birds from the Indies, fruits,corn, fishes, grapes hung in the trees, players perched in thebranches discoursed sweet music, and poets recited their verses fromrustic bridges or on platforms with weapons and armor hung trophywiseon ragged staves. Upon a small lake a dolphin, four-and-twenty feetin length, came swimming, within its belly a lively orchestra;Italian tumblers swung from rope to bar; and crowds gathered at theplaces where bear and bull baiting were to excite the none toofastidious tastes of the time.

  All morning the gay delights went on, and at high noon the cry wascarried from mouth to mouth, "The Queen! The Queen!"

  She appeared on a balcony, surrounded by her lords and ladies, andthere received the diplomatists, speaking at length to the Frenchenvoy in a tone of lightness and elusive cheerfulness which he was ata loss to understand, and tried in vain to pierce by cogent remarksbearing on matters of moment involved in his embassage. Not far awaystood Leicester, but the Queen had done no more than note hispresence by a glance, and now and again with ostentatious emphasisshe spoke to Angele, whom she had had brought to her in the morningbefore chapel-going. Thus early, after a few questions and somescrutiny, she had sent her in charge of a gentleman-at-arms and amaid of the Duke's Daughter to her father's lodging, with orders tochange her robe, to return to the palace in good time before noon,and to bring her father to a safe place where he could watch thepleasures of the people. When Angele came to the presence again, shesaw that the Queen was wearing a gown of pure white, with the sleevesshot with black, such as she herself had worn when admitted toaudience yesterday. Vexed, agitated, imbittered as Elizabeth hadbeen by the news brought to her the night before, she had kept herwardrobers and seamstresses at work the whole night to alter a whitesatin habit to the simplicity and style of that which Angele hadworn.

  "What think you of my gown, my lady refugee?" she said to Angele, atlast, as the Gentlemen Pensioners paraded in the space below,followed by the Knights-Tilters--at their head the Queen's champion,Sir Henry Lee: twenty-five of the most gallant and favored of thecourtiers of Elizabeth, including the gravest of her counsellors andthe youngest gallant who had won her smile, Master ChristopherHatton. Some of these brave suitors, taken from the noblest families,had appeared in the tilt-yard every anniversary of the year of heraccession and had lifted their romantic office, which seemed but theservice of enamoured knights, into an almost solemn dignity.

  The vast crowd disposed itself around the great improvised yard wherethe Knights-Tilters were to engage, and the Queen, followed by herretinue, descended to the dais which had been set up near the palace.Her white satin gown, roped with pearls only at the neck and breast,glistened in the bright sun, and her fair hair took on a burnishedradiance. As Angele passed with her in the gorgeous procession, shecould not but view the scene with admiring eye, albeit her own sweet,sober attire--a pearly gray--seemed little in keeping; for the ladiesand lords were most richly attired, and the damask and satin cloaks,crimson velvet gowns, silk hoods, and jewelled swords and daggersmade a brave show. She was like some moth in a whorl of butterflies.

  Her face was pale, and her eyes had a curious, disturbed look, asthough they had seen frightening things. The events of last eveninghad tried her simple spirit, and she shrank from this glitteringshow; but the knowledge that her lover's life was in danger, and thather happiness was here and now at stake, held her bravely to herplace, beset as it was with peril; for the Queen, with thateccentricity which had lifted her up yesterday, might cast her downto-day, and she had good reason to fear the power and influence ofLeicester, who she knew with a sure instinct was intent on Michel'sruin. Behind all her nervous shrinking and her heart's doubt, thememory of the face of the stranger she had seen last night with SirAndrew Melvill tortured her. She could not find the time and placewhere she had seen the eyes that, in the palace, had filled her withmislike and abhorrence as they looked upon the Queen. Again and againin her fitful sleep had she dreamed of him, and a sense of forebodingwas heavy upon her--she seemed to hear the footfall of comingdisaster. The anxiety of her soul lent an unnatural brightness to hereyes; so that more than one enamoured courtier made essay to engageher in conversation, and paid her deferential compliment when theQueen's eyes were not turned her way. Come to the dais, she wasplaced not far from her Majesty, beside the Duke's Daughter, whosewhimsical nature found frequent expression in what the Queen was wontto call "a merry volt." She seemed a privileged person, with whomnone ventured to take liberties, and against whom none was entitledto bear offence, for her quips were free from malice, and heringenuity in humor of mark. She it was who had put into the Queen'shead that morning an idea which was presently to startle Angele andall others.

  Leicester was riding with the Knights-Tilters, and as they canteredlightly past the dais, trailing their spears in obeisance, Elizabethengaged herself in talk with Cecil, who was standing near, andappeared not to see the favorite. This was the first time since hehad mounted to good fortune that she had not thrown him a favor topick up with his spear and wear in her honor, and he could scarcebelieve that she had meant to neglect him. He half halted, but sheonly deigned an inclination of the head, and he spurred his horseangrily on with a muttered imprecation, yet, to all seeming,gallantly paying homage.

  "There shall be doings ere this day is done. 'Beware the Gypsy!'"said the Duke's Daughter, in a low tone, to Angele, and she laughedlightly.

  "Who is the Gypsy?" asked Angele, with good suspicion, however.

  "Who but Leicester," answered the other. "Is he not black enough?"

  "Why was he so called? Who put the name upon him?"

  "Who but the Earl of Sussex, as he died--as noble a chief, as true acounsellor as ever spoke truth to a queen. But truth is not all atcourt, and Sussex was no flatterer. Leicester bowed under the stormfor a moment when Sussex showed him in his true colors; but Sussexhad no gift of intrigue, the tide turned, and so he broke his heartand died. But he left a message which I sometimes remember with mycollects. 'I am now passing to another world,' said he, 'and mustleave you to your fortunes and to the Queen's grace and goodness; butbeware the Gypsy, for he will be too hard for all of you; you knownot the beast so well as I do.' But m
y Lord Sussex was wrong. Onethere is who knows him through and through, and hath little joy inthe knowing."

  The look in the eyes of the Duke's Daughter became like steel and hervoice hardened, and Angele realized that Leicester had in thisbeautiful and delicate maid-of-honor as bitter an enemy as everbrought down the mighty from their seats; that a pride had beensometime wounded, suffered an unwarrantable affront, which onlyinnocence could feel so acutely. Her heart went out to the Duke'sDaughter as it had never gone out to any of her sex since hermother's death, and she showed her admiration in her glance. Theother saw it and smiled, slipping a hand in hers for a moment; andthen a look, half-debating, half-triumphant, came into her face asher eyes followed Leicester down the green stretches of thetilting-yard.

  The trumpet sounded, the people broke out in shouts of delight, thetilting began. For an hour the handsome joust went on, the Earl ofOxford, Charles Howard, Sir Henry Lee, Sir Christopher Hatton, andLeicester challenging, and so even was the combat that victoryseemed to settle in the plumes of neither, though Leicester of themall showed not the greatest skill, while in some regards greatestgrace and deportment. Suddenly there rode into the lists, whence noone seemed to know, so intent had the public gaze been fixed, soquickly had he come, a mounted figure all in white, and at the momentwhen Sir Henry Lee had cried aloud his challenge for the last time.Silence fell as the bright figure cantered down the list, lifted thegauge, and sat still upon his black steed. Consternation fell. Noneamong the people or the Knights-Tilters knew who the invader was, andLeicester called upon the masters of the ceremonies to demand hisname and quality. The white horseman made no reply, but sat unmoved,while noise and turmoil suddenly sprang up around him.

  Presently the voice of the Queen was heard clearly ringing throughthe lists. "His quality hath evidence. Set on."

  The Duke's Daughter laughed, and whispered mischievously in Angele'sear.

  The gentlemen of England fared ill that day in the sight of all thepeople, for the challenger of the Knights-Tilters was more than amatch for each that came upon him. He rode like a wild horseman ofYucatan. Wary, resourceful, sudden in device and powerful in onset,he bore all down, until the Queen cried: "There hath not been suchskill in England since my father rode these lists. Three of my bestgentlemen down, and it hath been but breathing to him. Now, Sir HarryLee, it is thy turn," she laughed, as she saw the champion rideforward; "and next 'tis thine, Leicester. Ah, Leicester, would haveat him now?" she added, sharply, as she saw the favorite spur forwardbefore the gallant Lee. "He is full of choler--it becomes him, but itshall not be; bravery is not all. And if he failed"--she smiledacidly--"he would get him home to Kenilworth and show himself nomore--if he failed, and the white knight failed not! What think you,dove?" she cried to the Duke's Daughter. "Would he not fall in themegrims for that England's honor had been overthrown? Leicestercould not live if England's honor should be toppled down like my dearChris Hatton and his gallants, yonder."

  The Duke's Daughter courtesied. "Methinks England's honor is inlittle peril--your Majesty knows well how to 'fend it. No subjectkeeps it."

  "If I must 'fend it, dove, then Leicester there must not fightto-day. It shall surely be Sir Harry Lee. My Lord Leicester must havethe place of honor at the last," she called aloud. Leicester swunghis horse round, and galloped to the Queen.

  "Your Majesty," he cried, in suppressed anger, "must I give place?"

  "When all have failed and Leicester has won, then all yield place toLeicester," said the Queen, dryly.

  The look on his face was not good to see, but he saluted gravely androde away to watch the encounter between the most gallantKnight-Tilter in England and the stranger. Rage was in his heart, andit blinded him to the certainty of his defeat, for he was not expertin the lists. But by a sure instinct he had guessed the identity ofthe white horseman, and every nerve quivered with desire to meet himin combat. Last night's good work seemed to have gone for naught.Elizabeth's humor had changed; and to-day she seemed set onhumiliating him before the nobles who hated him, before the peoplewho had found in him the cause why the Queen had not married, sogiving no heir to the throne. Perturbed and charged with anger as hewas, however, the combat now forward soon chained his attention. Notin many a year had there been seen in England such a display of skilland determination. The veteran Knight-Tilter, who knew that theresult of this business meant more than life to him, and that morethan the honor of his comrades was at stake--even the valor ofEngland, which had been challenged--fought as he had never foughtbefore, as no man had fought in England for many a year. At first thepeople cried aloud their encouragement; but as onset and attack afteronset and attack showed that two masters of their craft, twodesperate men had met, and that the great sport had become a vitalcombat between their own champion and the champion of anotherland--Spain, France, Denmark, Russia, Italy?--a hush spread over thegreat space, and every eye was strained; men gazed with bated breath.

  The green turf was torn and mangled, the horses reeked with sweat andfoam, but overhead the soaring skylark sang, as it were, to expressthe joyance of the day. During many minutes the only sound that brokethe stillness was the clash of armed men, the thud of hoofs, and thesnorting and the wild breathing of the chargers. The lark's notes,however, ringing out over the lists, freed the tongue of the Queen'sfool, who suddenly ran out into the lists, in his motley and cap andbells, and in his high, trilling voice sang a fool's song to thefighting twain:

  "Who would lie down and close his eyes While yet the lark sings o'er the dale? Who would to Love make no replies, Nor drink the nut-brown ale, While throbs the pulse, and full's the purse And all the world's for sale?"

  Suddenly a cry of relief, of roaring excitement, burst from thepeople. Both horsemen and their chargers were on the ground. Thefight was over, the fierce game at an end. That which all had feared,even the Queen herself, as the fight fared on, had not come topass--England's champion had not been beaten by the armed mystery,though the odds had seemed against him.

  "Though wintry blasts may prove unkind, When winter's past we do forget; Love's breast in summer-time is kind, And all's well while life's with us yet-- Hey, ho, now the lark is mating, Life's sweet wages are in waiting!"

  Thus sang the fool as the two warriors were helped to their feet.Cumbered with their armor, and all dust-covered and blood-stained,though not seriously hurt, they were helped to their horses, and rodeto the dais where the Queen sat.

  "Ye have fought like men of old," she said, "and neither hadadvantage at the last. England's champion still may cry his challengeand not be forsworn, and he who challenged goeth in honor again fromthe lists. You, sir, who have challenged, shall we not see your faceor hear your voice? For what country, for what prince lifted you thegauge and challenged England's honor?"

  "I crave your high Majesty's pardon"--Angele's heart stood still. Herlove had not pierced his disguise, though Leicester's hate had doneso on the instant--"I crave your noble Majesty's grace," answered thestranger, "that I may still keep my face covered in humility. Myvoice speaks for no country and for no prince. I have fought for mineown honor, and to prove to England's Queen that she hath a championwho smiteth with strong arm, as on me and my steed this hath beenseen to-day."

  "Gallantly thought and well said," answered Elizabeth; "but England'schampion and his strong arm have no victory. If gifts were given theymust needs be cut in twain. But answer me, what is your country? Iwill not have it that any man pick up the gauge of England for hisown honor. What is your country?"

  "I am an exile, your high Majesty; and the only land for which Iraise my sword this day is that land where I have found safety frommy enemies."

  The Queen turned and smiled at the Duke's Daughter. "I knew not wheremy own question might lead, but he hath turned it to full account,"she said, under her breath. "His tongue is as ready as his spear.Then ye have both labored in England's honor, and I drink to youboth," she added, and raised to her lips a gla
ss of wine which a pagepresented. "I love ye both--in your high qualities," she hastened toadd, with dry irony, and her eye rested mockingly on Leicester.

  "My lords and gentlemen and all of my kingdom," she added, in a clearvoice, insistent in its force, "ye have come upon May Day to takedelight of England in my gardens, and ye are welcome. Ye have seensuch a sight as doeth good to the eyes of brave men. It hath pleasedme well, and I am constrained to say to you what, for divers greatreasons, I have kept to my own counsels, laboring for your good. Theday hath come, however, the day and the hour, when ye shall know thatwherein I propose to serve you as ye well deserve. It is my will--andnow I see my way to its good fulfilment--that I remain no longer inthat virgin state wherein I have ever lived."

  Great cheering here broke in, and for a time she could get nofurther. Ever alive to the bent of the popular mind, she had chosen aperfect occasion to take them into her confidence--however little ormuch she would abide by her words, or intended the union of which shespoke. In the past she had counselled with her great advisers, withCecil and the rest, and through them messages were borne to thepeople; but now she spoke direct to them all, and it had itsimmediate reward--the acclamations were as those with which she wasgreeted when she first passed through the streets of London oninheriting the crown.

  Well pleased, she continued: "This I will do with expedition andweightiest judgment, for of little account though I am, he that sitswith the Queen of England in this realm, must needs be a princeindeed.... So be ye sure of this that ye shall have your heartmostwishes, and there shall be one to come after me who will wear thiscrown even as I have worn, in direct descent, my father's crown. Ourdearest sister, the Queen of the Scots, hath been delivered of a fairson; and in high affection the news thereof she hath sent me, with apalfrey which I shall ride among you in token of the love I bear herMajesty. She hath in her time got an heir to the throne with which weare ever in kinship and alliance, and I in my time shall give ye yourhearts' desire."

  Angele, who had, with palpitating heart and swimming head, seenMichel de la Foret leave the lists and disappear among the trees, asmysteriously as he came, was scarce conscious of the cheers andriotous delight that followed Elizabeth's tactful if delusive speechto the people. A few whispered words from the Duke's Daughter hadtold her that Michel had obeyed the Queen's command in entering thelists and taking up the challenge; and that she herself, carryingthe royal message to him and making arrangements for his accoutrementand mounting, had urged him to obedience. She observed dryly that hehad needed little pressure, and that his eyes had lighted at theprospect of the combat. Apart from his innate love of fighting, hehad realized that in the moment of declining to enter the Queen'sservice he had been at a disadvantage, and that his courage was opento attack by the incredulous or malicious. This would have matteredlittle were it not that he had been given unusual importance as aprisoner by the Queen's personal notice of himself. He had,therefore, sprung to the acceptance, and sent his humble duty to theQueen by her winsome messenger, who, with conspicuous dramatic skill,had arranged secretly, with the help of a Gentleman Pensioner and theMaster of the Horse, his appearance and his exit. That all succeededas she had planned quickened her pulses, and made her heart stillwarmer to Angele, who, now that all was over, and her Huguenot loverhad gone his mysterious way, seemed lost in a troubled reverie.

  It was a troubled reverie, indeed, for Angele's eyes were on thestranger who was present with Sir Andrew Melvill the night before.Her gaze upon him now became fixed and insistent, for the sense offoreboding so heavy on her deepened to a torturing suspense. Wherehad she seen this man before? To what day or hour in her past did hebelong? What was there in his smooth, smiling, malicious face thatmade her blood run cold? As she watched him, he turned his head. Shefollowed his eyes. The horse which Mary Queen of Scots had sent withthe message of the birth of her son was being led to the Queen by thedark-browed, pale-faced churl who had brought it from Scotland. Shesaw a sharp, dark look pass between the two.

  Suddenly her sight swam, she swayed and would have fainted, butresolution steadied her, and a low exclamation broke from her lips.Now she knew!

  The face that had eluded her was at last in the grasp of horrifiedmemory. It was the face of one who many years ago was known to havepoisoned the Duc de Chambly by anointing the pommel of his saddlewith a delicate poison which the rider would touch, and touchingwould, perhaps, carry to his nostrils or mouth as he rode, and dieupon the instant. She herself had seen the Duc de Chambly fall; hadseen this man fly from Paris for his life; and had thereafter knownof his return to favor at the court of Mary and Francis, for nothingcould be proved against him. The memory flashed like lightningthrough her brain. She moved swiftly forward despite the detaininghand of the Duke's Daughter. The Queen was already mounted, her handalready upon the pommel of the saddle.

  Elizabeth noted the look of anguished anxiety in Angele's eyes, herface like that of one who had seen souls in purgatory; and some swiftinstinct, born of years upon years of peril in old days when her lifewas no boon to her enemies, made her lean towards the girl, whosequick whispered words were to her as loud as thunder. She was,however, composed and still. Not a tremor passed through her.

  "Your wish is granted, mistress," she said aloud, then addressed aword to Cecil at her side, who passed on her command. Presently sheturned slowly to the spot where Sir Andrew Melvill and the other satupon their horses. She scanned complacently the faces of both, thenher eyes settled steadily on the face of the murderer. Still gazingintently, she drew the back of her gloved fingers along the pommel.The man saw the motion, unnoted and unsignificant to any other saveAngele, meaningless even to Melvill, the innocent and honestgentleman at his side; and he realized that the Queen had had awarning. Noting the slight stir among the gentlemen round him, heknew that his game was foiled, that there was no escape. He was notprepared for what followed.

  In a voice to be heard only at small distance, the Queen said,calmly:

  "This palfrey sent me by my dear sister of Scotland shall bear meamong you, friends; and in days to come _I will remember how shehath given new life to me by her loving message_. Sir Andrew Melvill,I shall have further speech with you; and you, sir"--speaking to thesinister figure by his side--"come hither."

  The man dismounted, and with unsteady step came forward. Elizabethheld out her gloved hand for him to kiss. His face turned white. Itwas come soon, his punishment. None knew save Angele and the Queenthe doom that was upon him, if Angele's warning was well founded. Heknelt, and bent his head over her hand.

  "Salute sir," she said, in a low voice.

  He touched his lips to her fingers. She pressed them swiftly againsthis mouth. An instant, then he rose and stepped backward to hishorse. Tremblingly, blindly, he mounted.

  A moment passed, then Elizabeth rode on with her ladies behind her,her gentlemen beside her. As she passed slowly, the would-be regicideswayed and fell from his horse, and stirred no more.

  Elizabeth rode on, her hand upon the pommel of the saddle. So sherode for a full half-hour, and came back to her palace. But sheraised not her gloved right hand above the pommel, and she dismountedwith exceeding care.

  That night the man who cared for the horse died secretly, as had donehis master, with the Queen's glove pressed to his nostrils by onewhom Cecil could trust. And the matter was hidden from the court andthe people; for it was given out that Melvill's friend had died ofsome heart trouble.