How well he looked in his superb riding-dress! But there were traces of sadness on his handsome countenance.
“Oh, I am glad I have found you, Catherine,” he cried, as he came up. “I have speeded from Greenwich, as fast as my horse could bear me, to say a few words to you. I know that the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester are here, and I guess their errand. But do not let them induce you, by any representations they may make, to quit this secure retreat Hear the truth from me. The Duke of Norfolk has discovered the King’s predilection for you, and designs to turn it to his purpose. ’Tis to warn you of your danger that I came hither.”
“You alarm yourself needlessly, Adrian. You may have perfect reliance on my discretion. Whatever temptations I may be exposed to, I shall know how to resist them.”
“But you have not consented?” he cried.
“No, I have not expressly consented, but I do not see how I can refuse.”
“If you love me as you have told me you do, and as I believe you do, you will refuse.”
“Impossible, Adrian. You ask more than I am able to perform. I am not my own mistress. If the Duke, my uncle, and the Duchess, my grandmother, agree that it is right for me to go to Court, I cannot disobey.”
“Take care!” he cried, almost in a tone of menace. “I am jealous. I shall be always near you. Not a word — not a look will escape me.”
And his looks grew sombre.
“Adrian, you distrust me.”
“No, I do not distrust you, Catherine. But I distrust the Duke of Norfolk, for I know his aim, and what he aspires to, and I fear the King.”
“Fear nothing. I will always be true to you.”
“Your faith will be severely tried, Catherine, and you will need more firmness than you now display. Your position Will be fraught with extreme peril, and you will have mischievous advisers. Do not listen to them. The King is enamoured of you. He is the slave of his passions. Do you not perceive your danger? Can you pass safely through such an ordeal?”
“I hope so,” she replied, in a low tone.
While thus conversing, they had entered the enclosure in the midst of which stood the little rustic temple. Catherine started on finding herself in the ill-omened spot, and would have retreated, but he detained her.
“Oh, I am wretched!” he cried. “But it is in your power to alleviate my anguish.”
“How?” she inquired.
“Plight yourself solemnly to me! Swear by all your hopes of heaven that you will be mine — mine only!”
Catherine trembled, and made no reply.
“Ha! do you hesitate?” he cried.
Before she could answer, a deep, stern voice called out, “Forbear!”
Next moment, Francis Dereham issued from the bosquet, followed by his sable attendant, Mourzouk.
“Forbear!” he repeated, as he strode into the enclosure, and faced them.
Catherine with difficulty repressed a cry, and clung to Adrian for protection, gazing with terror at the audacious intruder.
The latter seemed to enjoy the dismay he had caused, and an almost diabolical grin played upon the countenance of the African.
“You here again!” cried Adrian, regarding Dereham fiercely. “You shall repent this insolent interruption.”
“The Lady Catherine may thank me,” rejoined Dereham. “It has saved her from a crime.”
“From a crime?”
“Ay! had I not appeared at the nick of time, she would have forsworn herself. That vow has been pronounced before, and on the self-same spot.”
Adrian was confounded.
“Is this true?” he muttered.
“He lies!” exclaimed Catherine, who had recovered herself. “He is a false knave, and unworthy of all credit. He has come here to gratify his malice.”
“I came here to speak with you,” rejoined Dereham, “and I meant not to depart without an interview. You know my errand. I am not to he terrified with threats. Those who interfere with me will have to settle with the Earl of Essex, whom I serve.”
“Were you the servant of the devil, instead of the Earl of Essex, I would cut your throat for your insolence,” cried Adrian.
And plucking forth his rapier, he prepared to attack Dereham, who instantly put himself on guard.
Greatly alarmed, Catherine started off towards the house to procure assistance; hut she had not gone far, when the clash of steel increased her terror, and she sank on a bench in a half-fainting state.
The combat was of short duration. Adrian felt the might of twenty men in his arm. His adversary, though strong and skilful, could not resist his furious attack.
Dereham fought with sword and dagger, and had thus an advantage; but it availed him nothing. Adrian struck his rapier from his hold; and seizing his left, hand with an iron grasp, prevented him from using his dagger, while at the same time he placed the point of his own sword at his throat.
“Retract the foul lie you have uttered, or you are a dead man!” he cried.
While shortening his blade to strike, he received a sudden blow, which, if it had taken full effect, must have proved mortal.
Mourzouk had sprung upon him with a bound like that of a tiger, and stabbed him with his yataghan.
The wounded man instantly fell, bathed in blood. Mourzouk expected thanks from his master, but was loaded with reproaches.
But this was no time for inaction. Lifting the apparently inanimate body from the ground, they bore it into the little temple.
While they were thus employed, Dereham made some slight examination of the wound, and satisfied himself that it was not so serious as he had at first supposed.
“He will live,” he thought “Shall I help him, or let him perish?”
His better nature triumphed. Propping up the wounded man’s head, he stanched the flow of blood.
But he did nothing more — Mourzouk thought he had done too much. Leaving him to take his chance of recovery, they hurried off to their boat, which was moored to the bank of the river.
XIII. How Adrian was tended by old Gervase.
MEANWHILE, Catherine had regained sensibility, but had not quitted the bench.
She was listening intently for any sounds of strife; but none were likely to reach her, for the conflict was over, when Lady Rochford and old Gervase were seen approaching, and she rose to meet them.
Lady Rochford hastily explained that the Duke of Norfolk was inquiring for her, and begged her to go to him without delay. But Catherine whispered a few words in the other’s ear that produced a startling effect.
“What you tell me is most strange,” said Lady Rochford. “I hope Adrian has killed him. There will be no peace for you while that man lives. But go to the Duke of Norfolk, or all will be discovered. Lose no time, and compose yourself. I will take Gervase with me, and ascertain what has happened. Fly!”
And as Catherine hastened to the house, Lady Rochford bade Gervase follow her.
Deeming it necessary to prepare the usher, she remarked to him that there had been a duel.
“A duel!” he exclaimed, in astonishment. “Between whom?”
“Between Master Adrian Culpepper and Francis Dereham. But the matter must be kept secret from the Duchess.”
“It shall be, as far as I am concerned,” replied the usher. “But I hope no harm has befallen Master Adrian.”
“I hope not. But we shall see in a moment.”
And she quickened her pace.
The enclosure was vacant, and Lady Rochford at first thought the combatants had departed, but old Gervase called her attention to a small pool of blood on the ground.
“Horror!” she exclaimed. “One of them has fallen. Pray heaven it may prove to be Dereham!”
Guided by the big drops of blood on the turf leading to the rustic temple, they hurried thither.
The door was partly open. What a spectacle met their gaze! Adrian was lying on the floor, as he had been left, his velvet doublet dyed with blood.
Supposing him to b
e dead, Lady Rochford uttered a cry, and this caused him to open his eyes. She saw that he desired to raise himself, and slightly lifted his head.
“Saint Dominick must have prompted me to put this phial in my pouch,” cried Gervase. “’Tis a wondrous elixir, confected by Doctor Butts, the King’s own physician.”
He knelt down by the side of the wounded man, and placed the phial to his lips.
Not without difficulty did Adrian swallow a few drops, but their effect was magical. The colour returned to his cheeks.
“I will answer for his recovery now,” cried Gervase.
“Where is Catherine?” demanded Adrian, faintly.
Lady Rochford placed her finger on her lips to impose silence, but he looked at her so earnestly, that she was obliged to inform him.
“Catherine is with the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester,” she said.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, with an expression of anguish.
“Do not disturb yourself thus,” she cried. “All will be well. You will live to revenge yourself on that villain Dereham.”
“I had him in my power,” rejoined Adrian; “and but for the infidel dog he brought with him, and who dealt me this treacherous blow, I should have slain him.”
“I must positively forbid further speech, sir,” said Gervase. “I must pray your ladyship to send Paulet to me forthwith. Tell him what has happened. You may confide in him as in me. Bid him bring bandages, a flask of Gaillac, and some aqua vitae. As soon as it can be done with safety, we will transport Master Adrian privily to’ the house. Meantime, I will tend him carefully.”
“If I leave you, ’tis to send you aid,” said Lady Rochford to the wounded man.
“Implore Catherine not to neglect my counsel,” he murmured.
Bidding him rest easy, and relinquishing her post to Gervase, she quitted the temple. Adrian followed her with anxious gaze.
On returning to the mansion, Lady Rochford learnt, to her great satisfaction, that the Duke of Norfolk and Gardiner were just taking their departure.
With a wave of the hand from the portal, she bade them adieu, and then seeking out Paulet, despatched him on his errand.
Catherine was all anxiety to learn what had happened, but Lady Rochford deemed it prudent to keep the precise truth from her; and therefore told her Adrian had been slightly hurt; and finding even this alarmed her, she added, carelessly, “’Tis a mere trifle. My chief regret is that he has not delivered you from Dereham. But what of the Duke of Norfolk? To judge from his Grace’s looks at parting, and those of the Bishop of Winchester, their object has been satisfactorily accomplished. I hope so.”
“Their arguments have prevailed with the Duchess,” replied Catherine. “I never dreamed she would yield, hut she has now quite changed her mind, and appears to think it most desirable that I should become one of the new Queen’s maids of honour.”
“Nothing could be better,” cried Lady Rochford, joyfully.
“To-morrow, my uncle, the Duke, will conduct me in his barge to Greenwich Palace. You will go with me, Isabel, for you are appointed one of the Queen’s ladies.”
“I rejoice to hear it. I shall be always near to advise you.”
“Three days hence, Bishop Gardiner, who interests himself so much about me, will give a grand banquet to the King at Winchester House.”
“At which you will, of course, be present, Catherine,” observed Lady Rochford.
“You will be there as well, Isabel.”
“The Bishop is a good friend,” said Lady Rochford, with a smile. “Only follow my counsel, and all I have predicted will come to pass. You have a glorious prospect before you.”
“But poor Adrian! You forget him.”
“No, I do not forget him. But he must not be allowed to stand in your way. You would not compare him with the King!”
A momentary feeling of exultation crossed Catherine’s breast, but it soon gave place to anxiety.
“Dereham yet lives to blight me,” she cried, despondingly.
XIV. The Banquet at Winchester House.
NOT far from the beautiful Gothic pile of St. Saviour’s Church stood the town palace of the Bishops of Winchester, who were lords of the manor in Southwark.
In point of size, Winchester House was fully equal to the archiepiscopal palace at Lambeth, and it was of even greater antiquity, having been built early in the twelfth century. It possessed a vast number of apartments, two long corridors, a fine old oak staircase, a magnificent hall lighted with great bay windows, which were filled with stained glass of the richest hues, and a chapel of remarkable beauty.
The palace was approached from the river by private stairs, which led to a lofty embattled gateway. Stately gardens surrounded the edifice, and adjoining it was a park full of old timber.
Gardiner lived in sumptuous style. Since Wolsey’s downfall, no prelate had ventured to assume such state. He had a numerous band of pages, all of whom were sons of Roman Catholic noblemen and gentlemen of ancient lineage, and these contributed largely to his expenditure.
Winchester House was the rendezvous of the chiefs of the Romish party, and secret consultations were held there at every critical juncture. The step taken by the Duke of Norfolk in regard to his niece, Catherine Howard, was the result of a long debate with the plotting prelate.
In furtherance of the scheme, Gardiner had resolved to give a grand banquet to the King and his new consort, and Henry readily accepted the invitation, for he liked the Bishop’s entertainments.
The principal personages of the Court were invited — the Duke of Bavaria, who was then a suitor for the hand of the Princess Mary; the Earl of Overstein, and the Grand Master Ostoden; the Comte de Marillac, ambassador to Francis the First; and M. de Chapuys, the Emperor’s ambassador.
Cromwell himself, distasteful as he was to the Bishop, could not be omitted without offence to the King. The Lord Chancellor Audeley — another of Gardiner’s opponents, and the avowed enemy of Norfolk — with many others, equally objectionable, had to be tolerated for the occasion.
All the Court dames were bidden to the feast — the Princess Mary, the King’s two nieces, the Duchess of Richmond, the Countesses of Rutland and Hertford, and Lady Rochford.
Of course, the Queen brought her maids of honour with her, and among the number was the lovely Catherine Howard.
On stepping from their barges on a carpet of velvet, the illustrious guests passed through lines of henchmen, bearing gilt pole-axes, into the palace, where the prelate, surrounded by his noble pages, all splendidly apparelled, was ready to receive them.
No one could play the host better than Gardiner; no one, when he chose, had a more courteous manner.
Their Majesties came last, and on their arrival, chambers and guns were discharged from the summit of the gate-tower, and flourishes of trumpets announced their entrance into the great banqueting-hall, which, being lighted up by numberless wax torches, stuck in huge sconces, hung with arras, and adorned with open cupboards of plate, presented a dazzling sight; the gorgeous costumes of the company contributing in no slight degree to the splendour of the spectacle. Nothing could be seen but cloths of gold and silver, rich tissues and embroidered velvets; and there was a perfect blaze of jewellery.
At no time was magnificence of attire carried to such a pitch as during the reign of Henry the Eighth. Chains of gold, and girdles decked with gems, were worn by all persons of rank. Imagine the brilliant effect of the display.
It was the custom then, with nobles and knights, to wear their jewelled caps during dinner; but of course all heads were bared on the entrance of their Majesties into the banqueting-chamber, and were not covered again till the royal pair were seated beneath the cloth of estate. Then all the company sat down.
The tables were spread with perfumed napery, and plentifully garnished with magnificent silver vessels. Numerous officers, pages, cup-bearers, and grooms were in attendance. Two hundred dishes of “costly devises and subtilities” were served at the ban
quet.
Some of these dishes were of prodigious size, and would astonish an alderman of our day. A royal sturgeon, baked, was served entire. A baron of beef, and other huge joints, were carved on a side-table. The wines, as well as the viands, were admirable. Rhenish and Muscadine, Gaillac, Gascoigne, and Osey were dispensed in flowing cups. Minstrels enlivened the company with their strains from the gallery.
Henry was well pleased with the banquet, and signified his satisfaction, in his bluff style, to Gardiner, who stood behind his chair.
The King, as we have already intimated, was a huge feeder, but he disliked to see women eat, and the Queen’s hearty appetite disgusted him. Noticing this, Gardiner was malicious enough to recommend a variety of dishes to her attention, and she partook of all, in spite of Henry’s frowns.
Cromwell, who, in his quality of Lord Chamberlain, waited upon the King, with the Duke of Norfolk, during the repast, would fain have given her a hint, if he had dared. It was reserved to Will Sommers, who was standing near the Bishop, behind the royal chair, to caution her.
“My lord,” quoth the buffoon to Gardiner, “you will give her Majesty a surfeit, if you persuade her to eat more.”
“Go to, thou saucy knave,” rejoined the Bishop. “Her Highness has fared indifferently. I pray you, madam, to taste this hypocras jelly. You will find it delicious.”
“Nay, I cannot resist that,” returned the Queen.
“A marchpane is a necessary accompaniment.”
Anne took the marchpane as well.
Cromwell was in despair, for he saw that the King’s disgust was increased.
Catherine Howard had been designedly placed at the upper part of the table. She was seated between the Comte de Marillac and M. de Chapuys, who vied with each other in attention to the lovely maid of honour.
With the quickness of perception proper to sharp-witted ambassadors, they had discovered that the King was enamoured of her, and were eager to pay court to the rising favourite. Both were men of refined and agreeable manner, and Catherine could not but be delighted with their conversation — though there might be a slight tinge of gallantry about it, and their compliments were somewhat extravagant.
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