CHAPTER IX. WEDDED CONFIDENCE AND LOVE--THE EARL AND THE PRELATE--THEPRELATE AND THE KING--SCHEMES--WILES--AND THE BIRTH OF A DARK THOUGHTDESTINED TO ECLIPSE A SUN.
While, preparatory to the banquet, Edward, as was then the daily classiccustom, relaxed his fatigues, mental or bodily, in the hospitable bath,the archbishop sought the closet of the earl.
"Brother," said he, throwing himself with some petulance into the onlychair the room, otherwise splendid, contained, "when you left me toseek Edward in the camp of Anthony Woodville, what was the understandingbetween us?"
"I know of none," answered the earl, who having doffed his armour, anddismissed his squires, leaned thoughtfully against the wall, dressedfor the banquet, with the exception of the short surcoat, which layglittering on the tabouret.
"You know of none? Reflect! Have you brought hither Edward as a guest oras a prisoner?"
The earl knit his brows--"A prisoner, archbishop?"
The prelate regarded him with a cold smile.
"Warwick, you, who would deceive no other man, now seek to deceiveyourself." The earl drew back, and his hardy countenance grew a shadepaler. The prelate resumed: "You have carried Edward from his camp, andsevered him from his troops; you have placed him in the midst of yourown followers; you have led him, chafing and resentful all the way, tothis impregnable keep; and you now pause, amazed by the grandeur ofyour captive,--a man who leads to his home a tiger, a spider who hasentangled a hornet in its web!"
"Nay, reverend brother," said the earl, calmly, "ye churchmen never knowwhat passes in the hearts of those who feel and do not scheme. When Ilearned that the king had fled to the Woodvilles, that he was bent uponviolating the pledge given in his name to the insurgent commons, I vowedthat he should redeem my honour and his own, or that forever I wouldquit his service. And here, within these walls which sheltered hischildhood, I trusted, and trust still, to make one last appeal to hisbetter reason."
"For all that, men now, and history hereafter, will consider Edward asyour captive."
"To living men my words and deeds can clear themselves; and as forhistory, let clerks and scholars fool themselves in the lies ofparchment! He who has acted history, despises the gownsmen who sit incloistered ease, and write about what they know not." The earl paused,and then continued: "I confess, however, that I have had a scheme.I have wished to convince the king how little his mushroom lords canbestead him in the storm; and that he holds his crown only from hisbarons and his people."
"That is, from the Lord Warwick!"
"Perhaps I am the personation of both seignorie and people; but I designthis solely for his welfare. Ah, the gallant prince--how well he borehimself to-day!"
"Ay, when stealing all hearts from thee to him."
"And, Vive Dieu, I never loved him so well as when he did! Methinks itwas for a day like this that I reared his youth and achieved his crown.Oh, priest, priest, thou mistakest me. I am rash, hot, haughty, hasty;and I love not to bow my knees to a man because they call him king, ifhis life be vicious and his word be false. But could Edward be ever asto-day, then indeed should I hail a sovereign whom a baron may reverenceand a soldier serve!"
Before the archbishop could reply, the door gently opened, and thecountess appeared. Warwick seemed glad of the interruption; he turnedquickly--"And how fares my child?"
"Recovered from her strange swoon, and ready to smile at thy return. Oh,Warwick, thou art reconciled to the king?"
"That glads thee, sister?" said the archbishop.
"Surely. Is it not for my lord's honour?"
"May he find it so!" said the prelate, and he left the room.
"My priest-brother is chafed," said the earl, smiling. "Pity he was notborn a trader, he would have made a shrewd hard bargain. Verily, ourpriests burn the Jews out of envy! Ah, m'amie, how fair thou art to-day!Methinks even Isabel's cheek less blooming." And the warrior drew thelady towards him, and smoothed her hair, and tenderly kissed her brow."My letter vexed thee, I know, for thou lovest Edward, and blamest menot for my love to him. It is true that he hath paltered with me, andthat I had stern resolves, not against his crown, but to leave him tohis fate, and in these halls to resign my charge. But while he spoke,and while he looked, methought I saw his mother's face, and heard hisdear father's tone, and the past rushed over me, and all wrath was gone.Sonless myself, why would he not be my son?" The earl's voice trembled,and the tears stood in his dark eyes.
"Speak thus, dear lord, to Isabel, for I fear her overvaulting spirit--"
"Ah, had Isabel been his wife!" he paused and moved away. Then, asif impatient to escape the thoughts that tended to an ungraciousrecollection, he added, "And now, sweetheart, these slight fingers haveofttimes buckled on my mail; let them place on my breast this badge ofSt. George's chivalry; and, if angry thoughts return, it shall remind methat the day on which I wore it first, Richard of York said to his youngEdward, 'Look to that star, boy, if ever, in cloud and trouble, thouwouldst learn what safety dwells in the heart which never knew deceit.'"
During the banquet, the king, at whose table sat only the Duke ofClarence and the earl's family, was gracious as day to all, butespecially to the Lady Anne, attributing her sudden illness to somecause not unflattering to himself; her beauty, which somewhat resembledthat of the queen, save that it had more advantage of expression andof youth, was precisely of the character he most admired. Even hertimidity, and the reserve with which she answered him, had their charms;for, like many men, themselves of imperious nature and fiery will,he preferred even imbecility in a woman to whatever was energetic ordetermined; and hence perhaps his indifference to the more dazzlingbeauty of Isabel. After the feast, the numerous demoiselles, high-bornand fair, who swelled the more than regal train of the countess, wereassembled in the long gallery, which was placed in the third storyof the castle and served for the principal state apartment. The dancebegan; but Isabel excused herself from the pavon, and the king ledout the reluctant and melancholy Anne. The proud Isabel, who hadnever forgiven Edward's slight to herself, resented deeply his evidentadmiration of her sister, and conversed apart with the archbishop, whosesubtle craft easily drew from her lips confessions of an ambition highereven than his own. He neither encouraged nor dissuaded; he thoughtthere were things more impossible than the accession of Clarence to thethrone, but he was one who never plotted,--save for himself and for theChurch.
As the revel waned, the prelate approached the earl, who, with thatremarkable courtesy which charmed those below his rank and contrastedwith his haughtiness to his peers, had well played amongst his knightsthe part of host, and said, in a whisper, "Edward is in a happymood--let us lose it not. Will you trust me to settle all differencesere he sleep? Two proud men never can agree without a third of a gentlertemper."
"You are right," said Warwick, smiling; "yet the danger is that I shouldrather concede too much than be too stubborn. But look you, all I demandis satisfaction to mine own honour and faith to the army I disbanded inthe king's name."
"All!" muttered the archbishop, as he turned away, "but that call iseverything to provoke quarrel for you, and nothing to bring power tome!"
The earl and the archbishop attended the king to his chamber, and afterEdward was served with the parting refection, or livery, the earl said,with his most open smile, "Sire, there are yet affairs between us; whomwill you confer with,--me or the archbishop?"
"Oh, the archbishop, by all means, fair cousin," cried Edward, no lessfrankly; "for if you and I are left alone, the Saints help both ofus!--when flint and steel meet, fire flies, and the house may burn."
The earl half smiled at the candour, half sighed at the levity, of theroyal answer, and silently left the room. The king, drawing round himhis loose dressing-robe, threw himself upon the gorgeous coverlid of thebed, and lying at lazy length, motioned to the prelate to seat himselfat the foot. The archbishop obeyed. Edward raised himself on his elbow,and, by the light of seven gigantic tapers, set in sconces of massivesilver, the priest and the king
gravely gazed on each other withoutspeaking.
At last Edward, bursting into his hale, clear, silvery laugh, said,"Confess, dear sir and cousin,--confess that we are like two skilfulmasters of Italian fence, each fearing to lay himself open by commencingthe attack."
"Certes," quoth the archbishop, "your Grace over-estimates my vanity, inopining that I deemed myself equal to so grand a duello. If there weredispute between us, I should only win by baring my bosom."
The king's bow-like lip curved with a slight sneer, quickly replaced bya serious and earnest expression. "Let us leave word-making, and tothe point, George. Warwick is displeased because I will not abandon mywife's kindred; you, with more reason, because I have taken from yourhands the chancellor's great seal--"
"For myself, I humbly answer that your Grace errs. I never coveted otherhonours than those of the Church."
"Ay," said Edward, keenly examining the young prelate's smooth face, "isit so? Yes, now I begin to comprehend thee. What offence have I givento the Church? Have I suffered the law too much to sleep against theLollards. If so, blame Warwick."
"On the contrary, sire, unlike other priests, I have ever deemed thatpersecution heals no schism. Blow not dying embers. Rather do I thinkof late that too much severity hath helped to aid, by Lollard bows andpikes, the late rising. My lady, the queen's mother, unjustly accused ofwitchcraft, hath sought to clear herself, and perhaps too zealously, inexciting your Grace against that invisible giant yclept heresy."
"Pass on," said Edward. "It is not then indifference to the ecclesiathat you complain of. Is it neglect of the ecclesiastic? Ha, ha! youand I, though young, know the colours that make up the patchwork world.Archbishop, I love an easy life; if your brother and his friends willbut give me that, let them take all else. Again, I say, to the point,--Icannot banish my lady's kindred, but I will bind your House still moreto mine. I have a daughter, failing male issue, the heiress to my crown.I will betroth her to your nephew, my beloved Montagu's son. They arechildren yet, but their ages not unsuited. And when I return to London,young Nevile shall be Duke of Bedford, a title hitherto reserved to theroyal race. [And indeed there was but one Yorkist duke then in Englandout of the royal family,--namely, the young boy Buckingham, whoafterwards vainly sought to bend the Ulysses bow of Warwick againstRichard III.] Let that be a pledge of peace between the queen's mother,bearing the same honours, and the House of Nevile, to which they pass."
The cheek of the archbishop flushed with proud pleasure; he bowed hishead, and Edward, ere he could answer, went on: "Warwick is alreadyso high that, pardie, I have no other step to give him, save my throneitself, and, God's truth, I would rather be Lord Warwick than Kingof England! But for you--listen--our only English cardinal is old andsickly; whenever he pass to Abraham's bosom, who but you should havethe suffrage of the holy college? Thou knowest that I am somewhat inthe good favour of the sovereign pontiff. Command me to the utmost.Now, George, are we friends?" The archbishop kissed the gracious handextended to him, and, surprised to find, as by magic, all his schemesfrustrated by sudden acquiescence in the objects of them all, hisvoice faltered with real emotion as he gave vent to his gratitude.But abruptly he checked himself, his brow lowered, and with a bitterremembrance of his brother's plain, blunt sense of honour, he said,"Yet, alas! my liege, in all this there is nought to satisfy ourstubborn host."
"By dear Saint George and my father's head!" exclaimed Edward,reddening, and starting to his feet, "what would the man have?"
"You know," answered the archbishop, "that Warwick's pride is onlyroused when he deems his honour harmed. Unhappily, as he thinks, by yourGrace's full consent, he pledged himself to the insurgents of Olney tothe honourable dismissal of the lords of the Woodville race. And unlessthis be conceded, I fear me that all else he will reject, and the lovebetween ye can be but hollow!"
Edward took but three strides across the chamber, and then haltedopposite the archbishop, and lay both hands on his shoulders, as,looking him full in the face, he said, "Answer me frankly, am I aprisoner in these towers or not?"
"Not, sire."
"You palter with me, priest. I have been led hither against my will.I am almost without an armed retinue. I am at the earl's mercy. Thischamber might be my grave, and this couch my bed of death."
"Holy Mother! Can you think so of Warwick? Sire, you freeze my blood."
"Well, then, if I refuse to satisfy Warwick's pride, and disdain to giveup loyal servants to rebel insolence, what will Warwick do? Speak out,archbishop."
"I fear me, sire, that he will resign all office, whether of peace orwar. I fear me that the goodly army now at sleep within and around thesewalls will vanish into air, and that your Highness will stand aloneamidst new men, and against the disaffection of the whole land!"
Edward's firm hand trembled. The prelate continued, with a dry, causticsmile,--
"Sire, Sir Anthony Woodville, now Lord Rivers, has relieved you ofall embarrassment; no doubt, my Lord Dorset and his kinsmen will bechevaliers enough to do the same. The Duchess of Bedford will butsuit the decorous usage to retire a while into privacy, to mourn herwidowhood. And when a year is told, if these noble persons reappear atcourt, your word and the earl's will at least have been kept."
"I understand thee," said the king, half laughing; "but I have my prideas well as Warwick. To concede this point is to humble the conceder."
"I have thought how to soothe all things, and without humbling eitherparty. Your Grace's mother is dearly beloved by Warwick and revered byall. Since your marriage she hath lived secluded from all state affairs.As so nearly akin to Warwick, so deeply interested in your Grace, she isa fitting mediator in all disputes. Be they left to her to arbitrate."
"Ah, cunning prelate, thou knowest how my proud mother hates theWoodvilles; thou knowest how her judgment will decide."
"Perhaps so; but at least your Grace will be spared all pain and allabasement."
"Will Warwick consent to this?"
"I trust so."
"Learn, and report to me. Enough for to-night's conference." Edward wasleft alone, and his mind ran rapidly over the field of action open tohim.
"I have half won the earl's army," he thought; "but it would be tolose all hold in their hearts again, if they knew that these unhappyWoodvilles were the cause of a second breach between us. Certes, theLancastrians are making strong head! Certes, the times must be playedwith and appeased! And yet these poor gentlemen love me after my ownfashion, and not with the bear's hug of that intolerable earl. How camethe grim man by so fair a daughter? Sweet Anne! I caught her eye oftenfixed on me, and with a soft fear which my heart beat loud to readaright. Verily, this is the fourth week I have passed without hearinga woman's sigh! What marvel that so fair a face enamours me! Wouldthat Warwick made her his ambassador; and yet it were all over withthe Woodvilles if he did! These men know not how to manage me, andwell-a-day, that task is easy eno' to women!" He laughed gayly tohimself as he thus concluded his soliloquy, and extinguished the tapers.But rest did not come to his pillow; and after tossing to and fro forsome time in vain search for sleep, he rose and opened his casement tocool the air which the tapers had overheated. In a single casement, in abroad turret, projecting from an angle in the building, below the towerin which his chamber was placed, the king saw a solitary lightburning steadily. A sight so unusual at such an hour surprised him."Peradventure, the wily prelate," thought he. "Cunning never sleeps."But a second look showed him the very form that chased his slumbers.Beside the casement, which was partially open, he saw the soft profileof the Lady Anne; it was bent downwards; and what with the clearmoonlight, and the lamp within her chamber, he could see distinctly thatshe was weeping. "Ah, Anne," muttered the amorous king, "would that Iwere by to kiss away those tears!" While yet the unholy wish murmured onhis lips, the lady rose. The fair hand, that seemed almost transparentin the moonlight, closed the casement; and though the light lingered forsome minutes ere it left the dark walls of the castle without other signof life than the step
of the sentry, Anne was visible no more.
"Madness! madness! madness!" again murmured the king. "These Neviles arefatal to me in all ways,--in hatred or in love!"
BOOK VIII. IN WHICH THE LAST LINK BETWEEN KING-MAKER AND KING SNAPSASUNDER.