With Ring of Shield Part 21

CHAPTER XVIII

RICHARD TRIUMPHS

When Gloucester discovered how he had been duped by the Queen his feelings can better be imagined than described. However, he was too clever a man, by far, to show his disappointment openly, or even to let the world know that he had been outwitted. He had the audacity to have the statement quietly circulated, in such a manner as to give to each person the impression that he was the trusted possessor of a state secret, that an attempt had been made to abduct the Duke of York, but that it had miscarried. "Therefore," said the Duke's friends, "it has become necessary for the Lord Protector, in the proper fulfilment of his duties of the high office with which the people have honoured him, to take every precaution to prevent another attempt of the same kind from being more successful."

"Yea," said the gossips, who were no doubt paid by the Protector, "'tis even feared that the King himself may be the object of their next attempt. Therefore the good Lord Protector, in his wisdom, and by reason of his great solicitude for the safety of the King--his lord and master--hath deemed it best that both the young King and his little brother, the Duke of York, be placed in safety, within the strong walls of the n.o.ble Tower that Caesar,--though a heathen, was yet no doubt the instrument of G.o.d,--laid the foundations of. And, unquestionably, the Lord foresaw just such a necessity for such a strong place of safety when he compelled that ancient pagan to thus work for his ends."

When my friend and I heard this news, my children, our hearts were indeed sad. Remember, my dears, we knew not whether the statement that the little Duke had been taken by Gloucester were true or no. At first we thought it but a device of Gloucester's to hold the confidence of the people; but upon more careful consideration we came to the conclusion that even the Protector could scarcely have the audacity to thus risk the consequences of such a deception being discovered, which, according to the rules of all common sense, it must in time be. This conclusion in no wise served to relieve our feelings of disappointment and sorrow, on the Queen's account. We could not help but feel in some measure responsible for the revenge of Gloucester for the attempt made by the Queen to have her son escape him; for such we considered the confinement of the Princes to the Tower.

However, on the day following the King's removal to the prison we again visited the Sanctuary, or rather some of its inmates, and were rejoiced to learn that the Queen had received a letter from Dorset, which informed her of the successful manner in which they had escaped, not only capture, but even suspicion. Consequently we found the Queen in a most happy state of mind. This contentment was doomed to be short lived, for we were reluctantly compelled to inform her of her son's imprisonment and of the reports circulating about the Duke of York's attempted abduction.

However, we had no great time in which to wonder what was Gloucester's object in thus causing the young King to be placed under restraint, and the report to be circulated that his brother kept him company.

The next news to startle the court, and cause consternation among the friends of the Queen and exultation in the ranks of her adversaries, was the condemnation of the three unhappy prisoners at Pomfret--Rivers, Grey and Vaughan.

Again was it our unhappy duty to be the bearers of this most heavy news to that poor woman of woe, the unfortunate wife of the great Edward.

"What new sorrow do ye bring me now; for well do I know that countenances painted thus heavy with the brush of sadness must be but the dark covers to another book of woe?" said her Majesty, as my friend and I, whose sole duties now seemed to be the bearing of heavy news, were shown into her presence.

"Uncommon bad news we bring, madam;" I replied; "yet it is such as we might all have expected, and therefore do I hope that your Majesty may bear it better than thou couldst have done had it been unexpected."

When we had finished the relation of this latest tale of Richard's vengeance on the faithful to the Queen her Majesty seemed stupefied with grief. She sat as one who hath just received a heavy blow with the flat side of a sword,--dazed and benumbed and still incapable of raising protest against the causer of the pain. Then with her hand she feebly tried to brush away from before her eyes some cloud that did obstruct her vision. A look of hopeless resignation then settled on her features, and two silent tears ran slowly down her cheeks. A heavy sigh, like the parting of a soul from its earthy home and comrade, escaped her, and she asked in a voice in which was nothing but the tone of resigned indifference:--"When do they die?"

"This day, madam; even now."

"I had scarce looked for such expediency," she remarked, without the least emotion.

"What do ye think Gloucester's intentions may be with regard to my son, the King?" she asked in that unnatural voice.

"Oh, madam," I replied, glad at last to be able to tell her something not unhappy, "even now the Counsellors are met within the Tower to decide upon the coronation of his Majesty."

"And doth Lord Hastings there attend?"

"He does, madam."

"And the Protector, I presume?"

"Ay, madam, the Duke of Gloucester seems bent on having his Majesty's coronation take place at once; and therefore, at least so says report, he doth attend in person that his presence there may urge the Counsellors to set an early day for the ceremony; 'For,' say the Protector's confidants, 'the Duke desires to have the weight of full responsibility, that now rests upon his shoulders, in a considerable measure lightened.' But, madam," I added, "it is for thee to judge the weight of these reports."

"Hastings," said her Majesty, without taking any apparent note of my remark, "though he doth dislike me much, still, methinks, is loyal to my son, if for no other reason than for the favours the boy's father showed him, even against my pleasure."

Then, after sitting silent whilst one might tell an hundred, she spoke out suddenly, as though she thought aloud:--"Surely his uncle dare not harm my pretty Edward! Oh, no! not while my little Richard doth remain to be his avenger," she added, with a smile of satisfaction.

The Queen had evidently forgot the presence of her woeful messengers, so absorbed was she in her deep train of thought.

"A pleasant thing it is indeed to be the widow of a King, and the mother of a King," she said, again speaking to her heart. "Great, powerful, respected, happy. Ha, ha, ha! Yes, respected and happy.

"Hus.h.!.+ fear not; he shall not harm thee. Thou art with thy mother; and thy mother is the Queen. We had to fly to Sanctuary before, when Margaret had success. But look how thy father did defeat her, and again we came to power. Thy father is the King, and a great and gallant warrior. Again will he trample on his enemies. There, there, fear not, all things shall be well, all things shall be well. There's a good pet; go to sleep in thy mother's arms as thou didst years ago,"

and she patted an imaginary child in the gentle, soothing way known only to a mother.

I glanced enquiringly at Harleston.

He nodded.

We walked on tip-toe to the door, and stole softly from the room.

The sorrow of this woman was too sacred to be looked on by vulgar mortal eyes.

"What punishment can be severe enough to repay the causer of such woe for his accursed acts?" I asked of my friend, when we were alone in the room adjoining the one we had just left.

"Fear not," he replied; "his punishment must overtake him.

"Gloucester is clever. But no man is so clever that he can deceive the whole world for long. 'Tis possible to do so for a time; and Gloucester is doing it. But wait," added Harleston; "success is like everything else in this world; each man has a certain amount allotted to him when he begins life. If carefully husbanded, and put to a proper use, it multiplies. But let the possessor use it in an improper manner and the supply is soon cut off. 'Tis like the pulling of a heavy boat through the water, by means of a slender line; if pulled gently, and with great care, success must crown your efforts. But attempt to force the vessel faster through the water, and the line parts and the boat is lost. Richard is now attempting to draw in the s.h.i.+p of power, laden with the cargo of sovereignty. He hath a firm hold on the line. There are many obstacles betwixt the s.h.i.+p and Gloucester. By patience, more than that possessed by mortals, these all might be removed. But Richard, encouraged by his success in brus.h.i.+ng some aside, will pull harder on the line. It cannot bear the strain of this impatient force. It breaks, and Gloucester tumbles from his height of audacity, to be dashed to pieces on the rocks of consequence."

"Dost thou then think he will dare to usurp the throne, now that the King's young brother hath escaped falling into his power?" I asked.

"Why not?" he replied.

"That which the Queen said methinks is true; Hastings will be loyal; but after the example we have to-day, the execution of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan, what may we expect from the Chancellor's influence? Were he to oppose the Protector he might be the next to post to Heaven. No,"

continued my friend, "we must not look for succour, from the tyranny of Richard, to any source but the whole people. They, when they are all united, have the power to force him to do right. But no single n.o.ble is sufficiently powerful to cope successfully with Gloucester."

"But how long must this crime and tyranny endure, ere a period be put to them?"

"Not long. Richard is now building a tower of crime. Such structures are but frail houses in which to dwell. Presently a strong tempest of popular indignation will sweep across the land; the structure must fall, and the builder shall be crushed beneath the ruins. He is building it in great haste; therefore it shall fall the sooner."

Harleston spoke with such confidence, as though the whole scene had been enacted before his eyes, that one could not help but believe him to be right.

Just then the girls entered. This put an end to our gloomy conversation, for which I, for one, was glad. The close life of the Sanctuary was now beginning to make the effects of its work visible in the paler hues and careworn looks of the girls' faces.

"Oh, Walter dear, I am so tired of this life of sorrow!" said Hazel, when we had strolled to that part of the room most distant from Mary and Frederick.

"Yes, my fair one, and I can see no reason why thou shouldst forever share the sorrows and burdens of others, even though they are the troubles of those which thou lovest well. When the present situation may change, G.o.d alone can tell.

"Remember the promise that thou didst make, when we lived in happier times. When our path seemed flooded with the light of Heaven. Then came this heavy cloud, that seemeth ever to grow blacker. Let us sweep on from beneath its chilling shadow, and let the sun of love and happiness, as we stroll among the flowers, beneath the trees of our joint home, drive away the troubled memories of this heart-chilling imprisonment within the dreary walls of a Sanctuary, made yet more sad by the unfortunate family which here takes refuge. Thou canst not help them by thus sharing their sorrows, and it doth but make two other souls unhappy." As I spoke these words the scene, drawn by my mind as I paced back and forth across my room that happy night of the last ball given by Edward at Windsor, when all my ambitions seemed about to be realized, and yet when the first clouds were gathering, came again clearly to my mind. I therefore waited, with the pain of expectation, for Hazel to answer.

When, after a short silence, in which she seemed weighing her reasons both pro and con granting my request, her answer came, and was partly what I had hoped to hear, and wholly what I had expected.

"Yes, Walter, the promise that I made to thee that night, when we were both so light of heart, and which now seemeth such a long time since, I long to now fulfil. Yet," she continued, with a sigh, "my grat.i.tude for those which have ever been so kind to me doth whisper to my love and it bids it wait, for but a little s.p.a.ce, and show them some sacrifice, to repay them for their kindness. Still do I promise thee,"

she continued quickly, as she saw my jaw drop in disappointment, "to wait a short time only; and if, after the King's coronation, the condition of the Queen's family changes not, then will I ask my dear foster-mother for her consent to our union taking place at once."

"Wilt thou indeed?"

"Ay, indeed; though even this I fear to be selfish in me, and looketh as though I cared not for the troubles of my friends, when I can be happy whilst they suffer."

"Nay, not so," I replied, as some of the reasoning of Harleston came to my mind. "Life is given but that it may be enjoyed. Some accomplish this purpose in one way; some, another. Sorrow is sent but that it may teach us how to enjoy happiness the better. We all must have our sorrow. Some have more, and some less of this chastening agent's presence. The reason for this I know not, unless it be that some of us require a more severe training ere we are capable of following our especial path in life, without straying off upon by-ways that nature never intended we should tread. Some, I will admit, seem never to have found their way. The consequence is, remorseless Nature, who departs not from her laws, with stern hand of iron scourges him full hard.