Windsor Castle, William Harrison Ainsworth [ereader for textbooks .TXT] 📗

/> "The offence must not pass unpunished," said Henry musingly. "My lord of Surrey, you must be content to remain for two months a prisoner in the Round Tower of this castle."

"Your majesty!" cried Richmond, bending the knee in supplication.

"The sentence is passed," replied Henry coldly; "and the earl may thank you it is not heavier. Richmond, you will think no more of the fair Geraldine; and it is my pleasure, Lady Anne, that the young dame withdraw from the court for a short while."

"Your majesty shall be obeyed," said Anne; "but--"

"But me no buts, sweetheart," said the king peremptorily. Surrey's explanation is satisfactory so far as it goes, but I was told Sir Thomas Wyat was here."

"Sir Thomas Wyat is here," said Will Sommers, pointing out the knight, who had just joined the throng of courtiers at the door.

"I have hurried hither from my chamber, my liege," said Wyat, stepping forward, "hearing there was some inquiry concerning me."

"Is your majesty now satisfied? " asked Anne Boleyn.

"Why, ay, sweetheart, well enough," rejoined Henry. "Sir Thomas Wyat, we have a special mission for you to the court of our brother of France. You will set out to-morrow."

Wyat bowed.

"You have saved your head, gossip," whispered Will Sommers in the knight's ear. "A visit to Francis the First is better than a visit to the Tower."

"Retire, my lords," said Henry to the assemblage; "we owe some apology to the Lady Anne for our intrusion, and desire an opportunity to make it."

Upon this the chamber was instantly cleared of its occupants, and the Earl of Surrey was conducted, under a guard, to the Round Tower.

Henry, however, did not find it an easy matter to make peace with the Lady Anne. Conscious of the advantage she had gained, she determined not to relinquish it, and, after half an hour's vain suing, her royal lover proposed a turn in the long gallery, upon which her apartments opened. Here they continued conversing--Henry pleading in the most passionate manner, and Anne maintaining a show of offended pride.

At last she exhibited some signs of relenting, and Henry led her into a recess in the gallery, lighted by a window filled with magnificent stained glass. In this recess was a seat and a small table, on which stood a vase filled with flowers, arranged by Anne's own hand; and here the monarch hoped to adjust his differences with her.

Meanwhile, word having reached Wolsey and Campeggio of the new cause of jealousy which the king had received, it was instantly resolved that the former should present to him, while in his present favourable mood, a despatch received that morning from Catherine of Arragon.

Armed with the letter, Wolsey repaired to the king's closet. Not finding him there, and being given to understand by an usher that he was in the great gallery, he proceeded thither. As he walked softly along the polished oak floor, he heard voices in one of the recesses, and distinguished the tones of Henry and Anne Boleyn.

Henry was clasping the snowy fingers of his favourite, and gazing passionately at her, as the cardinal approached.

"Your majesty shall not detain my hand," said Anne, "unless you swear to me, by your crown, that you will not again be jealous without cause."

"I swear it," replied Henry.

"Were your majesty as devoted to me as you would have me believe, you would soon bring this matter of the divorce to an issue," said Anne.

"I would fain do so, sweetheart," rejoined Henry; "but these cardinals perplex me sorely."

"I am told by one who overheard him, that Wolsey has declared the divorce shall not be settled these two years," said Anne; "in which case it had better not be settled at all; for I care not to avow I cannot brook so much delay. The warmth of my affection will grow icy cold by that time."

"It were enough to try the patience of the most forbearing," rejoined the king, smiling--" but it shall not be so-- by this lily hand it shall not! And now, sweetheart, are we entirely reconciled?

"Not yet," replied Anne. "I shall claim a boon from your majesty before I accord my entire forgiveness."

"Name it," said the king, still clasping her hand tenderly, and intoxicated by the witchery of her glance.

"I ask an important favour," said Anne, "but as it is one which will benefit your majesty as much as myself, I have the less scruple in requesting it. I ask the dismissal of one who has abused your favour, who, by his extortion and rapacity, has in some degree alienated the affections of your subjects from you, and who solely opposes your divorce from Catherine of Arragon because he fears my influence may be prejudicial to him."

"You cannot mean Wolsey?" said Henry uneasily.

"Your majesty has guessed aright," replied Anne.

"Wolsey has incurred my displeasure oft of late," said Henry; "and yet his fidelity--"

"Be not deceived, my liege," said Anne; "he is faithful to you only so far as serves his turn. He thinks he rules you."

Before Henry could reply, the cardinal stepped forward.

"I bring your majesty a despatch, just received from the queen," he said.

"And you have been listening to our discourse? " rejoined Henry sternly. "You have overheard--"

"Enough to convince me, if I had previously doubted it, that the Lady Anne Boleyn is my mortal foe," replied Wolsey.

"Foe though I am, I will make terms with your eminence," said Anne. "Expedite the divorce--you can do so if you will--and I am your fast friend."

"I know too well the value of your friendship, noble lady, not to do all in my power to gain it," replied Wolsey. "I will further the matter, if possible. But it rests chiefly in the hands of his holiness Pope Clement the Seventh."

"If his majesty will listen to my counsel, he will throw off the pope's yoke altogether," rejoined Anne. "Nay, your eminence may frown at me if you will. Such, I repeat, shall be my counsel. If the divorce is speedily obtained, I am your friend: if not--look to yourself."

"Do not appeal to me, Wolsey," said Henry, smiling approval at Anne; "I shall uphold her."

"Will it please your majesty to peruse this despatch? "said Wolsey, again offering Catherine's letter.

"Take it to my closet," replied the king; " I will join you there. And now at last we are good friends, sweetheart."

"Excellent friends, my dear liege," replied Anne; "but I shall never be your queen while Wolsey holds his place."

"Then, indeed, he shall lose it," replied Henry.

"She is a bitter enemy, certes," muttered Wolsey as he walked away. "I must overthrow her quickly, or she will overthrow me. A rival must be found--ay, a rival--but where? I was told that Henry cast eyes on a comely forester's daughter at the chase this morning. She may do for the nonce."


X. Of the Mysterious Disappearance of Herne the Hunter in the Lake.


Unable to procure any mitigation of Surrey's sentence, the Duke of Richmond proceeded to the Round Tower, where he found his friend in a small chamber, endeavouring to beguile his captivity by study.

Richmond endeavoured to console him, and was glad to find him in better spirits than he expected. Early youth is seldom long dejected, and misfortunes, at that buoyant season, seem lighter than they appear later on in life. The cause for which he suffered, moreover, sustained Surrey, and confident of the Fair Geraldine's attachment, he cared little for the restraint imposed upon him. On one point he expressed some regret--namely, his inability to prosecute the adventure of Herne the Hunter with the duke.

"I grieve that I cannot accompany you, Richmond," he said; "but since that is impossible, let me recommend you to take the stout archer who goes by the name of the Duke of Shoreditch with you. He is the very man you require."

After some consideration the duke assented, and, promising to return on the following day and report what had occurred he took his leave, and went in search of the archer in question. Finding he had taken up his quarters at the Garter, he sent for him and proposed the matter.

Shoreditch heard the duke's relation with astonishment, but expressed the greatest willingness to accompany him, pledging himself, as Richmond demanded, to profound secrecy on the subject.

At the appointed hour--namely, midnight--the duke quitted the castle, and found Shoreditch waiting for him near the upper gate. The latter was armed with a stout staff, and a bow and arrows.

"If we gain sight of the mysterious horseman to-night," he said, "a cloth- yard shaft shall try whether he is of mortal mould or not. If he be not a demon, I will warrant he rides no more."

Quitting the Home Park, they shaped their course at once towards the forest. It was a stormy night, and the moon was obscured by thick clouds. Before they reached the hill, at the end of the long avenue, a heavy thunderstorm came on, and the lightning, playing among the trees, seemed to reveal a thousand fantastic forms to their half-blinded gaze. Presently the rain began to descend in torrents, and compelled them to take refuge beneath a large beech-tree.

It was evident, notwithstanding his boasting, that the courage of Shoreditch was waning fast, and he at last proposed to his leader that they should return as soon as the rain abated. But the duke indignantly rejected the proposal.

While they were thus sheltering themselves, the low winding of a horn was heard. The sound was succeeded by the trampling of horses' hoofs, and the next moment a vivid flash of lightning showed a hart darting past, followed by a troop of some twenty ghostly horsemen, headed by the demon hunter.

The Duke of Richmond bade his companion send a shaft after them; but the latter was so overcome by terror that he could scarcely fix an arrow on the string, and when he bent the bow, the shaft glanced from the branches of an adjoining tree.

The storm continued with unabated fury for nearly an hour, at the expiration of which time it partially cleared off, and though it was still profoundly dark, the duke insisted upon going on. So they pressed forward beneath the dripping trees and through the wet grass. Ever and anon the moon broke through the rifted clouds, and shed a wild glimmer upon the scene.

As they were tracking a glade on the farther side of the hill, the spectral huntsmen again swept past them, and so closely that they could almost touch their horses. To the duke's horror, he perceived among them the body of the butcher, Mark Fytton, sitting erect upon a powerful black steed.

By this time, Shoreditch, having somewhat regained his courage, discharged another shaft at the troop. The arrow struck the body of the butcher, and completely transfixed it, but did not check his career; while wild and derisive laughter broke from the rest of the cavalcade.

The Duke of Richmond hurried after the band, trying to keep them in sight; and Shoreditch, flinging down his bow, which he found useless, and grasping his staff, endeavoured to keep