BOOK I.
THE ADVENTURES OF MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE.
CHAPTER I.
THE PASTIME-GROUND OF OLD COCKAIGNE.
Westward, beyond the still pleasant, but even then no longer solitary,
hamlet of Charing, a broad space, broken here and there by scattered
houses and venerable pollards, in the early spring of 1467, presented
the rural scene for the sports and pastimes of the inhabitants of
Westminster and London. Scarcely need we say that open spaces for the
popular games and diversions were then numerous in the suburbs of the
metropolis,--grateful to some the fresh pools of Islington; to others,
the grass-bare fields of Finsbury; to all, the hedgeless plains of
vast Mile-end. But the site to which we are now summoned was a new
and maiden holiday-ground, lately bestowed upon the townsfolk of
Westminster by the powerful Earl of Warwick.
Raised by a verdant slope above the low, marsh-grown soil of
Westminster, the ground communicated to the left with the Brook-
fields, through which stole the peaceful Ty-bourne, and commanded
prospects, on all sides fair, and on each side varied. Behind, rose
the twin green hills of Hampstead and Highgate, with the upland park
and chase of Marybone,--its stately manor-house half hid in woods. In
front might be seen the Convent of the Lepers, dedicated to Saint
James, now a palace; then to the left, York House, [The residence of
the Archbishops of York] now Whitehall; farther on, the spires of
Westminster Abbey and the gloomy tower of the Sanctuary; next, the
Palace, with its bulwark and vawmure, soaring from the river; while
eastward, and nearer to the scene, stretched the long, bush-grown
passage of the Strand, picturesquely varied with bridges, and flanked
to the right by the embattled halls of feudal nobles, or the inns of
the no less powerful prelates; while sombre and huge amidst hall and
inn, loomed the gigantic ruins of the Savoy, demolished in the
insurrection of Wat Tyler. Farther on, and farther yet, the eye
wandered over tower and gate, and arch and spire, with frequent
glimpses of the broad sunlit river, and the opposite shore crowned by
the palace of Lambeth, and the Church of St. Mary Overies, till the
indistinct cluster of battlements around the Fortress-Palatine bounded
the curious gaze. As whatever is new is for a while popular, so to
this pastime-ground, on the day we treat of, flocked, not only the
idlers of Westminster, but the lordly dwellers of Ludgate and the
Flete, and the wealthy citizens of tumultuous Chepe.
The ground was well suited to the purpose to which it was devoted.
About the outskirts, indeed, there were swamps and fish-pools; but a
considerable plot towards the centre presented a level sward, already
worn bare and brown by the feet of the multitude. From this, towards
the left, extended alleys, some recently planted, intended to afford,
in summer, cool and shady places for the favourite game of bowls;
while scattered clumps, chiefly of old pollards, to the right broke
the space agreeably enough into detached portions, each of which
afforded its separate pastime or diversion. Around were ranged many
carts, or wagons; horses of all sorts and value were led to and fro,
while their owners were at sport. Tents, awnings, hostelries,
temporary buildings, stages for showmen and jugglers, abounded, and
gave the scene the appearance of a fair; but what particularly now
demands our attention was a broad plot in the ground, dedicated to the
noble diversion of archery. The reigning House of York owed much of
its military success to the superiority of the bowmen under its
banners, and the Londoners themselves were jealous of their reputation
in this martial accomplishment. For the last fifty years,
notwithstanding the warlike nature of the times, the practice of the
bow, in the intervals of peace, had been more neglected than seemed
wise to the rulers. Both the king and his loyal city had of late
taken much pains to enforce the due exercise of "Goddes instrumente,"
[So called emphatically by Bishop Latimer, in his celebrated Sixth
Sermon.] upon which an edict had declared that "the liberties and
honour of England principally rested!"
And numerous now was the attendance, not only of the citizens, the
burghers, and the idle populace, but of the gallant nobles who
surrounded the court of Edward IV., then in the prime of his youth,--
the handsomest, the gayest, and the bravest prince in Christendom.
The royal tournaments (which were, however, waning from their ancient
lustre to kindle afresh, and to expire in the reigns of the succeeding
Tudors), restricted to the amusements of knight and noble, no doubt
presented more of pomp and splendour than the motley and mixed
assembly of all ranks that now grouped around the competitors for the
silver arrow, or listened to the itinerant jongleur, dissour, or
minstrel, or, seated under the stunted shade of the old trees,
indulged, with eager looks and hands often wandering to their dagger-
hilts, in the absorbing passion of the dice; but no later and earlier
scenes of revelry ever, perhaps, exhibited that heartiness of
enjoyment, that universal holiday, which attended this mixture of
every class, that established a rude equality for the hour between the
knight and the retainer, the burgess and the courtier.
The revolution that placed Edward IV. upon the throne had, in fact,
been a popular one. Not only had the valour and moderation of his
father, Richard, Duke of York, bequeathed a heritage of affection to
his brave and accomplished son; not only were the most beloved of the
great barons the leaders of his party; but the king himself, partly
from inclination, partly from policy, spared no pains to win the good
graces of that slowly rising, but even then important part of the
population,--the Middle Class. He was the first king who descended,
without loss of dignity and respect, from the society of his peers and
princes, to join familiarly in the feasts and diversions of the
merchant and the trader. The lord mayor and council of London were
admitted, on more than one solemn occasion, into the deliberations of
the court; and Edward had not long since, on the coronation of his
queen, much to the discontent of certain of his barons, conferred the
Knighthood of the hath upon four of the citizens. On the other hand,
though Edward's gallantries--the only vice which tended to diminish
his popularity with the sober burgesses--were little worthy of his
station, his frank, joyous familiarity with his inferiors was not
debased by the buffooneries that had led to the reverses and the awful
fate of two of his royal predecessors. There must have been a popular
principle, indeed, as well as a popular fancy, involved in the steady
and ardent adherence which the population of London in particular, and
most of the great cities, exhibited to the person and the cause of
Edward IV. There was a feeling that his reign was an advance in
civilization upon the monastic virtues of Henry VI., and the stern
ferocity which accompanied the great qualities of "The Foreign Woman,"
as the people styled and regarded Henry's consort, Margaret of Anjou.
While thus the gifts, the courtesy, and the policy of the young
sovereign made him popular with the middle classes, he owed the
allegiance of the more powerful barons and the favour of the rural
population to a man who stood colossal amidst the iron images of the
Age,--the greatest and the last of the old Norman chivalry, kinglier
in pride, in state, in possessions, and in renown than the king
himself, Richard Nevile, Earl of Salisbury and Warwick.
This princely personage, in the full vigour of his age, possessed all
the attributes that endear the noble to the commons. His valour in
the field was accompanied with a generosity rare in the captains of
the time. He valued himself on sharing the perils and the hardships
of his meanest soldier. His haughtiness to the great was not
incompatible with frank affability to the lowly. His wealth was
enormous, but it was equalled by his magnificence, and rendered
popular by his lavish hospitality. No less than thirty thousand
persons are said to have feasted daily at the open tables with which
he allured to his countless castles the strong hands and grateful
hearts of a martial and unsettled population. More haughty than
ambitious, he was feared because he avenged all affront; and yet not
envied, because he seemed above all favour.
The holiday on the archery-ground was more than usually gay, for the
rumour had spread from the court to the city that Edward was about to
increase his power abroad, and to repair what he had lost in the eyes
of Europe through his marriage with Elizabeth Gray, by allying his
sister Margaret with the brother of Louis XI., and that no less a
person than the Earl of Warwick had been the day before selected as
ambassador on the important occasion.
Various opinions were entertained upon the preference given to France
in this alliance over the rival candidate for the hand of the
princess,--namely, the Count de Charolois, afterwards Charles the
Bold, Duke of Burgundy.
"By 'r Lady," said a stout citizen about the age of fifty, "but I am
not over pleased with this French marriage-making! I would liefer the
stout earl were going to France with bows and bills than sarcenets and
satins. What will become of our trade with Flanders,--answer me that,
Master Stokton? The House of York is a good House, and the king is a
good king, but trade is trade. Every man must draw water to his own
mill."
"Hush, Master Heyford!" said a small lean man in a light-gray surcoat.
"The king loves not talk about what the king does. 'T is ill jesting
with lions. Remember William Walker, hanged for saying his son should
be heir to the crown."
"Troth," answered Master Heyford, nothing daunted, for he belonged to
one of the most powerful corporations of London,--it was but a scurvy
Pepperer [old name for Grocer] who made that joke; but a joke from a
worshipful goldsmith, who has moneys and influence, and a fair wife of
his own, whom the king himself has been pleased to commend, is another
guess sort of matter. But here is my grave-visaged headman, who
always contrives to pick up the last gossip astir, and has a deep eye
into millstones. Why, ho, there! Alwyn--I say, Nicholas Alwyn!--who
would have thought to see thee with that bow, a good half-ell taller
than thyself? Methought thou wert too sober and studious for such
man-at-arms sort of devilry."
"An' it please you, Master Heyford," answered the person thus
addressed,--a young man, pale and lean, though sinewy and large-boned,
with a countenance of great intelligence, but a slow and somewhat
formal manner of speech, and a strong provincial accent,--"an' it
please you, King Edward's edict ordains every Englishman to have a bow
of his own height; and he who neglects the shaft on a holiday
forfeiteth one halfpenny and some honour. For the rest, methinks that
the citizens of London will become of more worth and potency every
year; and it shall not be my fault if I do not, though but a humble
headman to your worshipful mastership, help to make them so."
"Why, that's well said, lad; but if the Londoners prosper, it is
because they have nobles in their gipsires, [a kind of pouch worn at
the girdle] not bows in their hands."
"Thinkest thou then, Master Heyford, that any king at a pinch would
leave them the gipsire, if they could not protect it with the bow?
That Age may have gold, let not Youth despise iron."
"Body o' me!" cried Master Heyford, "but thou hadst better curb in thy
tongue. Though I have my jest,--as a rich man and a corpulent,--a lad
who has his way to make good should be silent and--But he's gone."
"Where hooked you up that young jack fish?" said Master Stokton, the
thin mercer, who had reminded the goldsmith of the fate of the grocer.
"Why, he was meant for the cowl, but his mother, a widow, at his own
wish, let him make choice of the flat cap. He was the best 'prentice
ever I had. By the blood of Saint Thomas, he will push his way in
good time; he has a head, Master Stokton,--a head, and an ear; and a
great big pair of eyes always looking out for something to his proper
advantage."
In the mean while, the goldsmith's headman had walked leisurely up to
the archery-ground; and even in his gait and walk, as he thus repaired
to a pastime, there was something steady, staid, and business-like.
The youths of his class and calling were at that day very different
from their equals in this. Many of them the sons of provincial
retainers, some even of franklins and gentlemen, their childhood had
made them familiar with the splendour and the sports of knighthood;
they had learned to wrestle, to cudgel, to pitch the bar or the quoit,
to draw the bow, and to practise the sword and buckler, before
transplanted from the village green to the city stall. And even then,
the constant broils and wars of the time, the example of their
betters, the holiday spectacle of mimic strife, and, above all, the
powerful and corporate association they formed amongst themselves,
tended to make them as wild, as jovial, and as dissolute a set of
young fellows as their posterity are now sober, careful, and discreet.
And as Nicholas Alwyn, with a slight inclination of his head, passed
by, two or three loud, swaggering, bold-looking groups of apprentices
--their shaggy hair streaming over their shoulders, their caps on one
side, their short cloaks of blue torn or patched, though still
passably new, their bludgeons under their arms, and their whole
appearance and manner not very dissimilar from the German collegians
in the last century--notably contrasted Alwyn's prim dress, his
precise walk, and the feline care with which he stepped aside from any
patches of mire that might sully the soles of his square-toed shoes.
The idle apprentices winked and whispered, and lolled out their
tongues at him as he passed. "Oh, but that must be as good as a May-
Fair day,--sober Nick Alwyn's maiden flight of the shaft! Hollo,
puissant archer, take care of the goslings yonder! Look this way when
thou pull'st, and then woe to the other side!" Venting these and many
similar specimens of the humour of Cockaigne, the apprentices,
however, followed their quondam colleague, and elbowed their way into
the crowd gathered around the competitors at the butt; and it was at
this spot, commanding a view of the whole space, that the spectator
might well have formed some notion of the vast following of the House
of Nevile. For everywhere along the front lines, everywhere in the
scattered groups, might be seen, glistening in the sunlight, the
armourial badges of that mighty family. The Pied Bull, which was the
proper cognizance [Pied Bull the cognizance, the Dun Bull's head the
crest] of the Neviles, was principally borne by the numerous kinsmen
of Earl Warwick, who rejoiced in the Nevile name. The Lord Montagu,
Warwick's brother, to whom the king had granted the forfeit title and
estates of the earls of Northumberland, distinguished his own
retainers, however, by the special request of the ancient Montagus.--a
Gryphon issuant from a ducal crown. But far more numerous than Bull
or Gryphon (numerous as either seemed) were the badges worn by those
who ranked themselves among the peculiar followers of the great Earl
of Warwick. The cognizance of the Bear and Ragged Staff, which he
assumed in right of the Beauchamps, whom he represented through his
wife, the heiress of the lords of Warwick, was worn in the hats of the
more gentle and well-born clansmen and followers, while the Ragged
Staff alone was worked front and back on the scarlet jackets of his
more humble and personal retainers. It was a matter of popular notice
and admiration that in those who wore these badges, as in the wearers
of the hat and staff of the ancient Spartans, might be traced a grave
loftiness of bearing, as if they belonged to another caste, another
race, than the herd of men. Near the place where the rivals for the
silver arrow were collected, a lordly party had reined in their
palfreys, and conversed with each other, as the judges of the field
were marshalling the competitors.
"Who," said one of these gallants, "who is that comely young fellow
just below us, with the Nevile cognizance of the Bull on his hat? He
has the air of one I should know."
"I never saw him before, my Lord of Northumberland," answered one of
the gentlemen thus addressed; "but, pardieu, he who knows all the
Neviles by eye must know half England." The Lord Montagu--for though
at that moment invested with the titles of the Percy, by that name
Earl Warwick's brother is known to history, and by that, his rightful
name, he shall therefore be designated in these pages--the Lord
Montagu smiled graciously at this remark, and a murmur through the
crowd announced that the competition for the silver arrow was about to
commence. The butts, formed of turf, with a small white mark fastened
to the centre by a very minute peg, were placed apart, one at each
end, at the distance of eleven score yards. At the extremity where
the shooting commenced, the crowd assembled, taking care to keep clear
from the opposite butt, as the warning word of "Fast" was thundered
forth; but eager was the general murmur, and many were the wagers
given and accepted, as some well-known archer tried his chance. Near
the butt that now formed the target, stood the marker with his white
wand; and the rapidity with which archer after archer discharged his
shaft, and then, if it missed, hurried across the ground to pick it up
(for arrows were dear enough not to be lightly lost), amidst the jeers
and laughter of the bystanders, was highly animated and diverting. As
yet, however, no marksman had hit the white, though many had gone
close to it, when Nicholas Alwyn stepped forward; and there was
something so unwarlike in his whole air, so prim in his gait, so
careful in his deliberate survey of the shaft and his precise
adjustment of the leathern gauntlet that protected the arm from the
painful twang of the string, that a general burst of laughter from the
bystanders attested their anticipation of a signal failure.
"'Fore Heaven!" said Montagu, "he handles his bow an' it were a yard-
measure. One would think he were about to bargain for the bow-string,
he eyes it so closely."
"And now," said Nicholas, slowly adjusting the arrow, "a shot for the
honour of old Westmoreland!" And as he spoke, the arrow sprang
gallantly forth, and quivered in the very heart of the white. There
was a general movement of surprise among the spectators, as the marker
thrice shook his wand over his head. But Alwyn, as indifferent to
their respect as he had been to their ridicule, turned round and said,
with a significant glance at the silent nobles, "We springals of
London can take care of our own, if need be."
"These fellows wax insolent. Our good king spoils them," said
Montagu, with a curl of his lip. "I wish some young squire of gentle
blood would not disdain a shot for the Nevile against the craftsman.
How say you, fair sir?" And with a princely courtesy of mien and
smile, Lord Montagu turned to the young man he had noticed as wearing
the cognizance of the First House in England. The bow was not the
customary weapon of the well-born; but still, in youth, its exercise
formed one of the accomplishments of the future knight; and even
princes did not disdain, on a popular holiday, to match a shaft
against the yeoman's cloth-yard. [At a later period, Henry VIII. was
a match for the best bowman in his kingdom. His accomplishment was
hereditary, and distinguished alike his wise father and his pious
son.] The young man thus addressed, and whose honest, open, handsome,
hardy face augured a frank and fearless nature, bowed his head in
silence, and then slowly advancing to the umpires, craved permission
to essay his skill, and to borrow the loan of a shaft and bow. Leave
given and the weapons lent, as the young gentleman took his stand, his
comely person, his dress, of a better quality than that of the
competitors hitherto, and, above all, the Nevile badge worked in
silver on his hat, diverted the general attention from Nicholas Alwyn.
A mob is usually inclined to aristocratic predilections, and a murmur
of goodwill and expectation greeted him, when he put aside the
gauntlet offered to him, and said, "In my youth I was taught so to
brace the bow that the string should not touch the arm; and though
eleven score yards be but a boy's distance, a good archer will lay his
body into his bow ["My father taught me to lay my body in my bow,"
etc., said Latimer, in his well-known sermon before Edward VI.,--1549.
The bishop also herein observes that "it is best to give the bow so
much bending that the string need never touch the arm. This," he
adds, "is practised by many good archers with whom I am acquainted."]
as much as if he were to hit the blanc four hundred yards away."
"A tall fellow this!" said Montagu; "and one I wot from the North," as
the young gallant fitted the shaft to the bow. And graceful and
artistic was the attitude he assumed,--the head slightly inclined, the
feet firmly planted, the left a little in advance, and the stretched
sinews of the bow-hand alone evincing that into that grasp was pressed
the whole strength of the easy and careless frame. The public
expectation was not disappointed,--the youth performed the feat
considered of all the most dexterous; his arrow, disdaining the white
mark, struck the small peg which fastened it to the butts, and which
seemed literally invisible to the bystanders.
"Holy Saint Dunstan! there's but one man who can beat me in that sort
that I know of," muttered Nicholas, "and I little expected to see him
take a bite out of his own hip." With that he approached his
successful rival.
"Well, Master Marmaduke," said he, "it is many a year since you showed
me that trick at your father, Sir Guy's--God rest him! But I scarce
take it kind in you to beat your own countryman!"
"Beshrew me!" cried the youth, and his cheerful features brightened
into hearty and cordial pleasure, "but if I see in thee, as it seems
to me, my old friend and foster-brother, Nick Alwyn, this is the
happiest hour I have known for many a day. But stand back and let me
look at thee, man. Thou! thou a tame London trader! Ha! ha! is it
possible?"
"Hout, Master Marmaduke," answered Nicholas, "every crow thinks his
own baird bonniest, as they say in the North. We will talk of this
anon an' thou wilt honour me. I suspect the archery is over now. Few
will think to mend that shot."
And here, indeed, the umpires advanced, and their chief--an old
mercer, who had once borne arms, and indeed been a volunteer at the
battle of Towton--declared that the contest was over,--"unless," he
added, in the spirit of a lingering fellow-feeling with the Londoner,
"this young fellow, whom I hope to see an alderman one of these days,
will demand another shot, for as yet there hath been but one prick
each at the butts."
"Nay, master," returned Alwyn, "I have met with my betters,--and,
after all," he added indifferently, "the silver arrow, though a pretty
bauble enough, is over light in its weight."
"Worshipful sir," said the young Nevile, with equal generosity, "I
cannot accept the prize for a mere trick of the craft,--the blanc was
already disposed of by Master Alwyn's arrow. Moreover; the contest
was intended for the Londoners, and I am but an interloper, beholden
to their courtesy for a practice of skill, and even the loan of a bow;
wherefore the silver arrow be given to Nicholas Alwyn."
"That may not be, gentle sir," said the umpire, extending the prize.
"Sith Alwyn vails of himself, it is thine, by might and by right."
The Lord Montagu had not been inattentive to this dialogue, and he now
said, in a loud tone that silenced the crowd, "Young Badgeman, thy
gallantry pleases me no less than thy skill. Take the arrow, for thou
hast won it; but as thou seemest a new comer, it is right thou
shouldst pay thy tax upon entry,--this be my task. Come hither, I
pray thee, good sir," and the nobleman graciously beckoned to the
mercer; "be these five nobles the prize of whatever Londoner shall
acquit himself best in the bold English combat of quarter-staff, and
the prize be given in this young archer's name. Thy name, youth?"
"Marmaduke Nevile, good my lord."
Montagu smiled, and the umpire withdrew to make the announcement to
the bystanders. The proclamation was received with a shout that
traversed from group to group and line to line, more hearty from the
love and honour attached to the name of Nevile than even from a sense
of the gracious generosity of Earl Warwick's brother. One man alone,
a sturdy, well-knit fellow, in a franklin's Lincoln broadcloth, and
with a hood half-drawn over his features, did not join the popular
applause. "These Yorkists," he muttered, "know well how to fool the
people."
Meanwhile the young Nevile still stood by the gilded stirrup of the
great noble who had thus honoured him, and contemplated him with that
respect and interest which a youth's ambition ever feels for those who
have won a name.
The Lord Montagu bore a very different character from his puissant
brother. Though so skilful a captain that he had never been known to
lose a battle, his fame as a warrior was, strange to say, below that
of the great earl, whose prodigious strength had accomplished those
personal feats that dazzled the populace, and revived the legendary
renown of the earlier Norman knighthood. The caution and wariness,
indeed, which Montagu displayed in battle probably caused his success
as a general, and the injustice done to him (at least by the vulgar)
as a soldier. Rarely had Lord Montagu, though his courage was
indisputable, been known to mix personally in the affray. Like the
captains of modern times, he contented himself with directing the
manoeuvres of his men, and hence preserved that inestimable advantage
of coolness and calculation, which was not always characteristic of
the eager hardihood of his brother. The character of Montagu differed
yet more from that of the earl in peace than in war. He was supposed
to excel in all those supple arts of the courtier which Warwick
neglected or despised; and if the last was on great occasions the
adviser, the other in ordinary life was the companion of his
sovereign. Warwick owed his popularity to his own large, open,
daring, and lavish nature. The subtler Montagu sought to win, by care
and pains, what the other obtained without an effort. He attended the
various holiday meetings of the citizens, where Warwick was rarely
seen. He was smooth-spoken and courteous to his equals, and generally
affable, though with constraint, to his inferiors. He was a close
observer, and not without that genius for intrigue, which in rude ages
passes for the talent of a statesman. And yet in that thorough
knowledge of the habits and tastes of the great mass, which gives
wisdom to a ruler, he was far inferior to the earl. In common with
his brother, he was gifted with the majesty of mien which imposes on
the eye; and his port and countenance were such as became the prodigal
expense of velvet, minever, gold, and jewels, by which the gorgeous
magnates of the day communicated to their appearance the arrogant
splendour of their power.
"Young gentleman," said the earl, after eying with some attention the
comely archer, "I am pleased that you bear the name of Nevile.
Vouchsafe to inform me to what scion of our House we are this day
indebted for the credit with which you have upborne its cognizance?"
"I fear," answered the youth, with a slight but not ungraceful
hesitation, "that my lord of Montagu and Northumberland will hardly
forgive the presumption with which I have intruded upon this assembly
a name borne by nobles so illustrious, especially if it belong to
those less fortunate branches of his family which have taken a
different side from himself in the late unhappy commotions. My father
was Sir Guy Nevile, of Arsdale, in Westmoreland."
Lord Montagu's lip lost its gracious smile; he glanced quickly at the
courtiers round him, and said gravely, "I grieve to hear it. Had I
known this, certes my gipsire had still been five nobles the richer.
It becomes not one fresh from the favour of King Edward IV. to show
countenance to the son of a man, kinsman though he was, who bore arms
for the usurpers of Lancaster. I pray thee, sir, to doff, henceforth,
a badge dedicated only to the service of Royal York. No more, young
man; we may not listen to the son of Sir Guy Nevile.--Sirs, shall we
ride to see how the Londoners thrive at quarter-staff?"
With that, Montagu, deigning no further regard at Nevile, wheeled his,
palfrey towards a distant part of the ground, to which the multitude
was already pressing its turbulent and noisy way.
"Thou art hard on thy namesake, fair my lord," said a young noble, in
whose dark-auburn hair, aquiline, haughty features, spare but powerful
frame, and inexpressible air of authority and command, were found all
the attributes of the purest and eldest Norman race,--the Patricians
of the World.
"Dear Raoul de Fulke," returned Montagu, coldly, "when thou hast
reached my age of thirty and four, thou wilt learn that no man's
fortune casts so broad a shadow as to shelter from the storm the
victims of a fallen cause."
"Not so would say thy bold brother," answered Raoul de Fulke, with a
slight curl of his proud lip. "And I hold, with him, that no king is
so sacred that we should render to his resentments our own kith and
kin. God's wot, whosoever wears the badge and springs from the stem
of Raoul de Fulke shall never find me question over much whether his
father fought for York or Lancaster."
"Hush, rash babbler!" said Montagu, laughing gently; "what would King
Edward say if this speech reached his ears? Our friend," added the
courtier, turning to the rest, "in vain would bar the tide of change;
and in this our New England, begirt with new men and new fashions,
affect the feudal baronage of the worn-out Norman. But thou art a
gallant knight, De Fulke, though a poor courtier."
"The saints keep me so!" returned De Fulke. "From overgluttony, from
over wine-bibbing, from cringing to a king's leman, from quaking at a
king's frown, from unbonneting to a greasy mob, from marrying an old
crone for vile gold, may the saints ever keep Raoul de Fulke and his
sons! Amen!" This speech, in which every sentence struck its
stinging satire into one or other of the listeners, was succeeded by
an awkward silence, which Montagu was the first to break.
"Pardieu!" he said, "when did Lord Hastings leave us, and what fair
face can have lured the truant?"
"He left us suddenly on the archery-ground," answered the young
Lovell. "But as well might we track the breeze to the rose as Lord
William's sigh to maid or matron."
While thus conversed the cavaliers, and their plumes waved, and their
mantles glittered along the broken ground, Marmaduke Nevile's eye
pursued the horsemen with all that bitter feeling of wounded pride and
impotent resentment with which Youth regards the first insult it
receives from Power.
