CHAPTER X.
HOW THE GREAT LORDS COME TO THE KING-MAKER, AND WITH WHAT PROFFERS.
Mastering the emotions that swelled within him, Lord Warwick returned
with his wonted cheerful courtesy the welcome of the crowd and the
enthusiastic salutation of the king's guard; but as, at length, he
mounted his steed, and attended but by the squire who had followed him
from Dover, penetrated into the solitudes of the chase, the
recollection of the indignity he had suffered smote his proud heart so
sorely that he groaned aloud. His squire, fearing the fatigue he had
undergone might have affected even that iron health, rode up at the
sound of the groan, and Warwick's face was hueless as he said, with a
forced smile, "It is nothing, Walter. But these heats are oppressive,
and we have forgotten our morning draught, friend. Hark! I hear the
brawl of a rivulet, and a drink of fresh water were more grateful now
than the daintiest hippocras." So saying, he flung himself from his
steed; following the sound of the rivulet, he gained its banks, and
after quenching his thirst in the hollow of his hand, laid himself
down upon the long grass, waving coolly over the margin, and fell into
profound thought. From this revery he was aroused by a quick
footstep, and as he lifted his gloomy gaze, he beheld Marmaduke Nevile
by his side.
"Well, young man," said he, sternly, "with what messages art thou
charged?"
"With none, my lord earl. I await now no commands but thine."
"Thou knowest not, poor youth, that I can serve thee no more. Go back
to the court."
"Oh, Warwick," said Marmaduke, with simple eloquence, "send me not
from thy side! This day I have been rejected by the maid I loved. I
loved her well, and my heart chafed sorely, and bled within! but now,
methinks, it consoles me to have been so cast off,--to have no faith,
no love, but that which is best of all, to a brave man,--love and
faith for a hero-chief! Where thy fortunes, there be my humble fate,
--to rise or fall with thee!"
Warwick looked intently upon his young kinsman's face, and said, as to
himself, "Why, this is strange! I gave no throne to this man, and he
deserts me not! My friend," he added aloud, "have they told thee
already that I am disgraced?"
"I heard the Lord Scales say to the young Lovell that thou wert
dismissed from all thine offices; and I came hither; for I will serve
no more the king who forgets the arm and heart to which he owes a
kingdom."
"Man, I accept thy loyalty!" exclaimed Warwick, starting to his feet;
"and know that thou hast done more to melt and yet to nerve my spirit
than--But complaints in one are idle, and praise were no reward to
thee."
"But see, my lord, if the first to join thee, I am not the sole one.
See, brave Raoul de Fulke, the Lords of St. John, Bergavenny, and
Fitzhugh, ay, and fifty others of the best blood of England, are on
thy track."
And as he spoke, plumes and tunics were seen gleaming up the forest
path, and in another moment a troop of knights and gentlemen,
comprising the flower of such of the ancient nobility as yet lingered
round the court, came up to Warwick, bareheaded.
"Is it possible," cried Raoul de Fulke, "that we have heard aright,
noble earl? And has Edward IV. suffered the base Woodvilles to
triumph over the bulwark of his realm?"
"Knights and gentles!" said Warwick, with a bitter smile, "is it so
uncommon a thing that men in peace should leave the battle-axe and
brand to rust? I am but a useless weapon, to be suspended at rest
amongst the trophies of Towton in my hall of Middleham."
"Return with us," said the Lord of St. John, "and we will make Edward
do thee justice, or, one and all, we will abandon a court where knaves
and varlets have become mightier than English valour and nobler than
Norman birth."
"My friends," said the earl, laying his hand on St. John's shoulder,
"not even in my just wrath will I wrong my king. He is punished eno'
in the choice he hath made. Poor Edward and poor England! What woes
and wars await ye both, from the gold and the craft and the unsparing
hate of Louis XI! No; if I leave Edward, he hath more need of you.
Of mine own free will I have resigned mine offices."
"Warwick," interrupted Raoul de Fulke, "this deceives us not; and in
disgrace to you the ancient barons of England behold the first blow at
their own state. We have wrongs we endured in silence while thou wert
the shield and sword of yon merchant-king. We have seen the ancient
peers of England set aside for men of yesterday; we have seen our
daughters, sisters,--nay, our very mothers, if widowed and dowered,--
forced into disreputable and base wedlock with creatures dressed in
titles, and gilded with wealth stolen from ourselves. Merchants and
artificers tread upon our knightly heels, and the avarice of trade
eats up our chivalry as a rust. We nobles, in our greater day, have
had the crown at our disposal, and William the Norman dared not think
what Edward Earl of March hath been permitted with impunity to do.
We, Sir Earl--we knights and barons--would a king simple in his
manhood and princely in his truth. Richard Earl of Warwick, thou art
of royal blood, the descendant of old John of Gaunt. In thee we
behold the true, the living likeness of the Third Edward, and the
Hero-Prince of Cressy. Speak but the word, and we make thee king!"
The descendant of the Norman, the representative of the mighty faction
that no English monarch had ever braved in vain, looked round as he
said these last words, and a choral murmur was heard through the whole
of that august nobility, "We make thee king!"
"Richard, descendant of the Plantagenet, [By the female side, through
Joan Beaufort, or Plantagenet, Warwick was third in descent from John
of Gaunt, as Henry VII., through the male line, was fourth in
descent.] speak the word," repeated Raoul de Fulke.
"I speak it not," interrupted Warwick; "nor shalt thou continue, brave
Raoul de Fulke. What, my lords and gentlemen," he added, drawing
himself up, and with his countenance animated with feelings it is
scarcely possible in our times to sympathize with or make clear--
"what! think you that Ambition limits itself to the narrow circlet of
a crown Greater, and more in the spirit of our mighty fathers, is the
condition of men like us, THE BARONS who make and unmake kings. What!
who of us would not rather descend from the chiefs of Runnymede than
from the royal craven whom they controlled and chid? By Heaven, my
lords, Richard Nevile has too proud a soul to be a king! A king--a
puppet of state and form; a king--a holiday show for the crowd, to
hiss or hurrah, as the humour seizes; a king--a beggar to the nation,
wrangling with his parliament for gold! A king!--Richard II. was a
king, and Lancaster dethroned him. Ye would debase me to a Henry of
Lancaster. Mort Dieu! I thank ye. The Commons and the Lords raised
him, forsooth,--for what? To hold him as the creature they had made,
to rate him, to chafe him, to pry into his very household, and quarrel
with his wife's chamberlains and lavourers. [Laundresses. The
parliamentary rolls, in the reign of Henry IV., abound in curious
specimens of the interference of the Commons with the household of
Henry's wife, Queen Joan.] What! dear Raoul de Fulke, is thy friend
fallen now so low, that he--Earl of Salisbury and of Warwick, chief of
the threefold race of Montagu, Monthermer, and Nevile, lord of a
hundred baronies, leader of sixty thousand followers--is not greater
than Edward of March, to whom we will deign still, with your
permission, to vouchsafe the name and pageant of a king?"
This extraordinary address, strange to say, so thoroughly expressed
the peculiar pride of the old barons, that when it ceased a sound of
admiration and applause circled through that haughty audience, and
Raoul de Fulke, kneeling suddenly, kissed the earl's hand. "Oh, noble
earl," he said, "ever live as one of us, to maintain our order, and
teach kings and nations what WE are."
"Fear it not, Raoul! fear it not,--we will have our rights yet.
Return, I beseech ye. Let me feel I have such friends about the king.
Even at Middleham my eye shall watch over our common cause; and till
seven feet of earth suffice him, your brother baron, Richard Nevile,
is not a man whom kings and courts can forget, much less dishonour.
Sirs, our honour is in our bosoms,--and there is the only throne
armies cannot shake, nor cozeners undermine."
With these words he gently waved his hand, motioned to his squire, who
stood out of hearing with the steeds, to approach, and mounting,
gravely rode on. Ere he had got many paces, he called to Marmaduke,
who was on foot, and bade him follow him to London that night. "I
have strange tidings to tell the French envoys, and for England's sake
I must soothe their anger, if I can,--then to Middleham."
The nobles returned slowly to the pavilions. And as they gained the
open space, where the gaudy tents still shone against the setting sun,
they beheld the mob of that day, whom Shakspeare hath painted with
such contempt, gathering, laughing and loud, around the mountebank and
the conjurer, who had already replaced in their thoughts (as
Gloucester had foreseen) the hero-idol of their worship.
