CHAPTER X.
THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY OF THE EARL--THE ROYAL CAPTIVE IN THE TOWER--THE
MEETING BETWEEN KING-MAKER AND KING.
All in the chambers of the metropolitan fortress exhibited the
greatest confusion and dismay. The sentinels, it is true, were still
at their posts, men-at-arms at the outworks, the bombards were loaded,
the flag of Edward IV. still waved aloft from the battlements; but the
officers of the fortress and the captains of its soldiery were, some
assembled in the old hall, pale with fear, and wrangling with each
other; some had fled, none knew whither; some had gone avowedly and
openly to join the invading army.
Through this tumultuous and feeble force, Nicholas Alwyn was conducted
by a single faithful servitor of the queen's (by whom he was
expected); and one glance of his quick eye, as he passed along,
convinced him of the justice of his counsels. He arrived at last, by
a long and winding stair, at one of the loftiest chambers, in one of
the loftiest towers, usually appropriated to the subordinate officers
of the household.
And there, standing by the open casement, commanding some extended
view of the noisy and crowded scene beyond, both on stream and land,
he saw the queen of the fugitive monarch. By her side was the Lady
Scrope, her most familiar friend and confidant, her three infant
children, Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely, grouped round her knees,
playing with each other, and unconscious of the terrors of the times;
and apart from the rest stood the Duchess of Bedford, conferring
eagerly with Friar Bungey, whom she had summoned in haste, to know if
his art could not yet prevail over enemies merely mortal.
The servitor announced Alwyn, and retired; the queen turned--"What
news, Master Alwyn? Quick! What tidings from the lord mayor?"
"Gracious my queen and lady," said Alwyn, falling on his knees, "you
have but one course to pursue. Below yon casement lies your barge, to
the right see the round gray tower of Westminster Sanctuary; you have
time yet, and but time!"
The old Duchess of Bedford turned her sharp, bright, gray eyes from
the pale and trembling friar to the goldsmith, but was silent. The
queen stood aghast. "Mean you," she faltered, at last, "that the city
of London forsakes the king? Shame on the cravens!"
"Not cravens, my lady and queen," said Alwyn, rising. "He must have
iron nails that scratches a bear,--and the white bear above all. The
king has fled, the barons have fled, the soldiers have fled, the
captains have fled,--the citizens of London alone fly not; but there
is nothing save life and property left to guard."
"Is this thy boasted influence with the commons and youths of the
city?"
"My humble influence, may it please your Grace (I say it now openly,
and I will say it a year hence, when King Edward will hold his court
in these halls once again), my influence, such as it is, has been used
to save lives which resistance would waste in vain. Alack, alack!
'No gaping against an oven,' gracious lady! Your barge is below.
Again I say there is yet time,--when the bell tolls the next hour that
time will be past!"
"Then Jesu defend these children!" said Elizabeth, bending over her
infants, and weeping bitterly; "I will go!"
"Hold!" said the Duchess of Bedford, "men desert us, but do the
spirits also forsake us?--Speak, friar! canst thou yet do aught for
us?--and if not, thinkest thou it is the right hour to yield and fly?"
"Daughter," said the friar, whose terror might have moved pity, "as I
said before, thank yourself. This Warner, this--in short, the lesser
magician hath been aided and cockered to countervail the greater, as I
forewarned. Fly! run! fly! Verily and indeed it is the prosperest of
all times to save ourselves; and the stars and the book and my
familiar all call out, 'Off and away!'"
"'Fore heaven!" exclaimed Alwyn, who had hitherto been dumb with
astonishment at this singular interlude, "sith he who hath shipped the
devil must make the best of him, thou art for once an honest man and a
wise counsellor. Hark! the second gun! The earl is at the gates of
the city!"
The queen lingered no longer; she caught her youngest child in her
arms; the Lady Scrope followed with the two others. "Come, follow,
quick, Master Alwyn," said the duchess, who, now that she was
compelled to abandon the world of prediction and soothsaying, became
thoroughly the sagacious, plotting, ready woman of this life; "come,
your face and name will be of service to us, an' we meet with
obstruction."
Before Alwyn could reply, the door was thrown abruptly open, and
several of the officers of the household rushed pell-mell into the
royal presence.
"Gracious queen!" cried many voices at once, each with a different
sentence of fear and warning, "fly! We cannot depend on the soldiers;
the populace are up,--they shout for King Henry; Dr. Godard is
preaching against you at St. Paul's Cross; Sir Geoffrey Gates has come
out of the sanctuary, and with him all the miscreants and outlaws; the
mayor is now with the rebels! Fly! the sanctuary, the sanctuary!"
"And who amongst you is of highest rank?" asked the duchess, calmly;
for Elizabeth, completely overwhelmed, seemed incapable of speech or
movement.
"I, Giles de Malvoisin, knight banneret," said an old warrior armed
cap-a-pie, who had fought in France under the hero Talbot.
"Then, sir," said the duchess, with majesty, "to your hands I confide
the eldest daughter of your king. Lead on!--we follow you.
Elizabeth, lean on me."
With this, supporting Elizabeth, and leading her second grandchild,
the duchess left the chamber.
The friar followed amidst the crowd, for well he knew that if the
soldiers of Warwick once caught hold of him, he had fared about as
happily as the fox amidst the dogs; and Alwyn, forgotten in the
general confusion, hastened to Adam's chamber.
The old man, blessing any cause that induced his patroness to dispense
with his astrological labours and restored him to the care of his
Eureka, was calmly and quietly employed in repairing the mischief
effected by the bungling friar; and Sibyll, who at the first alarm had
flown to his retreat, joyfully hailed the entrance of the friendly
goldsmith.
Alwyn was indeed perplexed what to advise, for the principal sanctuary
would, no doubt, be crowded by ruffians of the worst character; and
the better lodgments which that place, a little town in itself, [the
Sanctuary of Westminster was fortified] contained, be already
preoccupied by the Yorkists of rank; and the smaller sanctuaries were
still more liable to the same objection. Moreover, if Adam should be
recognized by any of the rabble that would meet them by the way, his
fate, by the summary malice of a mob, was certain. After all, the
Tower would be free from the populace; and as soon as, by a few rapid
questions, Alwyn learned from Sibyll that she had reason to hope her
father would find protection with Lord Warwick, and called to mind
that Marmaduke Nevile was necessarily in the earl's train, he advised
them to remain quiet and concealed in their apartments, and promised
to see and provide for them the moment the Tower was yielded up to the
new government.
The counsel suited both Sibyll and Warner. Indeed, the philosopher
could not very easily have been induced to separate himself again from
the beloved Eureka; and Sibyll was more occupied at that hour with
thoughts and prayers for the beloved Hastings,--afar, a wanderer and
an exile,--than with the turbulent events amidst which her lot was
cast.
In the storms of a revolution which convulsed a kingdom and hurled to
the dust a throne, Love saw but a single object, Science but its
tranquil toil. Beyond the realm of men lies ever with its joy and
sorrow, its vicissitude and change, the domain of the human heart. In
the revolution, the toy of the scholar was restored to him; in the
revolution, the maiden mourned her lover. In the movement of the
mass, each unit hath its separate passion. The blast that rocks the
trees shakes a different world in every leaf.
