Chapter IV: Part 4

The ostensible reasons were plausible. The Archbishop of York, said the conspirators, was covetous and arrogant, and took liberties with the King: which of course meant that equal liberties were not allowed to themselves, the Archbishop being in reality one of the gentlest and most unworldly of men. The Duke of Ireland was "a puppy;" he made the King do whatever he liked, and bestow on him lands, titles, and offices (instead of on the conspirators). The Earl of Suffolk was a mere nobody, the scum of the earth, yet he took upon himself to dictate to the King and to oppose the nobles. Sir Simon Burley had proposed, under colour of an expected invasion of the French, to remove the shrine of St. Thomas from Canterbury Cathedral to Dover Castle, on the pretence that Canterbury was not so strong as Dover: of course he could only mean to pocket the rich offerings, and make his own profit out of the guardianship of the shrine. All of them were accused of defalcations of the Crown revenues.

There was a further charge against Ireland, which has been ever since received as historical fact, though it was not substantiated by a single document, nor by any thing but the bare word of the conspirators, and some inferences from circumstantial evidence, which might or might not be true. The Duke had always lived unhappily with his Duchess, who was a cousin of the King. The differences between them were partly ecclesiastical, he siding with the Antipope Urban, she with Pope Clement. There is also reason to suspect that her temper was somewhat less than angelic. The chroniclers tell us that Ireland fell violently in love with a German lady in the Queen's suite, whose name was Lancerona or Lancecrona (a suspiciously manufactured epithet): that the Queen wrote a letter to Pope Urban entreating that he might receive a divorce; that Urban thereupon divorced Ireland and Philippa, and that the Duke married his German love: that his mother was extremely indignant, and took Philippa to live with her; that the Sire de Coucy, father of the Duchess, and the King of France, almost took up arms against England in consequence of these wicked proceedings. The real truth of the matter is that no evidence whatever exists to support these alleged facts. We have evidence that Gloucester and others took pains to spread them as a rumour, but none to show that they were true. Not only is the Queen's letter not forthcoming, but there is no document to show that a divorce ever took place![#] There is no evidence--except the _ipse dixit_ of Gloucester and his partisans--that Ireland ever contracted a second marriage; while the facts that after his banishment he was invited to visit the French Court, that his wife bore the title of Duchess of Ireland to the day of her death, which followed his, and that his mother ran great personal risk in warmly espousing his cause and that of King Richard when both were at the lowest ebb, do not took favourable to the representations of Gloucester. It may be added that this Lancecrona, who is stated to have been a lady in waiting and a laundress--two utterly incompatible positions, even more so at that time than now--does not appear at all as one of the royal suite in any mention of them contained in the state papers, and there is cause for suspicion which almost reaches certainty, that she never existed beyond the inner consciousness of my Lord Duke of Gloucester.

[#] Carter, one of the most accurate of our historians, records his opinion that "there is no reason to think that a divorce was ever granted, _nor even solicited_, between Ireland and Philippa." (ii. 581.)

These tales, true or false, were assiduously spread among the populace, and Gloucester very secretly, but very diligently, advised them to refuse any further payment of taxes. The King, said he, would have plenty of money at his command, if the wicked councillors were only forced to disgorge their ill-gotten booty. Yet with all their cleverness, Gloucester and his allies could not succeed in accusing Suffolk of any greater covetousness than "taking from the King a thousand marks a year since he was made an Earl"--which was the ordinary grant from the Crown to every earl in England.

That the animosity of these plotters was really and originally religious is shown in the fact that when the whole power in the kingdom fell into their hands, they weeded the state offices and the royal household of all the Lollards, and let others alone. They descended even to squires and ladies--so long as they were Lollards. The Lady de Poynings, a princess's daughter, was not too high for them to aim at; nor was John Calverley, the Queen's squire, too low to feel their vengeance. Sir Bernard Brocas, the Queen's Chamberlain, and the Lady Molyneux, wife of Sir Thomas, were also swept out of her household. Neither prayers nor tears availed to soften them. For four hours the Queen herself, "Caesar's daughter," knelt to the Earl of Arundel, imploring him to spare Calverley, whom they had condemned to death. It was all in vain. Arundel savagely told her to pray for herself. She had cause enough. Sir Bernard Brocas was also put to death: the ladies were dropped into obscurity, where they were wise enough to remain.

The long and sad story of this persecution--it deserves no other name--belongs to general history: but the end is soon told. Ireland, Suffolk, and Archbishop Neville fled abroad, and died there. Burley meant to have preceded them in this step, but was unfortunately dissuaded by Ireland, at that time unable to conceive the possibility of the conspirators presuming to put any man to death. He generously offered him forty thousand marks to refund in respect of the defalcations of which Burley, "that gentle, gallant, and prudent knight," had been falsely accused. But the Lords Appellants, as it pleased the conspirators to term themselves, wanted blood, not bribes: nor did it suit them to accept as a gift what they meant to take with a high hand. They got the King out of the way, and instantly seized on his old tutor, whom he was unable to deliver from their malicious hands. Burley died on Tower Hill. The other less obnoxious councillors were got rid of, mostly by death without the pretence of a trial: and then my Lords Appellants, having reduced their Sovereign to the status of their slave, courteously, and in subservient language requested him to come home, to obey their orders, and as the first, to deliver into their hands all the state records and twenty thousand pounds.

Ten years later, when the slave had resumed the status of the Sovereign, after a trial on which Lancaster sat as judge, the Earl of Arundel was beheaded in Cheapside. And modern writers regard Richard as a tyrant, and Arundel as a murdered patriot! There is one Book written by truer pens than theirs, wherein other appellations are probably attached to the names.

Perhaps few households in high positions throughout England were less disturbed by the political earthquake than that at Woking Manor. The Earl of Kent, with whomsoever he might side in his heart, practically held aloof from the entire struggle; and the Countess Alesia, though she was sister alike of the Earl of Arundel and the Bishop of Ely, who with Gloucester formed the soul of the conspiracy, appears herself to have entertained no political bias, and to have followed her husband along the quiet bye-path into which he thought it prudent to turn until the storm blew over. Rumours, however, were not slow in reaching them: and no one was more eager to hear all the news than Roger. It need hardly be said that he was a vehement partisan of his royal cousin, and hotly indignant against the Lords Appellants. The suspicions which he had entertained already concerning the fidelity of his uncle of Gloucester were now confirmed to the full, and beyond it.

Those who, being conscious of Lollardism, or knowing themselves suspected of it, felt danger threatening them, got out of the way, or in some other manner prepared for the inevitable as best they could. The prominent Lollard, Sir John Montacute, Roger's great-uncle, made his will, and then waited the event. The young Lord Le Despenser, a boy of Roger's age, was sent off by his friends to sea, being sagaciously placed under the nominal care of the Earl of Arundel.

Having finished their work, the Lords Appellants now thought it time to distribute their rewards. The heaviest prize fell to Gloucester's share, for he granted himself--of course in the King's name--all the lands of the Duke of Ireland, about the second man in England as to wealth, and the smaller property of the Earl of Suffolk. He also appropriated to himself the office of Justice of Chester, which the conspirators had showed such indignation that Ireland should possess. To Arundel was granted the marriage of the young Lord Poynings. To Edward of York was given the earldom of Rutland, with lands in the county, and a hundred marks in money. The Bishop of Ely received the archbishopric of York. Derby was more easily satisfied: he coveted only the breastplate of Sir John Beauchamp, one of the murdered Lollards. He was, in truth, not anxious to show too distinctly his status as one of the conspirators. The Archbishop of Canterbury was made happy by a proclamation that "whosoever should be found to possess any books, pamphlets, or handbills, of Master John Wycliffe and others, deceased, in English or in Latin, should be arrested and put under penalty by the Council." Norfolk and Warwick it was not thought necessary to notice in the general distribution: but, perhaps to blind the eyes of the public, perhaps to keep the King content in the menial position which they had assigned to him, that suppressed gentleman was allowed to make a few insignificant grants to his own friends. He was graciously permitted to restore a single manor to Lady Poynings, their own inheritances to Emma Tresilian, and Idonia Brembre, and her wardrobe to Joan Salesbury, widows of his murdered councillors.[#] He was also allowed to grant to his younger brother the castles of Berkhamsted and Tintagel, and to the elder the constableship of the Tower, and the marriage of Roger, Earl of March.

[#] The widows of Tresilian and Brembre, the two members of the attainted group who alone were not Lollards, received by far the best treatment of any.

"'Tis an ill wind blows nobody good," said Mistress Grenestede when this last piece of news was published.

"Ah, my dear master! is it good it has blown you?" was the silent response of Lawrence Madison in his inmost heart.

Whatever were Lawrence's doubts, none oppressed Roger. He arrayed himself for his bridal without a shadow of apprehension of any sort.

The King, the Queen, the royal Dukes and Duchesses, and half the nobility, were bidden to the marriage of the heir of England, which took place early in March, in the Royal chapel of the Tower.[#] The bridegroom was dressed in blue golden baldekyn, one of the richest silk stuffs then manufactured, the cost of which when plain was about seven guineas: but this was richly wrought with fleurs-de-lis in gold embroidery, which had cost three pounds more. White frills of costly lace encircled his neck and wrists, and closer sleeves of crimson velvet protruded from the wider sleeves of the blue gown. His boots were of crimson velvet, buttoned with pearls. In his hand was a hat of black velvet, over which swept a full plume of white ostrich feathers. From a chain of massy gold about his neck depended the White Hart, in enamel and gold, which was at once the badge of the King and that of the bride.

[#] The place is not on record; February or March, 1389, is the probable date.

The Lady Alianora, who was given away by her royal uncle,--an uncle only about five years older than his niece--was arrayed with the utmost care and costliness that her wardrobe could afford. She appeared in a long robe of crimson velvet, embroidered with golden flowers in an elaborate rambling pattern, and over it a cote-hardie, or close jacket without sleeves, of the choicest miniver, cut low in the neck, as a bridal dress then usually was: cuffs of gold filagree finished the sleeve at the wrist, and a girdle formed of ten golden clasps fitted round the hips. Down the front of the cote-hardie ran a row of gleaming jewels--sapphires, rubies, diamonds, and emeralds--which flashed and sparkled with every motion of the wearer. A golden fillet adorned her head, set with similar gems; and from under it flowed the golden glory of her magnificent hair, which streamed almost to the ground. This last item was an essential part of the bride's costume at this date. Beneath the crimson velvet robe, when she lifted it out of her way, could be seen glimpses of a rich skirt of gold-coloured satin, and black velvet shoes studded with gold. The bride wore no gloves: they were not usual except on some ceremonial occasions, and then only for royal persons, or for the bird to perch upon in hawking. The wedding-ring was set with a ruby.

Around the principal actors stood a crowd of the English nobility, and on its outskirts a motley assemblage of officials then deemed necessary--seneschals, heralds, minstrels, trumpeters, and many others.

When the priest reached the words "With all my worldly goods I thee endow," it was incumbent upon the bridegroom to put a sum of money on the book, in gold and silver, which became the private possession of the bride. Roger laid down the princely sum of three marks, which Alianora swept composedly into her pocket. Pockets were comparative novelties, having only existed for about forty years; and ladies, like gentlemen, had one on each side. Enormous bags they were, within which, had it so pleased her, the bride could easily have disposed of her fillet or her cote-hardie.

Immediately after the ceremony followed the mass,--a low mass, at which the wedded pair alone communicated with the priest. The bride was then led between two married nobles to the banquet-hall, where the wedding-feast was spread, and the bridegroom followed, led in like manner. Precedence even before royalty was given to them for that day. They sat together in the place of honour, the middle of the table on the dais, the King being on the right hand of the bride, and the Queen on the left of the bridegroom. Such plate as was included in the bridal gifts--and plate was more frequently given than anything else--was used at the feast. Stately gold and silver hanaps, or cups about the size of a chalice, in all manner of diverse forms dictated by fashion or fancy--swans, eagles, dragons, roses,--gold and silver ewers, often matching the hanaps; dishes, plates, porringers, cups, saucers, salt-cellars, spoons--all these had been poured before the feet of Alianora, and all figured at her bridal festival.

This was above all others the era of elaborate cookery, and of marvellous and unintelligible names bestowed upon it. The guests were offered Bouce Jane and Bardolf--both being of the nature of a fricasee; Daryalys and Mon Amy, which may be classed under the head of custards; Aqua Patys, which was garlic broth, and Raynecles, which somewhat resembled croquets. It is, however, very difficult to compare these dishes with our own, since the former were far more elaborate, and generally involved most extraordinary mixtures of incongruous ingredients. There were also oxen, pigs, and sheep, roasted whole; pies of all descriptions, made of flesh, fowl, and fruit; smaller beasts and birds of every kind, many of which are now deemed inedible, such as hedgehogs, squirrels, swans, and herons; and lastly, two regal dishes at the top and bottom of the high table, the boar's head and the peacock in his pride--namely, with the tail fully spread. In the midst of the table, at every course, stood a different "subtlety"--now a castle of silvered cardboard, attacked by painted wooden knights; now a bronze mill turning its wheel through a stream of Gascon wine; now a lady standing on a mossy bank, with her cavalier kneeling at her feet, while his squire held his horse, ready for departure, behind them; finally, a King seated on his throne, with his Court standing around. This table ornament might or might not be of edible materials; it was more frequently the latter.

After this splendid feast, and when the basin of rose-water had been carried round, the hall was cleared for dancing, commenced by a minuet in which the wedded pair were partners. How gentlemen contrived to dance with those long gowns, like dressing-gowns, flapping about their feet, may be left to themselves to explain. They must have been more awkward to manage than a woman's dress, being open in front, and therefore much more likely to entangle the legs. Swords were another difficulty; and to fall over the sword in dancing was not an unknown calamity. The simple expedient of laying it aside for the occasion appears not to have occurred to the wearers, and would, perhaps, have been thought unknightly behaviour.

The bride, who of course was the observed of all observers, conducted herself through the whole ceremony in a composed and self-possessed manner, which the elder ladies thought extremely edifying, and pointed out to their giddy or excitable daughters as a model of proper behaviour.

To women of Alianora's type, the matrimonial ceremony is the great event of life--the ceremony, rather than the fact. And she was perfectly satisfied, for she had obtained all she wanted. She had longed for a gown of blue cloth of gold, and she possessed it, and many equally expensive and handsome. She was now a matron, which meant that she was emancipated from parental control, could go where she liked, and do what she pleased. Before her hung the glittering prospect of a queenly crown, with the adornment of a rich coronet while she waited for it. There was only one element in her jewelled world with which she would have been quite ready to dispense, if she could have had the other items without it, which was unhappily impossible. And that was--Roger.

"Happy is the bride the sun shines on!" said Mistress Grenestede, who dealt largely in proverbs, "Look you, we could not have had a better day, might we have ordered the same our own selves: nay, nor a jollier wedding. What think you, Master Madison? Forsooth, methinks you be somewhat unjocund. You grudge not your Lord a fair and princely bride, trow?"

"I grudge my Lord nothing that shall be for his good, nor for his pleasure," was Lawrence's grave answer. "He above wist that."

"Then, prithee, why be you not better accommodated?"[#]

[#] More at ease.

"By reason, Mistress, that I much question the good: and I do yet more doubt the pleasure."

"Nay, now, heard you ever the like?" demanded Mistress Grenestede of any body who chose to answer, as Lawrence walked quietly away. "Yon lad is either to presume more than him ought,[#] or elsewise can he see further into a millstone than other folk."

[#] More suspicious than he should be.

Lawrence was not so far off that he failed to hear her, and he stopped for a moment to reply.

"Any man may see through a millstone, Mistress mine, if he will but set his eye on line with the hole."

About the close of 1393, the King resolved to make Roger Viceroy of Ireland. He was now twenty years of age--equivalent to twenty-five in the present day--and His Majesty thought it desirable that he should try his hand at that government of which so much might eventually be thrust upon him. He had been married for four years, and most people would have thought him fully competent to take care, not only of himself, but of Ireland. But his wise friend and father-in-law, Kent, who seems to have been much attached to him, was not easy to let him go alone. He resolved to accompany him in person: not only this, but he prepared a petition to the King in Council, in Roger's name, containing the following large stipulations, before Roger should take the lieutenancy upon him.

First, he requested that notwithstanding his nonage, full livery should be granted to the Earl of March of all his estates, in England, Wales, or Ireland; and of all "lordships, castles, manors, towns, lands, tenements, rents, services, franchises, fees, and advowsons, with all other appurtenances and commodities, whether existing in fee, or hereafter to return to the said heritage by reversion or remainder, or by any other way whatever. Item, all the revenues and profits of all the lordships and lands, with all their appurtenances and commodities whatever, belonging to our Lord the King in all the land of Ireland during the nonage of the said Roger. Item, two thousand marks in money to be paid in hand. Item, that he have ... full power to charge his said heritage" for one year, in order to provide money for the voyage. Item, that Roger should not be obliged to take the said lieutenancy upon him, before attaining his majority. Item, that the Earl of Kent should accompany him, with sufficient attendance, specially indicating the Lord Lovel, Sir John Stanley, Sir John Sandes, and Sir Ralph Cheyne. Lastly, that this should be done within a year from the nativity of St. John next ensuing, whereupon Roger would assume the duties of Viceroy. These demands were very large; but that they were perfectly reasonable is shown by the fact that not only did the King assent to them, but that Arundel and his co-trustees gave a ready and formal consent. The entire estates of March, therefore, were at once resigned into Roger's keeping, though he was yet some months short of his full age. Arundel and his colleagues had done their duty well by Roger in this matter. The possessions handed over to him were in the best possible condition. He "found all his castles and houses in good repair, amply stored with rich furniture, his lands stocked with cattle, and forty thousand marks in the treasury."

The King intended to have set out for Ireland about the end of April. But before he was able to leave Shene, where he was then residing, the saddest loss of all his sad life fell upon him. The "black death," that dreadful plague which had scourged England in 1340 and in 1369, returned to ravage it in 1394. One of its first victims, about the 20th or 25th of April, was the beloved Lollard Queen.

This is not the date usually given for her death but it is nearer the truth than the accepted one. Froissart, who states that she died at Whitsuntide (which that year was June 7), and who has been followed by all other writers, contradicts himself by saying that the King's journey was deferred for two months in consequence of the Queen's death, and that he set out about the 24th of June. In this case, she died about the 24th of April: a date shown to be near the truth by an entry on the Issue Roll, recording payment for the carriage of the waxen image to be borne on the coffin at her burial, on the third of June. There must therefore have been time, before this, to manufacture the wax statue, which assuredly never was commenced while the Queen was alive; nor only this, but to convey it by water from London to Richmond, which the entry informs us had been done.

It was not until after the tenth of August that Roger set forth on his journey to Ireland. His retinue consisted of (his own) March Herald, two knights banneret, eight other knights, a hundred men-at-arms, 200 horsed archers, and 400 foot archers. With him, inseparable as his shadow, went Lawrence Madison.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

*MISCALCULATION.*

"Keep them thy gifts for them that value gold
Above their souls' redemption and hearts' love!
What! shall I stain mine honour, lose my God,
Do violence to mine heart, at such a price?
This very bait the Devil fished withal
For Christ our Master, urging Him to buy
What was His own an hour too soon, and pay
For the hour's tinsel glory, hope and peace.
Go, buy the traitors that will sell their souls!
From thy perfidious hand I draw mine own,
Clean of its lucre and its perfidy."

An account of the state of affairs in Ireland, when Roger sailed from Holyhead to Dublin--the fact which is supposed to underlie the enigmatical assertion of the worthy Canon of Chimay, Sir John Froissart, that the Lords sent to govern Ireland embarked from Lolighet, and landed at Dimelin--would if in detail require a volume to itself, and would be a mere list of names and battles, diversified by occasional murders. A short epitome of the facts is however requisite, in order to make clear much that follows. There were three parties at this time in Ireland, whom the English styled the Wild Irish, or Irishry; the Rebellious Irish; and the English. The first were the unsubdued natives, who had retired to the mountains, bogs, and forests; the second, who dwelt in the territory known as the English pale, between the Irishry and the sea, were the descendants of mixed marriages between the English and Irish; they partially adopted the customs of both countries, and were subject to the English or not as they found it convenient: more frequently they did not find it so. Among these we find reckoned "the Butyllers, Powers, Gerardyns [Fitzgeralds], Bermynghams, Daltons, Barettes, and Dillons." The last class, the English proper, consisted of "a confused medley of soldiers, merchants, men of needy or desperate fortunes, and those whom the English government had invested with authority: they occupied the principal towns and cities and small tracts around them, chiefly in Leinster, and on the eastern and southern coasts." The "rebellious English" were also termed English _by birth_, while to the "obedient English" was restricted the title of English _by blood_.

Since the death of Roger's father, Earl Edmund of March, matters had gradually been going from bad to worse, until now the state of things was little removed from anarchy. "Sometimes the septs were destroying each other; at other times they were making inroads upon the English pale, or joining with the great settlers in their mutual ravages." The most unmanageable of all the Irish chieftains at this period was Arthur MacMorogh, of Leinster, who with the Earl of Desmond wasted the whole south of the country at intervals. Lesser troublers to the English, but still sufficiently vexatious, were the O'Brien in the east, and the O'Neile in Ulster. The chief helper of the government was the Earl of Ormonde, head of the great family of Boteler. Connaught was almost entirely given up to the "wild Irish."

The appearance and tactics of King Richard restored order, and four Kings of the "wild Irish" submitted themselves to him, rather "through love and good-humour than by battle or force," and mainly through the persuasions of the Earl of Ormonde. The four were, O'Neile, King of Meath; Brian, King of Thomond; "Contruo, King of Chenour," which may mean the O'Conor; and Arthur MacMorogh himself, King of Leinster, who claimed to be the Ardriagh, or Lord Paramount over the whole island. At Dublin, on the 25th of March, 1395, these four chieftains were knighted by the King in St. Patrick's Cathedral, after mass, having "watched" the previous night in the church. It may be well to note in passing that Froissart gravely informs us that St. John the Baptist was the founder of the Cathedral. To instruct these four potentates in English customs in general, and in the ceremonies of the forthcoming solemnity in particular, the King appointed a tutor in the person of an English squire of uncertain name, called in different MSS. of Froissart and by other writers, Henry Castide, Cristeed, Cristall, and Cristelle. This man had long been a captive among the "wild Irish," and had married an Irish damsel. His first care was to improve the chieftains' table manners, which in his eyes were those of savages: the next, to induce them to lay aside their Irish cloaks, and attire themselves in silken robes trimmed with fur; the third, to make them use saddles and stirrups, both which they were very unwilling to do. They appear, however, on this occasion, to have been in a most amiable and accommodating temper. What they least liked they submitted to cheerfully, on being assured that it was the King's wish that while they were his guests they should conform to English customs. On one point, however, they showed that they intended to listen to no instruction. When the squire tried to investigate their religious faith, "they seemed so displeased that he was forced to silence."

"We believe in God, Three in One," said the Irish Kings: "thus far there is no difference between our creed and yours."

Their teacher would not quit the subject until he had ascertained one point which was in his eyes of primary importance. To what Pope did they profess obedience? Was their pontiff the successor of St. Peter who reigned at Rome, or the wicked schismatic who had set himself up at Avignon? In fear and trembling he put the question. He might have been easy; for the fierce struggle between Pope and Anti-pope had not penetrated the bogs of the Emerald Isle. The Irish Kings at once answered that their Pope was at Rome.

He then asked if they would like to be made knights. They replied that they were knights already, for every Irish prince was made a knight by his royal father when he was seven years of age. The squire responded rather contemptuously that the King of England would not be satisfied with that kind of childish knighthood, but would create them knights in church with solemn ceremonies.

Shortly before this solemnity, the Earl of Ormonde paid a visit to his royal _proteges_. He inquired if they were satisfied with Castide--a question which they answered like gentlemen.

"Perfectly. He has prudently and wisely taught us the manners and usages of his country, for which we ought to be obliged, and do thank him."

The Earl then gave them a full explanation of the honour about to be done them, and the ceremonies which would attend it, laying stress on the great value which they ought to set upon it. The four Kings seem to have behaved admirably. They allowed themselves to be richly dressed, of course in the English manner: and let us hope that it did not include cracowes, those ridiculous boots which tapered to a point, and preceded their wearer by several inches,--for these must have been woful inflictions upon an Irish chieftain, accustomed either to wear no boots at all, or to tie on simply "the dun deer's hide." They dined at King Richard's table, where, said Master Castide, "they were much stared at by the Lords and those present--not indeed without reason; for they were strange figures, and differently countenanced to the English or other nations. We are naturally inclined to gaze at anything strange," naively added the squire, "and it was certainly, Sir John, at that time, a great novelty to see four Irish Kings."

Castide's opinion is worth record as to the reasons why the Irish submitted themselves so readily. He thought the "rebellious English" were alarmed at the blockade of their coasts, which was so strict that "neither provision nor merchandise could be landed": but he admitted that the "wild Irish" cared nothing for this, since they lived by hunting, and were strangers to commerce. Their reason, he considered, was the personal respect which they bore to King Richard, whom they accounted to be a prudent and conscientious man, and whose reverence for the memory of Edward the Confessor was shared by themselves,--a fact undisturbed by any inconvenient knowledge that Richard, if not the Irish Kings also, had at least as much sanctity about him as Edward the Confessor. How that most unamiable of men, whose cruelty as a husband was only equalled by his irreverence as a son, ever came to be canonised and honoured as Saint Edward, must be left as one of the many insoluble enigmas which Rome propounds to the crushed hearts, smothered intelligences, and stifled consciences of her votaries. For any other reason, Castide remitted it to the grace of God. The Canon of Chimay, whose exquisite naive simplicity at times cuts sharply as a knife, made answer, with more wit than he was aware, that "the grace of God is good, and of infinite value to those who can obtain it: but we see few lords now-o'-days augment their territories otherwise than by force."

The campaign thus ended, Roger returned to England in company with his royal cousin, and rejoined his family in London on May, 1395, much to the satisfaction of both himself and Lawrence Madison, who greatly preferred to follow his master out of battle rather than into it, though he wisely kept to himself that sentiment, which would only have earned him a character for cowardice. On very few men had the idea then dawned that any person could love peace for other reasons than laziness and fear of being hurt. The two characteristics of King Richard which his uncle Gloucester specially detested and despised were his religious opinions, and his dislike to war and tumult. It might truly be said, paradox though it be, that Gloucester was never at peace except when he was at war.

During the twelve months following his return to London, Roger kept himself exceedingly quiet. It was the only safe thing he could do. It is said that an eminent man was asked how, being a resident in Paris, he contrived to live through the Reign of Terror. "I made myself of no reputation, and kept silence," was the significant answer. The Earl of March followed the same plan.

The beginning of 1395 was characterised by a strong agitation against the Lollard party, provoked by a very bold step on their part. Sir John Oldcastle, afterwards Lord Cobham, issued his "Book of Conclusions"--an epitome of Lollard doctrines, as well as a damaging attack on the opposite party--which was presented to Parliament by Lord Latimer and Sir Richard Stury, and posted up on the doors of St. Paul's Cathedral and the gates of Westminster Abbey. The two Archbishops took alarm in good earnest. They were strongly opposed to the "new" doctrines--which were not new, but as old as Christianity itself--and they rightly judged that unless these views had been spreading considerably in secret, they would scarcely have made this flourishing appearance in public. King Richard must be appealed to, and entreated to put down this unwelcome manifestation with the strong arm of the law: and the astute prelates well knew that only at one point, like Achilles, was Richard vulnerable on the Lollard question. The religious views were his own, and he would listen to no diatribe against them. But the political aspirations of the advanced Lollards he dreaded and disliked as much as the hierarchy. Archbishop Courtenay trusted to no tongue less skilful than his own the task of winning the King over. He started for Ireland without delay, taking with him Bishop Braybroke, a prelate whom the King liked and respected. Richard, the most open and unsuspicious of men, was no match for one of the wiliest priests who ever wore a mitre. Under his dexterous hands he was induced to believe that the political aims of the advanced section included his own deposition--the exact contrary was the truth--and the beloved Queen, who had hitherto always guided his sceptre on this point, was now beyond the fitful fever of earthly tumults. "Never was there King of England who so easily believed what was told him," says the chronicler Froissart, who knew Richard personally.

The King, thus influenced, departed from the course approved by his own better judgment, and for one moment swerved from that kindly support which he had always given hitherto to the Lollard party. He called before him the four most prominent Lollards then in his suite--Lord Latimer, Sir John Montacute, Sir Lewis Clifford, and Sir Richard Stury--and sharply rebuked them for their favour shown to traitors, with a threat of expulsion from the household if they did not change their political aspect. Latimer, Clifford, and Stury, were terrified, especially the last, who fell upon his knees and vowed that he would never do it again.

All these were old men. But the youngest of the group,--John Montacute, who was but four-and-twenty--held his peace, and promised nothing.

Could King Richard have looked forward five short years, he would have seen that one young man, who now refused to follow his King to evil, alone of all the four giving his life for that King's sake. The man who would not deny his God for fear of his sovereign, was the one who was ready to die for God and him.

It was during this short period of glamour thrown over King Richard by the astute Archbishop that certain Lollards were imprisoned in Beaumaris Castle, that some recanted, and that various edicts were issued, in the strong language wherein Gloucester and Courtenay delighted, against those who "sowed tares among the people." The complete change of tone in the royal mandates is very striking, between those periods when Gloucester's influence paralysed the King, and the two short intervals when Richard was left to himself. Yet to this day Richard, not Gloucester or Courtenay, is assailed with all the obloquy which is due only to the two latter. On this occasion Richard followed the Archbishop's leading up to a certain point. But when Courtenay pressed the advantage which he had gained, and urged capital punishment for the heretics, the King drew back. The cards had been shown a little too plainly. A short term of imprisonment for obnoxious politics was consonant with Richard's ideas of right and justice: but death as the penalty of religious opinions he would not give. Was it likely, when the religious opinions were to some extent his own?

Courtenay appeared to waive the matter. Ostensibly, he deferred to the King's judgment. And Richard never suspected that the sentence of death had merely been, by Courtenay and Gloucester, transferred to another person, and that their resolve was that if he would not permit the heretics to die, Richard must die himself.

It was during this period that Earl Roger kept quiet and silent,--so quiet that we never hear a word about him for a whole twelvemonth, though circumstantial evidence tends to show that he was in London all the time. His high position, and his known opinions, alike placed him in danger. The only safe thing to do was, so far as possible, to reduce himself to a nonentity, and hope that Gloucester and his myrmidons would forget him.

During the last two years death had been very busy in high places. The plague of 1394 had made three royal widowers--the Duke of Lancaster, the King, and the Earl of Derby. In the summer of 1396, Archbishop Courtenay was also summoned to the judgment bar. Removed from Courtenay's influence, the King awoke from his dream, and determined to initiate a new order of things. He knew at last--all but too late--that Gloucester and Arundel were among his worst enemies. Had he seen it with regard to one man more--his cousin Derby--the course of English history would probably have been different.

There was another person awake also, with the important difference that he had never been asleep. Gloucester was ready to act just as soon as his royal nephew: sooner, in fact, for his plans were already matured, while Richard's were only in process of formation. The time was come when that blow was to be struck which he had foreseen so long, for which he had waited so patiently and paved the way so elaborately, and which for so many years past, he had mentally destined Roger Mortimer to strike. The edge of the tool must be felt, to see whether the metal were sufficiently strong for the work to be done, and the point sufficiently sharp.

The July sun streamed full into a large low chamber of a handsome house on St. Paul's Wharf. The chamber was hung with dark blue silk relieved by silver embroidery. Velvet settles of the same colour stood at intervals around the walls, and half-a-dozen curule chairs of ebony inlaid with ivory, and furnished with blue silk cushions, were scattered about the room. On one of the velvet settles, with his head supported by a cushion, lay the only occupant of this handsome chamber--a young man of twenty-two years of age, fair-complexioned and very good-looking. His eyes were closed, but he certainly was not asleep, for he drew long sighs at intervals which were not long. On a small table beside him a large book lay open, bound in violet velvet, and clasped with gold.

A soft scratch at the door without announced a visitor, who was desired to come in, without any change of position on the part of the occupant of the settle. A middle-aged man, clad in blue and gold livery, entered accordingly.

"Please it your Lordship, Master Westcombe is here come from Fleshy, from my Lord Duke of Gloucester, desiring speech of your Lordship."

The slight contraction of his Lordship's brow might indicate that he could have borne to be deprived of the pleasure of an interview with Mr. Westcombe.

"Good. Bring him hither."

He rose from the settle, gave his long blue silk gown a slight shake, and resting his hand on the book, awaited his visitor.

The visitor proved to be a squire in royal livery, with the badge of the Duke of Gloucester--a golden swan--fastened to his left sleeve. He made a courtesy--for in those days the courtesy was the gentleman's reverence--and then with many words and some flowery expletives informed his very dear Lord that his gracious Lord the Duke lovingly prayed him to speed with all haste to Fleshy, for he desired to speak with him immediately.

Earl Roger's expression of face on this communication was much like that of a man who is just on the point of swallowing a necessary but very unpalatable dose of medicine. He gave a rather short reply, to the effect that he would start for Fleshy early the next morning: and having dismissed Mr. Westcombe courteously but quickly, he made his way to another room on the same floor of the house. Sounds of lively conversation and laughter issued from this room as soon as the door was opened. The Earl, in whose face the expression with which he had received his uncle's behest had rather increased than disappeared from it, made his way up the long narrow room, filled with brilliant company, pausing now to greet one, and now another, till he reached a lady attired in white and ruby satin, who sat at the further end in a curule chair, surrounded by gentle men who appeared to be paying court to her.

"Pray, suffer me not to let your diversion," remarked the Earl, with the faintest possible tone of satire under his polished accents: "I suppose I may have leave to speak with her Ladyship among her other servitors.--I came but to say, my Lady, that my fair uncle of Gloucester hath sent unto me this evening, praying me to render visit unto him at Fleshy, as early as may stand at mine ease. I think, therefore, to set forth with the morning light, and I shall maybe not have the pleasure to see your Ladyship again ere my departing."

The voice of the Countess replied, "Then, my Lord, you will not be here for the dance to-morrow? Truly, this is displeasant tidings!" But what her eyes said was,--"Really, what a convenient coincidence! I am delighted to hear it."

"I dare not flatter myself that your Ladyship will miss me," was Earl Roger's answer, in the same slightly ironical tone. Then he turned round, kissed his hand to her, and made his way out of the room.

Just outside he met his children and their nurses, returning from the garden. They were four very pretty, attractive little children, the eldest not quite seven years of age, and the youngest only two. The Earl stopped, and took up the eldest in his arms.

"God bless my Nannette!" he said. "Has Nannette been in the garden?"

Little Anne nodded, and looked earnestly into her father's eyes. The expression of them distressed her. Children can read the expression of a face long before they can read anything else. She thought, in her child language, that "somebody had hurt him;" she realised that he wanted comforting and diversion of thought: and her idea of administering both was to pat his cheek, and to hold up her doll for him to look at.

Somebody had indeed hurt him--somebody who was always hurting him--somebody who cared not a straw whether he was hurt or not. But who that was must never be told, except to the two privileged persons who had discovered it without telling, and whose sympathy was ready and sure.

The Earl kissed his little girl and set her down; laid his hand on his boy's head and blessed him. As he turned away, he said to a gentleman usher who was in waiting,--"Has Dan Robesart returned home?"

"Not yet, my Lord."

"No matter. Send Madison to me." And the Earl went on to the room he had first occupied. There he sat down by the window, and for a moment yielded to his own sorrowful thoughts.

He was not usually a man to brood over his sorrows, nor to nurse grievances. His feelings were more of the sharp and short order, and his disposition was not only cheerful, but playful. But when he had just received a fresh sting, the wound would smart and rankle for a moment. Otherwise, youth and natural good spirits commonly helped him to bear his daily cross. Just now it pressed hard. Those lovely blue eyes--as lovely as they were unloving--had so plainly told him that their owner would be glad to get rid of him, even for a few days. That bright illusion of past days, when he had fancied differently, was over long ago. He had woke early from his sweet dream. He knew that his idol was not merely dethroned--it was broken. The Alianora whom he had so passionately loved was a creature of his own imagination: and the real being, to whom he was tied for life, was neither loveable nor loving.

There was no jealousy mixed with these feelings of disappointed loneliness. It was not that he had any apprehension of her loving some one else better than himself. He said to himself bitterly that she had not heart enough for that. What she enjoyed in those ceaseless flirtations in which she spent her life was just their very emptiness and frivolity. For anything like genuine attachment--anything which involved strength and colour and warmth and reality--her nature was too light.

Oh, when will women learn that a flirt is a woman who has deliberately flung aside the very flower and glory of her womanhood?--who is preparing for herself a middle age of misery, and an old age of contempt and loneliness: to add to them, unless God's mercy interpose to save her, an eternity of remorse. No type of woman is so utterly despicable as this. "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

Earl Roger was not a man to shut his eyes to anything which he did not wish to see, nor to go on hoping against hope in the face of what he knew to be facts. His position was very much the same as that of another near connection of royalty, just a hundred years before him.[#] But Earl Edmund of Cornwall and Earl Roger of March were men of two very different types. The one had sunk under his burden; the other rose superior to it. Roger was not so utterly swallowed up in his disappointment as his predecessor had been. For him, his territorial affairs, his children, politics, and other interests, came in to relieve the weight. Only now and then, as it was to-night, his heart sank low, and felt a yearning want of that human sympathy which he never received but from two persons--his family physician, Mr. Robesart, and his body-squire, Lawrence Madison.

[#] The reader who desires to know more of this will find it in "Not For Him."

He lifted his head now to bid the latter enter.

"Your Lordship is not at ease, I fear?" said the squire with an intonation of genuine interest in his master.

He had grown into a taller and stronger-built man than Roger: dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a pale grave face, a smile of considerable sweetness, and a clear pleasant voice.

"Only the old story, lad," was the quiet answer. "Aye, and a little further travail thereto. My Lord of Gloucester, mine uncle, hath sent for me. We must needs be away toward Fleshy as early as the sun to-morrow."

"At your Lordship's pleasure. Shall it be to tarry?"

"I trow not. Best, maybe, to be prepared for a two-three days. But I shall be here again in the even, an' I may."

Lawrence bowed, and withdrew from the chamber.

Half an hour later, Mr. Robesart entered it, and found the Earl bending over the large Bible.

"I was told," said he, "that your Lordship had asked for me a short space agone. Metrusteth you be not indisposed?"

"Not here, good Father, I thank you," answered the Earl, touching his head. "Only here"--and he laid a hand upon his heart. "Methought I would fain hear somewhat of your counsel ere my departing, which shall be right early on the morrow." And he repeated the explanation given to Lawrence.

"Your Lordship," responded the physician, "hath not, as methinks, overmuch trust in my Lord Duke?"

"Fair fall he that hath that in any man!" returned Roger with a gesture of contempt. "In truth, Father, my belief in the Duke's discretion, not to say loyalty, would go by the eye of a needle. If he would but keep his plots to himself and my fair cousin of Rutland, which 'joyeth so much therein that I could not for compassion wish him thereout! Verily, I am alway something afeard lest some day he essay to drag me in."

"Counts your Lordship that his Grace hath sent for you with that intent?"

"I know not wherefore he hath so done, and that is the very truth." And the Earl passed his hand wearily over his forehead.

"It will be well that we both ask God for wisdom for your Lordship. But there is more than that troubling you, or I mistake."

"More than that? Aye so. Not more than custom is. Father, see you yon fly a-walking over the page of this book? If I shall say, That fly is in my way, and brush him thereout, roughly, so that he die--what is it? To me, but a little matter of disease[#] whereof I have rid me. But to him it is the end of health, and life, and all things. Ah! there be many fly-crushers among us human creatures. God help the crushed flies!"

[#] Inconvenience.

"Does He not help them?"

"How wot I? You must needs tell me what is help ere I can answer you. You mind that part of the story of my Lord Saint John Baptist, when he sent them twain to our Lord to ask at Him if He were He that should come, or no? There be will tell us that he sent them for their teaching; it could not be for his own. Methinks such have been in but few deep places, where the floods overflowed them. Was it not that the man's heart was wrung to behold the Christ, his own kinsman, pass him by on the other side--heal and comfort and help all that came, and never turn to him? Ah, it is evil waiting with patience and faith, when Christ passeth a man by."

"And you scarce twenty-three, my Lord!" said Mr. Robesart sadly, and not so inconsequently as it seemed.

"After men's reckoning. Be there any years in God's eternity? A man, methinks, may live a thousand years in one day, whether they be years of happiness or of misery." The Earl's head was lifted suddenly. "Father, tell me, what means He for me? It might have been so different!" And with the saddest of intonations, the young head sank again.

Mr. Robesart laid his hand on that of the Earl.

"He means,--'My son, give Me thine heart.'"

"I thought I had done so."

"Then he means,--My child, come nearer to Me. 'Each branch that beareth fruit, He shall purge it, that it bear the more fruit.'"

The Earl made no reply, except to say after an interval,--"Father, I would fain find you here when I return. I hope that will be to-morrow at even."

"I will await your Lordship," answered Mr. Robesart: and the interview ended.