The Grateful Indian Part 3

His helmet was adorned with a plume of feathers, and as he was a tall, handsome man, no doubt he looked very magnificent in the eyes of his children. It was the last time they ever saw him.

Brougham Castle stood on the bank of a narrow river, and its princ.i.p.al entrance was an arched gateway opening to the riverside. The drawbridge had been let down, and some of the hors.e.m.e.n had already pa.s.sed over, and were waiting on the opposite bank for their leader, who still lingered to say a few more parting words to the beloved ones he was leaving behind. The little baby girl was brought to him for a last kiss, then he took Richard in his arms, and kissed him too, and stroking the glossy curls of Henry's light brown hair, he said--

"I wish you were a few years older, my son, that you might go with me to fight for your king and queen."

"I thank G.o.d that he is not old enough," returned Lady Margaret; "it is grief enough for me to part with my husband. Oh! that these cruel wars were over, for they bring nothing but sorrow to the land!"

"Thou hast but a faint heart, my Margaret. Our queen is a lioness compared with thee!"

"I would not wish to resemble her then," said the lady.

"Nor would I desire that thou shouldst," replied her husband. "But keep up a brave spirit, for thou mayest need it."

Again he embraced her lovingly, and mounting his gallant charger he rode from the castle-gate, with about fifty knights and esquires in his train, all well armed and mounted.

The first news that reached Brougham, was a cause of the deepest sorrow to Lady Margaret, although it told of a great battle that had been won by her husband's party at Wakefield, and also of the death of Richard, Duke of York, who had fallen on the field. But it also told of a barbarous deed done by Lord Clifford, which she was sure would turn all hearts against him; and so it did, for it shocked both friends and foes, and has left a blot on his name that will never be effaced.

It was after the battle was over, as he was riding towards the town to rejoin the queen, that he overtook the young Earl of Rutland, second son of the unfortunate Duke of York, a youth about fourteen years of age, who had just heard of his father's fate, and, overwhelmed with grief, was being hurried away by his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who had been left in charge of him near the field of battle, to seek refuge in a neighbouring convent. Clifford seized the affrighted boy, who fell on his knees and begged for mercy.

"Who is he?" demanded the fierce n.o.bleman in a thundering tone.

"He is the son of a prince who is now beyond thy power," answered the venerable tutor. "But I pray you to spare him, for he is too young to do hurt to thee or thy cause."

"He is a son of York, and he shall die!" exclaimed Lord Clifford, plunging his dagger into the heart of the hapless boy, who fell dead at his feet.

It was in consequence of this wanton act of cruelty, and of the numbers he slew at the battle of Wakefield with his own hand, that he was thenceforth called "the butcher," a terrible distinction, which will cling to his memory for ever.

Lady Clifford lamented sadly over the fate of poor Rutland, for she would have given all the wealth she had in the world, rather than her lord should have been guilty of such a wicked deed; and when she looked at her dear boy Henry, she wondered that the thought of his own son should not have softened a father's heart, and prevented him from destroying an innocent youth, even though he was the son of an enemy.

One day, soon after this news was brought, there came to the castle one of those wandering minstrels who were in the habit of going about the country with their harps, and were sure to find a welcome at the mansions of the great, where, in return for a night's lodging and entertainment, they would amuse the company with their songs and music.

Lady Clifford never went down to the great hall when her lord was away, but confined herself to her own private apartments with her female attendants and her children, but she readily gave permission for the domestics to admit the minstrel for their own amus.e.m.e.nt, and right glad they were of this indulgence, as they had spent but a dull Christmas.

"May we not go down, dear mother, to hear the minstrel play and sing?"

said Henry.

"Yes, you and Richard may go for awhile if you wish it," replied Lady Margaret; and, sending for the old seneschal or steward of the castle, she bade him take charge of the boys while they listened to the harper's songs. There were not many people in the castle now, but all that were there a.s.sembled in the hall to make merry with the new comer, except Lady Clifford herself, and the little Lady Elizabeth. The minstrel sang a long ballad all about the warlike achievements of the De Cliffords in former times, filling up the pauses with the animated strains of his harp, and when the song was done, and the servants were preparing to dance, the boys returned to their mother, highly delighted with what they had heard.

The next morning the seneschal came to his mistress and told her that the minstrel begged for a private audience, as he had something of importance to communicate, "And I think, my lady," said the old man, "it is about our lord that he wishes to speak, for he has just come from Wakefield."

"Then bring him hither, Hubert," said the lady, "I will hear what he has to say."

Hubert bowed respectfully and withdrew, but soon returned with the minstrel, who was instantly recognised by Lady Margaret as a faithful retainer of Lord de Vesci, her father; and seeing by his looks that what he had to communicate was for her ear only; she dismissed all who were present, and remained alone with him.

"What is it, Rolf," she asked in alarm. "Why do you come here in disguise? what of my father? is he well?"

"He is well, dear lady. It is not of him I came to speak. I am just from Wakefield, and I come to warn you to watch well over your sons, for the friends of York have sworn, one and all, to take revenge for the death of young Rutland; and I fear me the threat points towards Lord Clifford's children. You must not trust them out of the castle, where for the present they are safe; but if Edward of York should be made king, and he is more likely to succeed than his father was, I am afraid there will be no safety for them even here. I a.s.sumed this disguise because if it became known amongst your enemies that one of your father's people had come from Wakefield here, they would suspect it was to put you on your guard."

"Now heaven help me!" said the lady, "how am I to ward off this misfortune? I must depend on you, my good and faithful Rolf, to keep watch, and let me know should any immediate danger threaten us; and, in the meanwhile, I will concert some plan for removing my children in case of need."

"This I will do, lady, and as much more as may lie within my power. In this minstrel's guise I can visit the camp of the Yorkists from time to time, and bring you intelligence of what is pa.s.sing there. They will not know that I am one of your house, and I shall pa.s.s free."

Lady Margaret was truly grateful to the trusty Rolf, who departed from the castle that same day; but she confided to none, except the good old seneschal, what had been the purport of their conference. Day after day she waited with ill-concealed dread for further tidings, and at length a messenger came from her lord, from whom she learned that more battles had been fought, that the king was released from prison, but that the young Duke of York had been proclaimed king in London, by the t.i.tle of Edward the Fourth. Soon afterwards another messenger arrived with news that King Henry and the queen were again in Yorks.h.i.+re collecting more forces, and that King Edward (for there were now two kings) was advancing northward with a large army to oppose them. The poor women and children from the neighbouring villages now came flocking for refuge to Brougham Castle, which was put into a state of defence, for it was quite certain there would soon be a great battle, and, if King Edward should gain the day, there was but little doubt that the castle would be besieged.

Lord Clifford was now with the king and queen in the city of York.

Their army amounted to sixty thousand men; and King Edward was coming with about fifty thousand, so that the conflict was certain to be a very great and terrible one. It took place at Towton, on Palm Sunday, just four months after the battle of Wakefield, and amongst the many thousands slain on that dreadful day was Lord Clifford, who was then scarcely twenty-six years of age. It is needless to dwell on the grief occasioned by these fatal tidings; it was sad to hear and sad to see.

The unhappy lady had now to think of providing for the safety of her fatherless children, for although Rolf had promised to bring her word if he saw they were in danger, there was no certainty of his being able to do so, as it was possible he might have been killed himself, for she had not heard of him. At last he came, but it was again in his adopted character of a minstrel, and he would have had some difficulty in gaining admittance, had it not been for the old seneschal, who guessed his errand, and saw that he was allowed to enter, saying that, dismal as the times were, it could be no harm to listen to a minstrel's lay.

With much caution he conducted him secretly to Lady Clifford's private apartments, for he thought there might be some hazard in letting it become known who he was or why he came, as among the many who were now within the castle walls, who could say that all were true.

From Rolf's account it appeared that, after the defeat at Towton, the queen had placed her husband, who was half imbecile, in a monastery at Edinburgh, and fled with her son, Prince Edward, to France; while the new king, Edward the Fourth, had taken full possession of the throne, and was publicly acknowledged as sovereign of England. He had declared his intention of seizing the estates of all those n.o.bles who had fought against him; and it was reported that he had said he would revenge the murder of his brother, young Rutland, on Clifford's heir. Henry's life was therefore now in danger, and Rolf had come to a.s.sist in saving him.

"Have you devised any plan, lady," said the faithful servant, "in case of this extremity?"

"Yes, my good Rolf, I have thought of it day and night, ever since that fatal battle. I must part from my boy. I must trust him to you. Do you think you can convey him, without suspicion, to his nurse Maud, at Skipton? I can depend on her to be careful of my child, and on her husband also; but they must not remain there, they must remove to Londesborough, and you must go yourself to my father, who is now there, and tell him from me to provide them with a dwelling, but not to notice the boy as his grandson, for Henry must pa.s.s for Maud's own child.

Think you, Rolf, that you can accomplish all this?"

"I will try, my lady; but we must speak of it to Lord Henry, that he may understand his life depends on its not being known that he is Lord Clifford's son."

"My Henry is wise beyond his years," replied the lady, "and I fear me not that he will submit to this necessity without a murmur."

"No doubt, no doubt, dear lady; and you had better prepare him at once, for we know not how soon the blow may come."

"My Henry," said Lady Margaret, "you are going to Skipton, to your good nurse Maud, who will take you to Londesborough, where you must live with her and her husband till there is peace again in the land, which we will both earnestly pray for. And you must remember, my child, that you are to pa.s.s for Maud's own son, and that you are to call her mother, and her husband, Robin, the shepherd, father. I have already explained to you what would be the terrible consequences should you ever forget this."

"I will not forget, mother; but shall I never see you there? I love Maud very much, but not as I love you, my own dear mother!"

And the n.o.ble boy threw himself into his mother's arms, laid his head upon her bosom, and burst into tears. She kissed him tenderly, and endeavoured to speak cheerfully.

"My darling boy, this separation is only for the present, and I hope I shall be able to see you sometimes, for I intend, after awhile, to live at Londesborough, which is mine, and may some day be yours; but not yet, not till our enemies believe that you and your brother are far away beyond the seas; and even then, when I come to visit you, Henry, no one must know it except ourselves and nurse; for if it came to be known that I felt any interest about the shepherd's boy, the people might suspect who you are, and that is what we have to guard against."

"And Richard, mother--is he to go away too?"

"Yes, Henry, I must part with you both--but your little sister I may keep with me; it is not her life they seek. And now, my beloved child, you understand what it is you have to do--keep up a brave heart and endeavour not to repine at your lot, but be thankful you have not fallen into the hands of those who would show you no mercy. But above all, my son, put your trust in G.o.d, and pray to him that happier days may come, when we can be together again without fear or concealment."

The next day after this conversation, Lady Clifford left Brougham Castle, with her three children, her maid Cicely, old Hubert, and a few trusty attendants on whose fidelity she could rely, but not even to them did she reveal her son's destination, which was only known to her faithful seneschal. The lady, with her maid and the children, travelled in a litter, a sort of light van shut in with curtains, which, at that period, when coaches were unknown, was often used by invalids and those who did not want to travel on horseback. The litter for one person was sometimes slung on poles and carried by men, but a large one, containing more than one traveller, was usually mounted on wheels and drawn by horses. It had been arranged that Rolf should meet Lady Clifford's party in a forest, between Brougham Castle and York, and that he should bring with him a peasant boy's coa.r.s.e woollen dress, to disguise Henry for his flight; and oh, how sad were the hearts of the mother and son when they came in sight of the tall trees of that forest where they were to part for they knew not how long! The path was wide enough to admit of the vehicle, and they had not gone far when Rolf met them. He was not in his minstrel's dress, so that the people did not know him. He came to the side of the litter, and spoke in a low tone to the lady, who called one of her attendants, and said to him--

"This good man brings me word that it will not be safe for us to go to York, therefore I shall alter my course and proceed at once to the sea-coast, and take s.h.i.+p for the Netherlands. He also thinks that it would be better we should not all travel together, therefore I shall send on my eldest son with him and Hubert. He has a conveyance waiting close by in the forest, and when I have seen them off, I will return here. You can, meanwhile, rest and refresh yourselves, for we have a long day's journey yet before us."

The men, who were glad of this respite, dismounted, and began to unpack the provisions with which they were plentifully provided, whilst the sorrowful lady, leading her son by the hand, accompanied by Hubert, followed Rolf, who led them to a spot quite hidden from the view of the rest of the party, where a small cart, such as was used by the villagers in their rural occupations, was really in waiting.

This was indeed a trying moment. The young lord was now to be transformed into the peasant boy--his long bright curls were cut off, his face and hands were stained with a brown liquid to make him look sunburnt, as if he was used to work in the fields, and his rich velvet apparel was changed for coa.r.s.e homespun woollen cloth. But he cared not what they put him on--his only thought was that he was going away from his beloved mother, perhaps never to see her more. He clasped his arms round her neck and clung to her sobbing, as if his heart would break, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks too, as she fell on her knees and murmured a prayer that heaven would watch over and protect her fatherless boy.

"My lady--my dear lady," said old Hubert; "you must not stay here longer--the sooner this parting is over the better it will be for you both. Come, my Lord Henry, it is time we were moving."

So saying he gently disengaged the boy from his mother's encircling arms and lifted him into the cart, making a private signal to Rolf to drive away as fast as he could. He then respectfully entreated his unhappy lady to return to her party, and she, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, suffered him to lead her back, and as soon as he had seen her safely placed in the litter with Cicely and the two children, he mounted his horse and galloped off as if to join Rolf and his young charge, but in reality to take quite another route, for Henry was to pa.s.s, during this journey, for a poor boy whom Rolf was taking home to his native village, and it would not have done for him to be attended by Lady Clifford's seneschal.

It was well he had been sent away, for just about this time King Edward caused an act of attainder to be pa.s.sed against all the n.o.blemen who had fought for the cause of Henry the Seventh, that is, they were deprived of their t.i.tles, and their estates were declared forfeited to the crown; he also issued a command that the children of the attainted n.o.bles should be sent to London to be disposed of, as he, the king, should think fit; and this was probably done for the very purpose of getting Clifford's children into his power; for no sooner had Lady Clifford taken up her abode with her father, the aged Lord de Vesci, than she was summoned to London, and closely questioned as to what had become of her boys. She said she had sent them out of the country, but as she had heard nothing of them since, she did not know whether they were alive or dead, and so the retreat of the high-born shepherd boy remained unknown.

But all the castles and broad lands that were his by right of inheritance were given to the enemies of his family. The Barony of Westmoreland, with Brougham Castle, was bestowed by Edward on his brother Richard Duke of York, afterwards Richard the Third; and the great manor of s.h.i.+pton was conferred on Sir William Stanley, who, at a later period, went over to the Lancasterian party himself, and you may read in Shakespeare's play of "Richard the Third," that it was he who, after the battle of Bosworth, where Richard was killed, picked up the crown and placed it on the victor's head, saying, "Long live Henry the Seventh!" We shall presently see what this event had to do with our hero, Henry de Clifford.