The Last of the Barons — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (reading an ebook .TXT) 📖

could have foreseen, remained silent; but De la Roche, impatient to humble his brother’s foe, and judging it also discreet to arouse the king, said carelessly,—

“It were a pity, Sir Earl, that the citizens, whom you thus deem privy to the thoughts of kings, had not prevised the Archbishop of Narbonne that if he desire to see a fairer show than even the palaces of Westminster and the Tower, he will hasten back to behold the banners of Burgundy and England waving from the spires of Notre Dame.”

Ere the Bastard had concluded, Rivers, leaning back, whispered the king, “For Christ’s sake, sire, select some fitter scene for what must follow! Silence your guest!”

But Edward, on the contrary, pleased to think that De la Roche was breaking the ice, and hopeful that some burst from Warwick would give him more excuse than he felt at present for a rupture, said sternly, “Hush, my lord, and meddle not!”

“Unless I mistake,” said Warwick, coldly, “he who now accosts me is the Count de la Roche,—a foreigner.”

“And the brother of the heir of Burgundy,” interrupted De la Roche,—“brother to the betrothed and princely spouse of Margaret of England.”

“Doth this man lie, sire?” said Warwick, who had seated himself a moment, and who now rose again.

The Bastard sprung also to his feet; but Edward, waving him back, and reassuming the external dignity which rarely forsook him, replied, “Cousin, thy question lacketh courtesy to our noble guest: since thy departure, reasons of state, which we will impart to thee at a meeter season, have changed our purpose, and we will now that our sister Margaret shall wed with the Count of Charolois.”

“And this to me, king!” exclaimed the earl; all his passions at once released—“this to me! Nay, frown not, Edward,—I am of the race of those who, greater than kings, have built thrones and toppled them! I tell thee, thou hast misused mine honour, and belied thine own; thou hast debased thyself in juggling me, delegated as the representative of thy royalty!—Lord Rivers, stand back,—there are barriers eno’ between truth and a king!”

“By Saint George and my father’s head!” cried Edward, with a rage no less fierce than Warwick’s,—“thou abusest, false lord, my mercy and our kindred blood. Another word, and thou leavest this pavilion for the Tower!”

“King,” replied Warwick, scornfully, and folding his arms on his broad breast, “there is not a hair on this head which thy whole house, thy guards, and thine armies could dare to touch. ME to the Tower! Send me,—and when the third sun reddens the roof of prison-house and palace, look round broad England, and miss a throne!”

“What, ho there!” exclaimed Edward, stamping his foot; and at that instant the curtain of the pavilion was hastily torn aside, and Richard of Gloucester entered, followed by Lord Hastings, the Duke of Clarence, and Anthony Woodville.

“Ah,” continued the king, “ye come in time. George of Clarence, Lord High Constable of England, arrest yon haughty man, who dares to menace his liege and suzerain!”

Gliding between Clarence, who stood dumb and thunder-stricken, and the Earl of Warwick, Prince Richard said, in a voice which, though even softer than usual, had in it more command over those who heard than when it rolled in thunder along the ranks of Barnet or of Bosworth, “Edward, my brother, remember Towton, and forbear! Warwick, my cousin, forget not thy king nor his dead father!”

At these last words the earl’s face fell, for to that father he had sworn to succour and defend the sons; his sense, recovering from his pride, showed him how much his intemperate anger had thrown away his advantages in the foul wrong he had sustained from Edward. Meanwhile the king himself, with flashing eyes and a crest as high as Warwick’s, was about perhaps to overthrow his throne by the attempt to enforce his threat, when Anthony Woodville, who followed Clarence, whispered to him, “Beware, sire! a countless crowd that seem to have followed the earl’s steps have already pierced the chase, and can scarcely be kept from the spot, so great is their desire to behold him. Beware!”—and Richard’s quick ear catching these whispered words, the duke suddenly backed them by again drawing aside the curtain of the tent. Along the sward, the guard of the king, summoned from their unseen but neighbouring post within the wood, were drawn up as if to keep back an immense multitude,—men, women, children, who swayed and rustled and murmured in the rear. But no sooner was the curtain drawn aside, and the guards themselves caught sight of the royal princes and the great earl towering amidst them, than supposing in their ignorance the scene thus given to them was intended for their gratification, from that old soldiery or Towton rose a loud and long “Hurrah! Warwick and the king!”—“The king and the stout earl!” The multitude behind caught the cry; they rushed forward, mingling with the soldiery, who no longer sought to keep them back.

“A Warwick! a Warwick!” they shouted. “God bless the people’s friend!”

Edward, startled and aghast, drew sullenly into the rear of the tent.

De la Roche grew pale; but with the promptness of a practised statesman, he hastily advanced, and drew the curtain. “Shall varlets,” he said to Richard, in French, “gloat over the quarrels of their lords?”

“You are right, Sir Count,” murmured Richard, meekly; his purpose was effected, and leaning on his riding staff, he awaited what was to ensue.

A softer shade had fallen over the earl’s face, at the proof of the love in which his name was held; it almost seemed to his noble though haughty and impatient nature, as if the affection of the people had reconciled him to the ingratitude of the king. A tear started to his proud eye; but he twinkled it away, and approaching Edward (who remained erect, and with all a sovereign’s wrath, though silent on his lip, lowering on his brow), he said, in a tone of suppressed emotion,—

“Sire, it is not for me to crave pardon of living man, but the grievous affront put upon my state and mine honour hath led my words to an excess which my heart repents. I grieve that your Grace’s highness hath chosen this alliance; hereafter you may find at need what faith is to be placed in Burgundy.”

“Darest thou gainsay it?” exclaimed De la Roche.

“Interrupt me not, sir!” continued Warwick, with a disdainful gesture. “My liege, I lay down mine offices, and I leave it to your Grace to account as it lists you to the ambassadors of France,—I shall vindicate myself to their king. And now, ere I depart for my hall of Middleham, I alone here, unarmed and unattended, save at least by a single squire, I, Richard Nevile, say, that if any man, peer or knight, can be found to execute your Grace’s threat, and arrest me, I will obey your royal pleasure, and attend him to the Tower.” Haughtily he bowed his head as he spoke, and raising it again, gazed around—“I await your Grace’s pleasure.”

“Begone where thou wilt, earl. From this day Edward IV. reigns alone,” said the king. Warwick turned.

“My Lord Scales,” said he, “lift the curtain; nay, sir, it misdemeans you not. You are still the son of the Woodville, I still the descendant