The Fifth Queen (66 page)

Their faces differed only in that hers was afraid and his smiling as he thought of new lies to tell her. Her face in her hood, pale beneath its weathering, approached the colour of his that shewed the pink and white of indoors. She came very slowly near him, for she was dazed. But when she was almost at the sill he caught her hand and drew it beneath his elbow.

‘Tell me truly,’ she said, ‘shall I see the Court or a prison? … But you cannot speak truth, nor ever could when we were tiny twins. God help me: last Sunday I had the mind to wed my yard-man. I would become such a liar as thou to come away from here.’

‘Sister,’ he said, ‘this I tell you most truly: that this shall fall out according as you obey me and inform me’; and, because he was a little the taller, he leaned over her as they walked away together.

On the fourth day from then they were come to the great wood that is to south and east of the castle of Pontefract. Here Lascelles, who had ridden much with his sister, forsook her and went ahead of the slow and heavy horses of that troop of men. The road was broadened out to forty yards of green turf between the trees, for this was a precaution against ambushes
of robbers. Across the road, after he had ridden alone for an hour and a half, there was a guard of four men placed. And here, whilst he searched for his pass to come within the limits of the Court, he asked what news, and where the King was.

It was told him that the King lay still at the Fivefold Vents, two days’ progress from the castle, and as it chanced that a verderer’s pricker came out of the wood where he had been to mark where the deer lay for to-morrow’s killing, Lascelles bade this man come along with him for a guide.

‘Sir, ye cannot miss the way,’ the pricker said surlily. ‘I have my deer to watch.’

‘I will have you to guide me,’ Lascelles said, ‘for I little know these parts.’

‘Well,’ the pricker answered him, ‘it is true that I have not often seen you ride a-hawking.’

Whilst they went along the straight road, Lascelles, who unloosened the woodman’s tongue with a great drink of sherry-sack, learned that it was said that only very unwillingly did the King lie so long at the Fivefold Vents. For on the morrow there was to be driven by, up there, a great herd of moor stags and maybe a wolf or two. The King would be home with his wife, it was reported, but the younger lords had been so importunate with him to stay and abide this gallant chase and great slaughter that, they having ridden loyally with him, he had yielded to their prayers and stayed there—twenty-four hours, it was said.

‘Why, you know a great deal,’ Lascelles answered.

‘We who stand and wait had needs have knowledge,’ the woodman said, ‘for we have little else.’

‘Aye, ’tis a hard service,’ Lascelles said. ‘Did you see the Queen’s Highness o’ Thursday week borrow a handkerchief of Sir Roger Pelham to lure her falcon back?’

‘That did not I,’ the woodman answered, ‘for o’ Thursday week it was a frost and the Queen rode not out.’

‘Well, it was o’ Saturday,’ Lascelles said.

‘Nor was it yet o’ Saturday,’ the woodman cried; ‘I will swear it. For o’ Saturday the Queen’s Highness shot with the bow, and Sir Roger Pelham, as all men know, fell with his horse on Friday, and lies up still.’

‘Then it was Sir Nicholas Rochford,’ Lascelles persisted.

‘Sir,’ the woodman said, ‘you have a very wrong tale, and patent it is that little you ride a-hunting.’

‘Well, I mind my book,’ Lascelles said. ‘But wherefore?’

‘Sir,’ the woodman answered, ‘it is thus: The Queen when she rides a-hawking has always behind her her page Toussaint, a little boy. And this little boy holdeth ever the separate lures for each hawk that the Queen setteth up. And the falcon or hawk or genette or tiercel having stooped, the Queen will call upon that eyass for the lure appropriated to each bird as it chances. And very carefully the Queen’s Highness observeth the laws of the chase, of venery and hawking. For the which I honour her.’

Lascelles said, ‘Well, well!’

‘As for the borrowing of a handkerchief,’ the woodman pursued, ‘that is a very idle tale. For, let me tell you, a lady might borrow a jewelled feather or a scarlet pouch or what not that is bright and shall take a bird’s eye—a little mirror upon a cord were a good thing. But a handkerchief! Why, Sir Bookman, that a lady can only do if she will signify to all the world: “This knight is my servant and I his mistress.” Those very words it signifieth—and that the better for it showeth that that lady is minded to let her hawk go, luring the gentleman to her with that favour of his.’

‘Well, well,’ Lascelles said, ‘I am not so ignorant that I did not know that. Therefore I asked you, for it seemed a very strange thing.’

‘It is a very foolish tale and very evil,’ the man answered. ‘For this I will swear: that the Queen’s Highness—and I and her honour for it—observeth very jealously the laws of wood and moorland and chase.’

‘So I have heard,’ Lascelles said. ‘But I see the castle. I will not take you farther, but will let you go back to the goodly deer.’

‘Pray God they be not wandered fore,’ the woodman said. ‘You could have found this way without me.’

There was but one road into the castle, and that from the south, up a steep green bank. Up the roadway Lascelles must ride his horse past four men that bore a litter made of two pikes wattled with green boughs and covered with a horse-cloth. As Lascelles passed by the very head of it, the man that lay there sprang off it to his feet, and cried out—

‘I be the Queen’s cousin and servant. I brought her to the Court.’ Lascelles’ horse sprang sideways, a great bound up the bank. He galloped ten paces ahead before the rider could stay him and turn round. The man, all rags and with a black face, had fallen into the dust of the road, and still cried out outrageously. The bearers set down the litter, wiped their brows, and then, falling all four upon Culpepper, made to carry him by his legs and arms, for they were weary of laying him upon the litter from which incessantly he sprang.

But before them upon his horse was Lascelles and impeded their way. Culpepper drew in and pushed out his legs and arms, so that they all four staggered, and—

‘For God’s sake, master,’ one of them grunted out, ‘stand aside that we may pass. We have toil enow in bearing him.’

‘Why, set the poor gentleman down upon the litter,’ Lascelles said, ‘and let us talk a little.’

The men set Culpepper on the horse-cloth, and one of them knelt down to hold him there.

‘If you will lend us your horse to lay him across, we may come more easily up,’ one said. In these days the position and trade of a spy was so little esteemed—it had been far other with the great informers of Privy Seal’s day—that these men, being of the Queen’s guard, would talk roughly to Lascelles, who
was a mere poor gentleman of the Archbishop’s if his other vocation could be neglected. Lascelles sat, his hand upon his chin.

‘You use him very roughly if this be the Queen’s cousin,’ he said.

The bearer set back his beard and laughed at the sky.

‘This is a coif—a poor rag of a merchant,’ he cried put. ‘If this were the Queen’s cousin should we bear him thus on a clout?’

‘I am the Queen’s cousin, T. Culpepper,’ Culpepper shouted at the sky. ‘Who be you that stay me from her?’

‘Why, you may hear plainly,’ the bearer said. ‘He is mazed, doited, starved, thirsted, and a seer of visions.’

Lascelles pondered, his elbow upon his saddle-peak, his chin caught in his hand.

‘How came ye by him?’ he asked.

One with another they told him the tale, how, the Queen being ridden towards the north parts, at the extreme end of her ride had seen the man, at a distance, among the heather, flogging a dead horse with a moorland kern beside him. He was a robbed, parched, fevered, and amazed traveller. The Queen’s Highness, compassionating, had bidden bear him to the castle and comfort and cure him, not having looked upon his face or heard his tongue. For, for sure then, she had let him die where he was; since, no sooner were these four, his new bearers, nearly come up among the knee-deep heather, than this man had started up, his eyes upon the Queen’s cavalcade and many at a distance. And, with his sword drawn and screaming, he had cried out that, if that was the Queen, he was the Queen’s cousin. They had tripped up his heels in a bed of ling and quieted him with a clout on the poll from an axe end.

‘But now we have him here,’ the eldest said; ‘where we shall bestow him we know not.’

Lascelles had his eyes upon the sick man’s face as if it fascinated
him, and, slowly, he got down from his horse. Culpepper then lay very still with his eyes closed, but his breast heaved as though against tight and strong ropes that bound him.

‘I think I do know this gentleman for one John Robb,’ he said. ‘Are you very certain the Queen’s Highness did not know his face?’

‘Why, she came not ever within a quarter mile of him,’ the bearer said.

‘Then it is a great charity of the Queen to show mercy to a man she hath never seen,’ Lascelles answered absently. He was closely casting his eyes over Culpepper. Culpepper lay very still, his begrimed face to the sky, his hands abroad above his head. But when Lascelles bent over him it was as if he shuddered, and then he wept.

Lascelles bent down, his hands upon his knees. He was afraid—he was very afraid. Thomas Culpepper, the Queen’s cousin, he had never seen in his life. But he had heard it reported that he had red hair and beard, and went always dressed in green with stockings of red. And this man’s hair was red, and his beard, beneath coal grime, was a curly red, and his coat, beneath a crust of black filth, was Lincoln green and of a good cloth. And, beneath the black, his stockings were of red silk. He reflected slowly, whilst the bearers laughed amongst themselves at this Queen’s kinsman in rags and filth.

Lascelles gave them his bottle of sack to drink empty among them, that he might have the longer time to think.

If this were indeed the Queen’s cousin, come unknown to the Queen and mazed and muddled in himself to Pontefract, what might not Lascelles make of him? For all the world knew that he loved her with a mad love—he had sold farms to buy her gowns. It was he that had brought her to Court, upon an ass, at Greenwich, when her mule—as all men knew—had stumbled upon the threshold. Once before, it was said, Culpepper had burst in with his sword drawn upon the King and Kate
Howard when they sat together. And Lascelles trembled with eagerness at the thought of what use he might not make of this mad and insolent lover of the Queen’s!

But did he dare?

Culpepper had been sent into Scotland to secure him up, away at the farthest limits of the realm. Then, if he was come back? This grime was the grime of a sea-coal ship! He knew that men without passports, outlaws and the like, escaped from Scotland on the Durham ships that went to Leith with coal. And this man came on the Durham road. Then …

If it were Culpepper he had come unpermitted. He was an outlaw. Dare Lascelles have trade with—dare he harbour—an outlaw? It would be unbeknown to the Queen’s Highness! He kicked his heels with impatience to come to a resolution.

He reflected swiftly:

What hitherto he had were: some tales spread abroad about the Queen’s lewd Court—tales in London Town. He had, too, the keeper of the Queen’s door bribed and talked into his service and interest. And he had his sister …

His sister would, with threatening, tell tales of the Queen before marriage. And she would find him other maids and grooms, some no doubt more willing still than Mary Hall. But the keeper of the Queen’s door! And, in addition, the Queen’s cousin mad of love for her! What might he not do with these two?

The prickly sweat came to his forehead. Four horsemen were issuing from the gate of the castle above. He must come to a decision. His fingers trembled as if they were a pickpocket’s near a purse of gold.

He straightened his back and stood erect.

‘Yes,’ he said very calmly, ‘this is my friend John Robb.’

He added that this man had been in Edinburgh where the Queen’s cousin was. He had had letters from him that told how they were sib and rib. Thus this fancy had doubtless come into his brain at sight of the Queen in his madness.

He breathed calmly, having got out these words, for now the doubt was ended. He would have both the Queen’s doorkeeper and the Queen’s mad lover.

He bade the bearers set Culpepper upon his horse and, supporting him, lead him to a room that he would hire of the Archbishop’s chamberlain, near his own in the dark entrails of the castle. And there John Robb should live at his expenses.

And when the men protested that, though this was very Christian of Lascelles, yet they would have recompense of the Queen for their toils, he said that he himself would give them a crown apiece, and they might get in addition what recompense from the Queen’s steward that they could. He asked them each their names and wrote them down, pretending that it was that he might send each man his crown piece.

So, when the four horsemen were ridden past, the men hoisted Culpepper into Lascelles’ horse and went all together up into the castle.

But, that night, when Culpepper lay in a stupor, Lascelles went to the Archbishop’s chamberlain and begged that four men, whose names he had written down, might be chosen to go in the Archbishop’s paritor’s guard that went next dawn to Ireland over the sea to bring back tithes from Dublin. And, next day, he had Culpepper moved to another room; and, in three days’ time, he set it about in the castle that the Queen’s cousin was come from Scotland. By that time most of the liquor had come down out of Culpepper’s brain, but he was still muddled and raved at times.

O
N THAT THIRD NIGHT
the Queen was with the Lady Mary, once more in her chamber, having come down as before, from the chapel in the roof, to pray her submit to her father’s will. Mary had withstood her with a more good-humoured irony;
and, whilst she was in the midst of her pleadings, a letter marked most pressing was brought to her. The Queen opened it, and raised her eyebrows; she looked down at the subscription and frowned. Then she cast it upon the table.