Part 3 (1/2)
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.”