Penshurst Castle Part 20

Lucy pouted, but was presently consoled by a smile from Philip Sidney, who came across the yard to exchange a word with his sister, and to ask if his young brother was able to get a good view.

Lucy was much elated by that recognition, and her companion said in a low voice,--

'You ask who yonder lady is? Watch, now, and I'll tell you.' For Philip had, in returning, stopped before the booth where Lady Rich sat, and she had bent forward to speak to him. Only a few words pa.s.sed, but when Philip had moved away there was a change in Lady Rich's face, and the lines of discontent and the restless glance of her dark eyes, seeking for admiration, were exchanged for a satisfied smile, which had something also of sadness in it.

'That lady is Lord Rich's wife, and Mr Sidney's love. He will never look with favour on anyone besides. The pity of it! And,' she added in a low voice, 'the shame too!'

'But, hush!' as Lucy was about to respond. 'We may be heard, and that would anger my lady, who has no cause to love my Lady Rich, and would not care to hear her spoken of in the same breath as Mr Sidney.'

The waiting time for spectacles is apt to grow wearisome; and some of the spectators were yawning, and a few of the elder ladies resigning themselves to a quiet nap, their heads heavy with the ale of the morning meal, swaying from side to side, and endangering the stiff folds of the ruffs, which made a sort of cradle for their cheeks and chins. Lucy, however, knew nothing of fatigue; she was too much elated with her position, too earnestly employed in scanning the dresses of the ladies, and admiring the grand equipments of the gentlemen, to feel tired.

At length the blast of trumpets announced the coming of the Queen to the balcony before the window whence she was to see the pageant. A burst of applause and loud cries of 'G.o.d save the Queen' greeted Elizabeth, who, gorgeously arrayed, smiled and bowed graciously to the a.s.sembled people.

Behind her was the Earl of Leicester, and Lord Burleigh and the French Amba.s.sador at either side, with a bevy of ladies-in-waiting in the background. The large window had a temporary balcony erected before it, and those who occupied it were for a few minutes the centre of observation.

Lucy Forrester had never before had so good a view of the Queen, and her astonishment was great when she saw, with the critical eye of youth, the lady about whose beauty and charms so many sonnets and verses had been written by every rhymester in the land, as well as by the chief poets of the day. It was a generally accepted fact throughout the country, that the Queen was as beautiful as she was wise, and that her charms led captive many a n.o.ble suitor, who pined, perhaps in vain, for her favours.

Lucy whispered to her companion,--

'I thought to see a young and fair Queen, and she is old and--'

'Peace, I tell you!' said her companion sharply. 'You are a little fool to dare to say that! You had best hold your tongue!'

Lucy ventured at no further remark, and very soon the heralds came riding into the tilt-yard and proclaimed the coming of the four knights who were to carry the Fortress of Beauty by their prowess against those who defended it; and summoned the Queen to surrender her Fortress to the Four Foster Children of Desire.

The Earl of Arundel led the way with Lord Windsor, both magnificently attired, with a large following of attendant esquires. But Lucy's eyes dilated with an admiration that was too deep for words, as Philip Sidney rode into the yard in blue and gilt armour, seated on a splendid horse, on which he sat with graceful ease as it curveted and pranced, perfectly controlled by the skill of its rider. Four spare horses, richly caparisoned, were led behind him by pages, and thirty gentlemen and yeomen, amongst whom were Humphrey and George Ratcliffe, with four trumpeters dressed in ca.s.sock coats and caps, Venetian hose of yellow velvet adorned with silver lace, and white buskins. A silver band pa.s.sing like a scarf over the shoulder and under the arm bore the motto--_Sic nos non n.o.bis_.

Lucy had no eyes for anyone but her ideal knight, and Fulke Greville, in his gilded armour, with his followers in gorgeous array, had pa.s.sed by almost unheeded.

Speeches were made, and songs sung, and then the challengers marched up and down the yard, and at last proceeded to 'run tilt,' each in his turn, against an opponent, each running six times. The opponents were numerous, and the four, before nightfall, were seriously discomfited.

The show was over for that day, and the Queen commanded that the tilt should be run again on the following morning, which was Whit-Tuesday. After a great many more speeches and confessions of weariness, the four knights fell to work with such renewed energy that, we are told, what with shivering swords and l.u.s.ty blows, it was as if the Greeks were alive again, and the Trojan war renewed--ending in the defeat of the Four Foster Children of Desire, who were, as was only probable, beaten in the unequal contest.

The Queen was loud in her praise of the 'pleasant sport,' which had delighted the gentlemen in whose honour it had been all arranged; and she called up Philip Sidney for especial thanks, and, tapping him on the shoulder, bid him repair to the banqueting-hall and discourse some sweet music on his mandoline, and converse with the French Amba.s.sadors. For, she said, speaking herself in fluent and excellent French,--

'This good Mr Philip Sidney, I would have you to know, has the command of many foreign tongues, and there are few to match him in Latin and Greek, as well as those languages spoken in our own time in divers countries.'

'Ah, madam!' Philip said, 'there is one who surpa.s.ses not only my poor self in learning, but surpa.s.ses also the finest scholars that the world can produce. Need I name that one, gentlemen,' he said, with a courtly bow and kneeling as he kissed the Queen's hand, 'for she it is who has to-day been pleased to give, even to us, Four Children of Desire--defeated as we are--the meed of praise, which is, from her, a priceless dower.'

This flattery was precisely what Elizabeth hoped for, and she was well pleased that it should be offered in the hearing of those amba.s.sadors, who would, doubtless, repeat it in the ears of the Duke of Anjou.

In reply, one of the soft-spoken Frenchmen said,--

'Mr Sidney's fame has reached our ears, Madam. We know him to be what you are pleased to call him; nor will we for a moment dispute his a.s.sertion that, learned as he is, he must yield the palm to his gracious Sovereign.'

A few more flattering speeches were tendered; but a keen observer might have noticed that there was a touch of irony, even of distrust, in the tone, if not in the words, of the amba.s.sadors' chief spokesman.

For if Philip Sidney's fame as a scholar and a statesman had reached France, his fame also as a staunch defender of the Reformed Faith had also reached it, with the report that he had been, a few years before, bold enough to remonstrate with the Queen when the proposal of her marriage with the Duke had been formally made, and that his opposition had been strong enough to turn the scale against it, at the time.

The silence of night had fallen over Whitehall, and those who had won, and those who had been beaten in the tourney were resting their tired, and, in many cases, their bruised limbs, in profound repose, when the porter of the quarters a.s.signed to Philip Sidney's gentlemen and esquires was roused from his nap by loud and continued knocking at the gate.

The porter was very wrathful at being disturbed, and looking out at the small iron grating by the side of the gate, he asked,--

'Who goes there?'

'One who wants speech with Master Humphrey Ratcliffe.'

'It will keep till morning, be off; you may bide my time,' and with that the porter shambled back to his seat in a recess of the entrance, and composed himself to sleep again. But the man who sought admittance was not to be so easily discouraged. He began to knock again with the staff in his hand, more loudly than before.

The porter in vain tried to take no further notice, and finding it impossible to resume his sleep, heavy as it was with the strong potations of the previous night, he rose once more, and, going to the grating, poured out a volley of oaths upon the would-be intruder, which was enough to scare away the boldest suitor for admission.

His loud voice, combined with the thundering rap on the heavy oaken gate or door which still continued, roused Humphrey Ratcliffe from his dreams, on the upper floor, and he presently appeared on the stone staircase which led into the outer hall, where the porter kept guard, and said,--

'What is all this commotion about? Who demands admission? Open the gate, and let us see.'

'Open the gate, Master, yourself,' was the rough reply, 'and let in a parcel of murderers or thieves, for all I care. You're welcome.'

'Hold your tongue, you knave,' Humphrey said; 'you are half-drunk now, I warrant,' and Humphrey, going to the grating, asked,--

'Who craves admission at this hour of the night?'

'An it please you, Master, it is near c.o.c.k-crow,' was the answer, 'and day is breaking. I have ill news for Master Humphrey Ratcliffe, and must deliver my message to his ear.'

'Ill news!' Humphrey repeated the words. His thoughts went first to his mother, and then he remembered that she was safe in lodgings with Dorothy and George.

'I am one, Ned Barton, cowherd to one Mistress Forrester. I've trudged many a mile at the bidding of Mistress Gifford, who is in a sore plight.'

Humphrey did not hesitate now, he drew back the heavy bolts, and turned the huge, rusty key in the lock, and threw open one side of the gate.

'Come in,' he said, 'and deliver your message.'

Ned, in his coa.r.s.e smock, which was much travel-stained and worn, pulled the lock of red hair which shadowed his forehead, in token of respect, and shambled into the hall.

He was footsore and weary, and said,--

'By your leave, Master, I would be glad to rest, for I warrant my bones ache.'

Humphrey pointed to a bench which was but dimly discernible in the dark hall, lighted only by a thin wick floating in a small pan of oil, and bid Ned seat himself, while he drew a mugful of ale from the barrel, which was supposed to keep up the porter's strength and spirits during the night-watch, and put it to Ned's lips.

He drank eagerly, and then said,--

'I've a letter for you, Master, in my pouch, but I was to say you were to keep it to yourself. Mistress Gifford could scarce write it, for she is sick, and no wonder. Look here, Master, I'd tramp twice twenty miles to serve her, and find the boy.'

'Find the boy! You speak in riddles.'

Ned nodded till his abundant red hair fell in more than one stray lock over his sunburnt, freckled face.

'Are there eavesdroppers at hand?' he asked.