 CHAPTER I. POISON. The execution of Lady Lake's criminal and vindictive project would not have been long deferred after the defeat she had sustained from Lord Ruse, but for her husband's determined opposition. This may appear surprising in a man so completely under his wife's governance as was Sir Thomas, but the more he reflected upon the possible consequences of the scheme, the more averse to it he became, and finding all arguments unavailing to dissuade his lady from her purpose, he at last summoned up resolution enough positively to interdict it. But the project was only deferred and not abandoned. The forged confession was kept in readiness by Lady Lake for production on the first favorable opportunity. Not less disinclined to the measure than her father was Lady Ruse, though the contrary had been represented to Sir Thomas by his lady. But accustomed to yield blind obedience to her mother's wishes, she had been easily worked upon to acquiesce in the scheme, and especially as the fabricated confession did not appear to hurt her husband, for whom, though she did not dare to exhibit it, she maintained a deep and unchanging affection. So utterly heartbroken was she by the prolonged and painful struggle she had undergone that she was now almost indifferent to its issue. For some time her health had given way under the severe shocks she had endured, but all at once more dangerous symptoms began to manifest themselves, and she became so greatly indisposed that she could not leave her room. Extremely distressing in its effects, the attack resembled fever. Inextinguishable thirst tormented her, burning pains, throbbing in the temples, and violent fluttering of the heart. No alleviation of her sufferings could be obtained from the remedies administered by Luke Hatten, who was in constant attendance upon her. Nor will this be wondered at since we are in the secret of his dark doings. On the contrary, the fever increased in intensity, and at the end of four days of unremitting agony, witnessed with cynical indifference by the causer of the mischief, it was evident that her case was desperate. From the first Lady Lake had been greatly alarmed, for with all her faults she was an affectionate mother, though she had a strange way of showing her affection, and she was unremitting in her attentions to the sufferer, scarcely ever quitting her bedside. After a few days, however, thus spent in nursing her daughter, she herself succumbed to a like malady. The same devouring internal fires scorched her up, and raged within her veins. The same unappeasable thirst tormented her, and unable longer to fulfill her task, she confided it to Sarah Swarton, and withdrew to another chamber, communicating by a side door, masked by drapery, with that of Lady Ruse. Devoted to her mistress, Sarah Swarton would have sacrificed her life to restore her health, and she cared not, though the fever might be infectious. The gentleness and resignation of the ill-fated lady, which failed to move Luke Hatten, melted her to tears, and it was with infinite grief that she saw her, day by day, sinking slowly but surely into the grave. To Lady Ruse, the presence of Sarah Swarton was an inexpressible comfort. The handmaiden was far superior to her station, with a pleasing countenance and prepossessing manner, and possessed of the soft voice so soothing to the ear of pain. But the chief comfort derived by Lady Ruse from the society of Sarah Swarton was the power of unbosoming herself to her respecting her husband, and of pouring her sorrows into a sympathizing ear. Lord Ruse had never been near his wife since her seizure, nor that she could learn, had made any inquiries about her. But notwithstanding his heartless conduct, her great desire was to behold him once more before she died, and to breathe some last words into his ear, and she urged the wish so strongly upon her confidant that the latter promised, if possible, to procure its accomplishment. A week had now nearly elapsed, the fatal term appointed by Luke Hatton, and it could be no longer doubted that, if the last gratification sought by Lady Ruse were to be afforded her, it must not be delayed. The poor sufferer was wasted to a skeleton, her cheeks hollow, eyes sunk in deep cavities, though the orbs were unnaturally bright, and her frame so debilitated that she could scarcely raise herself from the pillow. Sarah Swarton accordingly resolved to set out upon her errand, but before doing so she sought an interview with Lady Lake for the purpose of revealing certain fearful suspicions she had begun to entertain of Luke Hatton. She would have done this before, but there was an almost insuperable difficulty in obtaining a few words in private of her ladyship. The apothecary was continually passing from room to room, hovering nigh the couches of his patients, as if afraid of leaving them for a moment, and he seemed to regard Sarah herself with distrust. But he had now gone forth, and she resolved to take advantage of his absence to make her communication. End of chapter one. Chapter two of The Star Chamber, an historical romance, volume two. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, volume two, by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter two, Counterpoison. The physical tortures endured by Lady Lake were exceeded by her mental anguish. While the poison raged within her veins, the desire of vengeance inflamed her breast, and her fear was lest she should expire without gratifying it. Bitterly did she now upbraid herself for having delayed her vindictive project. More than once she consulted Luke Hatton as he stood beside her couch, with the habitual sneer upon his lips, watching the progress of his own infernal work as to the possibility of renovating her strength, if only for an hour in order that she might strike the blow. But he shook his head and bade her wait. Wait, however, she would not, and she became at length so impatient that he agreed to make the experiment, telling her he would prepare a draft which should stimulate her into new life for a short time. But he would not answer for the after-consequences. This was enough. She eagerly grasped at the offer. Revenge must be had, cost what it would. And it was to prepare the potion which was to effect her brief cure that Luke Hatton had quitted her chamber, and left the coast clear for Sarah Swarton. Startled by the abrupt entrance and looks of the handmaiden, Lady Lake anxiously inquired if all was well with her daughter. As well as it seems ever likely to be with her, my lady, replied Sarah Swarton, she is somewhat easier now. But has your ladyship courage to listen to what I have to tell you? Have I ever shown want of courage, Sarah, that you should put such a question? rejoin Lady Lake sharply. But this is something frightful, my lady. Then do not hesitate to disclose it. Has your ladyship never thought it a strange illness by which you and my lady, Ruth, have been seized? said Sarah, coming close up to her and speaking in a low, hurried tone, as if afraid of being overheard or interrupted. Why should I think it's strange, Sarah, returned Lady Lake, regarding her fixedly? It is a dreadful and infectious fever which I have taken from my daughter. And that is the reason why Sir Thomas, and all others except Luke Hatton and yourself, are forbidden to come near us. What we should have done without you, Sarah, I know not. For Luke Hatton tells me the rest of the household shun us as they would a pestilence. I trust you will escape the disorder. And if I am spared, your devotion shall be adequately requited. As to Luke Hatton, he seems to have no fear of it. He has no reason to be afraid, replied Sarah significantly. There is no fever, my lady. How, cried Lady Lake, would you set up your ignorance against the skill and science of Luke Hatton? Or do you mean to insinuate? I insinuate nothing, my lady, interrupted Sarah. But I beseech you to bear with fortitude the disclosure I am about to make to you. In a word, my lady, I am as certain as I am of standing here that poison has been administered both to you and to my lady, Ruse. At this terrible communication, a mortal sickness came over Lady Lake. Thick damps gathered upon her brow, and she fixed her haggard eyes upon Sarah. Poisoned, she muttered. Poisoned. If so, there is but one person who can have done it, but one except yourself, Sarah. If I had committed the crime, should I have come hither to warn you, my lady? rejoined Sarah. Then it must be Luke Hatton. I replied Sarah, looking round anxiously. It is he. When he did not think I noticed him, I chanced to see him pour a few drops from a file into the drink he prepares for your ladyship and my lady, Ruse. And my suspicions being aroused by his manner as much as by the circumstance, I watched him narrowly and found that this proceeding was repeated with every draft. And this difference merely that the dose was increased in strength by one additional drop. The potion administered to your ladyship being some degrees less powerful than that given to my dear lady, and no doubt being intended to be slower in its effects. That it was poison, I am certain, since I have tested it upon myself by sipping a small quantity of the liquid. And I had reason to repent my rashness, for I soon perceived I had the same symptoms of illness as those which distress your ladyship. Why did you not caution me sooner, Sarah, said Lady Lake, horror stricken by this narration. I could not do so, my lady, she replied. It was only yesterday that I arrived at a positive certainty in the matter. And after my imprudence in tasting the drink, I was very ill. Indeed, I am scarcely well yet. And to tell truth, I was afraid of Luke Hatten, as I am sure he would make away with me without a moment's hesitation, if he fancied I had discovered his secret. Oh, I hope he will not come back and find me here. Who can have prompted him to the deed, muttered Lady Lake? But why ask, since I know my enemies and therefore know his employers? Not a moment must be lost, Sarah. Let Sir Thomas Lake be summoned to me immediately. If he be at Theobalds, at Greenwich, or Windsor, let messengers be sent after him, praying him to use all possible dispatch and coming to me. I cannot yet decide what I will do, but it shall be something terrible. Oh, that I could once more confront the guilty pair. And I will do it. I will do it. Revenge will give me strength. I cannot undertake to bring the Countess hither, my lady, said Sarah. But I may now venture to inform you that I am charged with a message from my dear lady to her cruel husband, with which I am persuaded he will comply and come to her. Lord him hither and speedily, by any means you can, Sarah, rejoined Lady Lake. Before you go, help to raise me from my couch and place me in that chair. It is well, she cried, as her wishes were complied with. I do not feel so feeble as I expected. I was sure revenge would give me strength. Now give me my black velvet robe and my quaff. Even in this extremity, I would only appear as besiems me. And hark ye, Sarah, open that drawer and take out the weapon you will find within it. Do as I bid you quickly, wench. I may need it. Here it is, my lady, replied Sarah, taking out a dagger and giving it to Lady Lake, who immediately concealed it in the folds of her robe. Now go, pursued the lady. I am fully prepared. Let not a moment be lost in what you have to do. Do not give any alarm, but bid two of the trustiest of the household, hold themselves in readiness without, and if I strike upon the bell to rush in upon the instant. Or if Luke Hatton should come forth, let him be detained. You understand? Perfectly my lady, replied Sarah, and I make no doubt they will obey. I am sure it has only been Luke Hatton who, by his false representations, has kept them away, and I will remove the impression he has produced. Do not explain more than is needful at present, said Lady Lake. We know not precisely how this plot may have been laid and must take its authors by surprise. You were once more intimate than I liked with that Spanish knave, Diego. Breathe not a word to him or I will be repeated to his master. Rest assured, I will be careful, my lady. I have seen nothing whatever of Diego of late and care not if I never behold him again. But what is to happen to my dear lady? Leave her to me, replied Lady Lake. I hope yet to be able to save her. Ha! Here comes the villain. Away with you, Sarah, and see that my orders are obeyed. The Handmaiden did not require the command to be repeated, but hastily quitted the room, casting a terrified look at the apothecary who entered it at the same moment. Luke Hatton appeared greatly surprised on finding Lady Lake risen from her couch, and could not help exclaiming as he quickly advanced towards her. You up, my lady! This is very imprudent and may defeat my plans. No doubt you think so, rejoined Lady Lake. But knowing you would oppose my inclination, I got Sarah to lift me from the couch and tire me during your absence. Have you prepared the mixture? I have, my lady, he replied, producing a small file. Give it me, she cried, taking it from him. After examining the pale yellow fluid it contained for a moment, she took out the glass stopper and, smelling at it, perceived it to be a very subtle and volatile spirit. Is this poison, she demanded, fixing her eyes keenly upon Luke Hatton. On the contrary, my lady, he replied, without expressing any astonishment at the question. It would be an antidote to almost any poison. It is the rarest cordial that can be prepared, and the secret of its composition is only known to myself. When I said your ladyship would incur great risk in taking it, I meant that the reaction from so powerful a stimulant would be highly dangerous. But you declared you did not heed the consequences. Nor do I, she rejoined, yet I would see it tasted. Your mind shall be made easy on that score in a moment, my lady, said Luke Hatton. And taking a small wine glass that stood by, he rinsed it with water and carefully wiped it, after which he poured a few drops of the liquid into it and swallowed them. During this proceeding, Lady Lake's gaze never quitted him for a second. Apparently satisfied with the test, she bade him return the file to her. You would better let me pour it out for you, my lady, he replied, cleansing the glass as before. The quantity must be exactly observed. 20 drops and no more. My hand is as steady as your own, and I can count the drops as accurately, she rejoined, taking the file from him. 20, you say? 20, my lady rejoined Hatton, evidently displeased. But perhaps you would better confine yourself to 15, or even 10, to be safer. You think the larger dose might give me too much strength, but too much strength? Ha! What say you do 50 or 100? It must not be, my lady. It must not be. You will destroy yourself. It is my duty to prevent you. I must insist upon your giving me back the file, unless you will consent to obey my orders. But I tell you, man, I will have 100 drops of the cordial, she cried pertinaciously. And I say you shall not, my lady, he rejoined, unable in his anger to maintain the semblance of respect he had hitherto preserved, and endeavoring to obtain forcible possession of the file. But she was too quick for him. And as he stretched out his hand for the purpose, the dagger gleamed before his eyes. Back, miscreant, she cried, your over eagerness has betrayed you. I now fully believe what I have hitherto doubted, that this is a counter poison, and that I may safely use it. It is time to unmask you and to let you know that your villainies are discovered. I am aware of the malignant practices you have resorted to, and that my daughter and myself would have been destroyed by your poisonous preparations. But I now feel some security in the antidote I have obtained. And if I do perish, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I shall not die unavenged, but that certain punishment awaits you and your employers. On this she poured out half the contents of the file into the glass, saying as she drank it, I reserve the other half for Lady Ruth's. Luke Hatten, who appeared thunder-stricken, made no further effort to prevent her, but turned to fly. Lady Lake, however, upon whom the restorative effect of the cordial was almost magical, ordered him to stay, telling him if he went forth he would be arrested on hearing which he sullenly obeyed her. You have not deceived me as to the efficacy of the potion, said the lady. It has given me new life, and with returning vigor I can view all things as I viewed them here to fore. Now mark what I have to say, villain. You have placed me and my daughter in fearful jeopardy, but it is in your power to make reparation for the injury, and as I hold you to be a mere instrument in the matter, I am willing to spare the life you have forfeited on condition of your making a full confession in writing of your attempt to be used by me against your employers. Are you willing to do this, or shall I strike upon the bell and have you bound hand and foot and conveyed to the gatehouse? I will write that I was employed by the Countess of Exeter to poison you and my Lady Rousse replied Luke Hatton stubbornly, but I will do nothing more. That will suffice replied Lady Lake after a moment's reflection. And when I have done it, I shall be free to go, he asked. You shall be free to go, she replied. There were writing materials on an adjoining table, and without another word Luke Hatton sat down. And with great expedition drew up a statement which he signed and handed to Lady Lake, asking if that was what she required. A smile lighted up her ghastly features as she perused it. It will do, she said. And now answer me one question and you are free. Will this cordial have the same effect on my daughter as on me? Precisely the same, it will cure her, but you must proceed more cautiously. Or she to take the quantity you have taken, it would kill her. Am I now at liberty to depart? You are replied Lady Lake. So sane, she struck the bell and immediately afterwards the door was opened, not however by the attendants, but by Sir Thomas Lake. As the Secretary of State perceived that the apothecary avoided him and would have passed forth quickly, he sternly and authoritatively commanded him to stay, exclaiming, You stir not hence till you have accounted to me from my daughter, who I understand is dying from your pernicious treatment. What hoe there keeps strict watch without and suffer not this man to pass forth. End of chapter two Chapter three of the Star Chamber and historical romance volume two. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber volume two by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter three showing that our pleasant vices are made the whips discourage us. We must now request the reader to visit the noble mansion in the Strand, erected by Thomas Cecil, then Earl of Exeter, and bearing his name in a chamber of which Lord Bruce and the Countess of Exeter will be found alone together alone for the last time. Very different was the deportment of the guilty pair towards each other from what it used to be. The glances they exchanged were no longer those of passionate love, but of undissembled hatred. Bitter reproaches had been uttered on one side, angry menaces on the other. Ever since the fatal order had been rested from the Countess, her peace of mind had been entirely destroyed, and she had become a prey to all the horrors of remorse. Perceiving the change in her sentiments toward him, Lord Bruce strove by the arts which had hitherto proved so successful to win back the place he had lost in her affections. But failing in doing so and irritated by her reproaches, and still more by her coldness, he gave vent to his displeasure in terms that speedily produced a decided quarrel between them, and though reconciled in appearance, they never again were to each other what they had been. As this was to be their final meeting, they had agreed not to embitter it with unavailing reproaches and recriminations. Lord Bruce acquainted the Countess that he had decided upon traveling into Italy and Spain, and remaining abroad for a lengthened period, and the announcement of his intention was received by her without an objection. Perhaps he hoped that when put to this trial she might relent. If so, he was disappointed. She even urged him not to delay his departure, and concluded her speech with these words. Something tells me we shall meet no more in this world, but we are certain to meet hereafter at the judgment seat. How shall we regard each other then? Trouble me not with the question rejoined Lord Bruce gloomily. I have not come here to listen to sermons, and will brook no more reproaches. I do not mean to reproach you, William, she returned meekly, but the thought of our dire offence rises perpetually before me. Would we could undo what we have done? I tell you it is too late, rejoined Lord Bruce harshly. At this moment Diego suddenly presented himself, and apologizing for the abruptness of his entrance, accounted for it by saying that Sarah Swarton besought a word with his lordship. She brought a message he added from Lady Bruce, who was much worse and not finding his lordship at his own residence, had ventured to follow him to Exeter House to deliver it. I will come to her annon, said Lord Bruce carelessly. No, no, admit her at once Diego cried the countess. I would hear what she has to say. And the next moment Sarah Swarton being ushered into the room, she rushed up to her and eagerly demanded, How fares it with your lady? Is there any hope for her? None whatever replied Sarah, shaking her head sadly. She has passed all chance of recovery. In heaven pardon me, ejaculated the countess, clasping her hands together and falling upon her knees. Sarah Swarton gazed at her in astonishment, while Lord Bruce rushing towards her commanded her to rise. Take heed what you say and do, countess, he whispered. You will excite this woman's suspicions. Why should your ladyship implore heavens pardon because my poor dear lady is near her end? inquired Sarah. I sue for it because I have caused her much affliction, replied the countess. Your message, Sarah, your message, interposed Lord Bruce, what have you to say to me? My lady desires to see you once more before she expires, my Lord, replied Sarah. She would take leave of you, and she has something to impart to you. You will not refuse her last request? He will not. He will not, I am sure, cried the countess, seeing him look irresolute. I did not expect to be seconded by you, and my lady observed Sarah in increasing surprise. Would that I too might see her and obtain her forgiveness? exclaimed the countess, without heeding the remark. An idle wish and not to be indulged, said Lord Bruce. A sudden idea appeared to strike Sarah, and she cried, Your ladyship's desire may possibly be gratified, my poor lady desires to pardon peace with all the world, even with those who have injured her. I will communicate your wishes to her, and it may be she will consent to see you. You shall have a reward well worthy of the service if you accomplish it, said the countess. Hasten to her with all speed, my Lord, and I will follow in my litter, ready to attend Sarah's summons. I like not the plan, rejoined Lord Bruce. You are wrong to go. Why need you see her? Why? she answered, regarding him fixedly, because it may be some little consolation to me afterwards. Then go alone, said Lord Bruce savagely. I will not accompany you. I do not ask you to accompany me, but to precede me, she replied. Now mark me, my Lord, she added in a low, firm tone, and be assured I do not advance more than I will perform. If you refuse your wife's dying request, I will go back with Sarah and confess all to her. Lord Bruce looked as if he could have annihilated her, and muttered a terrible implication upon her head. Threaten me, I, and execute your threats hereafter, if you will, continue the countess in the same low, decided tone. But go you shall now. Her manner was so irresistible that Lord Bruce was compelled to obey, and he quitted the room without a word more, followed by Diego and Sarah Swarton, the latter of whom signed to the countess that she might depend upon the fulfillment of her wishes. They had not been gone many minutes before Lady Exeter entered her litter, and wholly unattended by page or serving man, except those in charge of the conveyance, caused herself to be conveyed to Sir Thomas Lake's lodgings in Whitehall. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of the Star Chamber, an historical romance, Volume 2. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 2, by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter 4, How the Forged Confession Was Produced. Summoning up all his firmness for the interview with his lady, Lord Ruse entered her chamber, attended by Sarah Swarton, and beheld her propped up by pillows bearing evident marks in her countenance of the severe sufferings she had endured. She was emaciated in frame and almost livid in complexion, hollow-cheeked and hollow-eyed, but still with a look of unaltered affection for him. Having fulfilled her mission, Sarah left them alone together. He took the thin fingers extended towards him and pressed them to his lips, but scarcely dared to raise his eyes towards his wife. So much was she shocked by her appearance. It was with difficulty she gave utterance to the words she addressed to him. "'I thank you for coming to me, my lord,' she said, "'but you will not regret your kindness. "'We are quite alone, are we not? "'My eyes are so dim that I cannot distinguish "'any object at the other end of the room, "'but I can see you plainly enough, my dear lord.' "'We are alone,' Elizabeth replied Lord Ruse, "'in a voice of some emotion, after glancing around.' "'Then I may speak freely,' she continued. "'What I predicted has occurred. "'You did not do well, my dear lord, "'to take that file from me and place it in other hands. "'Nay, start not. "'I know I am poisoned. "'I have known it from the first, "'but I have made no effort to save myself, "'for I was aware it was your will I should die.' "'Oh, Elizabeth,' murmured her husband. "'I was aware of it,' she repeated, "'and as I have never voluntarily disobeyed you, "'I would not now thwart your purpose, "'even though I myself must be the sacrifice. "'It was to tell you this that I have sent for you. "'It was to forgive, to bless you.' "'And as she spoke, she threw her arms round his neck, "'and he felt his cheek wet with her tears. "'This is more than I can bear,' cried Lord Ruse, "'in a voice suffocated by emotion. "'I thought I had firmness for anything, "'but it deserts me entirely now. "'You are an angel of goodness, Elizabeth, "'and I am a demon of darkness. "'I do not deserve your forgiveness. "'You will deserve it if you will comply with the request "'I'm about to make to you,' she rejoined, "'looking at him beseechingly. "'Whatever it be, it shall be granted "'if in my power he rejoined earnestly. "'I would redeem your life if I could, "'at the price of my own. "'You have exercised the evil spirit from me, Elizabeth. "'Then I shall die happy,' she replied, "'with a smile of ineffable delight. "'But the request? "'What is it you would have me perform?' he asked. "'I would have you spare my mother,' she replied. "'I know she has been dealt with in the same way as myself, "'but I also know there is yet time to save her.' "'It shall be done,' said Lord Ruse emphatically. "'Where is she?' "'In the adjoining chamber. "'Is Luke Hatten in attendance upon her?' "'In constant attendance,' she rejoined. "'That man has obeyed you well, my Lord, "'but take heed of him. "'He is a dangerous weapon and may injure the hand "'that employs him. "'Strike gently upon that bell. "'He will attend the summons.' "'Lord Ruse complied. "'When, to his astonishment and dismay, "'the curtain shrouding the entrance "'to the adjoining room were drawn aside, "'and Lady Lake stalked from behind them. "'Never before had she surveyed her son-in-law "'with such a glance of triumph "'as she threw upon him now.' "'You are mistaken, you see, Elizabeth,' said Lord Ruse to his lady. "'Your mother needs no aid. "'She is perfectly well.' "'I well enough to confound you "'in your wicked purposes, my Lord,' cried Lady Lake. "'You have not accomplished my destruction as you perceive, "'nor shall you accomplish your wife's destruction, "'though you have well nigh succeeded. "'Let it chafe you to madness "'to learn that I possess an antidote, "'which I have myself approved, "'and which will kill the poison circling in her veins "'and give her new life.' "'An antidote,' exclaimed Lord Ruse. "'So far from galling me to madness, "'the intelligence fills me with delight beyond expression. "'Give it me, madam, that I may administer it at once, "'and heaven grant its results may be such as you predict.' "'Administered by you, my Lord, it would be poison,' said Lady Lake bitterly. "'But you may stand by and witness its beneficial effects. "'They will be instantaneous.' "'As you will, madam, "'so you do not delay the application,' cried Lord Ruse. "'Drink of this, my child,' said Lady Lake, "'after she had poured some drops of the cordial "'into a glass. "'I will take it from no hand but my husband's,' murmured Lady Ruse. "'How?' exclaimed her mother, frowning. "'Give it me, I say, madam,' cried Lord Ruse. "'Is this a time for hesitation "'when you see her life hangs upon a thread, "'which you yourself may sever?' "'And taking the glass from her, he held it to his wife's "'lips, tenderly supporting her "'while she swallowed its contents. "'It was not long before the effects "'of the cordial were manifest. "'The deathly hue of the skin changed "'to a more healthful color, "'and the pulsations of the heart became stronger "'and more equal, and though the debility "'could not be so speedily repaired, "'it was apparent that the work of restoration "'had commenced, and might be completed "'if the same treatment were pursued. "'Now I owe my life to you, my dear Lord,' said Lady Ruse, regarding her husband "'with grateful fondness. "'To him,' exclaimed her mother, "'you owe him nothing but a heavy debt of vengeance, "'which we will endeavor to pay and with interest, "'but keep calm, my child, and do not trouble yourself. "'Whatever may occur. "'Your speedy restoration will depend much on that.' "'You do not adopt the means "'to make me calm, mother,' replied Lady Ruse. "'But Lady Lake was too much bent "'upon the immediate and full gratification "'of her long-deferred vengeance to heed her. "'Claping her hands together, "'the signal was answered by Sir Thomas Lake, "'who came forth from the adjoining room with Luke Hatton. "'At the same time, and as if it had been so contrived "'that all the guilty parties should be confronted together, "'the outer door of the chamber was opened, "'and the Countess of Exeter was ushered in by Sarah Swarton. "'On seeing in whose presence she stood, "'the Countess would have precipitately retreated, "'but it was too late. "'The door was closed by Sarah. "'So my turn has come at last,' cried Lady Lake, "'gazing from one to the other "'with a smile of gratified vengeance. "'I hold you all in my toils. "'You, my lord, addressing her son-in-law, "'have treated a wife who has ever shown you "'the most devoted affection with neglect and cruelty, "'and not content with such barbarous treatment "'have conspired against her life and against my life. "'Take heed how you bring any charge against him, "'mother,' cried Lady Ruse, "'raising herself in her couch. "'Take heed, I say. "'Let your vengeance fall upon her head,' "'pointing to the Countess, "'but not upon him. "'I am willing to make atonement for the wrongs "'I have done you, Lady Ruse,' said the Countess, "'and have come hither to say so, "'and to implore your forgiveness.' "'You fancied she was dying,' rejoined Lady Lake, "'dying from the effects of the poison administered to her, "'and to me, by Lou Catton, according to your order. "'But you are mistaken, Countess. "'We have found an antidote, "'and shall yet live to requite you.' "'It is more satisfaction to me to be told this, madam, "'than it would be to find that Lou Catton had succeeded "'in his design, which I would have prevented "'if I could,' said Lady Exeter. "'You will gain little credit for that assertion, Countess,' remarked Sir Thomas Lake, "'since it is contradicted by an order "'which I hold in my hand, signed by yourself, "'and given to the miscreant in question.' "'Oh, heavens!' ejaculated the Countess. "'Do you deny this signature?' asked Sir Thomas, showing her the paper. Lady Exeter made no answer. "'Learn further to your confusion, Countess,' pursued Lady Lake. "'That the wretch, Lou Catton, has made a full confession of his offense, wherein he declares that he was incited by you and by you alone, on the offer of a large reward, "'to put my daughter and myself to death by slow poison.' "'By me alone? incited by me!' cried Lady Exeter. "'Why, I opposed him. "'It is impossible he can have confessed thus. "'Hast thou done so, villain?' "'I have,' replied Lou Catton sullenly. "'Then now hast thou vouched a lie, "'a lie that will damn thee,' said Lady Exeter. "'Lord, Ruth knows it to be false, "'and it can exculpate me. "'Speak, my lord, I charge you and say how it occurred.' "'But the young nobleman remains silent.' "'Not a word, not a word in my favor,' the Countess exclaimed, in a voice of anguish. "'May, then I am indeed lost!' "'You are lost past redemption,' cried Lady Lake, "'with an outburst of fierce exultation, "'and a look as if she would have trampled her beneath her feet. "'You have forfeited honor, station, life, "'guilty of disloyalty to your proud and noble husband, "'you have sought to remove by violent deaths "'those who stood between you and your lover. "'Happily your dreadful purpose has been defeated. "'But this avowal of your criminality with Lord Ruth, "'signed by yourself and witnessed by his lordship "'and his Spanish servant, "'this shall be laid within an hour before the Earl of Exeter. "'My brain turns round. "'I am bewildered with all these frightful accusations,' exclaimed the Countess, distractedly. "'I have made no confession, have signed none.' "'Me thought you said I had witnessed it, Madam,' cried Lord Ruth, almost as much bewildered as Lady Exeter. "'Will you deny your own handwriting, my lord?' rejoined Lady Lake. "'Or will the Countess? "'Behold the confession, subscribed by the one "'and witnessed by the other.' "'It is a forgery,' shrieked the Countess. "'You have charged me with witchcraft, "'but you practice it yourself.' "'If I did not know it to be false, "'I could have sworn the hand was yours, Countess,' cried Lord Ruth. "'And my own signature is equally skillfully simulated.' "'False or not,' cried Lady Lake, "'it shall be laid before Lord Exeter, as I have said, "'with all the details. "'I am before the King.' "'Before the King,' repeated Lord Ruth, "'as he drew near Lady Exeter and whispered in her ear, "'Countess, our soul's safety is in immediate flight. "'Circumstances are so strong against us "'that we shall never be able to disprove this forgery.' "'Then save yourself in the way you propose, my lord,' she rejoined with Scorn. "'For me, I shall remain and brave it out.' "'The young nobleman made a movement towards the door.' "'You cannot go forth without my order, my lord,' cried Sir Thomas Lake. "'It is guarded.' "'Perdition!' exclaimed Lord Ruth.' Again Lady Lake looked from one to the other with a smile of triumph, but it was presently checked by a look from her daughter who made a sign to her to approach her. "'What would you, my child? More of the cordial?' demanded Lady Lake. "'No mother,' she replied in a tone so low as to be inaudible to the others. "'Nor will I suffer another drop to pass my lips, unless my husband be allowed to depart without molestation. "'Would you interfere with my vengeance?' said Lady Lake. "'I, mother, I will interfere with it effectually unless you comply,' rejoined Lady Ruth firmly. "'I will acquaint the Countess with the true nature of that confession. As it is, she has awakened by her conduct some feelings of pity in my breast.' "'You will ruin all by your weakness,' said Lady Lake. "'Let Lord Ruth go free, and let there be a truce between you and the Countess for three days, and I am content. "'I do not like to give such a promise,' said Lady Lake. "'It will be hard to keep it.' "'It may be harder to lose all your vengeance,' rejoined Lady Ruth in a tone that showed she would not be opposed. "'Compelled to succumb, Lady Lake moved towards her Thomas, and a few words having passed between them in private, the Secretary of State thus addressed his noble son-in-law. "'My Lord,' he said in a grave tone. "'At the instance of my daughter, though much against my own inclination and that of my wife, I will no longer oppose your departure. "'I understand you are about to travel, and I therefore recommend you to set forth without delay, for if you be found in London or in England after three days, during which time at the desire also of our daughter, and equally against our own wishes, we consent to keep truce with my Lady of Exeter. "'If, I say, you are found after that time, I will not answer for the consequences to yourself. "'Thus warned, my Lord, you are at liberty to depart.' "'I will take advantage of your offer, Sir Thomas, and attend to your hint,' replied Lord Ruth. And turning upon his heel, he marched towards the door, whether he was accompanied by Sir Thomas Lake, who called to the attendants outside to let him go free. "'Not one word of farewell to me, not one look,' exclaimed his wife, sinking back upon the pillow. "'Nor for me, and I shall see him no more,' murmured the Countess, compressing her beautiful lips. "'But it is better thus.' While this was passing, Luke Hatton had contrived to approach the Countess, and now set in a low tone. "'If your ladyship will trust me, and make it worth my while, I will deliver you from the peril in which you are placed by this confession. Shall I come to Exeter's house to-night?' She consented. "'At what hour?' "'At midnight,' she returned. "'I loathe thee, yet have no alternative but to trust thee. Am I free to depart likewise?' she added aloud to Sir Thomas. "'The door is open for you, Countess,' rejoined the Secretary of State, with mock ceremoniousness. "'After three days, you understand, war is renewed between us.' "'War to the death,' subjoined Lady Lake. "'Be it so,' replied the Countess. "'I shall not desert my post.' "'And assuming the dignified deportment for which she was remarkable, she went forth with a slow and majestic step. Luke Hatton would have followed her, but Sir Thomas detained him. "'Am I a prisoner?' he said uneasily, glancing at Lady Lake. Her ladyship promised me instant liberation. "'And the promise shall be fulfilled. As soon as I am satisfied, my daughter is out of danger,' returned Sir Thomas. "'I am easy, then,' said the apothecary. "'I will answer for her speedy recovery.'" End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of The Star Chamber An Historical Romance, Volume 2 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 2 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 5 A visit to Sir Giles Mompasson's habitation near the fleet Allowing an interval of three or four months to elapse between the events last recorded and those about to be narrated, we shall now conduct the reader to a large, gloomy habitation near Fleet Bridge. At first view, this structure with its stone walls, corner turrets, ponderous door, and barred windows might be taken as part and parcel of the ancient prison existing in this locality. Such, however, was not the fact. The little river Fleet whose muddy current was at that time open to view flowed between the two buildings, and the grim and frowning mansion we proposed to describe stood on the western bank, exactly opposite the gateway of the prison. Now, as no one had a stronger interest in the Fleet Prison than the owner of that gloomy house, in as much as he had lodged more persons within it than anyone ever did before him, it would almost seem that he had selected his abode for the purpose of watching over the safe custody of the numerous victims of his rapacity and tyranny. This was the general's surmise, and it must be owned, there was ample warranty for it in his conduct. A loophole in the turret at the northeast angle of the house commanded the courts of the prison, and here Sir Giles Mompasson would frequently station himself to note what was going forward within the jail and examine the looks and deportment of those kept by him in endurance. Many a glance of hatred and defiance was thrown from these sombre courts at the narrow aperture at which he was known to place himself, but such regards only excited Sir Giles's derision. Many an imploring gesture was made to him, but these entreaties for compassion were equally disregarded. Being a particular friend of the warden of the Fleet, and the jailers obeying him as they would have done their principal, he entered the prison when he pleased, and visited any ward he chose at any hour of day or night. And though the unfortunate prisoners complained of the annoyance, and especially those to whom his presence was obnoxious, no redress could be obtained. He always appeared when least expected, and seemed to take a malicious pleasure in troubling those most anxious to avoid him. Nor was Sir Giles the only visitant to the prison. Clement Lignere was as frequently to be seen within its courts and wards as his master, and a similar understanding appeared to exist between him and the jailers. Hence he was nearly as much an object of dread and dislike as Sir Giles himself, and few saw the masked and shrouded figure of the spy approach them without misgiving. From the strange and unwarrantable influence exercised by Sir Giles and the promoter in the prison, they came at length to be considered as part of it, and matters were as frequently referred to them by the subordinate officers as to the warden. It was even supposed by some of the prisoners that a secret means of communication must exist between Sir Giles's habitation and the jail, but as both he and Lignere possessed keys of the wicket, such a contrivance was obviously unnecessary, and would have been dangerous, as it must have been found out at some time by those interested in the discovery. It has been shown, however, that in one way or other, Sir Giles had nearly as much to do with the management of the fleet prison as those to whom its governance was ostensibly committed, and that he could, if he thought proper, aggravate the sufferings of its unfortunate occupants without incurring any responsibility for his treatment of them. He looked upon the star chamber and the fleet as the means by which he could plunder society and stifle the cry of the oppressed, and it was his business to see that both machines were kept in good order and worked well. But to return to his habitation, its internal appearance corresponded with its forbidding exterior. The apartments were large, but cold and comfortless, and, with two or three exceptions, scantily furnished. Sumptuously decorated, these exceptional rooms presented a striking contrast to the rest of the house, but they were never opened except on the occasion of some grand entertainment, a circumstance of rare occurrence. There was a large hall of entrance where Sir Giles's mermidans were want to assemble, with a great table in the midst of it, on which no victuals were ever placed, at least at the extortioner's expense, and a great fireplace where no fire ever burnt. From this a broad stone staircase mounted to the upper part of the house, and communicated by means of dusky corridors and narrow passages with the various apartments. A Turnpike staircase connected the turret to which Sir Giles used to resort to reconnoiter the fleet prison, with the lower part of the habitation, and similar corkscrew stairs existed in the other angles of the structure. When stationed at the loophole, little wrecked Sir Giles of the mighty cathedral that frowned upon him, like the offended eye of heaven. His gaze was seldom raised towards St. Paul's, or if it were, he had no perception of the beauty or majesty of the ancient cathedral. The object of interest was immediately below him. The sternest realities of life were what he dealt with. He had no taste for the sublime or the beautiful. Sir Giles had just paid an inquisitorial visit, such as we have described, to the prison, and was returning homewards over Fleet Bridge when he encountered Sir Francis Mitchell, who was coming in quest of him, and they proceeded to his habitation together. Nothing beyond a slight greeting passed between them in the street, for Sir Giles was ever jealous of his slightest word being overheard. But he could see from his partner's manner that something had occurred to annoy and irritate him greatly. Sir Giles was in no respect changed since the reader last beheld him. Habited in the same suit of sables, he still wore the same mantle and the same plumed hat, and had the same long rapier by his side. His deportment, too, was as commanding as before, and his aspect as stern and menacing. Sir Francis, however, had not escaped the consequences naturally to be expected from the punishment inflicted upon him by the apprentices, being so rheumatic that he could scarcely walk, while a violent cough with which he was occasionally seized, and which took its date from the disastrous day referred to, and had never left him since, threatened to shake his feeble frame in pieces. This, added to the exasperation under which he was evidently laboring, was almost too much for him. Three months seemed to have placed as many years upon his head, or at all events, to have taken a vast deal out of his constitution. But notwithstanding his increased infirmities and utter unfitness for the part he attempted to play, he still affected the youthful air, and still aped all the extravagances and absurdities in dress and manner of the gayest and youngest court coxcomb. He was still attired in silks and satins of the gaudiest hues, still carefully trimmed as to hair and beard, still redolent of perfumes. Not without exhibiting considerable impatience, Sir Giles was obliged to regulate his pace by the slow and tottering steps of his companion, and was more than once brought to a halt as the lungs of the latter were convulsively torn by his cough. But at last they reached the house, and entered the great hall where the myrmidans were assembled, all of whom rose on their appearance and saluted them. There was Captain Blutter, with his braggart air, attended by some half-dozen Alsatian bullies. Lupo Vulp, with his crafty looks and the tip-staves, all, in short, were present, excepting Clément Lanier, and Sir Giles knew how to account for his absence. To the inquiries of Captain Blutter and his associates, whether they were likely to be required in any business that day, Sir Giles gave a doubtful answer, and placed in some pieces of money in the Alsatian's hand, bade him repair with his followers to the rose tavern in hanging sword court, and crush a flask or two of wine, and then return for orders, an injunction with which the Captain willingly complied. To the tip-staves, Sir Giles made no observation, and bidding Lupo Vulp hold himself in readiness for a summons, he passed on with his partner to an inner apartment. On Sir Francis gaining it, he sank into a chair, and was again seized with a fit of coughing that threatened him with annihilation. When it ceased, he made an effort to commence the conversation, and Sir Giles, who had been pacing to and fro and patiently within the chamber, stopped to listen to him. You will wonder what business has brought me hither today, Sir Giles, he said, and I will keep you no longer in suspense. I have been insulted, Sir Giles, grievously insulted. By whom demanded the extortioner? By Sir Jocelyn Munchency replied Sir Francis, shaking with passion. I have received a degrading insult from him today, which ought to be washed out with his blood. What hath he done to you, inquired the other. I will tell you, Sir Giles, I chanced to see him in the courtyard of the Palace of Whitehall, and there being several gallants nigh at hand, who I thought would take my part. What a plaguey cough I have gotten, to be sure. But his all owing to those cursed apprentices, a moraine sesam, your patience, sweet Sir Giles, I am coming to the point. There it takes me again. Well, as I was saying, thinking the gallants with whom I was conversing would back me, and perceiving Munchency approaches, I thought I might venture. Venture, repeated Sir Giles scornfully. Let not such a disgraceful word pass your lips. I mean, I thought I might take occasion to affront him. Whereupon I cocked my hat fiercely, as I have seen you and Captain Blutter do, Sir Giles. Couple me not with the Alsatian, I pray of you, Sir Francis, observe the extortioners sharply. Your pardon, Sir Giles, your pardon. But as I was saying, I regarded him with a scowl, and tapped the hilt of my sword. And what think you the ruffingly fellow did? I almost blush at the bear relation of it. Firstly, he plucked off my hat, telling me I ought to stand bareheaded in the presence of gentlemen. Next, he tweaked my nose, and as I turned round to avoid him, he applied his foot, yes, his foot, to the back of my trunk-hoes. And well was it that the hose were stoutly wadded and quilted. Fire and fury, Sir Giles, I cannot brook the indignity. And what was worse, the shameless gallants, who ought to have lent me aid, were ready to split their sides with laughter, and declared I had only gotten my due. When I could find utterance for very co-ler, I told the villain you would requite him, and he answered he would serve you in the same fashion, whenever you crossed his path. Ha! said he so, cried Sir Giles, half drawing his sword, while his eyes flashed fire. We shall see whether he will make good his words. Yet no, revenge must not be accomplished in that way. I have already told you I am willing to let him pursue his present career undisturbed for a time, in order to make his fall the greater. I hold him in my hand, and can crush him when I please. Then do not defer your purpose, Sir Giles, said Sir Francis, or I must take my own means of setting myself right with him. I cannot consent to sit down calmly under the provocation I have endured. And what will be the momentary gratification afforded by his death, if such you meditate? returned Sir Giles. In comparison with hurling him down from the point he has gained, stripping him of all his honors, and of such wealth as he may have acquired, and plunging him into the fleet prison where he will die by inches, and where you yourself may feast your eyes on his slow agonies. That is true revenge, and you are but a novice in the art of vengeance, if you think your plan equal to mine. It is for this, and this only, that I have spared him so long. I have suffered him to puff himself up with pride and insolence, till he is ready to burst. But his day of reckoning is at hand, and then he shall pay off the long arrears he owes us. Well, Sir Giles, I am willing to leave the matter with you, said Sir Francis. But it is hard to be publicly insulted, and have injurious epithets applied to you, and not obtain immediate redress. I grant you it is so rejoined, Sir Giles, but you well know you are no match for him at the sword. If I am not, others are. Clement Lanier, for instance, cried Sir Francis. He has more than once arranged a quarrel for me. And were it an ordinary case, I would advise that the arrangement of this quarrel should be left to Lanier, said Sir Giles. Or I myself would undertake it for you. But that were only half revenge. No, the work must be done completely, and the triumph you will gain in the end will amply compensate you for the delay. Be it so then, replied Sir Francis. But before I quit the subject, I may remark that one thing perplexes me in the sudden rise of this upstart, and that is that he encounters no opposition from Buckingham. Even the king, I am told, has expressed his surprise that the jealous Marquis should view one who may turn out a rival with so much apparent complacency. It is because Buckingham has no fear of him, replied Sir Giles. He knows he has but to say the word, and the puppet brought forward by Degondamar, for it is by him that Monsoncy is supported, will be instantly removed. But as he also knows, that another would be set up, he is content to let him occupy the place for a time. Certus, if Monsoncy had more knowledge of the world, he would distrust him, said Sir Francis. Because in my opinion, Buckingham overacts his part and shows him too much attention. He invites him, as I am given to understand, to all his masks, banquets, and revels at York House, and even condescends to flatter him. Such conduct would awaken suspicion in anyone save the object of it. I have told you, Buckingham's motive, and therefore his conduct will no longer surprise you. Have you heard of the wager between Degondamar and the Marquis, in consequence of which a trial of skill is to be made in the tiltyard tomorrow? Monsoncy is to run against Buckingham, and I leave you to guess what the result will be. I myself am to be among the jousters. You, exclaimed Sir Francis. Even I replied, Sir Giles, with a smile of gratified vanity. Now mark me, Sir Francis, I have a surprise for you. It is not enough for me to hurl this aspiring youth from his proud position and cover him with disgrace. It is not enough to amure him in the fleet, but I will deprive him of his choicest treasure, of the object of his devoted affections. I indeed, exclaimed Sir Francis. By my directions Clement Lanier has kept constant watch over him, and has discovered that the young man's heart is fixed upon a maiden of great beauty named Avalon Calvally, daughter of the crazy Puritan who threatened the king's life some three or four months ago at Theobalds. I mind me of the circumstance, observed Sir Francis. This maiden lives in great seclusion with an elderly dame, but I have found out her retreat. I have said that Sir Jocelyn is enamored of her, and she is by no means insensible to his passion. But a bar exists to their happiness. Almost with his last breath a promise was extorted from his daughter by Hugh Calvally, that if her hand should be claimed within a year by one to whom he had engaged her, but with whose name even she was wholly unacquainted, she would unhesitatingly give it to him. And will the claim be made? It will. And think you she will fulfill her promise? I am sure of it. A dying father's commands are sacred with one like her. Have you seen her, Sir Giles? Is she so very beautiful as represented? I have not yet seen her, but she will be here and on, and you can then judge for yourself. She here, exclaimed Sir Francis, by what magic will you bring her hither? By a spell that cannot fail in effect, replied Sir Giles with a grim smile. I have summoned her in her father's name. I have sent for her to tell her that her hand will be claimed. By whom, inquired Sir Francis? That is my secret, replied Sir Giles. At this juncture there was a tap at the door, and Sir Giles, telling the person without to enter, it was opened by Clement Lanier, wrapped in his long mantle and with his countenance hidden by his mask. They are here, he said. The damsel and the elderly female, cried Sir Giles. And receiving a response in the affirmative from the promoter, he bade him usher them in at once. The next moment, Avalon, attended by a decent-looking woman somewhat stricken in years, entered the room. They were followed by Clement Lanier. The maiden was attired in deep mourning, and though looking very pale, her surpassing beauty produced a strong impression upon Sir Francis Mitchell, who instantly arose on seeing her, and made her a profound, and, as he considered, courtly salutation. Without bestowing any attention on him, Avalon addressed herself to Sir Giles, whose look filled her with terror. Why have you sent for me, sir? she demanded. I have sent for you, Avalon Cowley, to remind you of the promise made by you to your dying father, he rejoined. Ah, she exclaimed, and my forebodings of ill are realized. I know you consider that promise binding, pursued Sir Giles, and it is only necessary for me to announce to you that, in a week from this time, your hand will be claimed in marriage. Alas, alas, she cried in accents of despair. But who will claim it, and how can the claim be substantiated, she added, recovering herself in some degree. You will learn at the time I have appointed, replied Sir Giles, and now, having given you notice to prepare for the fulfillment of an engagement solemnly contracted by your father, and as solemnly agreed to by yourself, I will no longer detain you. Avalon gazed at him with wonder and terror, and would have sought for some further explanation. But perceiving from the inflexible expression of his countenance that any appeal would be useless, she quitted the room with her companion. I would give half I possessed to make that maiden mine, cried Sir Francis, intoxicated with admiration of her beauty. Humpf, exclaimed Sir Giles. More difficult matters have been accomplished. Half your possessions say you, she is not worth so much. Assign to me your share of the mountain sea estates, and she shall be yours. I will do it, Sir Giles. I will do it, cried the old user, eagerly. But you must prove to me first that you can make good your words. Pasha, have I ever deceived you, man? But rest easy, you shall be fully satisfied. Then call in Lupo Vulp, and let him prepare the assignment at once, cried Sir Francis. I shall have a rare prize, and shall effectually revenge myself on this detested montiancy. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of the Star Chamber and Historical Romance, Volume 2 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 2 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 6 Of the Wager Between the Conditagandamar and the Marquis of Buckingham At a banquet given at Whitehall, attended by all the principal lords and ladies of the court, a wager was laid between the Conditagandamar and the Marquis of Buckingham, the decision of which was referred to the King. The circumstance occurred in this way. The discourse happened to turn upon jousting, and the magnificent favorite, who was held unrivaled in all martial exercises in chivalrous sports, and who, confident in his own skill, vauntingly declared that he had never met his match in the tilt yard, whereupon the Spanish ambassador, willing to lower his pride, immediately rejoined, that he could, upon the instant, produce a better man-at-arms than he. And so certain was he of being able to make good his words, that he was willing to stake a thousand doubloons to a hundred on the issue of a trial. To this Buckingham hotly replied, that he at once accepted the ambassador's challenge, but in regard to the terms of the wager, they must be somewhat modified, as he would not accept them as proposed, but he was willing to hazard on the result of the encounter all the gems with which, at the moment, his abilements were covered, against the single diamond clasp worn by DeGondemar, and if the offer suited his excellency, he had nothing to do but appoint the day, and bring forward the man. DeGondemar replied that nothing could please him better than the marquis's modification of the wager, and the proposal was quite consistent with the acknowledged magnificence of his lordship's notions, yet he begged to make one further alteration, which was, that in the event of the night he should nominate being adjudged by his majesty to be the best jouster, the rich prize might be delivered to him. Buckingham assented, and the terms of the wager being now fully settled, it only remained to fix the day for the trial, and this was referred to the king, who appointed the following Thursday, thus allowing, as the banquet took place on a Friday, nearly a week for preparation. James also, good-naturedly, complied with the ambassador's request, and agreed to act as judge on the occasion, and he laughingly remarked to Buckingham, ye are demented, Steeney, to risk, ah, those precious stains with which ye are bedecked on the skill with which ye can yield a frail lance. We may say unto you now in the words of the poet, pendeba, tertigiamata, maniliacolo. But what shall Seyfre, whose round throat, those gem-collars and glittering oceans, will hang a week hence, if ye be worsted? Think of that, my dear dog. Your majesty need be under no apprehension, replied Buckingham. I shall win, and wear his excellency's diamond clasp, and now perhaps the count will make us acquainted with the name and title of my puissant adversary, on whose address he so much relies. Our relative chances of success will then be more apparent. If, however, any motives for secrecy exist, I will not press the inquiry, but leave the disclosure to a more convenient season. Nook est narande tempus rejoin the king. No time like the present. We are anxious to kin, while the hero may be. I will not keep your majesty a moment in suspense, said de Gondemore. The young knight whom I designed to select as the marquis's opponent, and whom I am sure will feel grateful for having such means of honorable distinction afforded him, is present at the banquet. Here, exclaimed James, looking round, to whom do you refer a count? It cannot be Sir Gilbert Gerard, or Sir Henry Rich, for, without saying, ought in disparagement of their prowess, neither of them is a match for Buckingham. Ah, save us! We hate it! You mean Sir Jocelyn Monsoncy! And as the ambassador acknowledged that his majesty was right, all eyes were turned towards the young knight, who, though as much surprise as anyone else, could not help feeling greatly elated. A wheel count, said James, evidently pleased. You might have made a wire choice, that we are free to confess. But we begin to tremble for your broad jewels, Steny. They are safer than I expected, replied Buckingham, disdainfully. But though he thus laughed it off, it was evident he was displeased, and he muttered to his confidential friend, Lord Mordant. I see through it all, this is a concerted scheme to bring this aspiring galliard forward, but he shall receive a lesson for his presumption he shall not easily forget, while at the same time those who make use of him for their own purposes shall be taught the risk they incur in daring to oppose me. The present opportunity shall not be neglected. Having formed this resolution, Buckingham, to all appearance, entirely recovered his gaiety, and pressed the king to give importance to the trial by allowing it to take place in the royal tilt yard at Whitehall, and to extend the number of jousters to fourteen, seven on one side and seven on the other. The request was readily granted by the monarch, who appeared to take a stronger interest in the match than Buckingham altogether liked, and confirmed him in his determination of ridding himself forever of the obstacle in his path presented by Munchency. The number of jousters being agreed upon, it was next decided that the party with whom Buckingham was to range should be headed by the Duke of Lenox, while Munchency's party was to be under the command of Prince Charles, and though the disposition was too flattering to his adversary to be altogether agreeable to the haughty favorite, he could not raise any reasonable objection to it, and was therefore obliged to submit with the best grace he could. The two parties were then distributed in the following order by the king, on the side of the Duke of Lenox, besides Buckingham himself, were the Earl's of Arendelle and Pembroke, and the Lord's Clifford and Mordaunt, and while the king was hesitating as to the seventh, Sir Giles Mompasson was suggested by the Marquis, and James willing to oblige his favorite adopted the proposition. On the side of Prince Charles were ranked the Marquis of Hamilton, the Earl's of Montgomery, Rutland and Dorset, Lord Walden, and of course Sir Jocelyn Munchency. These preliminaries being fully adjusted, other topics were started, and the corrals which had been in some degree interrupted was renewed and continued with the entertainments that succeeded it till past midnight. Not a little elated by the high compliment paid to his prowess by the Spanish ambassador, and burning to break a lance with Buckingham, Sir Jocelyn resolved to distinguish himself of the trial. Good luck, of late, had invariably attended him. Within the last few weeks he had been appointed one of the gentlemen of His Majesty's bedchamber, and this was looked upon as the stepping stone to some more exalted post. Supported by the influence of Degondamar, and upheld by his own personal merits, which by this time, in spite of all hostility towards him, had begun to be appreciated, with the king himself most favorably inclined towards him, and Prince Charles amicably disposed, with many of the courtiers proffering him service, who were anxious to throw off their forced allegiance to the overweening favorite, and substitute another in his stead. With all these advantages it is not to be wondered at that in a short space of time he should have established a firm footing on that smooth and treacherous surface, the pavement of a palace, and have already become an object of envy and jealousy to many, and of admiration to a few. Possessing the faculty of adapting himself to circumstances, Sir Jocelyn conducted himself with rare discretion, and while avoiding giving offence, never suffered a liberty to be taken with himself, and having on the onset established a character for courage, he was little afterwards molested. It was creditable to him that in a court where morality was at so low an ebb as that of James I, he should have remained uncorrupted, and that not all the allurements of the numerous beauties by whom he was surrounded, and who exerted their blandishments to ensnare him, could tempt him for a moment's disloyalty to the object of his affections. It was creditable that at the frequent orgies he was compelled to attend, where sobriety was derided, and revelry pushed to its furthest limits, he was never on any occasion carried beyond the bounds of discretion. It was still more creditable to him that in such venal and corrupt days he maintained his integrity perfectly unsolid. Thus severely tested, the true worth of his character was proved, and he came from the ordeal without a blemish. The many excellent qualities that distinguished the newly made knight and gentleman of the bedchamber, combined with his remarkable personal advantages in conciliatory manner, considerably improved by the polish he had recently acquired, drew, as we have intimated, the attention of the second personage in the kingdom towards him. Struck by his manner and by the sentiments he expressed, Prince Charles took frequent opportunities of conversing with him, and might have conceived a regard for him, but for the jealous interference of Buckingham, who, unable to brook a rival either with the king or prince, secretly endeavored to set both against him. Such, however, was Sir Jocelyn's consistency of character, such his solidity of judgment and firmness, and such the respect he inspired, that he seemed likely to triumph over all the insidious snares planned for him. Things were in this state when the trial of skill in jousting was proposed by Degondamar. The wily ambassador might have, and probably had, some secret motive in making the proposal, but whatever it was it was unknown to his protégé. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of the Star Chamber, an historical romance Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber Volume 2 by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter 7. A Cloud in the Horizon But it must not be imagined that Sir Jocelyn's whole time was passed in attendance on the court. Not a day flew by that he did not pay a visit to Avalon. She had taken a little cottage where she dwelt in perfect seclusion with one female attendant, old Dame Sherbourne, the same who had accompanied her on her compulsory visit to Sir Giles Monpason, and her father's faithful old servant, Anthony Rock. To this retreat situated in the then rural neighborhood adjoining Holburn, Sir Jocelyn, as we have said, daily repaired, and the moments so spent were the most delicious of his life. The feelings of regard entertained for him from the first, by Avalon, had by this time ripened into love. Yet, mindful of her solemn promise to her father, she checked her growing affection as much as lay in her power, and would not at first permit any words of tenderness to be uttered by him. As weeks, however, and even months ran on, and no one appeared to claim her hand, she began to indulge the hope that the year of probation would expire without molestation, and insensibly, and almost before she was aware of it, Sir Jocelyn had become complete master of her heart. In these interviews, he told her all that occurred to him at court, acquainted her of his hopes of aggrandizement, and induced her to listen to his expectations of a brilliant future to be shared by them together. The severe shock Avalon had sustained in the death of her father had gradually worn away, and, if not free from occasional depression, she was still unable to take a more cheerful view of things. Never had she seen Sir Jocelyn so full of ardor as on the day after the banquet, when he came to communicate the intelligence of the jousts, and that he was selected to assay his skill against that of Buckingham. The news, however, did not produce upon her the effect he expected. Not only could she not share his delight, but she was seized with anticipations of coming ill in connection with this event, for which she could not account. Nor could all that Jocelyn said remove her misgivings, and in consequence, their meeting was sadder than usual. On the next day these forebodings of impending calamity were most unexpectedly realized. A mysterious personage wrapped in a long black cloak, and wearing a mask, entered her dwelling without standing upon the ceremony of tapping at the door. His presence occasioned her much alarm, and it was not diminished when he told her, in a stern and peremptory tone, that she must accompany him to Sir Giles' Mompasson's habitation. Refusing to give any explanation of the cause of this strange summons, he said she would do well to comply with it. That, indeed, resistance would be idle as Sir Giles was prepared to enforce his orders, and that he himself would be responsible for her safety. Compelled to be satisfied with these assurances, Aveline yielded to the apparent necessity of the case, and set forth with him, attended by Dame Sherbourne. With what passed during her interview with the extortioner, the reader is already acquainted. She had anticipated something dreadful, but the reality almost exceeded her anticipations. So overpowered was she by the painful intelligence that it was with difficulty she reached home, and the rest of the day was occupied with anxious reflection. Evening as usual brought her lover. She met him at the door where he tied his horse, and they entered the little dwelling together. The shades of night were coming on a pace, and in consequence of the gloom he did not remark the traces of distress on her countenance, but went on with the theme uppermost in his mind. I know you have ever avoided shows and triumphs, he said, but I wish I could induce you to make an exception in favor of this tilting match, and consent to be present at it. The thought that you were looking on would nerve my arm, and make me certain of success. Even if I would, I cannot comply with your request, you replied, in an agitated tone. Prepare yourself, Jocelyn. I have bad news for you. He started, and the vision of delight in which he had been indulging vanished at once. The worst news you could have to tell me would be that the claim had been made, he observed. I trust it is not that. It is better to know the worst at once. I have received undoubted information that the claim will be made. A cry of anguish escaped Sir Jocelyn, as if a severe blow had been dealt him, and he could scarcely articulate the inquiry. By whom? That I know not, she rejoined, but the ill tidings have been communicated to me by Sir Giles Mompasson. Sir Giles Mompasson exclaimed Sir Jocelyn, scarcely able to credit what he heard. Your father would never have surrendered you to him. It is impossible he could have made any compact with such a villain. I do not say that he did, and if he had done so, I would die a thousand deaths and incur all the penalties attached to the sin of disobedience, rather than fulfill it. Sir Giles is merely the mouthpiece of another, who will not disclose himself till he appears to exact fulfillment of the fatal pledge. But be it whosoever it may, the claim never can be granted, cried Sir Jocelyn in a voice of agony. You will not consent to be bound by such a contract. You will not thus sacrifice yourself. It is out of all reason. Your father's promise cannot bind you. He had no right to destroy his child. Will you listen to my counsel, Aveline? he continued vehemently. You have received this warning, and though it is not likely to have been given with any friendly design, still you may take advantage of it and avoid by flight the danger to which you are exposed. Impossible, she answered, I could not reconcile such a course to my conscience or to my reverence for my father's memory. There is still another course open to you, he pursued, if you choose to adopt it, and that is, to take a stop which shall make the fulfillment of this promise impossible. I understand you, she replied, but that is equally out of the question. Often and often have I thought over this matter, and with much uneasiness, but I cannot relieve myself of the obligation imposed upon me. Oh, Aveline, cried Sir Jocelyn, if you allow yourself, by any fancied scruples, to be forced into a marriage repugnant to your feelings, you will condemn both yourself and me to misery. I know it. I feel it, and yet there is no escape, she cried. Were I to act on your suggestions and fly from this threatened danger, or remove it altogether by a marriage with you? Were I to disobey my father? I should never know a moment's peace. There was a brief pause interrupted only by her sobs. At length, Sir Jocelyn exclaimed quickly, Perhaps we may be unnecessarily alarming ourselves, and this may only be a trick of Sir Jocelyn's mappusone. He may have heard of the promise you have made to your father, and may try to frighten you, but whoever is put forward must substantiate his claim. As those words were uttered, there was a slight noise in the apartment, and, looking up, they beheld the dusky figure of Clement Lanier, masked and cloaked, as was his want, standing beside them. You hear, cried Sir Jocelyn in astonishment. I, replied the promoter, I am come to tell you that this is no idle fear, that the claim will be made, and will be substantiated. Ah, exclaimed Avalon, in a tone of anguish. You will not seek to evade it, I know, young mistress, replied the promoter, and therefore, as you have truly said, there is no escape. Only let me know the claimant's name, cried Sir Jocelyn, and I will engage he shall never fulfill his design. Oh no, this must not be. You must not resort to violence, said Avalon. I will never consent to owe my deliverance to such means. You shall have all the information you require after the joust on Thursday, said Lanier, and let the thought strengthen your arm in the strife, for if you fail, Avalon Cowley will have no protector in the hour of need. With this he departed as suddenly and mysteriously as he had come. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of The Star Chamber and Historical Romance, Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 2 by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter 8. White Hall. The tilt yard at White Hall, where the jousting was appointed to take place, was situated on the westerly side of the large area in front of the old banqueting house destroyed by fire soon after the date of this history, and replaced by the stately structure planned by Anigo Jones still existing, and formed part of a large range of buildings appertaining to the palace, and running parallel with it in a northerly direction from Westminster, devoted to purposes of exercise and recreation, and including the tennis court, the bowling alley, the ménage, and the cockpit. A succession of brick walls of various heights, and surmounted by roofs of various forms and sizes, marked the position of these buildings in reference to St. James's Park, which they skirted on the side next to King Street. They were mainly, if not entirely, erected in 1532 by Henry VIII, when, after his acquisition from Woolsey by Forfeiture of White Hall, he obtained by exchange from the Abbot and Convent of Westminster all their unclosed land contiguous to his newly acquired palace, and immediately fenced it round and converted it into a park. To a monarch so fond of robust sports and manly exercises of all kinds as our bluff Harry, a tilt yard was indispensable, and he erected one on a grand scale, and made it a place of constant resort. Causing a space of 150 yards in length and 50 in width to be enclosed and encircled by lofty walls, he fixed against the inner side large scaffolds containing two tiers of seats, partitioned from each other like boxes in a theatre, for the accommodation of spectators. At the southern extremity of the enclosure he reared a magnificent gallery, which he set apart for his consort and the ladies in attendance upon her. This was decorated with velvet and hung with curtains of cloth of gold. On grand occasions when the court was present, the whole of the seats on the scaffolds, previously described, were filled with bright-eyed beauties whose looks and plaudits stimulated to deeds of high in prize the knights, who styled themselves their servants, and besought favours from them in the shape of a scarf, a veil, a sleeve, a bracelet, a ringlet, or a knot of ribbons. At such times Henry himself would enter the lists, and in his earlier days, and before he became too unwieldy for active exertion, no rudor antagonist with the lance or sword could be found than he. Men indeed existed in his days very different in hardyhood of frame and personal strength from the silken ciberites, innervated by constant riot and dissipation, who aped the deeds of arms of their grandfathers in the time of James I. But the tiltyard was by no means neglected by Elizabeth. This lion-hearted queen encouraged a taste for chivalrous displays, and took almost as much delight in such exhibitions as her stalwart sire. During her long reign, no festivity was thought complete unless jousting was performed. The name of the gallant Sir Philip Sidney need only be mentioned to show that she possessed at least one perfect mirror of chivalry amongst her courtiers. But her chief favourites, Essex and Lester, were both distinguished for netly prowess. Many a lance was splintered by them in her honour. When the French Embassy arrived in London to treat of a marriage between Elizabeth and the Duke d'Anjou, and when a grand temporary banqueting house three hundred and thirty feet long and covered with canvas was improvised for the occasion, a magnificent tournament was given in the tiltyard in honour of the distinguished visitors. Old Hollandshed tells us that the gallery or place at the end of the tiltyard adjoining to her majesty's house at Whitehall, where as her person should be placed, was called, and not without cause, the castle or fortress of perfect beauty, for as much as her highness should be there included. And he also gives a curious description of the framework used by the besiegers of the fortress. They had provided, he says, a frame of wood which was covered with canvas and painted outwardly in such excellent order as if it had been very natural earth or mold, and carried the name of a rolling trench which went on wheels which way so ever the persons within did drive it. Upon the top thereof were placed two cannons of wood, so passing well-coloured as they seemed to be, indeed, two fair field pieces of ordinance, and by them were placed two men for gunners clothed in crimson sersenet, with their baskets of earth for defense of their bodies by them, and also there stood on top of the trench an ensign bearer in the same suit with the gunners displaying his ensign, and within the said trench was cunningly conveyed diverse kinds of most excellent music against the castle of beauty. These things thus, all in readiness, the challengers approached, and came down the stable toward the tilt yard. The challengers were the Earl of Arendelle, Lord Windsor, Sir Philip Sidney, and Sir Folk Greville. And the defenders were very numerous, and amongst them was the doughty Sir Harry Lee, who, as the unknown knight, broke six staves right valiantly. All the speeches made by the challengers and defenders are reported by Holland's head, who thus winds up his description of the first day's triumph. These speeches being ended, both they and the rest marched about the tilt yard, and so going back to the nether end thereof, prepared themselves to run, every one in his turn, each defendant six courses against the former challengers, who performed their part so valiantly on both sides, that their prowess hath demerited perpetual memory, and worthily won honor, both to themselves and their native country, as fame hath the same reported. And of the second day, he thus writes, Then went they to the tourney, where they did very nobly, as the shivering of the swords might very well testify, and after that to the barriers, where they lashed it out lustily, and fought courageously, as if the Greeks and Trojans had dealt their deadly dole. No party was spared, no estate accepted, but each night endeavored to win the golden fleece that expected either fame or the favor of his mistress, which sport continued all the same day. These pageantries were of frequent occurrence, and the pages of the picturesque old chronicler above sided abound with descriptions of them. Yet, in spite of the efforts of Elizabeth to maintain its splendor undiminished, the star of chivalry was rapidly declining, to disappear forever in the reign of her successor. The glitter of burnished steel, the clash of arms, the rude encounter, and all other circumstances attendant upon the arena of martial sport that had given so much delight to his predecessors, afforded little pleasure to James. And how should they to a prince whose constitutional timidity was so great that he shuddered at the sight of a drawn sword, and had bored the mimic representations of warfare? Neither were the rigorous principles of honor on which chivalry was based, nor the obligations they imposed better suited to him. Too faithless by nature to adopt the laws of a court of honor, he derided the institution as obsolete. Nevertheless, as trials of skill and strength in the tilt yard were still in fashion, he was compelled, though against his inclination, to witness them, and in some degree to promote them. The day of his accession to the throne, the 24th March, was always celebrated by tilting and running at the ring, and similar displays were invariably made in honor of any important visitor to the court. Even in this reign, something of a revival of the ancient ardor for nightly pastimes took place during the brief career of Prince Henry, who, if he had lived to fulfill the promise of his youth, would have occupied a glorious page in his country's annals, and have saved it in all probability from its subsequent convulsions and in testine strife. Ennoring himself betimes to the weight of armor, this young prince became exceedingly expert in the use of all weapons, could toss the pike, couch the lance, and wield the sword, the battle axe, or the mace, better than any one of his years. The tilt yard and the tennis court were his constant places of resort, and he was ever engaged in robust exercises, too much so indeed for a somewhat feeble constitution. Prince Henry indulged the dream of winning back Calais from France, and would no doubt have attempted the achievement if he had lived. Of a more reflective cast of mind than his elder brother, and with tastes less martial, Prince Charles still sedulously cultivated all the accomplishments proper to a cavalier. A perfect horseman and well-skilled in all the practices of the tilt yard, he was a model of courtesy and grace, but he had not Prince Henry's feverish and consuming passion for martial sports, nor did he, like him, make their pursuit the sole business of life. Still, the pure flame of chivalry burnt within his breast, and he fully recognized its high and ennobling principles and accepted the obligations they imposed, and in this respect, as in most others, he differed essentially from his august father. The tilt yard and the various buildings adjoining it, already enumerated, were approached by two fine gates, likewise erected by Henry VIII, one of which, of extraordinary beauty, denominated the cockpit gate, was designed by the celebrated painter Hans Holbein. From an authority we learn that it was built of square stone with small squares of flint boulder, very neatly set, and that it had also battlements and four lofty towers, the whole being enriched with bustos, roses, and portcullises. The other gate, scarcely less beautiful and styled the Westminster gate, was adorned with statues and medallions and the badges of the royal house of Tudor carved in stone. Viewed from the summit of one of the tall turrets of the Holbein gate, the appearance of the Palace of Whitehall at the period of our history was exceedingly picturesque and striking, perhaps more so than at any previous or subsequent epoch, since the various structures of which it was composed, were just old enough to have acquired a time-honored character, while there was still intolerable preservation. Let us glance at it then from this point, and first turn towards the great banqueting house which presents to us a noble and lengthened façade, and contains within a magnificent and lofty hall occupying nearly its full extent, besides several other apartments of regal size and splendor. In this building in former days were the retinue as princely as that of the king himself, Woolsey so often and so sumptuously entertained his royal master, that he at last provoked his anger by his ostentation, and was bereft of his superb abode. Satisfied with our examination of the banqueting house, we will suffer our gaze to fall upon the broad court beyond it, and upon the numerous irregular but picturesque and beautiful structures by which that court, quadrangle it cannot be called, for no uniformity is observed in the disposition of the buildings, is surrounded. Here the eye is attracted by a confused mass of roofs, some flat, turreted and embattled, some pointed with fantastical gables and stacks of tall chimneys, others with cupolas and tall clock towers, others with crooked pinnacles, and almost all with large gilt veins. A large palace is a city and miniature, and so is it with Whitehall. It has two other courts besides the one we are surveying, equally crowded round with buildings, equally wanting in uniformity, but equally picturesque. On the east it extends to Scotland Yard, and on the west to the open space in front of Westminster Hall. The State Apartments face the river, and their large windows look upon the stream. Quitting the exalted position we have hitherto assumed, and viewing Whitehall from some bark on the Thames, we shall find that it has a stern and somber look being casillated, in part, with towers like those over Trader's Gate, commanding the stairs that approach it from the river. The privy gardens are beautifully laid out in broad terrace walks, with dainty parters, each having a statue in the midst, while there is a fountain in the centre of the enclosure. In addition to the gardens and separated from them by an avenue of tall trees is a spacious bowling-green, again changing our position we discover on the south of the gardens, and connected with the State Apartments, a long ambulatory called the Stone Gallery. Then returning to our first post of observation and taking a bird's eye view of the whole, after examining it in detail, as before mentioned, we come to the conclusion that, though irregular in the extreme, and with no pretension whatever to plan in its arrangement, the Palace of Whitehall is eminently picturesque, and imposing from its vast extent. If taken in connection with Westminster Hall, the Parliament House, and the Ancient Abbey, with the two towering gateways, on one of which we ourselves are perched, with the various structures appertaining to it, and skirting St. James's Park, and with the noble Gothic Cross at Charring, we are fain to acknowledge that it constitutes a very striking picture. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of the Star Chamber, an historical romance, Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Star Chamber, Volume 2 by William Harrison Ainsworth. Chapter 9, Prince Charles There is now great stir within the Palace, and its principal court is full of horsemen, some of them appareled in steel and with their steeds covered with rich trappings, and all attended by pages and yeoman in resplendent liveries. Besides these, there are trumpeters in crimson cassocks, mounted on goodly horses, and having their clarions adorned with silk and penins, on which the royal arms are broodered. Then there are kettle drummers and other musicians, likewise richly arrayed and well-mounted, and the various pages, grooms, and officers belonging to the Prince of Wales, standing around his charger, which is comparison with white and gold. Distinguishable even amidst this brilliant and nightly throng is Sir Jocelyn Monchancy, mounted upon a fiery Spanish barb presented to him by the Condit de Gondemare, he is fully equipped for the jousts. The trappings of his steed or black and white velvet, edged with silver, and the plumes upon his helmet are of the same colors, mingled. He is conversing with the Spanish ambassador, who, like all the rest, is superbly attired, though not in armor, and is followed by a crowd of lackeys and jerkins and hoes of black satin, guarded with silver. An unusual degree of bustle proclaims the approach of some personage of extraordinary importance. This is soon made known to be the Marquis of Buckingham. His arrival is announced by loud flourishes from the six mounted trumpeters by whom he has preceded. Their horses are comparisoned with orange-colored taffeta, while they themselves are habited in gabardines of the same stuff. After the trumpeters come four gentlemen ushers, and four pages, mounted on his spare horses, and habited in orange-colored doublets and hoes with yellow plumes in their caps. To them succeed the grooms and mandillions, or loose sleeveless jackets, leading the Marquis Charger, which is to run in the lists. A beautiful dark-bay genet, trapped with green velvet sewn with pearls and pounced with gold. Next comes Buckingham himself, in a magnificent suit of armor, engraved and demasquined with gold, with an agrit of orange feathers knotting on his cask. Thus appareled it is impossible to imagine a nobler or more chivalrous figure than he presents. Though completely cased in steel, his magnificent person seems to have lost none of its freedom of movement, and he bears himself with as much grace and ease as if clad in his customary habiliments of silk and velvet. For the moment he rides a sorrel horse, whose spirit is too great to allow him to be safely depended upon in the lists, but who now serves by his fire and impetuosity to display to advantage his rider's perfect management. Buckingham is followed by thirty yeoman, appareled like the pages, and twenty gentlemen in short cloaks and Venetian hoes. He acknowledges the presence of his antagonist and the Spanish ambassador with a courteous salutation addressed to each, and then riding forward takes up a position beside the Duke of Lenox, who, mounted and fully equipped, and having his five companions at arms with him, is awaiting the coming forth of Prince Charles. The Duke of Lenox is very sumptuously arrayed in armor, partly blue and partly gilt and graven, and his charger is comparison with cloth of gold embroidered with pearls. Besides this he has four spare horses led by his pages in housings equally gorgeous and costly. These pages have cassock coats and Venetian hoes of cloth of silver laid with gold lace, and caps with gold bands and white feathers and white buskins. His retinue consists of forty gentlemen in yeoman and four trumpeters. His companions at arms are all splendidly accoutered and mounted on richly comparison chargers. The most noticeable figure among them, however, is that of Ser Giles' mampuson, and he attracts attention from the circumstance of his armor being entirely sable, his steed jet black, and his housings, plumes, and all his equipments of the same sombre hue. At this juncture, a page in the Prince's livery of white and gold approaches Ser Jocelyn and informs him that his highness desires to speak with him before they proceed to the tilt yard. On receiving the summons the young knight immediately quits to Gondamar, and, following the page to the doorway leading to the State Apartments, dismounts at the steps, leaving his steed in charge of his youthful companion. On entering the vestibule he finds a large party assembled, comprising some of the fairest dames of court, and several noble gallants, who intend taking no other part than that of spectators in the approaching tilting match. Most of them are known to Ser Jocelyn, and they eagerly crowd round him, fearing something may have occurred to interfere with the proceedings of the day. The young knight allays their apprehensions, and after experiencing the kindling influence always produced by the smiles of the faire, begins to ascend the great staircase, and has nearly reached the door at its head, communicating with the stone gallery, when it is thrown open by an usher, and Prince Charles comes forth. The noble countenance of Prince Charles is stamped with the same gravity, and slightly touched with the same melancholy, which distinguished his features through life, but which naturally deepened as misfortune fell upon him. But as those dark days cannot now be discerned, and as all seems brilliant around him, and full of brightest promise, this prophetic melancholy is thought to lend interest to his handsome features. He is a tired in a suit of black armor of exquisite workmanship, lacking only the helmet which is carried by a page, as are the volante pieces, the mentinier, and the grand guard, intended to be worn in the field. On seeing Sir Jocelyn, he pauses and signs to his attendants to stand back. I have sent for you, Sir Jocelyn, he said, to ascertain whether it is true that Sir Giles Malpason is amongst the Duke of Lenox's party. It is perfectly true, Your Highness, replied Sir Jocelyn. He is now in the courtyard. A shade of displeasure crossed the Prince's noble countenance, and his brow darkened. I am sorry to hear it, and but that I should grievously offend the king, my father, I would forbid him to take part in the jousts, he cried. Sir Giles deserves to be degraded from knighthood rather than enjoy any of its honorable privileges. Entertaining these sentiments, if Your Highness will make them known to the king, he will doubtless order Sir Giles' immediate withdrawal from the lists, said Sir Jocelyn. Most assuredly, he is unworthy to enter them. Not so rejoined the Prince, I have already represented the matter to His Majesty, and trusted my remonstrances would be attended to, but I find they have proved ineffectual. Buckingham, it appears, has more weight than I have, yet this notorious extortioner's insolence and presumption ought not to pass unpunished. They shall not, Your Highness, replied Sir Jocelyn. I will so deal with him, that I will warrant he will never dare show himself within the precincts of the palace again. Do nothing rashly, said the Prince, you must not disguise from yourself that you may displease the king and provoke Buckingham's animosity. I cannot help it, returns Sir Jocelyn. I will insult him, if he crosses my path. I cannot blame you, said the Prince, in your position I should do the same, and I am only restrained by the injunctions laid upon me by the king, from commanding his instant departure. But I must proceed towards the tiltyard, we shall meet again and on. With this he descended the staircase, and as soon as his train of gentlemen ushers and pages had passed on, Sir Jocelyn followed, and making his way through the still-crowded vestibule, gained the door and vaulted on the back of his steed. Star Chamber Volume 2 by William Harrison Ainsworth Chapter 10 The Old Palace Yard of Westminster The throng outside the gates of Whitehall felt their breasts dilate, and their pulses dance, as they listened to the flourishes of the trumpets and cornets, the thundering brute of the kettle drums, and other martial music that proclaimed the setting forth of the steel-clad champions who are presently to figure in the lists. It was in sooth a goodly sight to see the long and brilliant procession formed by the fourteen knights, each so gallantly mounted, so splendidly accoutered, and accompanied by such a host of gentlemen ushers, pages, yeoman and groom, some on horseback and some on foot. And the eye of the looker on was never weary of noticing the diversity of their habiliments, some of the knights having curises and helmets polished as silver and reflecting the sun's rays as from a mirror, some russet coloured armour, some blue harness, some fluted, some coarselets demasquined with gold and richly ornamented, others black and lacquered breastplates, as was the case with the harness of Prince Charles, and one, a dead black coat of mail in the instance of Sir Giles Mompasson. The arms of each were slightly varied, either in make or ornament, a few wore sashes across their breastplates, and several had knots of ribbons tied above the coronals of their lances, which were borne by their esquires. In order to give the vast crowd assembled in the neighbourhood of Whitehall an opportunity of witnessing as much as possible of the chivalrous spectacle, it was arranged by Prince Charles that the line of the procession should first take its course through the whole being great, and then, keeping near the wall of the privy garden, should pass beneath the king's gate and draw up for a short time in the old palace yard near Westminster Hall, where a great concourse was assembled, amidst which a space was kept clear by parties of Hobartiers and Yeoman of the Guard. The procession was headed by the Prince, and the stately step of his milk-white charger well-besemed his own majestic deportment. When the long train of gentlemen ushers and pages accompanying him had moved on, so as to leave the course clear for the next-comer and his followers, a young knight presented himself, who, more than any other in the procession, attracted the attention of the spectators. This youthful knight's visor was raised, so as to disclose his features, and these were so comely that, combined with his finely proportioned figure perfectly displayed by his armor, he offered an ensemble of manly attractions almost irresistible to female eyes. Nor did the grace and skill which he exhibited in the management of his steed commend him less highly to sternor judges, who did not fail to discover that his limbs, though light, were in the highest degree vigorous and athletic, and they prognosticated most favorably of his chances of success in the jousts. When it became known that this Prue Chevalier was Sir Jocelyn Monsonci, the chosen antagonist of Buckingham, still greater attention was bestowed upon him, and as his good looks and gallant bearing operated strongly, as we have stated in his favor, many a good wish and lusty cheer were uttered for him. The effect of all this excitement among the crowd on behalf of Monsonci was to render Buckingham's reception by the same persons comparatively cold, and the cheers given for the magnificent favorite and his princely retinue were so few and so wanting in spirit that he who was wholly unaccustomed to such neglect, and who had been jealously listening to the cheers attending Monsonci's progress, was highly offended and could scarcely conceal his displeasure. But if he was indignant at his own reception, he was exasperated at the treatment experienced by his ally. Close behind him rode a knight in black armor with a stable panache on his helm. Stallworth Limbs and a manly bearing had this knight, and he bestrewed his powerful charger like one well accustomed to the saddle. But though no one could gain say his skill as a horseman, or his possible prowess as a man at arms, Monsonci thought he had no title to be there and gave unmistakable evidence of their conviction by groans and hootings. This black knight was Sir Giles Monson, and very grim in menacing was his aspect. Ample accommodation for the knightly company and their attendants, as well as for the multitudes congregated to behold them, was afforded by the broad area in front of Westminster Hall. Nevertheless, as those in the rear could not see as well as those in the front, every chance elevation offering a better view was eagerly seized upon. All the accessible points of Westminster Hall, its carved porch and windows, were invaded. So were the gates of the old palace hard by, so were the buttresses of the abbey, and men were perched like grotesque ornaments on crocketed pinnacles and stone waterspouts. The tall and curiously painted clock tower resembling an Italian company, which then faced the portals of Westminster Hall, was covered with spectators. But the position most coveted and esteemed the best was the fountain at that time standing in the midst of the old palace yard. This structure which was of great antiquity and beauty, with a pointed summit supported by tall slender shafts, and a large basin beneath formed a sort of pivot round which the procession turned as it arrived upon the ground, and consequently formed the best point of view of all, and those were esteemed highly fortunate who managed to obtain a place upon it. Amongst these lucky individuals were three of the reader's acquaintances, and we think he will scarce fail to recognize the saucy-faced apprentice with the cudgel under his arm, and the fair-haired blue-eyed country-looking maiden at his side, as well as the hail old rustic by whom they were attended. All three were delighted with their position, and Dick Taverner took full credit to himself for his cleverness in procuring it for them. As to Pretty Jillian, nothing could please her better for she could not only see all that was going forward, but everybody could see her, even Prince Charles himself, and she flattered herself that she attracted no little attention. And now that the whole of the procession had come up, the picture was certainly magnificent and well worth contemplation. Everything was favorable to the enjoyment of the spectacle. The day was bright and beautiful, and a sparkling sunshine lighted up the splendid accoutrements of the nights, the gorgeous comparisons of their steeds, and the rich habiliments of their attendance, while a gentle breeze stirred the plumes upon the helmets and fluttered the bandrels on their lances. The effect was heightened by enlivening strains of minstrelsy and the fanfares of the trumpeters. The utmost enthusiasm was awakened among the spectators, and their acclamations were loud and long. At this juncture Dick Taverner, who had been shouting as lustily as the rest, tossing his cap in the air and catching it dexterously as it fell, held his breath and clapped his bonnet on his head, for an object met his eye, which fixed his attention. It was the somber figure of a knight, accrued in black armor, who was pressing his steed through the throng in the direction of the fountain. His beaver was up, and the sinister countenance was not unknown to the apprentice. Saints defend us, he ejaculated. Is it possible that can be Ser Giles' mampus on? What doth he hear amidst his noble company? The villainous extortioner cannot surely be permitted to enter the lists. Hold your peace, friend, if you are wise. Muddered a deep voice behind him. No, I will not be silent, rejoined the apprentice, without looking round at his cautioner, but keeping his eye fixed upon Ser Giles. I will tell the fellow knight in my mind, I am not afraid of him. Hark he, my masters, he called in a loud voice to those around him. Do you know who that black raven before you is? If not, I will tell you. He would peck out your eyes if he could, and devour you and your substance, as he has done that of many others. That bird of ill omen is Ser Giles' mampus on. Impossible, cried a bystander indignantly. Yet now I look again to certainly he. As certain as that we are standing here, said the apprentice, and if you want further proof, behold, he is closing his visor. He thinks to hide himself from our notice, but the trick shall not avail him. A groan for the navish extortioner, my masters, a deep groan for Ser Giles' mampus on. Thus enjoined a great hooting was made by the bystanders, and Ser Giles' name was coupled with epithets that could not be very agreeable to his ear. You are best let him alone, fool, cried the deep voice behind Dick. You will only bring yourself into trouble. But the apprentice was not to be thus advised, and could not even be restrained by the entreaties of Gillian, who was sadly apprehensive that some mischief would befall him. So conspicuous did he make himself in the disturbance that at last Ser Giles rode towards him, and, singling him out, seized him with his gauntleted hand, and dragged him from the edge of the fountain. Dick struggled manfully to get free, but he was in a grasp of iron, and all his efforts at releasing himself were ineffectual. He called on those near him to rescue him, but they shrank from the attempt. Poor Gillian was dreadfully alarmed. She thought her lover was about to be sacrificed as Ser Giles' resentment on the spot, and, falling on her knees, she piteously besought him to spare his life. For shame, Gillian, cried Dick, do not demean yourself thus. The K-teeth night dares not harm me for his life, for if he should maltreat me, I shall be well avenged by my patron, Ser Jocelyn Monsonci. I would my voice might reach him. I should not long be kept here. To the rescue, Ser Jocelyn, to the rescue, and he shouted forth the young knight's name at the top of his voice. Who calls me, demanded Monsonci, pressing through the throng in the direction of the outcries. I, your humble follower, Dick Tavener, roared the apprentice. I am in the clutches of the devil, and I pray you release me. Ha! What is this? cried Ser Jocelyn, set in free at once, Ser Giles. I command you. What, if I refuse, rejoin the other? Then I will instantly enforce compliance, thundered Monsonci. If I release him, it is because I must defend myself and punish your insolence, cried Ser Giles. And as he spoke, he thrust back the apprentice with such force that he would have fallen to the ground if he had not dropped into the arms of his kneeling mistress. Now Ser Jocelyn continued Ser Giles fiercely. You shall answer for this interference. Hold! interposed the authoritative voice of Prince Charles. We must have no unseemly brawls here. To your places at once in the procession, Ser Knights, we are about to set forward to the tiltyard. With this he gave the word to move on, and all further sound of disturbance was drowned by the trampling of steeds and the brood of the kettle drums, cornets, and trumpets. No wise disheartened by what had occurred, Dick Tavener would have followed with the stream, and carried his mistress and her grand sire along with him. But the former had been so much terrified by what had occurred that, dreading lest her lover's imprudence should get him into further scrapes, she positively refused to proceed any further. I have seen quite enough, she cried, and if you have any love for me, Dick, you will take me away and not expose yourself to further risk. If you are indeed bent on going on, I shall return with my grand sire. He will do well to follow your advice, young mistress, said the deep voice which had previously sounded in Dick's ears. If he had taken mine, he would not have voluntarily thrust himself into the fangs of the tiger, from which it is well for him that he had escaped with a whole skin. As this was said, Dick and his mistress turned towards the speaker, and beheld a tall man masked and muffled in a black cloak. Heaven shield us, tis the enemy, exclaimed Jillian, trembling. Not so, fair damsel, replied the disguised personage. I am not the arch enemy of man, neither am I enemy of yours, nor of Dick Tavener. Your forward lover neglected my previous caution, but I will give him another in the hope that you may induce him to profit by it. Let him keep out of the reach of Sir Giles Mompasson's emissaries, or his wedding day will be longer in coming than you both hope for. Nay, it may not come at all. With these words the man in the mask mingled with the crowd, and almost instantly disappeared, leaving the young couple, especially Jillian, in much consternation. So earnest was the maiden for instant departure that Dick was obliged to comply. And as the whole of the thoroughfares about Whitehall were impassable, they proceeded to the riverside, and took a boat for London Bridge, at a hostel near which Old Greenford had put up his horse. CHAPTER XI OF THE STAR CHAMBER AND HISTORICAL ROMAINTS VOLUME II This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. THE STAR CHAMBER VOLUME II by William Harrison Ainsworth CHAPTER XI THE TILTYARD Meanwhile, the procession was pursuing its slow course towards the tiltyard. It returned by the route it had taken in coming, but it now kept on the north side of King Street, which thoroughfare was divided in the midst by a railing and deeply sanded. Here, as in the area before Westminster Hall, not a wall, not a window, not a roof, but had its occupants. The towers of the two great gates were thronged. So were the roofs of the tennis court and the monege, and the summit of the cockpit. The ladder, indeed, was a capital position in as much as it not only afforded an excellent view of the procession, but commanded the interior of the tiltyard. No wonder, therefore, that great efforts should be made to obtain a place upon it. Nor is it surprising that our old friend, Madame Bonaventure, who had by no means lost her influence among the court gallants, though she lacked the support of Lord Ruse, owing to the absence of that young nobleman upon his travels. It is not surprising, we say, that she should be among the favourite individuals who had secured a position there. Undoubtedly, she would have preferred a seat amongst the court dames in the galleries of the tiltyard. But as this was unattainable, she was obliged to be content, and indeed, she had no reason to complain, for she saw quite as much as those inside, and was more at her ease. From this exalted position, while listening to the inspiring clanger of the trumpets, the clattering of arms, and the trampling and neighing of steeds, Madame Bonaventure could scrutinize the deportment of each night, as he issued from the lofty art of the Holbein Gate, and rode slowly past her. She had ample time to count the number of his attendants before he disappeared from her view. As Sir Jocelyn Monchancy approached, with his visor raised, and his countenance radiant with smiles at the cheers he had received, she recognized in him her former guest, and participating in the general enthusiasm prevailing for the young night, she leaned over the parapet and addressed to him a greeting so hardy that it procured for her a courteous salutation in return. Enchanted with this, she followed with her eyes the graceful figure of Sir Jocelyn till it was lost to view, to reappear a moment after in the tiltyard. Turning in this direction for all her interest was now centered in the young night. Madame Bonaventure allowed her gaze to pass over the entrance of the lists, and she soon aspied him she sought, in conference with Prince Charles and some other knights of his party. Near them was stationed Garder King at Arms, apparelled in his tabard, and mounted on a horse covered with housings of cloth of gold. Glancing around the enclosure, she perceived that all the foremost seats in the galleries and scaffolds set apart for the principal court dames were already filled, and she was quite dazzled with the galaxy of female loveliness presented to her gaze. Behind the court dames were a host of fluttering gallants in rich apparel, laughing and jesting with them on the probable issue of the contest they had come to witness. She then looked round the arena. Stout barriers of wood were drawn across it, with openings at either end for the passage of the nights. At these openings replaced all the various officers of the tiltyard, whose attendance was not required outside, including eight mounted trumpeters, four at one end of the field and four at the other, together with a host of yeoman belonging to Prince Charles, in liveries of white, with leaves of gold and black caps, with reeds and bands of gold and black and white plumes. At the western extremity of the enclosure stood the royal gallery, richly decorated for the occasion with velvet and cloth of gold, and having the royal arms emblazoned in front. Above it floated the royal standard, supported by strong oaken posts and entered by a staircase at the side. This gallery was open below, and the space thus left was sufficiently large to accommodate a dozen or more mounted knights, while thick curtains could be let down at the sides to screen them from observation if required. Here it was intended that the Prince of Wales and his six companions at arms should assemble and wait till summoned forth from it by the marshals of the field. There was a similar place of assemblage for the Duke of Lennox and his knights at the opposite end of the tilt yard, and at both spots there were farriers, armorers, and grooms in attendance to render assistance if needful. On the right of the field stood an elevated platform, covered with a canopy, and approached by a flight of steps. It was reserved for the marshals and judges, and facing it was the post affixed to the barriers from which the ring, the grand prize of the day, was suspended at a height exactly within reach of a lance, like the streets without the whole arena was deeply sanded. This was what Madame Bonaventure beheld from the roof of the cockpit, and a very pretty sight she thought it. All things it will be seen were in readiness in the tilt yard, and the arrival of the King seemed to be impatiently expected, not only by the knights who were eager to display their prowess, but by the court dames and the gallants with them, as well as by all the officials scattered about in different parts of the field, and enlivening it by their variegated costumes. Suddenly loud acclamations resounding from all sides of the tilt yard, accompanied by flourishes of trumpets, proclaimed the entrance of the royal laggard to the gallery. James took his place in the raised seat assigned to him, and after conferring for a few moments with the Condit de Gondemore, who formed part of the brilliant throng of nobles and ambassadors in attendance, he signified to Sir John Finnet that the jousting might commence, and the royal pleasure was instantly made known to the marshals of the field. The first course was run by Prince Charles, who acquitted himself with infinite grace and skill, but failed in carrying off the ring, and similar ill luck befell the Duke of Lenox. The Marquis of Hamilton was the next to run, and he met with no better success, and the fourth assay was made by Buckingham. His career was executed with all the consummate address for which the favorite was remarkable, and it appeared certain that he would carry off the prize, but in lowering his lance he did not make sufficient allowance for the wind, and this caused it slightly to swerve, and though he touched the ring he did not bear it away. The course, however, was considered a good one by the judges, and much applauded, but the Marquis was greatly mortified by his failure. It now came to Sir Jocelyn's turn, and his breast beat high with ardor as he prepared to start on his career. Keeping his back to the ring till the moment of setting forward, he made a demi-volta to the right, and then gracefully raising his lance as his steed started on its career. He continued to hold it aloft until he began to near the object of his aim, when he gently and firmly allowed the point to decline over the right ear of his horse, and adjusted it in a line with the ring. His aim proved so unerring that he carried off the prize amid universal applause.