The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
your brother's corpse. Ah dear, your highness, the name of the Tower is worse than a raven's croak! God and St. Thomas preserve you from ever getting the other side of its moat!"
"Amen, Robin, with all my heart," said Richard; "a shudder runs through my limbs down to my finger tips, making the skin on my head creep, when I think there is any chance of my passing long years in those dreary cells, with their narrow deep windows; the court-yards, which the sun seldom visits; the massy dark walls, whose black stones seemed to frown angrily if our childs' voices were ever heard in sport."
"There your cousin, my lord of "Warwick, pines out his melancholy days," replied Clifford; "and that is your destined abode. My grandfather was slain by Queen Margaret's side, and stained the Red Rose with a blood-red dye, falling in its cause. Your father and his brothers did many a Clifford much wrong, and woe and mourning possessed my house till the line of Lancaster was restored. I cannot grieve, therefore, for the exaltation of the earl of Richmond; yet I will not passively see my playmate mewed up in a cage, nor put in danger of having his head laid on that ungentle pillow in Tower Yard. The daughter of Warwick, our Edward's affianced bride, your crookbacked uncle's wife, loved my pranks and nurtured my youth; and by her good leave, many a mirthful hour I spent in the dark place you name. May neither of us ever see it more!"
"You will, then, assist my escape?" asked Richard.
"As faithfully, gossip Dickon, as God his grace shall await me at the last day! And now I will tell you a merry tale."
CHAPTER X.
THE ESCAPE.
—It is thy merit
To make all mortal business ebb and flow
By roguery.
Homer's Hymn to Mercury.
And then, with you, my friends, and the old man,
We'll load the hollow depth of our black ship,
And row with double strokes from this dread shore.
The Cyclops.
Notwithstanding the promise Clifford made of a merry tale, both he and his auditor looked grave as he commenced. Richard expected, with some anxiety, an explanation from his friend, and the other assumed the self-consequence resulting from having achieved a victory. No two beings ever displayed, in their way, a greater contrast than these youths. The prince was many inches taller than his companion, and his slim make promised increase of height. His brow was smooth as infancy, candid as day; his bright blue eyes were lighted up with intelligence, yet there was a liquid lustre in them that betokened tenderness; nor did his lips, that nest of the heart's best feelings, belie his eyes. They were full, a little curled, can we say in pride, or by what more gentle word can we name a feeling of self-elevation and noble purpose, joined to benevolence and sweetness? His oval cheeks were rounded by the dimpled chin, and his golden hair clustered on a throat of marble whiteness, which, as the white embroidered collar thrown back over the doublet, permitted the outline to be seen, sustained his head as the Ionic flute rears its graceful capital. Clifford was shorter, but firm set and more manlike in form, his grey eyes were bright or dull as his soul spoke in them; his brow slightly scowled, pending over, and even thus early, lines were delved in it, hardly seen when he was in repose, but which, as he spoke, showed deep and distorted; his smile was tinctured by a sneer, his voice attracted no confidence, yet Richard now hung intently on it as he spoke:
"When I returned from doing my lord's bidding, I found him moving about the room, more like a parched pea than a stately noble; for now he stood still, and then shot off with a quick step, showing every sign of being ill at ease. Now, boy as I am, for I can number but sixteen summers, my lord more than loves me, he trusts me, and not without cause—for when at hazard—but my story will be too long—enough that ere now I have done him service. Had I not known the cause of his disquiet I should have asked it, but, believing myself fully aware of what this all meant, I went to my post, and busied myself in making some flies for angling, seeming most intent upon my work. My lord stood over me, and twice or thrice fetched a sigh, and then strode away, and came again, saying, "I am a fool, a dolt—the king can mean no ill to this lad—and yet—" I cannot tell you how long this indecision lasted, while I patiently toiled at a fly of green and gold, bright as those which trouts love to snap at in clear streams during May. At length he asked me, 'Robin, did you mark the boy that stood in the ante-chamber?' 'Aye, my good lord!' 'And what thought you of him?' 'Thought, my lord?' I spoke inquiringly, for it suddenly came across me that he did not know you, and it was not for me to betray your secret. 'Aye,' he replied, 'thought? Does he resemble any one you ever knew? Of what country do you divine him to be?' 'These Flemings are sandy-haired,' I said, 'yet he does not look of Flanders. Methinks he seems English born.'
"'You are right,' said he, 'English he is confessedly. This Frion calls him a natural son of De la Poole—of the late Earl of Lincoln. He says that he has knowledge of a secret treasure concealed by his father before this last rebellion, and the king wishes to get him into his hands, thus to secure the gold. The tale is not unlikely, for the Tudor ever loved the glitter—nay, the very dust of the precious metal—and the boy resembles strangely the House of York. Yet, I care not for the task put upon me of kidnapping a child, and of betraying him into his enemy's hands—perhaps of delivering him up a prisoner for life, for the sake of—— Poor fellow! if he know aught of a concealed treasure, in God's name, let him confess it while on this side the fatal channel that now divides him from tyranny or death.' 'Let me deal with him,' I said, 'let me throw out some toy, such as is this gold and green thread to a silly fish, and learn the truth; if he discovers the hiding-place of this so coveted coin, we may spare him the trouble of his enforced journey.' 'I know not that,' answered my patron; 'Master Frion is earnest for his safe keeping; and no one is nearer our liege's inner wishes than this Provençal, who served him in exile, and who followed him in his expedition thence; and yet there is a noble daring in the boy, a mountain freshness in his cheek, a springy freedom in his gait, that it were a thousand pities to fetter and limit within narrow prison bounds.' Seeing that my lord was thus favourably inclined, I used all my poor eloquence to urge him further, and at last brought him to consent that I should converse with you; learn, if possible, your secret; inform you of your danger, and advise you to escape. One only difficulty remained: my lord had promised this master secretary that none should be admitted to talk with you; but when the subtle fiend, the double-dealing Frenchman entered, I told him with a long visage, that our noble host, the Sire de Beverem, had heard that we were carrying off by force a Fleming; and that, considering his hospitable mansion stained by the act, he had commanded strict watch to be kept on the morrow, that if any of the English suite were unwilling to go, or appeared in durance, he should be rescued. It was advisable therefore, that you should be kept in good-humour till fairly beyond the gates of Lisle; and this my wisdomship offered to do, if admitted to parlance with you. You look grave, sir prince, but had you seen Frion's sage look of hesitation, and heard his many exhortations that I would by no means betray my knowledge of who you really were; and how I, with a bow, careful as if my curls were white from years, promised discretion, you would laugh as I did, when, the mime over which I played before the servitor, I doffed my page's seeming equality, and in duteous phrase to his highness of York, offer my best services to liberate him."
"That seems already done," said Richard; "usher me to the Lord Fitzwater. I will declare myself to him; his compassion already excited——"
"Would then be cool as snow at Christmas. Wise young sir, Baron Fitzwater wears the blushing Rose; and for him there is wormwood in the name of York. Now, as a chance offshoot of the white thorn, he only sees in you a harmless boy, whom it were sin to injure; but give yourself a name whose very echo would bring St. Albans, Tewkesbury, Bosworth Field, and a thousand scaffolds streaming with his kinsmen's blood before him, and without remorse he would let Frion have his will of you. Even I, Duke Richard, I am sprung from those who fell for Lancaster——"
"Enough," replied the prince, haughtily. "I am content