“I would not disturb her,” said Leonard. “The Saints forbid that I should vex her. I come but as in duty bound to damn this Tower on behalf of King Harry, Queen Margaret, and the Prince of Wales against all traitors. I will not tarry here longer than to put it into hands who will hold it for them and for me. How say you, Sir Squire?” he added, turning to Ridley, not discourteously.
“We ever did hold for King Harry, sir,” returned the old esquire.
“Yea, but against his true friends, York and Warwick. One is cut off, ay, and his aider and defender, Salisbury, who should rather have stood by his King, has suffered a traitor’s end at Pomfret.”
“My Lord of Salisbury! Ah! that will grieve my poor young lady,” sighed Ridley.
“He was a kind lord, save for his treason to the King,” said Leonard. “We of his household long ago were happy enough, though strangely divided now. For the rest, till that young wolf cub, Edward of March, and his mischief-stirring cousin of Warwick be put down, this place must be held against them and theirs—whosoever bears the White Rose. Wilt do so, Master Seneschal?”
“I hold for my lady. That is all I know,” said Ridley, “and she holds herself bound to you, sir.”
“Faithful. Ay? You will be her guardian, I see; but I must leave half a score of fellows for the defence, and will charge them that they show all respect and honour to the lady, and leave to you, as seneschal, all the household, and of all save the wardship of the Tower, calling on you first to make oath of faith to me, and to do nought to the prejudice of King Henry, the Queen, or Prince, nor to favour the friends of York or Warwick.”
“I am willing, sir,” returned Ridley, who cared a great deal more for the house of Whitburn than for either party, whose cause he by no means understood, perhaps no more than they had hitherto done themselves. As long as he was left to protect his lady it was all he asked, and more than he expected, and the courtesy, not to say delicacy, of the young knight greatly impressed both him and the priest, though he suspected that it was a relief to Sir Leonard not to be obliged to see his bride of a few months.
The selected garrison were called in. Ridley would rather have seen them more of the North Country yeoman type than of the regular weather-beaten men-at-arms whom wars always bred up; but their officer was a slender, dainty-looking, pale young squire, with his arm in a sling, named Pierce Hardcastle, selected apparently because his wound rendered rest desirable. Sir Leonard reiterated his charge that all honour and respect was to be paid to the Lady of Whitburn, and that she was free to come and go as she chose, and to be obeyed in every respect, save in what regarded the defence of the Tower. He himself was going on to Monks Wearmouth, where he had a kinsman among the monks.
With an effort, just as he remounted his horse, he said to Ridley, “Commend me to the lady. Tell her that I am grieved for her sorrow and to be compelled to trouble her at such a time; but ’tis for my Queen’s service, and when this troublous times be ended, she shall hear more from me.” Turning to the priest he added, “I have no coin to spare, but let all be done that is needed for the souls of the departed lord and lady, and I will be answerable.”