His weight in gold at his present stature could hardly be expected by the wildest imaginations, but hungry eyes had been estimating the weight of his little heir, and discontented lips had declared that the child was of too slender make to be ever worth so much to them as his father. Yet a whisper of the possibility had quickly been magnified to a certainty of such a largesse, and the multitude were thus stimulated to furious exertions to win the most favourable spot for gathering up such a golden rain as even little Prince Henry’s counterpoise would afford; and ever as time waxed later, the throng grew denser and more unruly, and the struggle fiercer and more violent.
The screams and expostulations of the weak, elbowed and trampled down, mingled with more festive sounds; and the attendants who waited on the river in the large and beautifully-ornamented barges which were the usual conveyances of distinguished personages, began to agree with one another that if they saw less than if they were on the bank, they escaped a considerable amount of discomfort as well as danger.
“For,” murmured one of the pages, “I suppose it would be a dire offence to the Prince to lay about among the churls as they deserve.”
“Ay, truly, among Londoners above all,” was the answer of his companion, whom the last four years had rendered considerably taller than when we saw him last.
“Not that there is much love lost between them. He hath never forgotten the day when they pelted the Queen with rotten eggs, and sang their ribald songs; nor they the day he rode them down at Lewes like corn before the reaper.”
“And lost the day,” muttered the other page; then added, “The less love, the more cause for caution.”
“Oh yes, we know you are politic, Master Richard,” was the sneering reply, “but you need not fear my quarrelling with your citizen friends. I would not be the man to face Prince Edward if I had made too free with any of the caitiffs.”
“Hark! Master Hamlyn, the tumult is louder than ever,” interposed an elderly man of lower rank, who was in charge of the stout rowers in the royal colours of red and gold. “Young gentlemen, the Mass must be ended; it were better to draw to the stairs, than to talk of you know not what,” he muttered.
Hamlyn de Valence, who held the rudder, steered towards the wide stone steps that descended to the river, nearest to the apse in which “St. Peter’s Abbey Church” terminated before Henry VII. had added his chapel. At that moment a louder burst of sound, half imprecation, half shriek, was heard; there was a heavy splash a little way above, and a small blue bundle was seen on the river, apparently totally unheeded by the frantic crowd on the bank. No sooner was it seen by Richard, however, than he threw back his mantle and sprang out of the barge. There was a loud cry from the third page, a little fellow of nine or ten years old; but Richard gallantly swam out, battled with the current, and succeeded in laying hold of a young child, with whom he made for the barge, partly aided by the stream; but he was breathless, and heartily glad to reach the boat and support himself against the gunwale.
“A pretty boat companion you!” said Hamlyn maliciously. “How are we to take you in, over the velvet cushions?”