ELIZABETH OF TUDOR: THE GIRL OF THE HERTFORD MANOR.
(Afterward Queen Elizabeth of England; the “Good Queen Bess.”) A.D. 1548.
The iron-shod hoofs of the big gray courser rang sharply on the frozen ground, as, beneath the creaking boughs of the long-armed oaks, Launcelot Crue, the Lord Protector’s fleetest courser-man, galloped across the Hertford fells or hills, and reined up his horse within the great gates of Hatfield manor-house.
“From the Lord Protector,” he said; and Master Avery Mitchell, the feodary,(1) who had been closely watching for this same courser-man for several anxious hours, took from his hands a scroll, on which was inscribed:
(1) An old English term for the guardian of “certain wards of the state,”—young persons under guardianship of the government.
“To Avery Mitchell, feodary of the Wards in Herts, at Halfield House. From the Lord Protector, THESE:”
And next, the courser-man, in secrecy, unscrewed one of the bullion buttons on his buff jerkin, and taking from it a scrap of paper, handed this also to the watchful feodary. Then, his mission ended, he repaired to the buttery to satisfy his lusty English appetite with a big dish of pasty, followed by ale and “wardens” (as certain hard pears, used chiefly for cooking, were called in those days), while the cautious Avery Mitchell, unrolling the scrap of paper, read:
“In secrecy, THESE: Under guise of mummers place a half-score good men and true in your Yule-tide maskyng. Well armed and safely conditioned. They will be there who shall command. Look for the green dragon of Wantley. On your allegiance. This from ye wit who.”
Scarcely had the feodary read, re-read, and then destroyed this secret and singular missive, when the “Ho! hollo!” of Her Grace the Princess’ outriders rang on the crisp December air, and there galloped up to the broad doorway of the manor-house, a gayly costumed train of lords and ladies, with huntsmen and falconers and yeomen following on behind. Central in the group, flushed with her hard gallop through the wintry air, a young girl of fifteen, tall and trim in figure, sat her horse with the easy grace of a practised and confident rider. Her long velvet habit was deeply edged with fur, and both kirtle and head-gear were of a rich purple tinge, while from beneath the latter just peeped a heavy coil of sunny, golden hair. Her face was fresh and fair, as should be that of any young girl of fifteen, but its expression was rather that of high spirits and of heedless and impetuous moods than of simple maidenly beauty.
“Tilly-vally, my lord,” she cried, dropping her bridle-rein into the hands of a waiting groom, “‘t was my race to-day, was it not? Odds fish, man!” she cried out sharply to the attendant groom; “be ye easier with Roland’s bridle there. One beast of his gentle mettle were worth a score of clumsy varlets like to you! Well, said I not right, my Lord Admiral; is not the race fairly mine, I ask?” and, careless in act as in speech, she gave the Lord Admiral’s horse, as she spoke, so sharp a cut with her riding whip as to make the big brute rear in sudden surprise, and almost unhorse its rider, while an unchecked laugh came from its fair tormentor.