"Bear with me, then, my fair Cousin, while I recount unto you the causes of that which I am about to lay before you under command of my Liege here present."
One of the secrets of Gloucester's popularity was his exquisite veneer. Very few persons realised how thin the coating was, or what was the material which lay beneath. Least likely to discover it of all was the young King, in whose single-eyed nature suspicion had no place, and whose warm heart was ready to take in every creature who professed a shred of devotion to himself.
"Maybe, being as you are but right youthful, fair Cousin," pursued Gloucester, "you shall have need to be told in words that after the old custom of England it was not used that, the King's son dying afore his father, his childre should be held to fill his place. This ancient custom, howbeit, was changed by my redoubted Lord and father King Edward, of set purpose that the King our Liege who here sitteth should succeed him on the throne. In case, therefore, that our said Liege should leave no issue—which God defend!—he must needs appoint him a successor after his pleasure. Now my said Liege, accounting it ill (as in very sooth it should be) that men's minds should be unsettled touching so weighty a matter, and knowing moreover that life standeth alway at the pleasure of God, and that men may not dwell on middle earth no longer than it listeth Him—" there was a vast reservoir of piety in Gloucester, but it went no lower than his tongue—"it hath pleased my Liege to make choice of him that shall succeed him, if in evil case he should chance to decease without child. To make an end, fair Cousin, without further words, you are he whom my Lord hath chosen to sit on the throne when the pleasure of God shall be fulfilled in him."
Roger sat dumfoundered. The last conclusion he had expected was the one that had come upon him. Among all the suppositions as to the chosen heir which had been coursing through his thoughts while his uncle spoke, the faintest idea that it might be himself had never occurred to his mind.
He did not know that it had been in existence, nearly as long as he had, in the three governing minds of England, of which one had just passed away. It was the only point of all their opinions in which the Princess and the Dukes of Lancaster and Gloucester were agreed. The private reasons of each were utterly diverse from those of the other two. The Princess wished to secure two points—the happiness of her son, and the welfare of the Lollard Church of which she was the nursing mother. To this end the heir must entertain a personal affection for His Majesty which would prevent him from coveting his position, and must be brought up in an atmosphere which would dispose him toward the Lollard doctrines. The Duke of Lancaster's object was the welfare of England; added to which he did not want to reign himself, and Roger or his brother were the only persons who could reasonably be placed before him. The Duke of Gloucester's object was almost the opposite of the last. He did wish to reign, but he cared more for the reality of power than for the semblance, and knowing that equity would be outraged by his being preferred to his elder brothers, he desired such a monarch as he would easily be able to influence. This he fancied he saw in Roger,—warm-hearted, impulsive, readily swayed, and not too suspicious of ulterior motives.
The only person, at that day, who had ever been able to read the true character of Gloucester was the dead Princess. She must have been a very clever woman. Her feminine instinct penetrated all the joints of his closely-riveted armour, and without his being in the least aware of it, "to her he had shown his naked heart." Somebody who could be trusted must be put in his way; and she read Roger also more accurately than he had done. Through all the outward impulsiveness she discerned the heart's fidelity—through all the thorny surroundings of temptation the ever straightforward aim at the one goal of right. Perhaps her cleverest move of all was just that which looked on the surface the least likely to forward her intentions. She had removed him from the noxious atmosphere of Bermondsey House, and had placed him in a family which was not marked by Lollard proclivities—a family of which, in that respect, even the anti-Lollard Gloucester could feel no suspicion. But she saw that Roger was more easily led than driven: that his intensely Lollard uncle, John de Montacute, "the most pestilent of all that sect," was likely to have far more influence with him as an occasional and interesting visitor, than as the man who decided his fate and sat in judgment on all his little peccadilloes; beside which, had he been consigned to the care of a distinctly Lollard family, Gloucester would have been certain to scheme for his removal. He would probably be content to leave him at Woking, where Lollardism was something quite outside the family notions—a matter which they left to the priesthood, whose business they considered it to be. His suspicions of any sinister design on the part of the Princess would scarcely be aroused by her very natural wish that her youngest son's chosen heir should be in the care of her eldest son.
Roger, of course, had not the slightest conception of all these wheels within wheels which he now saw to his amazement were bearing him forward to the throne. The result was to him the only thing apparent, and that left him in a state of speechless astonishment. The only two clear ideas in his confused head, beyond surprise, were deep devotion to the royal cousin who had marked him by such signal favour, and a rapturous throb of his heart at the thought that now, at least, Alianora was safely assured to him. He knew that a prospective crown would weigh heavily with her, no less than with her parents: and as for him who wore it, and who certainly would weigh less, Roger's loyal heart was content to accept the very crumbs of affection from the hand which he loved, rather than a plentiful board spread by any other.
The King's voice broke Roger's astounded silence.
"Methinks we have somewhat taken you by surprise, fair Cousin," said he, with that exquisitely sweet smile which Richard knew how to give.
"In very deed, my gracious Lord, but you so have!" was the answer. "Mefeareth, my Liege, that your bestowal upon me is far over my dementing."