In the same large and magnificent hall of the royal castle at Calais, in which Edward III. entertained his prisoners after his chivalrous, though imprudent combat with the French forces under the walls of that town, was assembled the Court of England on the arrival of his great descendant, Henry V., some days subsequent to the battle of Agincourt. The scene was a splendid one; for, though the monarch and many of his nobility had to mourn the loss of near and dear relatives in that glorious field, no time had yet been given to prepare the external signs of grief; and the habiliments of all were, either the gay robes of peace and rejoicing, or the still more splendid panoply of war. As may be naturally supposed, the greater number of those present were men; but, nevertheless, the circle round the King's person contained several of the other sex; for, besides the wife and daughters of the Governor of Calais, and the ladies of several of the principal officers and citizens of the town, a number of the female relations of the conquerors of Agincourt, who had come over to the English city, on the first news of the army's march from Harfleur, were likewise in the hall.
No pageant or revel, however, was going forward; and, although Henry could not but feel the vast importance of the deed that he had achieved, and the great results which might be expected to ensue, both in strengthening his power at home, and extending it abroad, yet his countenance was far more grave and thoughtful than it had been before the battle; and rejoicing, as was natural, at such vast success, he rejoiced with moderation, and repressed every expression of triumph.
After speaking for some time with the persons round him, he turned to Sir John Grey, who stood at a short distance on his left hand; and noticing with a kindly smile the knight's fair daughter, he said, "Now, my noble friend, you besought me this morning to hear what you had to bring before me, concerning Sir Richard of Woodville. Ere I listen to a word, however, let me at once say, that the good service rendered by that knight upon the field of Agincourt wipes out whatever offence he may have before committed; and without prayer or solicitation, I free him from all bonds, and pardon everything that may be passed."
As he spoke, Richard of Woodville advanced from behind, and standing before the King, exclaimed, "I beseech you, Sire, to withdraw that pardon, and to judge me as if I had never drawn sword or couched lance in your service. If I am guilty, my guilt is but increased by having dared to break ward, and fight amidst honest Englishmen; and I claim no merit for what little I have done, except in having brought to your Majesty's feet the traitor scoundrel, Simeon of Roydon, who doubtless, with his own lips, will now confess his treason towards you, his falsehood towards me."
"If he do not," said Sir John Grey, boldly, "I have, thank God, ample means to prove it. Let him be called, my Liege, and with him a certain knave, a prisoner likewise in my hands, named Edward Dyram."
"Ha!" cried the King, with a smile--"has our old friend Ned Dyram, too, a share in this affair? I had thought the warning I once gave might have taught him to mend his manners."
"They are past mending, my Liege," answered Sir John Grey. "The villain will doubtless deny all, for he is a hardened knave as ever lived; but we can convict him notwithstanding."
"Well, call them in," answered Henry, "and have all things ready." And while Sir John Grey and Sir William Philip, the King's treasurer, quitted the circle for a moment, Henry turned to Mary Grey, and addressed her in a low tone, with a smiling countenance. The crowd drew back to let the King speak at ease; and the only words that made themselves heard were, "Methinks, fair lady, you have some interest in this affair?"
"Deep, my Liege," replied Mary Grey, with a glowing cheek.
What the King answered was not distinct to those around; but the lady raised her bright eyes to his face, replying eagerly, "More for his honour than for his life, Sire."