Again, he might ponder upon all the difficulties and pains of a royal station: he might think, "Each of my subjects is burdened with his own cares and anxieties, but I with the care and anxiety of the whole:" or his mind might turn to the especial troubles and discomforts of a monarch, and remember how many he must have to disappoint; how often he must have to punish; how much he must have to refuse; how seldom he might be permitted to forgive; what great works he must necessarily leave undone; what good deeds be might be obliged to neglect; what faults he must be called upon to overlook; what pain and grief, even to the good and wise, a stern necessity might compel him to inflict.
He might, perhaps, think of any or all of these things, for they were all within the grasp of his character, as Henry was peculiarly a thoughtful monarch. We are, indeed, only accustomed to look upon him either as a wild youth, suddenly and somewhat strangely reformed, or as a great conqueror and skilful general, a prudent and ambitious prince. But those who will inquire into his private life, who will mark the recorded words that occasionally broke from his lips, trace the causes and course of his actions, examine his conduct to his friends, and even to his enemies, who will, in short, strip off the monarch's robes and look upon the man, will find a meditative spirit, though a quick one; a warm heart, though a firm one; a rich and lively imagination, though a clear and vigorous judgment. He was not one to take upon him the cares of government without feeling all their weight; to regard a throne as a seat of ease and pleasure; or to assume the grand responsibilities of sovereign power, without examining them stedfastly and sternly, seeing all that is bright and all that is dark therein, and feeling keenly every sacrifice for which they call.
To love and to be beloved by a whole nation, to give and to receive happiness by a wise government of a great people, is assuredly a mighty recompence for all the pains of royal station; but yet those pains will be felt hourly while the reward is afar; and the monarch's conversation with Richard of Woodville had awakened him to some of those evils which the wisest rule cannot entirely remedy. Almost under the windows of his palace, on the very day of his coronation, in the midst of rejoicing and festivity, one of his subjects, an innocent inoffensive old man, had been brutally deprived of life by a party of those who had been feasting at his own table; and, when he remembered all the scenes with which the course of his early life had made him acquainted throughout this wide land, he saw what a task it would be to restrain the wild licence of a host of turbulent nobles, and to bind them to submission to the laws, and to reverence for the rights and happiness of others.
The monarch was still deep in thought when the page whom he had sent for Sir Simeon of Roydon, returned, announcing that he was in waiting without; and Henry at once ordered him to be admitted. The knight advanced with courtly bows, and more than due reverence; for he was one of those who, overbearing and haughty to their inferiors, are always cringing and fawning towards those above them, at least until they are detected.
But Henry came to the point at once, saying, with a stern brow, "I hear matters regarding you, Sir Simeon of Roydon, that please me not; and I would fain hear from your own lips, what explanation you can give. Know, sir, that the subjects of this crown are not to be murdered with impunity, and that sooner or later blood will find a tongue to accuse those that spill it."
The knight turned somewhat pale under the keen eye of the King; but he answered at once, in smooth and fluent tones, "I was not aware, Sire, that I had done aught that should bring upon me the greatest punishment that I could receive--that of falling under the displeasure of your Highness; for any other infliction which might follow that severe misfortune, would seem nothing in comparison, or light, indeed, if by any bodily suffering I could remove the heavy weight of your anger. May I humbly inquire what is my fault? It must be great, I am sure, though I know it not, to make so clement a King regard his servant so harshly."
"It is great, sir," replied Henry, who could not be deluded with fair words. "Did you not, last night, after quitting the Hall below, cause the death of an old man by a most brutal outrage?"
"Nay, Heaven forbid!" cried Roydon, with well-feigned surprise and grief. "Your Highness does not, I trust, mean to say that the poor old man is dead?"
"He was killed upon the spot, sir," answered Henry; "and I am told you did not even stop to inquire what had been the result of your own act."
"I will go home and have him slaughtered without delay," exclaimed Roydon, as if speaking to himself in a paroxysm of regret.