"No!" said Sir Simeon of Roydon, to himself--"By--! she shall not conquer me!--Tell the King!--She shall never have the means; for I will either tame her, till she be but my bird, to sing what note I please, or I will silence her tongue effectually. To be conquered by a woman!--No, no! She is very lovely; and her very lion look is worth all the soft simpering smiles on earth. Hark ye, Easton: there is a druggist, down by the Vintry, with whom I have had some dealings in days of yore. This girl has a poisoned dagger about her, which must be got from her. 'Tis a marvel she used it not on you, as you brought her along, for she drew it forth on me but now. The man's name is Tyler; and he would sell his soul for gold. Tell him that I have need of some cunning drug to make men sleep--to sleep, I say--understand me, not to die: to sleep so sound, however, that a light touch, or a low tone, would not awaken them. It must have as little taste as may be, that we may put it in her drink, or in her food; and then, while she sleeps, we'll draw the lion's teeth. He will give you anything for a noble;" and, after these innocent directions, the knight betook himself to the chamber whither he had directed his friends to be brought, and was soon in full tide of laughter and merriment at all the idle stories of the Court.
CHAPTER XIV.
[THE REMEDY.]
Nearly opposite to the old, half ruined gate of the Temple, there commenced, in the days I speak of, a very narrow lane, which wound up northward, till it joined the place now called Holborn, passing, in its course, under the walls of the inn, or house, of the Bishop of Lincoln, round his garden wall, and through the grounds of the Old Temple house, inhabited by the Knights Templars, before they built a dwelling for themselves, by the banks of the Thames. This Temple house, still called the Old Temple in the reign of Henry V., had been abandoned by the brethren in the year 1184, or thereabout. For some time it was used to lodge any of the fraternity who might visit England from foreign countries, when the new building was too full to afford them accommodation; but gradually this custom ceased, even before the suppression of the Order, and at its dissolution the Old Temple fell into sore decay. When the lands of the Templars were afterwards granted to the Knights of St. John, certain portions of the building, and several of the out-buildings, were granted by them to various artisans, who found it more convenient to carry on their several pursuits beyond the actual precincts of the city of London. One large antique gate, of heavy architecture, with immense walls, and with rooms in either of the two towers which flanked the lane I have mentioned, was tenanted by an armourer, who had erected his stithy behind, and who stored his various completed arms in the chamber on the right of the gate, where the porter had formerly lodged. Over the window of this room was suspended, under a rude penthouse of straw, to keep it from the rain, a huge casque, indicative of the tenant's profession; and, at about eight o'clock of the same morning on which Richard of Woodville quitted London, a little cavalcade, consisting of a tall gaunt old man on a strong black horse, a young lady on a white genet, and three stout yeomen, rode slowly up to the gate-house, and drew their bridles there, pausing to gaze for a moment or two through the deep arch at the forge beyond, where the flame glowed and the anvil rang, throwing a red glare into the shadowy doorway, and drowning the sound of the horses' feet.
"Halloo! Launcelot Plasse!" cried old Sir Philip Beauchamp, in as loud a tone as he thought needful to call the attention of the person he wanted--"halloo!"
But the cyclops within went on with their hammering; and, after another ineffectual effort to make them hear, the good knight called up his men to hold the horses, and lifting Mary Markham as lightly to the ground as if she had been but the weight of a feather, he said, "We must go in and bellow in this deaf man's ear, till we outdo his own noise. Stay here, Mary, I will rouse him;" and, advancing through the open gate, he seized the bare arm of the armourer, exclaiming, "What, Launcelot! wouldst thou brain me?--Why, how now, man! has the roaring of thine own forge deafened thee?"
The elderly white-headed man to whom he spoke turned round and gazed at him, leaning his strong muscular arm upon his hammer, and wiping the drops from his brow. "By St. Jude!" he cried, after a moment's consideration, "I think it is Sir Philip Beauchamp. Yet your head is as white as the ashes, and when I knew him it was a grizzled black, like pauldrons traced with silver lines; and you are mighty thin and bony for stout Sir Philip, whose right hand would have knocked down an ox!"
"Fifteen years, Launcelot! fifteen years!" answered the knight; "they bend a stout frame, as thou beatest out a bit of iron; and, if my head be white, thy black hairs are more easy to be counted than found. Yet both our arms might do some service in their own way yet."
"Well, I am glad to see you again, noble knight," replied the armourer; "though I thought that it would be no more, before you and I went our ways to dust. But, what lack you? There must be some wars toward, to bring an old knight to the stithy; for well I wot, you are not going to buy a tilting suit, or do battle for a fair lady. God send us some good wholesome wars right soon! We have had nothing lately, but the emprise of the Duke of Clarence. King Harry the Fourth got tired of his armour; pray Heaven, his son love the weight better, or I must let the forge cool, and that were a shame."
"Nay, 'tis not for myself," replied Sir Philip. "I have more arms, Launcelot, than ever I shall don in life again. My next suit--unless the King make haste--will be in the chancel of the church at Abbot's Ann. What I want is for my nephew, Dickon of Woodville; he is going to foreign lands, in search of renown; and I would fain choose him a suit myself, for you know I am somewhat of a judge in steel."