"If by any chance this Maurice were to see me with your grace," replied Sir Payan, "he would lose no time, but fly instantly, before you had speech of his grace the king. If you think it necessary, my lord, that I should attend you, it may be well to arrest the traitor immediately on your arrival."
"Nay, nay, nay!" said Wolsey, shaking his head. "You know not Henry, Sir Payan; he is hard and difficult to rule, and, were I to arrest Sir Osborne, would take for insult what was meant as a service. But you shall not go: there is, indeed, no need. These papers are quite enough, with the testimony of the priest. Let him be sent down post-haste to Richmond after me."
"He shall, my lord," replied Sir Payan. "But one word more, your grace. If the Duke of Buckingham be condemned, his estates, of course, are forfeited to the crown. Near me lies his beautiful manor of the Hill, in Kent, and I know your grace will not forget your faithful servants." Wolsey paused, and Sir Payan went on. "To show how constantly present your grace is to all my thoughts, you told me some time ago that you desired to have two of the tallest men in the realm for porters of the gate. Cast your eyes through that window, my lord, and I think you will see two that no prince in Europe can match in his hall."
No service that Sir Payan could have rendered, either to the state or to himself, would have given half so much pleasure to Wolsey as the possession of the two gigantic Cornishmen we have before mentioned; for, amongst all his weaknesses, his passion for having tall men about him was one of the most conspicuous. As soon as for a moment or two he had considered them attentively through the window, and compared them with all the pigmy-looking race around, he thanked Sir Payan with infinite graciousness for his care; and hinted, though he did not promise, that Buckingham's manor in Kent might be the reward. While he yet spoke, a gentleman-usher entered, to announce that the barge was ready; and, giving some more directions to Sir Payan, in regard to sending the priest, Wolsey rose to proceed on his journey. The procession, without which he never moved, was already arranged in the ante-chamber, consisting of marshals and gentlemen-ushers, with two stout priests bearing the immense silver crosses of his archbishopric and his legacy; and the moment he moved towards the door, the ushers pressed forward, crying, "On before, my lords and masters! on before! Make way for the lord cardinal! Make way for my lord's grace! On before! on before!"
Wolsey immediately followed, and proceeded to his barge; while Sir Payan returned to his own house in Westminster, and despatched the priest to Richmond, after which he sat himself down to write. What he did write consisted of but a few lines, but they were of some import; and as soon as they were finished, he entrusted them to one of his shrewdest and most assured servants, with many a long direction, and many an injunction to speed.
CHAPTER XXIV.
This hour's the very crisis of your fate:
Your good or ill, your infamy or fame,
And all the colour of your life depends
On this important now.--The Spanish Friar.
If any one will look at the almanac for the year 1520, he will find marked, opposite the 4th day of May, the following curious piece of information: "High-water at London Bridge at half-past three;" and, if he calculate rightly, he will discover that as Wolsey set out from what was then called the Cardinal's Bridge[[15]] at high noon, he had the most favourable tide in the world for carrying him to Richmond. His rowers, too, plied their oars with unceasing activity; and his splendid barge, with its carved and gilded sides, cut rapidly through the water, but still not rapidly enough for his impatience.
Siting under an awning, with a table before him, at which was placed a clerk, he sometimes read parts of the various papers that had been presented during the morning, and sometimes dictated to the secretary; but more frequently gave himself up to thought, suffering his mind to range in the wild chaos of political intrigue, which was to him like the labyrinth a man makes in his own garden, in which a stranger might lose his way, but where he himself walks for his ease and pleasure. Not that Wolsey's mind was one that soared above the pains of political life; for his were all the throbbing anxieties of precarious power, his was all the irritation of susceptible pride and insatiable vanity; while jealous envy, avarice, and ambition, at once made the world a desert, and tormented him with unquenchable thirst.
No surer road to Wolsey's hatred existed than the king's favour; and since his return to London, though but one evening had passed, yet often had his heart rankled at hearing from those who watched for him in his absence, that a young stranger, named Sir Osborne Maurice, had won the king's regard and become the sharer of all his pleasures. The information given him by Sir Payan Wileton had placed in his hand arms against this incipient rival, as he deemed him, which were sure to crush him; and, with a sort of pride in the conquest he anticipated, he muttered to himself, as he saw the narrowing banks of the river, approaching towards Richmond, "Now, Sir Osborne Maurice! now!"