"I cannot believe it!" cried Henry, striking the table with his hand. "I will not believe it! By heaven! the very soul of honour sparkles in his eye! But your proofs, lord cardinal! your proofs! I will not have such things advanced against my faithful subjects, without full and sufficient evidence."
The more eagerness that Henry showed in defending his young friend, the more obnoxious did Sir Osborne become to Wolsey, and he laid before the king, one by one, the deposition of Wilson, Sir Payan's bailiff; several letters which Buckingham had written in favour of the young knight; and lastly, the duke's letter to Sir Thomas Morton, where, either by a forgery of Sir Payan Wileton's, or by some strange chance, it appeared that Sir Osborne Maurice had promised that within a year the duke's head should be the highest in the realm.
While he read, Henry's brow knit into a heavy frown, and, biting his lip, he went back to the beginning, and again read over the papers. "Cardinal," said he, at length, "bid the page seek Pace, my secretary, and ask him for the last letter from the Duke of Buckingham."
Wolsey obeyed; and, while waiting for the return of the page, Henry remained with his eyes averted, as if in deep thought, beating the papers with his fingers, and gnawing his lip in no very placable mood; while the cardinal wisely abstained from saying a word, leaving the irritation of the king's mind to expend itself, without calling it upon himself. As soon as the letter was brought, Henry laid it side by side with those that Wolsey had placed before him, and seemed to compare every word, every syllable, to ascertain the identity of the handwriting. "True, by my life!" cried he, casting down the papers. "The writing is the same; and now, my lord cardinal, what have you farther to say? Are there any farther proofs, ha?"
"Were there none other, your grace," replied Wolsey, "than the duke's handwriting, and the deposition of a disinterested and respectable witness, who can have no enmity whatever against this Sir Osborne Maurice, and who probably never saw him but on the two occasions he mentions, I think it would be quite sufficient to warrant your grace in taking every measure of precaution. But there is another witness, whom, indeed, I have not seen, but who can give evidence, I understand, respecting the conduct of the person accused towards the Rochester rioters. Knowing how much your grace's wisdom passeth that of the best in the realm, I have dared to have this witness (a most honourable priest) brought hither, hoping that the exigency of the case might lead you to examine him yourself, when, perhaps, your royal judgment may elicit more from him than others could do."
"You have done wisely, my good lord cardinal," replied Henry, whose first irritation had now subsided. "Let him be called, and bid your secretary take down his deposition, for 'tis not fitting that mine be so employed."
At the command of Wolsey, one of the pages went instantly to seek the priest, who, by the care and despatch of Sir Payan, had been sent down with all speed, and was now waiting with the cardinal's attendants in no small surprise and agitation, not being able to conceive why he was thus hurried from one place to another, and breathing also with some degree of alarm in the unwonted atmosphere of a court. On being ushered into the royal presence, the worthy man fell down upon both his knees before Henry, and, clasping his hands, prayed for a blessing on his head with such fervour and simplicity that the monarch was both pleased and amused.
"Rise, rise, good man!" said the king, holding out his hand for him to kiss: "we would speak with you on a business of import. Nay, do not be alarmed. We know your worth, and purpose to reward you. Place yourself here, master secretary, and take down his replies. Sit, my good lord cardinal; we beg you to be seated."
As soon as Wolsey had taken a low seat near the king, and the secretary, kneeling on one before the table, was prepared to write, Henry again proceeded, addressing the priest, who stood before him the picture of a disquieted spirit.
"Say, do you know one Sir Osborne Maurice?" demanded the king.