At the same time, Longpole was far above his class in every respect. He had some smattering of classical knowledge, which was all that rested with him of the laborious teaching which good Dr. Wilbraham had bestowed upon his youth; he not only could read and write, but had read all the books he could get at, while a prisoner in France, and had, on more than one occasion, contrived to turn a stanza, though neither the stuff nor the workmanship was very good; and he had, moreover, a strange turn for jesting, which he took care to keep in perpetual exercise. To these he joined all the thousand little serviceable qualifications of an old soldier, and an extraordinary fluency in speaking French, which had proved very useful to him in many instances. Thus equipped inwardly, he now stood before Sir Osborne, with his outward man armed in the plain harness of a custrel, or shield-bearer, with casque and corslet, cuissards, brassards, and gauntlets; and considering that he was nearly six feet three inches in height, he was the sort of man that a knight might not be sorry to see at his back in the mêlée or the skirmish.
"Longpole," said the knight, "give me my armour; I will put it on while you place what clothes you can in the large horsebags. But, my good custrel, we must put something over our harness: give me that surcoat. You have not barded my horse, I trust?"
"Indeed I have, my lord," replied he; "and depend on it you may have need thereof. Remember how dear the barding of a horse is: I speak of the steel, which is, in fact, the true bard, or bardo, as the Italians call it, for the cloth that covers it is not the bard; and if you carry the steel with you, you may as well have the silk too."
"But 'twill weary the horse," said Sir Osborne; "however, as 'tis on, let it stay: only it may attract attention, and give too good a track to any that follow; though, God knows, I can hardly determine which way to turn my rein."
"To London! to London, to be sure, your worship," cried Longpole; "that is the high road to every part on the earth, and off the earth, and under the earth. If a man want to go to heaven, he will there find guides; if he seek hell, he will find plenty going the same road; and if he love this world better, there shall he meet conveyance to every part of it. What would you think of just paying a visit to good Master William Hans, the merchant, to see if he cannot give us a cast over to Flanders? A thousand to one he has some vessel going, or knows some one that has."
"Well bethought," answered Sir Osborne, slowly buckling on his armour. "It will soon grow dusk, and then our arms will call no attention. My hands refuse to help me on with my harness: I am very slow. Nay, good Longpole, if you have already finished, take a hundred marks out of that bag, which will nearly empty it, and seek the three men the Duke of Buckingham gave me. Divide it between them for their service; and, good Longpole, when you have done that, make inquiries about the palace as to what road was taken by Lady Constance de Grey and Dr. Wilbraham. Do not mention the lady; name only Dr. Wilbraham, as if I sought to speak with him."
Longpole obeyed, and after about half-an-hour's absence returned, tolerably successful in his inquiries; but, much to his surprise and disappointment, he found his young lord very nearly in the same situation in which he had left him, sitting in his chair, half armed, with his casque upon his knee, his fine head bare, and his eye fixed upon the fading gleams of the evening sky, where some faint clouds just above the distant trees seemed as if lingering in the beams of the sun's bright eye, like man still tenacious of the last ray of hope.
"Well, Longpole," cried he, waking from his reverie, "what news? Have you heard anything of Lady Constance?" and, as if ashamed of his delay, he busied himself to finish the arrangement of his armour.
"Let me aid you, my lord," said Longpole, kneeling down, and soon completing, piece by piece, what his master had left unfinished, replying at the same time to his question. "I have spoken with the man who carried the baggage down to the boat, my lord; and he says that Dr. Wilbraham, Lady Constance, and one of her women, took water about half-an-hour after the lord cardinal, and seemed to follow his barge."
Sir Osborne fell into another reverie, from which, at last, he roused himself with a sigh. "Well, I can do nothing," said he; "like an angry child I might rage and struggle, but I could do no more. Were I to stay, 'twould but be committing me to the Tower, and then I must be still perforce----"