"I am sorry that Sir William Cecil is hurt," said the knight, springing off his horse: "On, Longpole, after his men, and discover what is his injury."
"'Tis no great matter," said Lord Abergany, "and it will do Cecil no harm that his pride is lowered; for in truth, he has lately become beyond all endurance vain. He spoke of quelling the mutiny of the shipwrights at Rochester as if his single arm were capable of doing more than Lord Thomas and all his company. Well, fellow!" he continued to Longpole, who now returned, "what hurt has Sir William?"
"Why, please your lordship," replied he, "he is neither whole beaten nor whole strangled, but a little of both; for his casque has proved a cudgel, and given him a bloody nose; and his gorget a halter, and half hanged him."
"A merry knave!" said the duke. "Come, Sir Osborne, half-an-hour still rests before our beverage; that you shall bestow upon me, when you have taken off your casque. Gentlemen, amuse yourselves till three, when we will rejoin you in the hall."
Thus saying, the duke again led the way to his closet, and concluded all his arrangements with the young knight with the same generosity of feeling and delicacy of manner which had characterised all the rest of his conduct towards him. The prize Sir Osborne had won he paid to him as a mere matter of course, taking every means to conceal that it had been offered merely that he might win it. But he also exacted a promise, that whenever the young knight was in London, he would use his beautiful manor-house of the Rose, in St. Lawrence Pountney, as if it were his own, and furnished him with a letter which gave him therein unlimited command over whomsoever and whatsoever it contained.
"And now," continued Buckingham, "let us speak, my young friend, of the means of introducing you to the king, without my appearing in it, for I am not well beloved of the butcher-begotten cardinal. My cousin, the abbot of the Benedictines, near Canterbury, writes me this morning that his sister, the lady abbess, a most holy and devout woman, has with her, even now, a young lady of high station, a woman of the queen's, one Mistress Katherine Bulmer, who has lately been there to visit and cheer her relation the abbess, who has somewhat suffered from a black melancholy that all her holy piety can hardly cure; and also, as he hints, perhaps to tame down the young damsel's own light spirits, which, it may be, soar a pitch too high. However, the time has come that the queen calls for her lady, and the abbess must send her back; but this mutiny of the shipwrights at Rochester puts the good devotees in fear; and they must needs ask me, with an 'if I be sending that way,' to let the lady journey to the court at Greenwich under escort of any of my retainers or friends. If you undertake the charge, our most excellent Queen Katherine will surely give you her best thanks, and make you know the king; and the mutiny of the shipwrights, who are still in arms, will be a full reason and excuse why you should ride armed. Three of my servants shall accompany you. Say, does this proposal please you? Will you accept it?"
"With many thanks!" replied the knight. "Your grace is ever kind and thoughtful for your poor friend's good."
"Your father once saved my life," answered the duke, "and I would almost give that life again to see him what he was. See, here is the letter to the lord abbot. Let us now back to our friends, or they will think we are plotting treason. Do you favour the bad habit of beverages? No? then we will drain one cup ere you mount, and bid you farewell."
The duke now led to the hall, called for a cup of wine, and then pledging the young knight, together with Lord Abergany and Lord Montague, conducted him to his horse, notwithstanding the opposition which he made to so marked an honour.
"'S life!" cried Lord Montague, seeing him still armed: "Are you going to ride in harness? Three of his grace's servants armed too! Why you are surely going to deliver some captive damsel from the power of a base ravager."