Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

Longpole was soon gone; but, to the mind of Sir Osborne, long before he returned. When, however, he did once more make his appearance, he not only brought the news that all the packages which Sir Osborne expected had arrived, but he also brought the large leathern case containing the apparel in which the knight was wont to appear at the court of the Duchess Regent of Burgundy, and a letter which Sir Osborne soon perceived was from his father, Lord Fitzbernard.

Being privileged to peep over men's shoulders, we shall make no apology for knowing somewhat of the contents of the old earl's epistle. It conveyed in many shapes the gratifying knowledge to the son that the father was proud of the child, together with many exhortations, founded in parental anxiety, still carefully to conceal his name and rank. But the most important part of the letter was a short paragraph, wherein the earl laid his injunctions upon his son not to think of coming to see him till he had made every effort at the court, and their fate was fully decided. "And then, my son," continued Lord Fitzbernard, "come hither unto me, whether the news thou bringest be of good or bad comfort; for, of a certain, thy presence shall be of the best comfort; and if still our enemies prevail, I will pass with thee over sea into another land, and make my nobility in thy honour, and find my fortune in thy high deeds."

Sir Osborne's wishes would have led him into Wales, for after five long years of absence, he felt as it were a thirst to embrace once more the author of his birth; but still he saw that the course which his father pointed out was the one that prudence and wisdom dictated, and therefore at once acquiesced. For a while he paused, meditating over all the feelings that this letter had called up; but well knowing that every moment of a man's life may be well employed, if he will but seek to employ them, he cast his reveries behind him, and dressing himself in a costume more proper to appear at the house of the Duke of Buckingham, he commanded his armour to be carefully looked to, and paying his score at the Tabard, departed to fulfil his noble friend's hospitable desire, by taking up his lodging at the manor-house of the Rose, in Saint Laurence Poultney.

Passing through Southwark, he soon arrived at London Bridge, which, as every one knows, was then but one long street across the water, with rich shops and houses on each side, and little intervals between, through which the passenger's eye might catch the flowing of the Thames, and thence only could he learn that he was passing over a large and navigable river. The shops, it is true, were unglazed and open, and perhaps to a modern eye might look like booths; but in that day the whole of Europe could hardly furnish more wealth than was then displayed on London Bridge. The long and circumstantial history given by Stowe will save the trouble of transcribing the eleven pages which Vonderbrugius bestows upon this subject; for though I cannot be sure that every one has read the old chronicler's "Survey of London," yet certainly every one may read it if they like. Passing, then, over London Bridge, the knight and his followers took their way up Gracious Street (now corruptly Gracechurch Street), and riding through the heart of the city, soon arrived at the gates of the Duke of Buckingham's magnificent mansion of the Rose. As they approached the garden entrance, they observed a man covered with dust, as from a long journey, dismount from his horse at the door, bearing embroidered on his sleeve the cognizance of a swan; from which, with the rest of his appearance, Sir Osborne concluded that he was a courier from the duke. This supposition proved to be correct: the considerate and liberal-minded nobleman having sent him forward to prepare the household to receive his young protegé, and also for the purpose of conveying various other orders and letters, which might tend to the advancement of his views. But it so unfortunately had happened, the man informed the knight, that he had been attacked on the road by four armed men, who had taken from him his bag with the letters, and that therefore the only thing which remained for him to do was to deliver the verbal orders which he had received to his grace's steward, and then to return to his lord and inform him of the circumstances as they had occurred.

The profound respect with which he was treated very soon evinced to Sir Osborne what those verbal orders were.

He found the retinue of a prince ready to obey his commands, and a dwelling that in decoration, if not in size, certainly surpassed that of the king. It was not, however, the object of the young knight to draw upon himself those inquiries which would certainly follow any unnecessary ostentation; nor would he have been willing, even had it coincided with his views, to have made his appearance at the court with so much borrowed splendour. He signified, therefore, to the chamberlain his intention of requiring merely the attendance of the three yeomen, who, with his own custrel, had accompanied him from Kent; and added that, though he might occupy the apartments which had been allotted to him when he was in London, and dine at the separate table which, by the duke's command, was to be prepared for himself, he should most probably spend the greater part of his time at Greenwich.

Having made these arrangements, he determined to lose no time in proceeding to seek for Dr. Butts, the king's physician, at whose house he had good hopes of hearing of his old tutor, Dr. Wilbraham, and of discovering what credit was to be given to the reported marriage of the young Earl of Darby.

Sir Osborne knew that the physician was one of those men who had made and maintained a high reputation at the court by an honest frankness, which, without deviating into rudeness, spared not to speak the truth to king or peasant. He was a great well-wisher to human nature; and feeling that if all men would be as sincere as himself, the crop of human misery would be much less to reap, he often lost patience with the worldlings, and flouted them with their insincerity. His character contained many of those strange oppositions to which humanity is subject; he was ever tender-hearted, yet often rough, and combined in manner much bluntness with some courtesy. He was learned, strong-minded, and keen-sighted, yet often simple as a child, and much led away by the mad visions of the alchymists of the time.

However, as we have said, he was greatly loved and respected at the court; and, from his character and office, was more intimately acquainted with all the little private secrets and lies of the day than any other person perhaps, except Sir Cesar, the astrologer, with whom he was well acquainted, and upon whom he himself looked with no small reverence and respect, shrewdly suspecting that in his magical studies he had discovered the grand secret.

Towards his house, then, Sir Osborne directed his steps, taking with him no one but a footboy of the duke's to show him the way; for as the good physician lived so far off as Westminster, it became necessary to have some guide to point out the shortest and most agreeable roads. Instead of taking the highway, which, following the course of the river, ran in nearly a straight line from London to Westminster,[^[7]] the boy led Sir Osborne through the beautiful fields which extended over the ground in the neighbourhood of Lincoln's Inn, and which, instead of being filled with smoky houses and dirty multitudes, were then breathing nothing but sweets from the primroses and other wild spring flowers that were rising fresh out of a rich and grateful soil. Thence, cutting across through many a gate, and over many a stile, his young conductor brought him out into the road just at the little milk and curd-house in the midst of the village of Charing, from whence, looking down the road to the left, they could see the palace, and gardens of the bishops of Durham and York, with the magnificent abbey, rising over some clumps of trees beyond.