“If I thought thou wouldst taint her with thy heresies, I would keep her from thee,” said the mayor. “But I have no such fear. Admit her when she will, Piers.”
And he quitted the cell with the Earl.
CHAPTER XI.
OF PHILIP’S PUBLIC DISEMBARKATION AT SOUTHAMPTON.
Before noon the preparations for the Prince’s reception were complete. All the houses in High-street had been hung with carpets and costly stuffs, and otherwise decorated. From the Water-gate to the porch of Holyrood Church, where high mass was to be performed for the Prince, the street was kept clear by archers and arquebusiers fully equipped, and drawn up on either side, their steel caps and breastplates glittering in the brilliant sunshine.
By-and-by a grand cavalcade of richly-apparelled nobles, well mounted, and followed by long trains of esquires and pages wearing their liveries, rode towards the quay. Noticeable amongst these were the Earls of Shrewsbury, Derby, and Sussex, but the personage who attracted most attention was the Duke of Norfolk.
This venerable peer, whose long confinement in the Tower, commencing at the latter part of the reign of Henry VIII., and extending throughout that of his son, Edward VI., had neither broken his spirit nor impaired his bodily vigour, rode a high-spirited charger, which he managed with all the address and grace of a youthful cavalier. Norfolk’s attire was of almost regal magnificence, being of purple velvet, edged with miniver, and richly embroidered, and his charger was trapped in cloth of gold, of red and yellow sheen. Behind him rode eighteen pages, each mounted on a handsome courser, and each clad in cloth of gold.