The Grateful Indian, and Other Stories

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Yes, Henry, I must part with you both—but your little sister I may keep with me; it is not her life they seek. And now, my beloved child, you understand what it is you have to do—keep up a brave heart and endeavour not to repine at your lot, but be thankful you have not fallen into the hands of those who would show you no mercy. But above all, my son, put your trust in God, and pray to him that happier days may come, when we can be together again without fear or concealment.”

The next day after this conversation, Lady Clifford left Brougham Castle, with her three children, her maid Cicely, old Hubert, and a few trusty attendants on whose fidelity she could rely, but not even to them did she reveal her son’s destination, which was only known to her faithful seneschal. The lady, with her maid and the children, travelled in a litter, a sort of light van shut in with curtains, which, at that period, when coaches were unknown, was often used by invalids and those who did not want to travel on horseback. The litter for one person was sometimes slung on poles and carried by men, but a large one, containing more than one traveller, was usually mounted on wheels and drawn by horses. It had been arranged that Rolf should meet Lady Clifford’s party in a forest, between Brougham Castle and York, and that he should bring with him a peasant boy’s coarse woollen dress, to disguise Henry for his flight; and oh, how sad were the hearts of the mother and son when they came in sight of the tall trees of that forest

where they were to part for they knew not how long! The path was wide enough to admit of the vehicle, and they had not gone far when Rolf met them. He was not in his minstrel’s dress, so that the people did not know him. He came to the side of the litter, and spoke in a low tone to the lady, who called one of her attendants, and said to him—

“This good man brings me word that it will not be safe for us to go to York, therefore I shall alter my course and proceed at once to the sea-coast, and take ship for the Netherlands. He also thinks that it would be better we should not all travel together, therefore I shall send on my eldest son with him and Hubert. He has a conveyance waiting close by in the forest, and when I have seen them off, I will return here. You can, meanwhile, rest and refresh yourselves, for we have a long day’s journey yet before us.”

The men, who were glad of this respite, dismounted, and began to unpack the provisions with which they were plentifully provided, whilst the sorrowful lady, leading her son by the hand, accompanied by Hubert, followed Rolf, who led them to a spot quite hidden from the view of the rest of the party, where a small cart, such as was used by the villagers in their rural occupations, was really in waiting.

This was indeed a trying moment. The young lord was now to be transformed into the peasant boy—his long bright curls were cut off, his face and hands were stained with a brown liquid to make him look sunburnt, as if he was used to work in the fields, and his rich velvet apparel was changed for coarse homespun woollen cloth. But he cared not what they put him on—his only thought was that he was going away from his beloved mother, perhaps never to see her more. He clasped his arms round her neck and clung to her sobbing, as if his heart would break, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks too, as she fell on her knees and murmured a prayer that heaven would watch over and protect her fatherless boy.

“My lady—my dear lady,” said old Hubert; “you must not stay here longer—the sooner this parting is over the better it will be for you both. Come, my Lord Henry, it is time we were moving.”

So saying he gently disengaged the boy from his mother’s encircling arms and lifted him into the cart, making a private signal to Rolf to drive away as fast as he could. He then respectfully entreated his unhappy lady to return to her party, and she, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, suffered him to lead her back, and as soon as he had seen her safely placed in the litter with Cicely and the two children, he mounted his horse and galloped off as if to join Rolf and his young charge, but in reality to take quite another route, for Henry was to pass, during this journey, for a poor boy whom Rolf was taking home to his native village, and it would not have done for him to be attended by Lady Clifford’s seneschal.

It was well he had been sent away, for just about this time King Edward caused an act of attainder to be passed against all the noblemen who had fought for the cause of Henry the Seventh, that is, they were deprived of their titles, and their estates were declared forfeited to the crown; he also issued a command that the children of the attainted nobles should be sent to London to be disposed of, as he, the king, should think fit; and this was probably done for the very purpose of getting Clifford’s children into his power; for no sooner had Lady Clifford taken up her abode with her father, the aged Lord de Vesci, than she was summoned to London, and closely questioned as to what had become of her boys. She said she had sent them out of the country, but as she had heard nothing of them since, she did not know whether they were alive or dead, and so the retreat of the high-born shepherd boy remained unknown. But all the castles and broad lands that were his by right of inheritance were given to the enemies of his family. The Barony of Westmoreland, with Brougham Castle, was bestowed by Edward on his brother Richard Duke of York, afterwards Richard the Third; and the great manor of Shipton was conferred on Sir William Stanley, who, at a later period, went over to the Lancasterian party himself, and you may read in Shakespeare’s play of “Richard the Third,” that it was he who, after the battle of Bosworth, where Richard was killed, picked up the crown and placed it on the victor’s head, saying, “Long live Henry the Seventh!” We shall presently see what this event had to do with our hero, Henry de Clifford.