and his round ruddy cheeks had fallen away, while the attitude in which he sat in his chair was listless and weary, though he fitfully exerted himself with his old vigour.
Hal on his side, in the dark plain dress of a citizen, was hardly recognisable, for not only had he likewise grown thinner, and his brown cheeks more hollow, but his hair had become almost white during his miserable weeks at Windsor, though he was not much over forty years old.
He came up the last of a number who presented themselves for the Archiepiscopal blessing, as Wolsey sat under a large tree in Cawood Park. Wolsey gave it with his raised fingers, without special heed, but therewith Hal threw himself on the ground, kissed his feet, and cried, 'My lord, my dear lord, your pardon.'
'What hast done, fellow? Speak!' said the Cardinal. 'Grovel not thus. We will be merciful.'
'Ah! my lord,' said Randall, lifting himself up, but with clasped hands and tearful eyes, 'I did not serve you as I ought with the King, but if you will forgive me and take me back-'
'How now? How couldst thou serve me? What!'-as Hal made a familiar gesture-'thou art not the poor fool, Quipsome Patch? How comest thou here? Methought I had provided well for thee in making thee over to the King.'
'Ah! my lord, I was fool, fool indeed, but all my jests failed me. How could I make sport for your enemies?'
'And thou hast come, thou hast left the King to follow my fallen fortunes?' said Wolsey. 'My poor boy, he who is sitting in sackcloth and ashes needs no jester.'
'Nay, my lord, nor can I find one jest to break! Would you but let me be your meanest horse-boy, your scullion!' Hal's voice was cut short by tears as the Cardinal abandoned to him one hand. The other was drying eyes that seldom wept.
'My faithful Hal!' he said, 'this is love indeed!'
And Stephen ere he came away had seen his uncle fully established, as a rational creature, and by his true name, as one of the personal attendants on the Cardinal's bed-chamber, and treated with the affection he well deserved. Wolsey had really seemed cheered by his affection, and was devoting himself to the care of his hitherto neglected and even unvisited diocese, in a way that delighted the hearts of the Yorkshiremen.
The first idea was that Perronel should join her husband at York, but safe modes of travelling were not easy to be found, and before any satisfactory escort offered, there were rumours that made it prudent to delay. As autumn advanced, it was known that the Earl of Northumberland had been sent to attach the Cardinal of High Treason. Then ensued other reports that the great Cardinal had sunk and died on his way to London for trial; and at last, one dark winter evening, a sorrowful man stumbled up the steps of the Dragon, and as he came into the bright light of the fire, and Perronel sprang to meet him, he sank into a chair and wept aloud.
He had been one of those who had lifted the brokenhearted Wolsey from his mule in the cloister of Leicester Abbey, he had carried him to his bed, watched over him, and supported him, as the Abbot of Leicester gave him the last Sacraments. He had heard and treasured up those mournful words which are Wolsey's chief legacy to the world, 'Had I but served my God, as I have served my king, He would not have forsaken me in my old age.' For himself, he had the dying man's blessing, and assurance that nothing had so much availed to cheer in these sad hours as his faithful love.
Now, Perronel might do what she would with him-he cared not.
And what she did was to set forth with him for Hampshire, on a pair of stout mules with a strong serving-man behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE SOLDIER.
'Of a worthy London prentice
My purpose is to speak,
And tell his brave adventures
Done for his country's sake.
Seek all the world about
And you shall hardly find
A man in valour to exceed
A prentice' gallant mind.'
Six more years had passed over the Dragon court, when, one fine summer evening, as the old walls rang with the merriment of the young boys at play, there entered through the gateway a tall, well-equipped, soldierly figure, which caught the eyes of the little armourer world in a moment. 'Oh, that's a real Milan helmet!' exclaimed the one lad.
'And oh, what a belt and buff coat!' cried another.
The subject of their admiration advanced muttering, 'As if I'd not been away a week,' adding, 'I pray you, pretty lads, doth Master Alderman Headley still dwell here?'
'Yea, sir, he is our grandfather,' said the elder boy, holding a lesser one by the shoulder as he spoke.
'Verily! And what may be your names?'
'I am Giles Birkenholt, and this is my little brother, Dick.'
'Even as I thought. Wilt thou run in to your grandsire, and tell him?'
The bigger boy interrupted, 'Grandfather is going to bed. He is old and weary, and cannot see strangers so late. 'Tis our father who heareth all the orders.'
'And,' added the little one, with wide-open grave eyes, 'Mother bade us run out and play and not trouble father, because uncle Ambrose is so downcast because they have cut off the head of good Sir Thomas More.'
'Yet,' said the visitor, 'methinks your father would hear of an old comrade. Or stay, where be Tibble Steelman and Kit Smallbones?'
'Tibble is in the hall, well-nigh as sad as uncle Ambrose,' began Dick; but Giles, better able to draw conclusions, exclaimed, 'Tibble! Kit! You know them, sir! Oh! are you the Giles Headley that ran away to be a soldier ere I was born? Kit! Kit! see here-' as the giant, broader and perhaps a little more bent, but with little loss of strength, came forward out of his hut, and taking up the matter just where it had been left fourteen years before, demanded as they shook hands, 'Ah, Master Giles, how couldst thou play me such a scurvy trick?'
'Nay, Kit, was it not best for all that I turned my back to make way for honest Stephen?'
By this time young Giles had rushed up the stair to the hall, where, as he said truly, Stephen was giving his brother such poor comfort as could be had from sympathy, when listening to the story of the cheerful, brave resignation of the noblest of all the victims of Henry the Eighth. Ambrose had been with Sir Thomas well-nigh to the last, had carried messages between him and his friends during his imprisonment, had handed his papers to him at his trial, had been with Mrs Roper when she broke through the crowd and fell on his neck as he walked from Westminster Hall with the axe-edge turned towards him; had received his last kind farewell, counsel, and blessing, and had only not been with him on the scaffold because Sir Thomas had forbidden it, saying, in the old strain of mirth, which never forsook him, 'Nay, come not, my good friend. Thou art of a queasy nature, and I would fain not haunt thee against thy will.'
All was over now, the wise and faithful head had fallen, because it would not own the wrong for the right; and Ambrose had been brought home by his brother, a being confounded, dazed, seeming hardly able to think or understand aught save that the man whom he had above all loved and looked up to was taken from him, judicially murdered, and by the King. The whole world seemed utterly changed to him, and as to thinking or planning for himself, he was incapable of it; indeed, he looked fearfully ill. His little nephew came up to his father's knee, pausing, though open-mouthed, and at the first token of permission, bursting out, 'Oh! father! Here's a soldier in the court! Kit is talking to him. And he is Giles Headley that ran away. He has a beauteous Spanish leathern coat, and a belt with silver bosses-and a morion that Phil Smallbones saith to be of Milan, but I say it is French.'
Stephen had no sooner gathered the import of this intelligence than he sprang down almost as rapidly as his little boy, with his welcome. Nor did Giles Headley return at all in the dilapidated condition that had been predicted. He was stout, comely, and well fleshed, and very handsomely clad and equipped in a foreign style, with nothing of the lean wolfish appearance of Sir John Fulford. The two old comrades heartily shook one another by the hand in real gladness at the meeting. Stephen's welcome was crossed by the greeting and inquiry whether all was well.
