Windsor Castle by William Harrison Ainsworth
BOOK V — MABEL LYNDWOOD
CHAPTER I
How the Earl of Surrey and the Fair Geraldine met in King James's Bower in
the Moat—And how they were surprised by the Duke of Richmond.
IN order to preserve unbroken the chain of events with which
the last book of this chronicle concluded, it was deemed expedient to disturb
the unity of time, so far as it related to some of the less important
characters; and it will now he necessary, therefore, to return to the middle
of June, when the Earl of Surrey's term of captivitywas drawing to a
close.
As the best means of conquering the anxiety produced by the vision
exhibited to him by Herne, increased as it was by the loss of the relic he
had sustained at the same time, the earl had devoted himself to incessant
study, and for a whole month he remained within his chamber. The consequence
of his unremitting application was that, though he succeeded in his design
and completely regained his tranquillity, his strength gave way under the
effort, and he was confined for some days to his couch by a low fever.
As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to venture forth, he mounted to
the summit of the Round Tower, in the hope that a walk round its breezy
battlements might conduce to his restoration to health. The day was bright
and beautiful, and a gentle wind was stirring; and as Surrey felt the breath.
of heaven upon his cheek, and gazed upon the glorious. prospect before him,
he wondered that his imprisonment had not driven him mad. Everything around
him, indeed,. was calculated to make the sense of captivity painful. The
broad and beautiful meads, stretching out beneath him, seemed to invite a
ramble over them; the silver river courted a plunge into its waves, the woods
an hour's retirement into their shady recesses, The bells of Eton College
rang out merrily, but their sound saddened rather than elated him. The road
between Eton and Windsor, then marked by straggling cottages with gardens
between them, with here and there a dwelling of a better kind, was thronged
with herds of cattle and their drivers, for a fair was held that day in the
town of Windsor, to which they were hastening. Then there were country
maidens and youthful hinds in their holiday apparel, trooping towards the
bridge. Booths were erected, near which, in the Brocas meads, the rustic
sports of wrestling, running, and casting the bar were going forward, while
numbers of boats shot to and fro upon the river, and strains of music
proceeded from a large gilt barge moored to its banks. Nearer, and in the
broad green plain lying beneath the north terrace, were a company of archers
shooting at the butts. But these sights, instead of affording pleasure to
Surrey, only sharpened the anguish of his feelings by the contrast they
offered to his present position.
To distract his thoughts, he quitted the near view, and let his eye run
along the edge of the horizon, until it rested upon a small speck, which he
knew to be the lofty spire of Saint Paul's Cathedral. If, as he supposed, the
Fair Geraldine was in attendance upon Anne Boleyn, at the palace at
Bridewell, she must be under the shadow of this very spire; and the
supposition, whether correct or not, produced such quick and stifling
emotions, that the tears rushed to his eyes.
Ashamed of his weakness, he turned to the other side of the tower, and
bent his gaze upon the woody heights of the great park. These recalled Herne
the Hunter; and burning with resentment at the tricks practised upon him by
the demon, he determined that the first use he would make of his liberty
should be to seek out, and, if possible, effect the capture of this
mysterious being. Some of the strange encounters between Herne and the king
had been related to him by the officer on guard at the Norman Tower but these
only served as stimulants to the adventure. After a couple of hours thus
passed on the keep, he descended refreshed and invigorated. The next day he
was there again, and the day after that; when, feeling that his restoration
was well nigh complete, he requested permission to pass the following evening
in the dry moat of the donjon. And this was readily accorded him.
Covered with green sod, and shaded by many tall trees growing out of the
side of the artificial mound on which the keep was built, the fosse offered
all the advantages of a garden to the prisoners who were allowed to take
exercise within it. Here, as has been mentioned, King James the First of
Scotland first beheld, from the battlements above, the lovely Jane Beaufort
take her solitary walk, and by his looks and gestures contrived to make her
sensible of the passion with which she inspired him; and here at last, in an
arbour which, for the sake of the old and delightful legend connected with
it, was kept up at the time of this chronicle, and then bore the name of the
royal poet, they had secretly met, and interchanged their vows of
affection.
Familiar with the story, familiar also with the poetic strains to which
the monarch's passion gave birth, Surrey could not help comparing his own
fate with that of the illustri6us captive who had visited the spot before
him. Full of such thoughts, he pensively tracked the narrow path winding
between the grassy banks of the fosse—now casting up his eyes to the
keep—now looking towards the arbour, and wishing that he had been
favoured with such visitings as lightened the captivity of the Scottish king.
At last, he sought the bower—a charming little nest of green leaves and
roses, sheltering a bench which seemed only contrived for lovers—and
taking out his tablets, began to trace within them some stanzas of that
exquisite poem which has linked his name for ever with the Round Tower. Thus
occupied, the time stole on insensibly, and he was not aware that he had
over-stayed the limits allowed him, till he was aroused by the voice of the
officer, who came to summon him back to his prison.
"You will be removed to your old lodging, in the Round Tower, to- morrow
night, my lord," said the officer.
"For what reason?" demanded the earl, as he followed his conductor up the
steep side of the mound. But receiving. no reply, he did not renew the
inquiry
Entering a door in the covered way at the head of the flight of steps
communicating with the Norman Tower, they descended them in silence. Just as
they reached the foot of this long staircase, the earl chanced to cast back
his eyes, and,to his inexpressible astonishment, perceived on the landing at
the head of the steps, and just before the piece of ordnance commanding the
ascent, the figure of Herne the Hunter.
Before he could utter an exclamation, the figure retreated through the
adjoining archway. Telling the officer what he had seen, Surrey would fain
have gone in quest of the fiendish spy; but the other would not permit him;
and affecting to treat the matter as a mere creation of fancy, he hurried the
earl to his chamber in the Curfew Tower.
The next day, Surrey was removed betimes to the Round Tower, and the cause
of the transfer was soon explained by the discharge of ordnance, the braying
of trumpets and the rolling of drums, announcing the arrival of the king.
From the mystery observed towards him, Surrey was led to the conclusion that
the Fair Geraldine accompanied the royal party; but he in vain sought to
satisfy himself of the truth of the surmise by examining, through the deep
embrasure of his window, the cavalcade that soon afterwards entered the upper
quadrangle. Amid the throng of beautiful dames surrounding Anne Boleyn he
could not be certain that he detected the Fair Geraldine; but he readily
distinguished the Duke of Richmond among the nobles, and the sight awakened a
pang of bitter jealousy in his breast.
The day wore away slowly, for he could not fix his attention upon his
books, neither was he allowed to go forth upon the battlements of the tower.
In the evening, however, the officer informed him he might take exercise
within the dry moat if he was so inclined, and he gladly availed himself of
the permission.
After pacing to and fro along the walk for a short time, he entered the
arbour, and was about to throw himself upon the bench, when he observed a
slip of paper lying upon it. He took it up, and found a few lines traced upon
it in hurried characters. They ran thus: -
"The Fair Geraldine arrived this morning in the castle. If the Earl of
Surrey desires to meet her, he will find her within this arbour at
midnight."
This billet was read and re-read by the young earl with feelings of
indescribable transport; but a little reflection damped his ardour, and made
him fear it might be a device to ensnare him. There was no certainty that the
note proceeded in any way from the Fair Geraldine, nor could he even be sure
that she was in the castle. Still, despite these misgivings, the attraction
was too powerful to be resisted, and he turned over the means of getting out
of his chamber, but the scheme seemed wholly impracticable. The window was at
a considerable height above the ramparts of the keep, and even if he could
reach them, and escape the notice of the sentinels, he should have to make a
second descent into the fosse. And supposing all this accomplished how was he
to return? The impossibility of answering this latter mental interrogation
compelled him to give up all idea of the attempt.
On returning to his prison-chamber, he stationed himself at the embrasure
overlooking the ramparts, and listened to the regular tread of the sentinel
below, half resolved, be the consequences what they might, to descend. As the
appointed time approached, his anxiety became almost intolerable, and
quitting the window, he began to pace hurriedly to and fro within the
chamber, which, as has been previously observed, partook of the circular form
of the keep, and was supported in certain places by great wooden pillars and
cross-beams. But instead of dissipating his agitation, his rapid movements
seemed rather to increase it, and at last, wrought to a pitch of
uncontrollable excitement, he cried aloud -
"If the fiend were to present himself now, and offer to lead me to her, I
would follow him."
Scarcely were the words uttered than a hollow laugh broke from the farther
end of the chamber, and a deep voice exclaimed— "I am ready to take you
to her." "I need not ask who addresses me," said Surrey, after a pause, and
straining his eyes to distinguish the figure of the speaker in the gloom.
"I will tell you who I am," rejoined the other. "I am he who visited you
once before—who showed you a vision of the Fair Geraldine—and
carried off your vaunted relic—ho! ho!"
"Avoid thee, false fiend!" rejoined Surrey, "thou temptest me now in
vain."
"You have summoned me," returned Herne; "and I will not be dismissed. I am
ready to convey you to your mistress, who awaits you in King James's bower,
and marvels at your tardiness."
"And with what design dost thou offer me this service?" demanded
Surrey.
"It will be time enough to put that question when I make any condition,"
replied Herne. "Enough, I am willing to aid you. Will you go?"
"Lead on! "replied Surrey, marching towards him.
Suddenly, Herne drew a lantern from beneath the cloak in which he was
wrapped, and threw its light on a trap-door lying open at his feet.
"Descend!"
Surrey hesitated a moment, and then plunged down the steps. In another
instant the demon followed. Some hidden machinery was then set in motion, and
the trap-door returned to its place. At length, Surrey arrived at a narrow
passage, which appeared to correspond in form with the bulwarks of the keep.
Here Herne passed him, and taking the lead, hurried along the gallery and
descended another flight of steps, which brought them to a large vault,
apparently built in the foundation of the tower. Before the earl had time to
gaze round this chamber, the demon masked the lantern, and taking his hand,
drew him through a narrow passage, terminated by a small iron door, which
flew open at a touch, and they emerged among the bushes clothing the side of
the mound.
"You can now proceed without my aid," said Herne: "but take care not to
expose yourself to the sentinels."
Keeping under the shade of the trees, for the moon was shining brightly,
Surrey hastened towards the arbour, and as he entered it, to his
inexpressible delight found that he had not been deceived, but that the Fair
Geraldine was indeed there.
"How did you contrive this meeting? " she cried, after their first
greetings had passed. "And how did you learn I was in the castle, for the
strictest instructions were given that the tidings should not reach you."
The only response made by Surrey was to press her lily hand devotedly to
his lips.
"I should not have ventured hither," pursued the Fair Geraldine, "unless
you had sent me the relic as a token. I knew you would never part with it,
and I therefore felt sure there was no deception."
"But how did you get here? " inquired Surrey.
"Your messenger provided a rope-ladder, by which I descended into the
moat," she replied.
Surrey was stupefied.
"You seem astonished at my resolution," she continued; "and, indeed, I am
surprised at it myself; but I could not overcome my desire to see you,
especially as this meeting may be our last. The king, through the Lady Anne
Boleyn, has positively enjoined me to think no more of you and has given your
father, the Duke of Norfolk, to understand that your marriage without the
royal assent will be attended by the loss of all the favour he now
enjoys."
"And think you I will submit to such tyranny?" cried Surrey.
"Alas!" replied the Fair Geraldine in a mournful tone, "I feel we shall
never be united. This conviction, which has lately forced itself upon my
mind, has not made me love you less, though it has in some degree altered my
feelings towards you."
"But I may be able to move the king," cried Surrey. "I have some claim
besides that of kindred on the Lady Anne Boleyn—and she will obtain his
consent."
"Do not trust to her," replied the Fair Geraldine. "You may have rendered
her an important service, but be not too sure of a return. No, Surrey, I here
release you from the troth you plighted to me in the cloisters."
I will not be released from it!" cried the earl hastily; "neither will I
release you. I hold the pledge as sacred and as binding as if we had been
affianced together before Heaven."
"For your own sake, do not say so, my dear lord," rejoined the Fair
Geraldine; "I beseech you, do not. That your heart is bound to me now, I well
believe—and that you could become inconstant I will not permit myself
to suppose. But your youth forbids an union between us for many years; and if
during that time you should behold some fairer face than mine, or should meet
some heart you may conceive more loving— though that can hardly
be—I would not have a hasty vow restrain you. Be free, then—free
at least for three years—and if at the end of that time your affections
are still unchanged, I am willing you should bind yourself to me for
ever."
" I cannot act with equal generosity to you," rejoined Surrey in a tone of
deep disappointment. "I would sooner part with life than relinquish the
pledge I have received from you. But I am content that my constancy should be
put to the test you propose. During the long term of my probation, I will
shrink from no trial of faith. Throughout Europe I will proclaim your beauty
in the lists, and will maintain its supremacy against all comers. But, oh!
sweet Geraldine, since we have met in this spot, hallowed by the loves of
James of Scotland and Jane Beaufort, let us here renew our vows of eternal
constancy, and agree to meet again at the time you have appointed, with
hearts as warm and loving as those we bring together now."
And as he spoke he drew her towards him, and imprinted a passionate kiss
on her lips.
"Let that ratify the pledge," he said.
"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed a deep voice without.
"What was that?" demanded the Fair Geraldine in a tone of alarm.
"You have the relic, have you not?" inquired the earl in a low tone.
"No" she replied, '' your messenger merely showed it to me. But why do you
ask? Ah! I understand. The fiendish laughter that just now sounded in my ears
proceeded from—"
"Herne the Hunter," replied Surrey, in a whisper. "But fear nothing. I
will defend you with my life. Ah! accursed chance! I have no weapon."
"None would avail against him," murmured the Fair Geraldine. "Lead me
forth; I shall die if I stay here."
Supporting her in his arms, Surrey complied, but they had scarcely gained
the entrance of the arbour, when a tall figure stood before them. It was the
Duke of Richmond. A gleam of moonlight penetrating through the leaves, fell
upon the group, and rendered them distinctly visible to each other.
"Soh!" exclaimed the duke, after regarding the pair in silence for a
moment, "I have not been misinformed. You have contrived a meeting here."
"Richmond," said Surrey sternly, "we once were dear and loving friends,
and we are still honourable foes. I know that I am safe with you. I know you
will breathe no word about this meeting, either to the Fair Geraldine's
prejudice or mine.
"You judge me rightly, my lord," replied the duke, in a tone of equal
sternness. "I have no thought of betraying you; though, by a word to my royal
father, I could prevent all chance of future rivalry on your part. I shall,
however, demand a strict account from you on liberation."
" Your grace acts as beseems a loyal gentleman," replied Surrey.
"Hereafter I will not fail to account to you for my conduct in any way you
please."
Oh! let me interpose between you, my lords," cried the Fair Geraldine, "to
prevent the disastrous consequences of this quarrel. I have already told your
grace I cannot love you, and that my heart is devoted to the Earl of Surrey.
Let me appeal to your noble nature—to your generosity— not to
persist in a hopeless suit."
"You have conquered madam," said the duke, after a pause. "I have been to
blame in this matter. But I will make amends for my error. Surrey, I
relinquish her to you."
"My friend! " exclaimed the earl, casting himself into the duke's
arms.
"I will now endeavour to heal the wounds I have unwittingly occasioned,"
said the Fair Geraldine. "I am surprised your grace should be insensible to
attractions so far superior to mine as those of the Lady Mary Howard."
"The Lady Mary is very beautiful, I confess," said the duke; "and if you
had not been in the way, I should assuredly have been her captive."
"I ought not to betray the secret, perhaps," hesitated the Fair Geraldine,
"but gratitude prompts me to do so. The lady is not so blind to your grace's
merits as I have been."
Indeed! " exclaimed the duke. " If it be so, Surrey, we may yet be
brothers as well as friends."
"And that it is so I can avouch, Richmond," rejoined the earl, "for I am
in my sister's secret as well as the Fair Geraldine. But now that this
explanation has taken place, I must entreat your grace to conduct the Fair
Geraldine back to her lodgings, while I regain, the best way I can, my
chamber in the Round Tower."
"I marvel how you escaped from it," said Richmond; "but I suppose it was
by the connivance of the officer."
"He who set me free—who brought the Fair Geraldine hither—and
who, I suspect, acquainted you with our meeting, was no other than Herne the
Hunter," replied Surrey.
"You amaze me!" exclaimed the duke; "it was indeed a tall dark man,
muffled in a cloak, who informed me that you were to meet at midnight in King
James's bower in the moat, and I therefore came to surprise you."
"Your informant was Herne," replied Surrey.
"Right!" exclaimed the demon, stepping from behind a tree, where he had
hitherto remained concealed; "it was I—I, Herne the Hunter. And I
contrived the meeting in anticipation of a far different result from that
which has ensued. But I now tell you, my lord of Surrey, that it is idle to
indulge a passion for the Fair Geraldine. You will never wed her."
"False fiend, thou liest!" cried Surrey.
"Time will show," replied Herne. "I repeat, you will wed another—and
more, I tell you, you are blinder than Richmond has shown himself—for
the most illustrious damsel in the kingdom has regarded you with eyes of
affection, and yet you have not perceived it."
"The Princess Mary? "demanded Richmond.
"Ay, the Princess Mary," repeated Herne. "How say you now, my lord
?— will you let ambition usurp the place of love?"
No," replied Surrey. "But I will hold no further converse with thee. Thou
wouldst tempt to perdition. Hence, fiend!"
"Unless you trust yourself to my guidance, you will never reach your
chamber," rejoined Herne, with a mocking laugh. "The iron door in the mound
cannot be opened on this side, and you well know what the consequence of a
discovery will be. Come, or I leave you to your fate." And he moved down the
path on the right.
"Go with him, Surrey," cried Richmond.
Pressing the Fair Geraldine to his breast, the Earl committed her to the
charge of his friend, and tearing himself away, followed the steps of the
demon. He had not proceeded far when he heard his name pronounced by a voice
issuing from the tree above him. Looking up, he saw Herne in one of the
topmost branches, and at a sign, instantly climbed up to him. The thick
foliage screened them from observation, arid Surrey concluded his guide was
awaiting the disappearance of the sentinel, who was at that moment
approaching the tree. But such apparently was not the other's intentions; for
the man had scarcely passed than Herne sprang upon the ramparts, and the poor
fellow turning at the sound, was almost scared out of his senses at the sight
of the dreaded fiend. Dropping his halbert, he fell upon his face with a
stifled cry Herne then motioned Surrey to descend, and they marched together
quickly to a low door opening into the keep. Passing through it, and
ascending a flight of steps, they stood upon the landing at the top of the
staircase communicating with the Norman Tower, and adjoining the entrance to
Surrey's chamber.
Apparently familiar with the spot, Herne took down a large key from a nail
in the wall, against which it hung, and unlocked the door.
"Enter," he said to Surrey, "and do not forget the debt you owe to Herne
the Hunter."
And as the earl stepped into the chamber, the door was locked behind
him.