The Star Chamber, Volume 2 by W. Harrison Ainsworth

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In order to give the vast crowd assembled in the neighbourhood of
Whitehall, an opportunity of witnessing as much as possible of the
chivalrous spectacle, it was arranged by Prince Charles that the line of
the procession should first take its course through the Holbein Grate,
and then, keeping near the wall of the Privy Garden, should pass beneath
the King's Gate and draw up for a short time in the Old Palace-yard near
Westminster-hall, where a great concourse was assembled, amidst which a
space was kept clear by parties of halberdiers and yeomen of the guard.

The procession was headed by the Prince, and the stately step of his
milk-white charger well beseemed his own majestic deportment. When the
long train of gentlemen-ushers and pages accompanying him had moved on,
so as to leave the course clear for the next comer and his followers, a
young knight presented himself, who, more than any other in the
procession, attracted the attention of the spectators. This youthful
knight's visor was raised so as to disclose his features, and these were
so comely, that, combined with his finely-proportioned figure, perfectly
displayed by his armour, he offered an _ensemble_ of manly attractions
almost irresistible to female eyes. Nor did the grace and skill which
he exhibited in the management of his steed commend him less highly to
sterner judges, who did not fail to discover that his limbs, though
light, were in the highest degree vigorous and athletic, and they
prognosticated most favourably of his chances of success in the jousts.

When it became known that this _preux chevalier_ was Sir Jocelyn
Mounchensey, the chosen antagonist of Buckingham, still greater
attention was bestowed upon him; and as his good looks and gallant
bearing operated strongly, as we have stated, in his favour, many a good
wish and lusty cheer were uttered for him.

The effect of all this excitement among the crowd on behalf of
Mounchensey was to render Buckingham's reception by the same persons
comparatively cold; and the cheers given for the magnificent favourite
and his princely retinue were so few and so wanting in spirit, that he
who was wholly unaccustomed to such neglect, and who had been jealously
listening to the cheers attending Mounchensey's progress, was highly
offended, and could scarcely conceal his displeasure. But if he was
indignant at his own reception, he was exasperated at the treatment
experienced by his ally.

Close behind him rode a knight in black armour, with a sable panache on
his helm. Stalwart limbs and a manly bearing had this knight, and he
bestrode his powerful charger like one well accustomed to the saddle;
but though no one could gainsay his skill as a horseman, or his possible
prowess as a man-at-arms, most thought he had no title to be there, and
gave unmistakable evidence of their conviction by groans and hootings.

This black knight was Sir Giles Mompesson, and very grim and menacing
was his aspect.

Ample accommodation for the knightly company and their attendants, as
well as for the multitudes congregated to behold them was afforded by
the broad area in front of Westminster Hall; nevertheless, as those in
the rear could not see as well as those in front, every chance elevation
offering a better view was eagerly seized upon. All the accessible
points of Westminster Hall--its carved porch and windows--were invaded.
So were the gates of the Old Palace hard by--so were the buttresses of
the Abbey; and men were perched, like grotesque ornaments, on crocketed
pinnacles and stone water-spouts. The tall and curiously-painted clock
tower, resembling an Italian campanile, which then faced the portals of
Westminster Hall, was covered with spectators. But the position most
coveted, and esteemed the best, was the fountain at that time standing
in the midst of the old palace-yard. This structure, which was of great
antiquity and beauty, with a pointed summit supported by tall slender
shafts, and a large basin beneath, formed a sort of pivot, round which
the procession turned as it arrived upon the ground, and consequently
formed the best point of view of all; and those were esteemed highly
fortunate who managed to obtain a place upon it.

Amongst these lucky individuals were three of the reader's
acquaintances, and we think he will scarce fail to recognise the
saucy-faced apprentice with the cudgel under his arm, and the
fair-haired, blue-eyed, country-looking maiden at his side, as well as
the hale old rustic by whom they were attended. All three were delighted
with their position, and Dick Taverner took full credit to himself for
his cleverness in procuring it for them. As to pretty Gillian, nothing
could please her better, for she could not only see all that was going
forward, but everybody could see her--even Prince Charles himself; and
she flattered herself that she attraeted no little attention. And now
that the whole of the procession had come up, the picture was certainly
magnificent, and well worth contemplation. Everything was favourable to
the enjoyment of the spectacle. The day was bright and beautiful, and a
sparkling sunshine lighted up the splendid accoutrements of the knights,
the gorgeous caparisons of their steeds, and the rich habiliments of
their attendants; while a gentle breeze stirred the plumes upon the
helmets, and fluttered the bandrols on their lances. The effect was
heightened by enlivening strains of minstrelsy, and the fanfares of the
trumpeters. The utmost enthusiasm was awakened among the spectators,
and their acclamations were loud and long.

At this juncture, Dick Taverner, who had been shouting as lustily as the
rest, tossing his cap in the air, and catching it dexterously as it
fell, held his breath and clapped his bonnet on his head, for an object
met his eye which fixed his attention. It was the sombre figure of a
knight accoutred in black armour, who was pressing his steed through the
throng in the direction of the fountain. His beaver was up, and the
sinister countenance was not unknown to the apprentice.

"Saints defend us!" he ejaculated. "Is it possible that can be Sir Giles
Mompesson? What doth he here amidst this noble company? The villainous
extortioner cannot surely be permitted to enter the lists."

"Hold your peace, friend, if you are wise," muttered a deep voice behind
him.

"No, I will not be silent," rejoined the apprentice, without looking
round at his cautioner, but keeping his eye fixed upon Sir Giles. "I
will tell the felon knight my mind. I am not afraid of him. Harkye, my
masters," he called, in a loud voice, to those around him. "Do you know
who that black raven before you is? If not, I will tell you. He would
peck out your eyes if he could, and devour you and your substance, as he
has done that of many others. That bird of ill omen is Sir Giles
Mompesson."

"Impossible!" cried a bystander, indignantly. "Yet, now I look again,
'tis certainly he."

"As certain as that we are standing here," said the apprentice; "and if
you want further proof, behold, he is closing his visor. He thinks to
hide himself from our notice; but the trick shall not avail him. A groan
for the knavish extortioner, my masters--a deep groan for Sir Giles
Mompesson!"

Thus enjoined, a great hooting was made by the bystanders, and Sir
Giles's name was coupled with epithets that could not be very agreeable
to his ear.

"You were best let him alone, fool," cried the deep voice behind Dick.
"You will only bring yourself into trouble."

But the apprentice was not to be thus advised; and could not even be
restrained by the entreaties of Gillian, who was sadly apprehensive that
some mischief would befall him. So conspicuous did he make himself in
the disturbance, that at last Sir Giles rode towards him, and singling
him out, seized him with his gauntleted hand, and dragged him from the
edge of the fountain. Dick struggled manfully to get free, but he was in
a grasp of iron, and all his efforts at releasing himself were
ineffectual. He called on those near him to rescue him, but they shrank
from the attempt. Poor Gillian was dreadfully alarmed. She thought her
lover was about to be sacrificed to Sir Giles's resentment on the spot;
and, falling on her knees, she piteously besought him to spare his life.

"For shame, Gillian," cried Dick; "do not demean yourself thus. The
caitiff knight dares not harm me for his life; and if he should maltreat
me, I shall be well avenged by my patron, Sir Jocelyn Mounchensey. I
would my voice might reach him--I should not long be kept here. To the
rescue! Sir Jocelyn! to the rescue!" And he shouted forth the young
knight's name at the top of his voice.

"Who calls me?" demanded Mounchensey, pressing through the throng in the
direction of the outcries.

"I, your humble follower, Dick Taverner," roared the apprentice; "I am
in the clutches of the devil, and I pray you release me."

"Ha! what is this?" cried Sir Jocelyn. "Set him free, at once, Sir
Giles, I command you."

"What, if I refuse?" rejoined the other.

"Then I will instantly enforce compliance," thundered Mounchensey.

"If I release him it is because I must defend myself and punish your
insolence," cried Sir Giles. And as he spoke, he thrust back the
apprentice with such force that he would have fallen to the ground if he
had not dropped into the arms of his kneeling mistress.

"Now, Sir Jocelyn," continued Sir Giles, fiercely; "you shall answer for
this interference"--

"Hold!" interposed the authoritative voice of Prince Charles; "we must
have no unseemly brawls here. To your places at once in the procession,
Sir Knights. We are about to set forward to the tilt-yard."

With this, he gave the word to move on, and all further sound of
disturbance was drowned by the trampling of steeds and the bruit of the
kettle-drums, cornets, and trumpets.

Nowise disheartened by what had occurred, Dick Taverner would have
followed with the stream, and carried his mistress and her grandsire
along with him; but the former had been so much terrified by what had
occurred, that dreading lest her lover's imprudence should get him into
further scrapes, she positively refused to proceed any further.

"I have seen quite enough," she cried; "and if you have any love for me,
Dick, you will take me away, and not expose yourself to further risk. If
you are indeed bent on going on, I shall return with my grandsire."

"He will do well to follow your advice, young mistress," said the deep
voice which had previously sounded in Dick's ears; "if he had taken
mine, he would not have voluntarily thrust himself into the fangs of the
tiger, from which it is well for him that he has escaped with a whole
skin."

As this was said, Dick and his mistress turned towards the speaker, and
beheld a tall man, masked, and muffled in a black cloak.

"Heaven shield us! 'tis the Enemy!" exclaimed Gillian, trembling.

"Not so, fair damsel," replied the disguised personage; "I am not the
arch-enemy of man, neither am I enemy of yours, nor of Dick Taverner.
Your froward lover neglected my previous caution, but I will give him
another, in the hope that you may induce him to profit by it. Let him
keep out of the reach of Sir Giles Mompesson's emissaries, or his
wedding-day will be longer in coming than you both hope for. Nay, it may
not come at all."

With these words, the man in the mask mingled with the crowd, and almost
instantly disappeared, leaving the young couple, especially Gillian, in
much consternation. So earnest was the maiden for instant departure,
that Dick was obliged to comply; and as the whole of the thoroughfares
about Whitehall were impassable, they proceeded to the river side, and
took boat for London Bridge, at a hostel near which old Greenford had
put up his horse.

CHAPTER XI.

The Tilt-Yard.

Meanwhile, the procession was pursuing its slow course towards the
tilt-yard. It returned by the route it had taken in coming; but it now
kept on the north side of King Street, which thoroughfare was divided in
the midst by a railing, and deeply sanded.

Here, as in the area before Westminster-hall, not a wall, not a window,
not a roof, but had its occupants. The towers of the two great gates
were thronged--so were the roofs of the tennis-court and the manege, and
the summit of the cock-pit; the latter, indeed, was a capital position
inasmuch as it not only afforded an excellent view of the procession,
but commanded the interior of the tilt-yard. No wonder, therefore, that
great efforts should be made to obtain a place upon it, nor is it
surprising that our old friend, Madame Bonaventure, who had by no means
lost her influence among the court gallants, though she lacked, the
support of Lord Roos, owing to the absence of that young nobleman upon
his travels,--it is not surprising, we say, that she should be among the
favoured individuals who had secured a position there. Undoubtedly, she
would have preferred a seat amongst the court dames in the galleries of
the tilt-yard, but as this was unattainable, she was obliged to be
content; and, indeed, she had no reason to complain, for she saw quite
as much as those inside, and was more at her ease.

From this exalted position, while listening to the inspiriting clangour
of the trumpets, the clattering of arms, and the trampling and neighing
of steeds, Madame Bonaventure could scrutinize the deportment of each
knight as he issued from the lofty arch of the Holbein Gate, and rode
slowly past her. She had ample time to count the number of his
attendants before he disappeared from her view. As Sir Jocelyn
Mounchensey approached, with his visor raised, and his countenance
radiant with smiles at the cheers he had received, she recognised in him
her former guest, and participating in the general enthusiasm,
prevailing for the young knight, she leaned over the parapet, and
addressed to him a greeting so hearty that it procured for her a
courteous salutation in return. Enchanted with this, she followed with
her eyes the graceful figure of Sir Jocelyn till it was lost to view--to
re-appear a moment after in the tilt-yard.

Turning in this direction,--for all her interest was now centred in the
young knight,--Madame Bonaventure allowed her gaze to pass over the
entrance of the lists, and she goon espied him she sought, in conference
with Prince Charles, and some other knights of his party. Near them was
stationed Garter King-at-arms, apparelled in his tabard, and mounted on
a horse covered with housings of cloth of gold. Glancing round the
inclosure she perceived that all the foremost seats in the galleries and
scaffolds set apart for the principal court dames were already filled,
and she was quite dazzled with the galaxy of female loveliness presented
to her gaze. Behind the court dames were a host of fluttering gallants
in rich apparel, laughing and jesting with them on the probable issue of
the contest they had come to witness.

She then looked round the arena. Stout barriers of wood were drawn
across it, with openings at either end for the passage of the knights.
At these openings were placed all the various officers of the tilt-yard,
whose attendance was not required outside, including eight mounted
trumpeters, four at one end of the field, and four at the other,
together with a host of yeomen belonging to Prince Charles, in liveries
of white, with leaves of gold, and black caps, with wreaths and bands of
gold, and black and white plumes.

At the western extremity of the inclosure stood the royal gallery,
richly decorated for the occasion with velvet and cloth of gold, and
having the royal arms emblazoned in front. Above it floated the royal
standard. Supported by strong oaken posts, and entered by a staircase at
the side, this gallery was open below, and the space thus left was
sufficiently large to accommodate a dozen or more mounted knights,
while thick curtains could be let down at the sides to screen them from
observation, if required. Here it was intended that the Prince of Wales
and his six companions-at-arms should assemble, and wait till summoned
forth from it by the marshals of the field. There was a similar place of
assemblage for the Duke of Lennox and his knights at the opposite end of
the tilt-yard; and at both spots there were farriers, armourers, and
grooms in attendance, to render assistance, if needful.

On the right of the field stood an elevated platform, covered with a
canopy, and approached by a flight of steps. It was reserved for the
marshals and judges, and facing it was the post affixed to the barriers,
from which the ring, the grand prize of the day, was suspended, at a
height exactly within reach of a lance. Like the streets without, the
whole arena was deeply sanded.

This was what Madame Bonaventure beheld from the roof of the cock-pit,
and a very pretty sight she thought it.

All things, it will be seen, were in readiness, in the tilt yard,--and
the arrival of the King seemed to be impatiently expected--not only by
the knights who were eager to display their prowess, but by the court
dames and the gallants with them, as well as by all the officials
scattered about in different parts of the field, and enlivening it by
their variegated costumes.

Suddenly loud acclamations resounding from all sides of the tilt-yard,
accompanied by flourishes of trumpets, proclaimed the entrance of the
royal laggard to the gallery. James took his place in the raised seat
assigned to him, and after conferring for a few moments with the Conde
de Gondomar, who formed part of the brilliant throng of nobles and
ambassadors in attendance, he signified to Sir John Finett that the
jousting might commence, and the royal pleasure was instantly made known
to the marshals of the field.

The first course was run by Prince Charles, who acquitted himself with
infinite grace and skill, but failed in carrying off the ring; and
similar ill luck befell the Duke of Lennox. The Marquis of Hamilton was
the next to run, and he met with no better success; and the fourth essay
was made by Buckingham. His career was executed with all the consummate
address for which the favourite was remarkable, and it appeared certain
that he would carry off the prize; but in lowering his lance he did not
make sufficient allowance for the wind, and this caused it slightly to
swerve, and though he touched the ring, he did not bear it away. The
course, however, was considered a good one by the judges, and much
applauded; but the Marquis was greatly mortified by his failure.

It now came to Sir Jocelyn's turn, and his breast beat high with
ardour, as he prepared to start on his career. Keeping his back to the
ring till the moment of setting forward, he made a demi-volte to the
right, and then gracefully raising his lance, as his steed started on
its career, he continued to hold it aloft until he began to near the
object of his aim, when he gently and firmly allowed the point to
decline over the right ear of his horse, and adjusted it in a line with
the ring. His aim proved so unerring that he carried off the prize, amid
universal applause.

CHAPTER XII.

The Tilting Match.

After all the other competitors for the prize had essayed a career
within the arena, Sir Jocelyn's was held to be the best course run. The
ring was again carried off both by the Earl of Pembroke and Lord
Mordaunt; but in the opinion of the marshals of the field, neither of
those noblemen displayed so much grace and skill as Mounchensey: and the
decision was confirmed by the King.

The applauses which rang through the tilt-yard, on the announcement that
our handsome young knight had gained the first course, increased the
bitterness of Buckingham's feelings towards him; and he expressed his
regrets in a low tone to Sir Giles Mompesson that the combat about to
take place was not _a l'outrance_ instead of being _a plaisance_.

Sir Giles smiled grimly in reply.

Some little time elapsed, during which preparations were made for the
tilting-match, and great excitement pervaded the assemblage. The King
laughingly inquired of the Spanish ambassador if he still felt secure of
winning his wager, and was answered by De Gondomar that he had never had
the slightest misgiving on the subject, but he was now better satisfied
than ever that the result of the coming struggle would justify his
expectations. In the ladies' gallery an unusual degree of interest was
manifested in what was going forward; and many a wish was audibly
expressed by many a fair dame in Mounchensey's favour.

At length, the trumpets sounded, and the cries of the heralds were
heard, cheering on the combatants, as they prepared to dash furiously
against each other, bidding them do their devoir bravely, since bright
eyes looked down upon them. These stimulants to valorous display were
scarcely needed, for the champions were eager to prove their prowess.
Issuing one by one, from beneath their respective scaffolds, and curbing
the impatience of their steeds till they received from the marshals
permission to start, they rushed from their posts with lightning
swiftness to meet with a crashing shock midway. Various successes
attended the different combatants, but on the whole the advantage lay
clearly on the side of the Duke of Lennox, none of whose party had
sustained any material discomfiture; while on the side of Prince
Charles, the Earls of Montgomery and Rutland had been unhorsed. The
interest of the spectators was kept in breathless suspense to the last,
it being arranged that the tilting-match should close with the conflict
between Buckingham and Mounchensey.

Thus, when the trumpets sounded for the seventh and last time, and the
two knights stationed themselves opposite each other, every eye was
intently fixed upon them. Apparently, no two antagonists could be better
or more equally matched than they were; and throughout the whole field
it would have been in vain to search for another pair equally gifted by
nature, both being models of manly beauty of feature and symmetry of
frame. Indeed they might have been cast in the same mould, so nearly
alike were they in shape and size; and if their armour had been similar,
and their steeds corresponding in colour, they would have been
undistinguishable, when apart. Buckingham in some respects presented the
nobler figure of the two, owing to his flowing plumes, his embossed and
inlaid armour, and the magnificent housings of his charger--but he was
fully rivalled by the grace and chivalrous air of his antagonist.

As the Marquis, confident in his address, disdained the use of the
_passe-guarde_ and the _mentonniere_, Mounchensey abandoned those
defences, though they were used by all the other knights, and placed his
reliance in the strength of his breast-plate and gorget, and in the
force of his right arm.

When summoned forth by the trumpets, the two champions executed
demi-voltes with curvets, and then stood stock-still at either end of
the barriers. Each then selected a lance from the bundle offered them by
the esquires, and their choice of a weapon made, they carefully
fastened down their visors, which up to this moment had been raised.

Seeing them in readiness, the heralds gave the signal for the encounter.
Starting against each other like thunder-bolts, they met in mid-career.
The shock was tremendous, and many a cry sprang from female lips, while
bursts of applause arose from the hardier spectators.

Both lances were shivered, but the results of the strokes dealt on
either side were widely different. Mounchensey maintained his seat
firmly in the saddle, though his steed had been forced back upon its
haunches by his opponent's blow, who had touched his gorget; and riding
on with all the ease, vigour, and grace, our young knight had previously
exhibited, he threw down the truncheon of his lance, and opened his
gauntlet to show that his hand was wholly uninjured.

Very differently had it fared with Buckingham, whose defeat was
unquestionable. Unhorsed and unhelmeted, he was rolled in the dust; and
as he sprang to his feet, had the mortification of hearing the deafening
cheers that greeted his adversary's triumph. Eager to hide his
confusion, he vaulted upon the back of his steed, which was brought to
him by an esquire, the animal's flanks still quivering and reeking from
the terrible shock it had undergone, and dashed beneath the scaffold he
had so lately quitted--his pride severely humbled.

While the crest-fallen favourite thus retired to recover himself, Sir
Jocelyn rode slowly towards the royal gallery. Having now raised his
visor, his features were fully revealed to view, and perhaps were never
seen to such advantage as at this proud and happy moment. His emotions
were indeed enviable--but one thing was wanting to complete his
satisfaction--the presence of her, before whom, of all others, he was
most eager to distinguish himself. What mattered it that scarves and
kerchiefs were waved to him by some of the fairest dames in the land?
What mattered it that his name was called aloud, and that gloves and
knots of ribands fell at his feet, as he rode past the ladies' gallery?
His heart was untouched by smile or glance, and he paused not to pick up
one of the favours showered upon him.

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