The Coming of the King Part 25

His eyes were small, and what some men might call sleepy-looking, but every now and then they flashed, just as I have seen a serpent's eyes flash when aroused from its sleep. He watched the shouting mult.i.tude, not with the glad look that one might have expected, but with a kind of mocking smile. Indeed, he seemed far more interested in a very small dog that he carried than in the greeting of his subjects.

When he put his foot on the sh.o.r.e, however, and a great shout went up from the mult.i.tude, he bowed and smiled pleasantly, and it was then I saw wherein his fascination lay, and so much moved was I that I shouted with the rest, at the which I saw my father, who was close by my side, regard me with an amused smile.

After the great shout of welcome, a signal was given for silence, and then General Monk came forward, and welcomed him with all possible marks of reverence and love. But even although silence was commanded, the enthusiasm of the people was so great that I could not hear all General Monk's words. But I could not help noting, even although this great man had welcomed the king with such evidences of loyalty, that he seemed to be only playing a part. He seemed to despise the plaudits of the mult.i.tude, even as the king did as he gazed over the sea of upturned faces.

"Here, your Majesty, you see the love of a devoted and loyal people."

This was the conclusion of General Monk's speech, the former part of which was, as I have said, drowned in the sea of voices.

Again the king smiled, a smile that was half cynical and bitter, even although he seemed pleased at his reception.

"I thank my people, General," he said, "and in truth I blame myself for not coming back before, so glad doth every one appear at my coming."

But no man seemed to note the meaning which lay at the back of his words, nor to think of the time when this same king was hunted like a fox throughout England, for they started to shouting again like men possessed. And this was seen not only among the common people, but among n.o.blemen and gentlemen of all sorts.

After this the mayor of the town came forward, and offering him his welcome, also gave him his white staff of office, which the king returned with a pleasant smile.

"You govern the town so well, Master Mayor, that I will not rob the people of such good service," he said with a smile, whereupon the people shouted again, although they did not seem to know why they were shouting.

Then the mayor, who looked very elated and joyous, presented the king with a very gaily and beautifully bound Bible, saying as he did so--

"In the name of your loyal citizens, I do humbly offer your Majesty a copy of the sacred Scriptures, which we possess through the learning, the piety, and the gracious goodness of your most learned and sacred grandfather, King James the First of England."

At this the king smiled again, and receiving the Bible, which he afterwards gave to one of his retainers, he said, "I accept this gift with great thanks, Master Mayor; among all things which I love in the world, I love the Bible best."

He wellnigh laughed as he said this, but the people, if possible, became more excited than ever.

"He loves the Bible!" they cried. "He is a pious king! G.o.d save His Majesty!"

After this he walked with General Monk towards a canopy, under which he stood talking with his n.o.bles. It was at this time that I realized how keen and penetrating was the king's gaze. For although his eyes seemed to be habitually half closed, he did at times open them wide and look keenly around him. Moreover, he seemed to understand everything at a glance. I noticed also that when the king spoke it was to the point, and that his remarks were weighty with sense.

"I will not stay at Dover," he said to General Monk. "The people have seen me, and that is enough. From what I can gather they love a king more than a protector; nevertheless, it is well that I go straight to Canterbury Cathedral, where, in the interests of religion, I will publicly give thanks to G.o.d for my safe return to my people."

"A wise step, your Majesty," said a young man who had stood near the king the whole time.

"Ah, Master Tom Killigrew, I expect you to write a great ode to our landing this day."

"I would that my poor wit were equal to the subject, your Majesty."

"Well, we shall see. Thou hast been faithful in mine adversity, and now we return to gladder times."

"There have been many faithful during your Majesty's adversity. Through all the dark years there have been many who have not bowed the knee to Baal."

It was my father who spoke. Through influences that I knew not of, he had obtained a place for us near General Monk, at the landing, and now through the same means we had followed the king to the canopy.

"Who is this?" asked the king sharply.

"It is Master Philip Rashcliffe," said a voice. "He was one who fought for your gracious sire in the first civil war, and was grievously wounded."

He gave only a pa.s.sing glance to my father, but fixed his eyes on me, who stood by his side.

"And who is this brave youth? Nay, nay, do not speak for him; speak for yourself, young man."

"My name is Roland Rashcliffe, your Majesty," I made answer.

"The son of Master Philip here?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"A youth of spirit, I should judge," he said, "ay, and well grown too.

He pleaseth me well."

Now at this my heart was all elate, for let who will say otherwise, it is no light thing for a youth to be noticed by his king.

"And thou hast come to bid me welcome, Master Roland?"

"Yes, sire," I replied, scarce daring to look him in the face.

"Well, rise; thou hast knelt long enough. And what favour dost thou ask?"

I lifted my eyes as he spoke, and saw a quizzical look upon his face.

Nay, it was more than quizzical. He seemed, as I thought, suspicious of my motives in coming, although I knew not why.

I had it on my tongue to tell him how my father had been impoverished by the Puritans, but I only said--

"Nothing, your Majesty."

"Nothing? Then is thy request easily granted. Fancy, General Monk: I have put it in the way of this youth to ask me a favour, and yet he hath demanded nothing. Will this be an augury of my reign?"

"I trust so, your Majesty," replied Monk, and I thought I saw greed in his eyes. "And yet many, although they ask not favour at your hands, will seek justice," continued Monk boldly.

"Ah, how is that? Ay, I remember now. It hath been told me that your life hath been in danger. That a fanatical Puritan woman, a daughter of John Leslie, Constance by name, and wife of Sir Charles Denman, of painful memory, sought your life when you took steps to ensure my coming back to mine own. We must inquire into into this. She must be taken prisoner and put to death."

"She hath already been taken prisoner."

"Ah, that is well. Well, we will see to it that both she and those who aided and abetted her shall have justice. Where is she imprisoned?"

"At present in Bedford, sire."

"Ah, that is well. But I will not think of these things now. I must away to Canterbury."

He took no further notice of me; nay, for that matter he regarded none of those who gazed eagerly into his face. Instead, still carrying the small dog, which he seemed to prize greatly, he left the canopy, and made his way to a stately coach, which set out, amidst the continued acclamations of the people, towards Canterbury.

As for myself, I took but little note of the king's departure, while the feeling of joy which had come into my heart at his kind words pa.s.sed away. Why, I knew not, but the news that the woman called Constance, the wife of Sir Charles Denman, had been put in prison and was doomed to death, drove all other thoughts from my mind, and there and then I did make up my mind that I would save her from such a terrible end.

CHAPTER XIII