It was a dull gloomy day, the first day of "chill October." The envoys stood on the deck of the fly-ship as she cleared out of Calais harbour, and they watched the fast-receding vista of the old English town, the last remnant of the once vast Continental possessions of the Plantagenet kings.
The flag of St. George hung loosely on the summit of the lofty tower of Notre Dame. The rain had sodden it, and there was little wind to throw out its heavy folds.
There was much cause why Geoffrey, William and Ralph should rejoice and be glad. Their mission was drawing to an end, and all things had gone happily. They had passed through many dangers, and a Divine Providence had surely watched over them. Soon they would be in London, and a rapturous welcome awaited them at Gray's Inn!
Yet these were three patriotic young Englishmen, and an indefinable oppression weighed down their spirits as they caught their last view of the flag of St. George floating over Calais. A prophetic intimation of evil oppressed their hearts.
They had lately been brought into close contact with the gallant soldiers of France; they had fought against Montmorency and Coligni; they could appreciate the desperate valour of a Guise!
How would the worn-out and meagre garrison of Calais, defending its crumbling walls, withstand the onslaught of such men?
"Oh, brother," said Geoffrey, as he laid his hand on William's shoulder, "I fear for Calais!"
"And I also," said William.
"And I," said Ralph, and the hearts of the young men were heavy within them.
But presently the sun broke through a bank of clouds, and lo! there, right in front of them, were the white cliffs of dear old England.
"Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."
"God save England!" cried Geoffrey, and they flung up their caps with joy.
Soon they were in Dover, and as the evening came on they were galloping on three stout horses into Canterbury. They made no stay in the grand old cathedral city, but rode quickly through it.
At Rochester, where the grim old castle built by William de Corbeuil frowned upon them, they halted to refresh themselves and their horses.
On through the night for London!
They were crossing Blackheath at a gentle canter when a slight interruption to their progress occurred. It was a moonless night, but the stars were shining brightly. A small band of horsemen barred their road, and a rough voice called out "Halt!"
"Certainly," cried Geoffrey merrily, as he reined up his horse, and his sword rattled as he drew it from its steel scabbard, a proceeding instantly imitated by his companions. "What is your pleasure, gentlemen?" he cried. "A merry passage of arms on the Queen's highway? By all means; you do us much honour!"
But the night rufflers had seen and heard enough, and in a moment they were disappearing in the darkness. Perhaps they had thought to encounter three harmless travellers; they had no mind to display their valour against three soldiers of the English contingent!
With a loud laugh the travellers galloped on.
Soon they were threading their way carefully through the narrow streets of the suburbs of London, and they headed straight for Gray's Inn. They would have gone direct to Lambeth, where the Archbishop was in residence, but the hour was unseemly—the night was not yet past.
So they rode to Gray's Inn, where they aroused the watchmen at the stables, and, like good soldiers, saw to the needs of their horses ere they cared for themselves. The day was dawning as they presented themselves at the great door of the Treasurer's lodgings and woke up the sleepy night porter, who was slumbering in his cell.
Glad was old Robin to see his young masters, of whom nothing had been heard at Gray's Inn for many a day. They were neither hungry nor thirsty, for they had supped well at Rochester; yet the porter was able to find some wine and bread for the weary travellers.
But their chief need was rest, and they at once sought their way to their well-known rooms, which had not been occupied since they left them.
They would sleep, they told Robin, for the next three hours, and at breakfast time they would present themselves to Sir John and Mistress Susan, who might be informed of their arrival when they descended to the breakfast room.
"Oh, thank God, to be at home once more!" cried Ralph.
"Yes, let us thank Him together," said Geoffrey gravely, and the three young soldiers knelt in silence. Then they sought the much needed rest, and were soon in deep sleep.
It was eight o'clock when the sound of the gong aroused the sleepers, and, after a hasty preparation, they descended to the breakfast room.
Ah! what a meeting was that.
There stood Sir John, lost in wonder and delight; there was Susan, clad in some bewitching morning costume, her long fair hair loosely tied with some bright ribbons and falling in masses over her shoulders.
"My boys, my boys," cried Sir John, as he embraced them, kissing them on both cheeks, "welcome home!"
Then came Susan's turn, and joy shone in her fair eyes as she kissed them all, Geoffrey not being excepted.
It was long ere they could sit down to breakfast, so much had they to tell and to ask. Eating and drinking were much too prosaic occupations for such a time as that!
But there was an air of gravity on Sir John's face as he presently asked the boys what brought them home so suddenly; when last he heard of them they were on service at St. Quentin.
Then Geoffrey told briefly the history of their special mission, reserving all details for some future occasion.
"And now we must hie to Lambeth," said he, "for our business with the Cardinal is urgent."
"You cannot see him until after the hour of ten," replied Sir John, "when the service in Lambeth Chapel ends. Until that service is over his Eminence receives no man. I will send a messenger to him, informing him of your arrival and your business, asking for an early audience."
Sir John adjourned to the library, and the letter was written and despatched immediately.
Then the whole party met again in that noble room, and Sir John proceeded to tell the envoys of the present position of affairs in England.
"The Queen," said he, "is rapidly failing in health, and the Romanist party is in grave alarm, especially at Court, where the greatest gloom prevails. All eyes turn to the Princess Elizabeth, who is the hope of the Reformation party, which is both numerous and strong; already the courtiers are flocking to Hatfield, where Elizabeth resides.
"Cardinal Pole, also, is becoming each day feebler in body, and his illness is aggravated by the treatment he has received at the hands of Pope Paul the Fourth—who has summoned him to Rome to answer to various charges brought against him, amongst others the charge of heresy. The Pope has revoked his Legation, and has appointed Cardinal Peto as his Legate to England.
"The Queen sternly resists these papal measures; she refuses to allow Pole to leave the kingdom, and she will not allow Peto to enter it. All the ports are watched, and no messengers from Rome are admitted to England. Alas! poor Queen," cried Sir John, "deserted by her husband, and harassed by the Pope for whom she has done so much, who would not pity her?
"The fires of Smithfield, and at a hundred other places, have quenched whatsoever love her subjects once had for her. They distrust Philip and hate the Spaniards with so mortal a hatred, that no man of that race dare appear openly in the streets of London, and they are fleeing from England in shoals; our friend Don Diego left last week.
"For Cardinal Pole much popular sympathy exists. His noble birth and blameless life plead for him, and the mercy he has shown to many a poor prisoner is alleged by the people to be the cause of his present disgrace at Rome."
So the discourse went on till Sir John's messenger to Lambeth returned; the Cardinal would receive the envoys at once, and forthwith the young men rose to obey the summons.
The clocks were striking ten as the envoys entered the palace of Lambeth; they were conducted immediately to the Cardinal's presence.
He was busily writing as they entered the audience chamber. It was plainly furnished; there were no luxuries, no ostentation here.
He rose to greet them, and, as he did so, his wan face lit up with a kindly smile. They knelt on one knee and kissed the hand he extended to them.
"Welcome, my sons," he said; "you come from St. Quentin and Calais, Sir John Jefferay tells me, as envoys from the King."
Geoffrey bowed low as he handed their credentials to the Cardinal, among them a letter from Philip to his Eminence. This letter Cardinal Pole proceeded to read at once.
"I perceive," he said at length, "that his Majesty is greatly concerned respecting the condition of Calais, and that he sent ye thither that you might report to the Government the true state of things in that town."
Geoffrey then presented to the Cardinal a letter from the Lord Wentworth, in which the urgent needs of Calais were set forth for the Government's information. Pole read this carefully.
"My sons," he said, "you have been eye-witnesses of the things of which this letter treats; now tell me what you have seen; I know that you are good men and true, and that you will neither conceal nor exaggerate the needs and condition of the town of Calais."
Then Geoffrey proceeded in grave and carefully considered words to give their report.
He spoke of the weakness in numbers of the garrison, and of their inefficiency through age and decrepitude. He set forth the lack of the munitions of war, the antiquity of the artillery and the means of defence generally. He described ............