"Were it impossible, Sire, that the lady, in company of her young brothers, should visit your Highness' Court?" Henry readily owned that it was by no means impossible, if he were to ask it: but he reminded the Archbishop that the Duke of Milan was poor, though proud; and that while he would consider the Princess Lucia eternally disgraced by marrying beneath her, he probably would not scruple to sell her hand to the highest bidder of those illustrious persons who stood on the list of eligibles. And Kent, semi-royal though he were, was not a rich man, his family having suffered severely from repeated attainders. "And what riches he hath goeth in velvet and ouches," [jewellery] said the Archbishop, with his cold, sarcastic smile. "Well--if the Duke's Grace would fain pick up ducats even in the mire, mayhap he shall find them as plenty in England as otherwhere. Your Highness can heald [pour forth] gold with any Prince in Italy. And when the lady is hither, 'twere easy to bid an hunting party, an' your Grace so list. My cousin of Kent loveth good hawking." Again that keen, cruel smile parted the priestly lips. "Moreover, Sire, she must be a Prince's daughter, or my cousin, who likewise loveth grandeur and high degree, may count the cost ere he swallow the bait. The Lady Custance is not lightly matched for blood." "You desire this thing, holy Father?" The eyes of the two evil counsellors met again. "It were an holy and demeritous work, Sire," said the priest. "Be it as you will," returned Henry hastily. "But mind you, holy Father! you bear what there may be of sin." "I can carry it, Sire!" The royal and reverend conspirators parted; and the Archbishop, mounting his richly-caparisoned mule (an animal used by priests out of affected humility, in imitation of the ass's colt on which Christ rode into Jerusalem), rode straight to Coldharbour, the town residence of his niece, Joan Duchess Dowager of York. He found her at work in the midst of her bower-women; but no sooner did she hear the announcement of her Most Reverend uncle, than she hurriedly commanded them all to leave the room. "Well?" she said breathlessly, as soon as they were alone. "Thy woman's wit hath triumphed, Joan. 'Twas a brave thought of thine, touching the Lady Lucy of Milan. The King fell in therewith, like a fowl into a net." "Nay, the Lady Lucy was your thought, holy Father; I did but counsel to tempt him with some other. Then it shall be done?" "It shall be done." "Thanks be to All-Hallows!" cried the Duchess, with mirth which it would scarcely be too strong a term to call fiend-like. "Now shall the proud minx be brought to lower her lofty head! I hate her!" "'Tis allowed to hate an heretic," said the Archbishop calmly. "And if the Lady Le Despenser be no heretic, she hath sorely abused her opportunities."