Great Britain -- History -- Tudors, 1485-1603 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
But she believed this to be more lying in order to get her back into his
power; so she sent ten of her men to fetch the horses from the Castle
gate and very soon they perceived all the horses come round the Castle
wall, to the number of thirty-two with eleven mules. The Lady Margaret
rode a tall horse called Christopher, a brown, that she loved, and John
Bellingham had another tall horse. But the old lady and the three maids
had mules, and there were seven pack mules that carried the Lady
Margaret’s hangings, furnishings for her room if she slept in an inn,
her dresses and much things of value as she would not willingly leave in
the Tower of Glororem. The men-at-arms rode little, nimble horses, such
as the false Scots had, very fit for picking their way amongst springs,
heather and the stones of hillsides. This lady could not bring herself
to believe that her true love was not dead, so that, although she
laughed and jested to keep up the hearts of her maids, as her plain duty
was, within herself she was a very sad woman.
When the sun was off the horizon they broke their fast with small beer
and cheese that they got from a husbandman’s tower near Acklington, for
they were sticking inland. This husbandman advised them to go by way of
Eshot Hill and Helm, for, by reason of the dry weather, the road from
this latter place to Morpeth was very good travelling, and it ran
straight. The Lady Margaret was minded to sleep that night at
Newcastle, which would be twenty-four miles more or less, for she had no
haste to be in one place more than another. She had little pleasure in
life; although she wished to rescue the Lady Rohtraut she thought this
could only be done by means of the Lady Dacre, her mother, that had been
a Princess of Croy. And, from the news she had, it was very unlikely
that that ancient lady would reach her house in the city of Durham
before that night or the next day.
So, as they rode between the fields, the sun rose up—its rays poured
down fiercely and smote on them. It was marvellously hot weather, so
that those ladies must at first lay off their gray cloaks and then open
their shifts at the neck and fan themselves with their neckerchers. A
great langour descended upon the Lady Margaret; her head ached sorely
and her sadness grew unbearable.
And all, even to the men-at-arms and the page Piers, complained of the
great heat and because they had had little sleep the night before, and
the ladies yawned and half slept upon their mules. So, when they came
to a little green hill where ash trees climbed to the top, the Lady
Margaret said, out of compassion to them, that when they were at the top
of the hill, so that they could see the flat country all round, they
might get down from their horses and mules and sleep the noontide away
in the shade. And so they did.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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