Nearly opposite to the old, half ruined gate of the Temple, there commenced, in the days I speak of, a very narrow lane, which wound up northward, till it joined the place now called Holborn, passing, in its course, under the walls of the inn, or house, of the Bishop of Lincoln, round his garden wall, and through the grounds of the Old Temple house, inhabited by the Knights Templars, before they built a dwelling for themselves, by the banks of the Thames. This Temple house, still called the Old Temple in the reign of Henry V., had been abandoned by the brethren in the year 1184, or thereabout. For some time it was used to lodge any of the fraternity who might visit England from foreign countries, when the new building was too full to afford them accommodation; but gradually this custom ceased, even before the suppression of the Order, and at its dissolution the Old Temple fell into sore decay. When the lands of the Templars were afterwards granted to the Knights of St. John, certain portions of the building, and several of the out-buildings, were granted by them to various artisans, who found it more convenient to carry on their several pursuits beyond the actual precincts of the city of London. One large antique gate, of heavy architecture, with immense walls, and with rooms in either of the two towers which flanked the lane I have mentioned, was tenanted by an armourer, who had erected his stithy behind, and who stored his various completed arms in the chamber on the right of the gate, where the porter had formerly lodged. Over the window of this room was suspended, under a rude penthouse of straw, to keep it from the rain, a huge casque, indicative of the tenant's profession; and, at about eight o'clock of the same morning on which Richard of Woodville quitted London, a little cavalcade, consisting of a tall gaunt old man on a strong black horse, a young lady on a white genet, and three stout yeomen, rode slowly up to the gate-house, and drew their bridles there, pausing to gaze for a moment or two through the deep arch at the forge beyond, where the flame glowed and the anvil rang, throwing a red glare into the shadowy doorway, and drowning the sound of the horses' feet.

"Halloo! Launcelot Plasse!" cried old Sir Philip Beauchamp, in as loud a tone as he thought needful to call the attention of the person he wanted--"halloo!"

But the cyclops within went on with their hammering; and, after another ineffectual effort to make them hear, the good knight called up his men to hold the horses, and lifting Mary Markham as lightly to the ground as if she had been but the weight of a feather, he said, "We must go in and bellow in this deaf man's ear, till we outdo his own noise. Stay here, Mary, I will rouse him;" and, advancing through the open gate, he seized the bare arm of the armourer, exclaiming, "What, Launcelot! wouldst thou brain me?--Why, how now, man! has the roaring of thine own forge deafened thee?"

The elderly white-headed man to whom he spoke turned round and gazed at him, leaning his strong muscular arm upon his hammer, and wiping the drops from his brow. "By St. Jude!" he cried, after a moment's consideration, "I think it is Sir Philip Beauchamp. Yet your head is as white as the ashes, and when I knew him it was a grizzled black, like pauldrons traced with silver lines; and you are mighty thin and bony for stout Sir Philip, whose right hand would have knocked down an ox!"

"Fifteen years, Launcelot! fifteen years!" answered the knight; "they bend a stout frame, as thou beatest out a bit of iron; and, if my head be white, thy black hairs are more easy to be counted than found. Yet both our arms might do some service in their own way yet."

"Well, I am glad to see you again, noble knight," replied the armourer; "though I thought that it would be no more, before you and I went our ways to dust. But, what lack you? There must be some wars toward, to bring an old knight to the stithy; for well I wot, you are not going to buy a tilting suit, or do battle for a fair lady. God send us some good wholesome wars right soon! We have had nothing lately, but the emprise of the Duke of Clarence. King Harry the Fourth got tired of his armour; pray Heaven, his son love the weight better, or I must let the forge cool, and that were a shame."

"Nay, 'tis not for myself," replied Sir Philip. "I have more arms, Launcelot, than ever I shall don in life again. My next suit--unless the King make haste--will be in the chancel of the church at Abbot's Ann. What I want is for my nephew, Dickon of Woodville; he is going to foreign lands, in search of renown; and I would fain choose him a suit myself, for you know I am somewhat of a judge in steel."

"You were always accounted so, noble sir," replied the armourer, with a grave and important face; "and, if you had not been a knight, might have taken my trade out of my hands. But whither does Childe Richard go? We must know that, for every land has its own arms; and it would not do to give him for Italy what is good for France, nor for Palestine what would suit Italy."

The old knight informed him that his nephew was first to visit Burgundy; and the armourer exclaimed, with a well satisfied air, "Then I can provide him to a point; for I have Burgundian arms all ready, even to flaming swords, if he must have them; but 'tis a foolish and fanciful weapon, far less serviceable than the good straight edge and point. But come, Sir Philip, let us go into the armoury. 'Tis well nigh crammed full, for gentlemen buy little; and yet I go on hammering with my men, till I have put all the money that I got in the wars, into arms."

Thus saying, he covered himself with the leathern jerkin, which he had cast off while at work, and returned with his old acquaintance to the room in which the various pieces of armour, that he kept ready, were preserved. Sir Philip called Mary Markham to assist in the choice; but it soon became evident to both, that no selection could be made in good Launcelot Plasse's armoury--for not only was the room, to their eyes, as dark as the pit of Acheron, but the armour was piled up in such confused heaps, that it was hardly possible to take a step therein without stumbling over breast-plate or bascinet, pauldrons or brassiÈres.

"Fie, Launcelot, fie!" cried Sir Philip; "this is a sad deranged show. Why, a stout man-at-arms always keeps his armour in array."

"When he has room and time, Sir Philip," answered the man; "but here I have neither. However, you and the fair lady go forth under the arch, and I will bring you out what is wanted. Here, knave Martin," he continued, calling one of his men from the forge, "bring out the great bench, and set it under the gate, quick!--What is your nephew's height, Sir Philip?"

"What my own used to be," replied the old knight; "six feet and half an inch--and there is his measure round the waist."

The bench was soon brought forward, being nothing else than a large solid table of some six inches thick; and by it Sir Philip Beauchamp and fair Mary Markham took their station, while Launcelot Plasse, with the aid of one of his men, dug out from the piles within, various pieces of armour which he thought might suit the taste of his old customer, laying them down at the door, to be brought forward as required. The first article, however, that he carried to the bench, was a cuirass of one piece, evidently old--for not only was it somewhat rusty about the angles, but in the centre there was a large rough-edged hole.

"Why, what is this?" exclaimed Sir Philip; "this will never do--"

"Nay, it has done, and left undone enough," replied the armourer. "I brought it but to show you. In that placcate was killed Harry Hotspur. I do not say that was the hole that let death in; for men aver that it was a stab in the throat with a coustel, when he was down, that slew him; but the blow that made that bore him to the ground, other wise Shrewsbury field might have gone differently. Now I will fetch the rest. You see, fairest lady, what gentlemen undergo for the love of praise, and your bright eyes."

Thus saying, he took back the breast-plate, and brought forward, supported on his arm, one of the bascinets or casques worn in the field, which were lighter and considerably smaller than the jousting helmets. It was of a round or globular shape, with a small elevation at the top, in which to fix the feathers then usually displayed; and on the forehead was a plate, or band of white enamel, inscribed with the words, "Ave Maria." Sir Philip Beauchamp made some objections to the form; but Mary Markham, after she had read the inscription, pronounced in favour of the bascinet; and the armourer himself had so much to say of its defensive qualities, of the excellent invention of making the ventaille rise by plates from below, and of the temper of the steel, that Sir Philip, after having examined it minutely, waived his objections. The price being fixed, the body armour to match was brought forward, piece by piece, and laid upon the bench. It was of complete plate, as was now the custom of the day, but yet many pieces of the old chain hauberk were retained to cover the joinings of the different parts. Thus beneath the gorget, or camail, which covered the throat, was a sort of tippet formed of interlaced rings of steel, to hang down over the cuirass and afford additional protection; while, at the same time, from the tassets which terminated the cuirass, hung a broad edge of the same, to complete their junction with the cuissards, or thigh pieces.

This arrangement pleased the old knight very much; for it was a remnant of the customs of ancient times, when he himself was young, and which totally disappeared before many years were over; but with the cuirass he quarrelled very much, exclaiming, "What, will men never have done with their idle fancies? 'Tis bad enough to divide the breast-plate into two, and hang the lower part to the upper by that red strap and buckle; but what is the use of sticking out the breast, like that of a fat-cropped pigeon?"

"It gives greater use to the arms, noble sir," replied Launcelot Plasse, "and turns a lance much easier, from being quite round. Besides, it is the fashion of the court of Burgundy: and no noble gentleman could appear there well without. The palettes, too, you see, are shaped like a fan, and gilt with quaint figures at the corners. It cost me nine days to make these palettes alone, and the genouilliÈres, which have the same work upon them. Then the pauldrons--see how they are artfully turned over at the top of the shoulder with a gilt bordure."

"And pray, what may that be for?" demanded the old knight; "we had no such tricks in my days to make a man look like a cray-fish."

"That is to give the arm fuller sweep and sway, either with axe or sword," answered the armourer. "You can thus raise your hand quite up to your very crest, which you could never do before, since pauldrons were invented."

"We used to give good stout strokes in the year eighty," rejoined Sir Philip Beauchamp, "as you well know, Master Launcelot. But boys must have boys' things--so let it pass; but, what between one piece and another, it will take a man an hour to get into his harness, with all these buckles and straps. But I will tell you what, Master Launcelot, I will have no tuilles over the cuissards; they were a barbarous and unnatural custom, and very inconvenient too. I was once nearly thrown to the ground in Gascony, by the point catching the saddle as I mounted."

"Oh! they are quite gone out of use," replied the armourer; "and we now either make the tassets long, or add a guipon of mail, coming down to the thighs."

The jambes or steel boots, the sollerets or coverings for the feet, the brassards, gauntlets, and vambraces were then discussed and purchased, not without some chaffering on the part of the old knight, who was a connoisseur in the price as well as in the fashion of armour; but Launcelot Plasse had so much to say in favour of his commodities, that he obtained very nearly the sum he demanded.

He then proceeded to prove to Sir Philip Beauchamp, that the suit would not be complete without the testiÈre, the chanfron, and the manefaire and poitral of, the horse to correspond; and, though his customer was not inclined to spend anymore money, yet a soft word or two from Mary Markham won the day for the armourer, and he was directed to bring forth the horse armour for inspection.

While he and his men were busy fulfilling this command, the old knight turned, hearing some one speaking eagerly, and apparently imploringly, to his attendants; and, seeing an old woman poorly dressed conversing with them, he inquired, "What does the woman want, Hugh?"

"Ah! noble sir," replied the old dame, "if you would but interfere, it might save sin and wrong. I have just seen a poor girl dragged away by two men up to a house in the lane, called Burwash-house, where they have taken her in against her will."

"Ha!" cried Sir Philip Beauchamp; "why, he is an old and reverend man, my good Lord of Burwash, and will not suffer such things in his mansion. I will send up one of the men to tell him."

"The noble lord is not there, fair sir," replied the woman; "but he has lent his house to some gay knight, whose men do what they please with the poor people. 'Tis but yesterday my own child was struck by one of them."

"If there be wrong done, you must go to the officers of the duchy, good woman," answered the knight, whose blood was cold with age, and who could be prudent till he was chafed. "I will send one of the yeomen with you, to get you a hearing. These things should be amended; but when Kings' sons will beat the citizens, and brawl in Cheape, there is no great hope."

"Good faith, Sir Philip!" cried the armourer, who had just come forth, bearing the manefaire upon his arm, "if it be the Duke of Clarence you speak of, and his brother John, 'twas they got beaten, and did not beat. We Londoners are sturdy knaves, and take not drubbings patiently, whether from lord or prince."

"And you are right, too," replied the old knight; "men are not made to be the sport of other men. But what's to be done about this girl, Launcelot? You know the customs here better than I do. The good woman says they have carried a girl off against her will to Burwash-house here, hard by."

"Why, that's the back of it," cried Launcelot Plasse. "The old lord is not there, but in his stead one Sir Simeon of Roydon, who, if I mistake not, will never win much renown by stroke of lance. Wait a minute, my good woman, till I have sold my goods, and then I and my men will go up with you, and set the girl free, or it shall go hard, if you are certain she was taken against her will."

"She shrieked loud enough to make you all hear," replied the old woman.

"I thought there was a noise when we were hammering at the back piece," observed one of the men.

"I heard nothing," said Launcelot Plasse.

"Oh, go at once, go at once," cried Mary Markham; "you know not how she may be treated. We can wait till you return. Send the men with them, dear Sir Philip."

"I will go myself, Mary," replied the knight. "Come along, my men, leave one with the horses, and the rest follow."

"I am with you, Sir Philip," cried the armourer. "Bring your hammers, lads, we will make short work of oaken doors."

But ere Sir Philip Beauchamp had taken two steps up the lane, the casement of a large window in the house which had been pointed out, was thrown suddenly open, and a woman's head appeared. The sill of the window was some twelve or fourteen feet from the ground; but, to the surprise of all, without seeming to pause for a moment, the girl whom they beheld set her foot upon it, caught the iron bar which ran down the middle of the casement, seemed to twist something round it, and then suffered herself to drop, hanging by her hands, first from the bar, and then from a scarf.

She was still some five or six feet from the ground, however; and Mary Markham, who had been watching eagerly, clasped her hands, and turned away her head. Sir Philip Beauchamp, and the men who accompanied him paused, and they could hear a voice from within exclaim, "Follow her like light, by the back door! She will to the King, and that were ruin. What fear you, fool? She has broken the dagger in the lock, do you not see?"

As he spoke, the girl, after a momentary hesitation, during which she hung suspended by the hands, wavering with the motion which she had given herself in dropping from above, let go her hold, and sank to the ground. Fortunately the lane was soft and sandy; and she fell light, coming down, indeed, upon one knee, but instantly starting up again unhurt.

She then gazed wildly round her for an instant, and put her hand to her head, as if asking herself whither she should fly; but the sight of the old knight and his companions, and the sound of an opening door on the other side, brought her indecision quickly to an end, and running rapidly forward, she cast herself at Sir Philip Beauchamp's feet, embracing his knee, and crying, "Save me!--save me, noble sir!"

At the moment she reached the good old man, two stout fellows, who had rushed from a door in the wall, and followed her at full speed, were within two paces of her; and one of them caught her by the arm, even at the knight's feet, as he was in the act of commanding him to keep aloof.

"Stand back, fellow!" thundered Sir Philip Beauchamp, with the blood coming up into his withered cheek; and the next moment, in the midst of an insolent reply, he struck the knave in the face with his clenched fist, knocking him backwards all bloody on the ground.

The other man, who had more than once accompanied Sir Simeon of Roydon to Dunbury, and recognised its lord, slunk back to the house, stopped some others who were following, and then hastened in, to tell his master in whom Ella Brune had found a protector.

The man who had been knocked down, rose, gazed fiercely at the knight, and then looked behind him for support; but seeing his companions retreating, he too retrod his steps, not without muttering some threats of vengeance; while the old armourer cried after him, "Never show your faces again in the lane, knaves, or we will hide you back like hounds, or pound you like strayed swine."

In the meanwhile, Sir Philip had raised up the poor girl; and Mary Markham was soothing her tenderly, as Ella, finding herself safe, gave way to the tears which her strong resolution had repressed in the actual moment of difficulty and danger.

"Come, come, do not weep, poor thing," said the knight, laying his large, bony hand upon her shoulder. "We will take care of you. Who is it that has done this?"

"A bad man, called Simeon of Roydon," replied Ella Brune, wiping away the tears.

"We know him," said Mary Markham, in a kindly tone; "and do not love him, my poor girl."

"And I have cause to love him less, noble lady," replied Ella Brune, waving her head mournfully. "'Tis but two nights ago he killed the last friend I had; and now he would have wronged me shamefully."

"Killed him!" exclaimed Mary; "what! murdered him?"

"'Twas the same as murder," replied the girl; "he rode him down in a mad frolic--a poor blind man. He is not yet in his grave."

"Come, come--be comforted," said Sir Philip. "Let us hear how all this chanced."

"We will be your friends, poor girl," added Mary Markham; and then, turning to the old knight, she asked, in a low tone, "can we not take her home with us?"

Sir Philip gazed at the minstrel's girl from head to foot, and then shrugged his shoulders slightly, with a significant look, as he remarked her somewhat singular dress.

"Nay, nay," said Mary Markham, in the same low tone; "do not let that stop you, noble friend. There may be some good amongst even them."

"Well, be it as you will, Mary," answered the old knight; "she must be better than she looks, to do as she has done. Come, poor thing--you shall go home with us, and there tell us more. Wait till I have finished the purchase of this harness, and we will go along back to Westminster; though how to take you through the streets in that guise, I do not well know."

"Get a boat, sir, at a landing by the Temple," said Launcelot Plasse, "and send the horses by land."

"A good thought," replied the knight; and thus it was arranged, the whole party returning to the armourer's shop, and thence, after the bargain was made, and all directions were given, proceeding to the water-side, where a boat was soon procured, which bore them speedily to the landing-place at Westminster.