Neither good soldier nor good man was ever without love for his horse, if he had one; and the reader may have already divined, from certain words let fall by good Sir Harry West, that he was peculiarly careful and attentive to the four-hoofed creatures under his care. Every man on earth, probably, has his particular point of coxcombry, and Sir Harry West was not without his. It showed itself in his garden and his bowling green, in his old hall and in his old wine. In a slight degree it was apparent in the studious simplicity of his dress; but it was more evident than anywhere else in his stable, where six as fine horses as England could produce, two of them being old chargers who had borne him in battle, had as much care bestowed on their toilet and their meals as ever court-lady and reverend alderman.

Mounted on one of the stoutest of these well-fed animals, Matthew Lakyn, an old soldier, and an old servant, sped on towards the fair town of Newark-upon-Trent, intrusted by the knight, as his most confidential attendant, to carry the letter of the Lady Arabella to the Court of King James, which was then on its progress from the land of the monarch's birth towards the capital of his new kingdom. As usual in those days, the good old man bore upon his arm a badge to distinguish the family to which he belonged, representing, to use heraldic terms, on a field, argent, a fesse dancettÉe, sable. A buckler was on his shoulder, a stout sword by his side; and although, as we have said, he was not young, yet he was hale and hearty, and looked well capable of dealing a blow or biding a buffet.

His first day's journey went by quietly enough. For ten miles of his road he only saw one person whom he did not know, and that was a stout, dark-browed horseman, who passed him within five minutes after he had left his master's gate. They exchanged a word of salutation on the road, a courteous custom of those days, which, with many another, has gone by in our more civilized times; and then the stranger rode on, while old Lakyn pursued his course more slowly.

Towards three o'clock on the evening of the second day, the good knight's messenger turned into a small village-house of entertainment, in order to give his horse some food, and apply some of the good things of this life to his own support. The room which Lakyn entered, after seeing to his beast's accommodation, was not exactly like that in which we first introduced the reader to the Lady Arabella Stuart; but it was a small parlour, approached by two descending steps from the road side; and this he found tenanted by two men, sitting on either side of a small table, with a stoup of wine between them, and their heads close together, in earnest conversation.

One of these men we shall not describe, having done so on a former occasion, when he gave himself the name of Baron de Mardyke. The other was one of the personages who were with him at that time, whom he had then called his servants, and whom we did not honour with any particular remark. We must now, however, be more particular, and state that he was a tall, thin, black-bearded man, close-shaved, except a small mustachio, and a tuft of hair upon the chin, neither of which seemed to be the growth of many months. His dress, which was plain, consisted entirely of black and grey; but he wore sword and dagger, though there was a slouch in the shoulders, and an awkward disjointedness about the limbs, which spoke of no long military training. Both he and his companion were booted and spurred as if for a journey; and the moment that Lakyn entered the room they ceased their conversation abruptly, and looked round, as if not well pleased with his presence. The old man, however, was in no way disturbed by theirs; but, seating himself at another table, he stretched out his limbs, to rest them more conveniently, and waited patiently till the flagon was brought him. The strangers, in the meantime, sipped their wine together, and talked of the weather, of the appearance of the crops, and various other things, which were somewhat too evidently distant from their thoughts.

This had gone on some quarter of an hour, when suddenly the door of the room was again thrown open, and in strode the dark-browed horseman who had passed the old servant on the road. He cast a glance round the chamber as he entered, and his eye rested upon Lakyn for an instant; after which he passed on to the table where the other two were seated, and, bending over it, spoke with them for a few minutes in a low tone.

Sir Harry West's good servant was an old soldier, as we have said, and had many of the qualities of his class. He recognised his fellow-traveller immediately; but, seeing either that the other did not remember him, or affected not to do so, he gave not the slightest indication of having himself a better memory. He applied himself, on the contrary, diligently to his ale; and, though it must be confessed that he listened with all his ears, from a curious sort of mistrust or dislike which he felt towards the whole party, yet he heard nothing but the last words of their conversation, which were, "Find out!"

The moment these two monosyllables were pronounced by the Baron de Mardyke, the last-comer quitted the room. After being absent for about five minutes, he returned, and again spoke to the other two in as low a voice as before. Matthew Lakyn, however, thought that he caught the words, "Going on immediately;" and he said to himself, "If they are talking of me, they speak the truth. Neither shall I lose any time upon the road."

Thus thinking, he rose, quitted the room, paid his score, and, having tightened his horse's girths, and replaced the bit in his mouth, he rode on upon his way, at a more rapid pace than he had heretofore employed during his journey. He was now just entering Rutlandshire; and in those days a great quantity of common land, waste and dreary enough, lay between Stamford and Grantham, especially about Witham, where a large extent of dreary ground, some four miles across, according to the course of the high road, and spreading to five or six miles on either hand, presented not a single house, cottage, or hut, as far as the eye could reach. After riding on for about an hour and a half, Lakyn saw this wide heath extending before him, with nothing to relieve its bare monotony but a clump of tall trees, about two miles in advance.

Now, he was anything but a man of a faint heart; but still so many charges had been given him regarding the letter which he bore, that he had conceived that document to be of much greater importance than it really was; and, as the bearer thereof, he had risen to considerable importance in his own eyes. Those were somewhat lawless times, it must be remembered, when, notwithstanding the wisdom with which Elizabeth had ruled, the comparative thinness of the population, and the general state of society, left many opportunities for violent acts, of which there were not wanting persons to take advantage. Why or wherefore good Matthew Lakyn had taken a strong dislike to the party he had just left, we shall not attempt to explain to the reader, as, in truth, the good man could not explain it to himself; but certainly he had thought of them more than once as he rode along the highway; and, when he reached the edge of the common which we have mentioned, he turned in the saddle and gave a look behind him.

As he had been slightly ascending for some time, his view comprised nearly a mile of the road, and at about half that distance he perceived two horsemen following him at a very rapid rate. Recollecting a warning of his master, in times of old, to be always prepared for whatever might happen, the old man assured himself that his sword played easily in the sheath, and then spurred on, disdaining to quicken his pace to any great degree, but still keeping his horse at his very quickest trot, in the hopes of coming near some house before he was overtaken. Those who followed, however, whether out of sport or any more serious intention, did not spare the speed or wind of their beasts; and the moment they came upon the common ground, they quitted the sandy road for the turf at the side, and put their horses into a gallop. This pace soon brought them to the side of Sir Harry West's good servant, where they seemed inclined to pull up, giving him time to recognise the dark-browed gentleman whom he had twice before met with, and the tall, thin, ungainly man whom he had seen in the inn. The former now thought fit to give him a nod of recognition; and Lakyn, whose wit was upon the stretch, exclaimed, with a laugh,

"Ah! good evening, sir. If you are riding races, my masters, I'll beat you across the common for a stoup of wine;" and, without waiting for a reply, he struck his spurs into his good horse's sides, and was soon several lengths ahead. The others spurred after for some way, but did not succeed in catching him; and he was still going at the same rapid rate, when he approached the clump of oaks which we have already mentioned. There, however, he drew in his rein suddenly on the little knoll from which trees sprang, and which was covered with dry green turf. To his very great comfort and satisfaction, he had perceived as he approached a large party of men and women, in gay attire, seated with baskets and panniers in the shade, apparently resting their horses and asses--for several of both were there--and at the same time indulging their own appetites, at the expense of sundry pasties and cold joints of meat.

"Hallo!" cried one of the travellers, as the old servant approached, "are you riding for your life, or has your horse run away with you?"

"Neither, neither," cried Lakyn; "'tis but a race for a stoup of wine with those two gentlemen behind;" and with some difficulty he kept his horse from dashing forward, determined, now that he had met with company, not to lose sight of it again if he could help it.

"Why, you seem mighty happy, ladies and gentlemen," he continued. "May I ask which way your steps are bent?"

"We are going to meet the king as he comes from Newark," said a jolly-looking man. "We have got an address and petition from the town of Oakham, drawn up by our good clerk."

"Then, by your leave," cried Lakyn, springing to the ground, "I will go on with you. 'Tis not good riding alone in such days as these."

"Alone!" exclaimed the other. "Why, you have a queer notion of solitude, having two companions with you."

"One may have companions that are not comrades," answered Lakyn; "and, to say sooth, these are no friends of mine."

"Why, how now!" cried the black-browed man, riding up at this moment, about fifty yards in advance of his fellow-traveller; "why, how now, master serving-man, you have soon come to an end of your race. We shall be at the other side of the common first, and make you pay your losings."

"Ride on, then," said Lakyn, in a jeering tone. "With two such jades as yours I don't fear you. I'll give you a start half-way to the other side, and beat you, notwithstanding."

The man turned a grim look of a somewhat menacing character upon him, and replied, "We will make you pay, if you lose, depend upon it."

"No fear, no fear," answered Lakyn; "ride on, and spare your horses' wind till I come up with you. I'll make you use whip and spur before I have done with you."

As he spoke, the other stranger joined them; but he took no part in the conversation, only saying to his companion, "Come on, Slingsby, come on!" and forward they rode together.

"Why, you will lose your stoup of wine," said the jolly traveller under the trees, addressing Lakyn, while the others proceeded on their way.

"Small payment for good deliverance," rejoined the serving-man. "I love not the looks of those two gentlemen; and, as I am going on an errand from good Sir Harry West, my master, to his highness the king, I must risk nothing till it is accomplished.

"What, Sir Harry West, of Bourne?" cried a grave-looking gentleman in ruff. "If you be one of his people, right gladly will we have you in our company; for, in the question of the meadow at Merton, he decided in favour of Oakham, like a worthy good gentleman, as he is."

"Those are his arms, I think," said Matthew Lakyn, pointing with pride to the badge upon his sleeve.

"To be sure! to be sure!" replied the grave personage, putting a pair of large horn spectacles upon the bridge of his nose. "Polly, my dear, look, those are Sir Harry West's arms. Don't you remember how he said to me, 'Thou art a very sedate and reverend person, Master Smallit, and have given your evidence in a devout and proper manner?'"

The girl confirmed her father's recollection; and the good townspeople of Oakham seemed to think that they could not show too much civility and attention to the servant of Sir Harry West. They were rather slow, it is true, in their motions; but, nevertheless, Matthew Lakyn was willing to put up with a little tardiness, for the sake of the security their company afforded, and, accordingly, he not only proceeded in their company to Grantham that night, but begged leave to make one of the party to Newark the next day. His patience was somewhat tried, it is true, in the morning, by the very different proceedings of the good people of Oakham, from the military rapidity and precision which usually attended his master's journeys when they took place. The hour appointed for setting out was in itself somewhat late, being no earlier than nine; but Mrs. Polty, the wife of one of the principal personages in the company, had a queasy stomach, and could not travel till she had broken her fast. The morning-meal took more time than had been expected, and half an hour was spent in settling the landlord's score; then it was discovered that one of the horses had a shoe loose; and then half the baskets and panniers were still unpacked. Thus, what between eating, and drinking, and scolding, and grumbling, and shoeing the horse, and packing the panniers, and loading the asses, and mounting the steeds, the hand of Grantham dial pointed to twenty minutes past eleven; and then ten minutes more were spent in bidding good-bye to the host and hostess of the inn, and laughing and tittering at the parting jests.

The fourteen or fifteen miles which lay between Grantham and Newark occupied much more time than was required even by the slow pace at which they marched, for numerous parties were on the road, either coming or going to the good town upon Trent, where the king had arrived during the preceding morning, and with each person who would stop to indulge them, the good townsfolk of Oakham paused to gossip, making manifold inquiries as to the court, and the king's appearance and demeanour; on all of which points they received the same sort of satisfactory information which is usually afforded by common rumour. By some persons they were informed that the king was tall, and thin, and fair; by another, that he was a fat, swarthy man, with trunk-hose of prodigious dimensions, and a large Spanish hat upon his head. Again, they were assured that the court displayed great pomp, and was very unapproachable; and again, that all was freedom, and gaiety, and rejoicing.

Thus proceeding, it was near four o'clock before the little party entered Newark, and then it was with the greatest difficulty that they found accommodation in a fourth-rate inn, at the extreme verge of the town, on the side of Nottingham. All was bustle and confusion in the place, notwithstanding the proclamation; the court-yard was crowded with horses; and eating and drinking, which had begun at five in the morning, was still going on with undiminished voracity. A buzz of manifold voices came from every room in the house, above which arose, from time to time, various loud and angry calls for tapsters, ostlers, and landlord. Margery, the host's pretty daughter, had had more kisses ravished from her in one day than ever she bestowed willingly in her life; and the landlord, bustling about, and vowing that he should be ruined and undone by the confusion that reigned in his establishment, took ample care that if any one did, indeed, escape his vigilant eyes without paying their scores, the more honest, or less fortunate, should abundantly make up for the deficiency.

For some time it seemed, though the citizens of Oakham had acquired a somewhat importunate appetite on the road, that no provisions were to be had for love or money; and, leaving Masters Smallit and Polty to settle that affair as they might, and get all ready against his return, Matthew Lakyn, with due reverence for the business with which he was intrusted, went out at once on feet, to deliver the letter to Sir Robert Cecil.

Well aware of the difficulty of getting to a great man's presence in the midst of a court, Lakyn determined, in the first place, to inquire for one of the servants of the famous minister, with several of whom he had been acquainted when his master had frequented the gay scenes of the capital. On this errand he was bustling along through the crowds which nearly blocked up the principal street of the town, when, in a group of persons at one of the doors, he caught sight of the well-known colours of the Cecil family, and the badge, with its barry and escutcheoned field; and making his way through, he was soon shaking hands with an old compotator, whom he had not seen for several years. His business was easily explained; but, on hearing of the letter, the serving-man put on a wise and diplomatic look, such as official personages assume to nip a request in the bud before being driven actually to refuse it.

"Is it a petition?" he asked; "for 'tis not easy to bring petitions to my good master. He abhors them as a love-sick maiden hates cheese."

"Oh, dear, no," replied Lakyn, with a proud toss of the head. "My master is much too great a man, as you well know, to make petitions. If any one wants his services they must petition him, and are very likely to get refused even then. I do not know, for I have not seen, what the letter contains; but I rather think it is a civil excuse for not coming to wait upon the King. But, you know, he is tired of courts, and wishes to spend the rest of his life in peace, doing good to all around him by his wonderful wisdom."

"Oh, if that be all," cried the servant, "it will soon be done. It is of those who come to court great men are afraid, not those who stay away from it. Come away up with me to the house yonder; and, as Sir Robert gets off his horse after the hunting, you may deliver him the letter yourself."

Lakyn was in the midst of his reply, telling the servant that there was a party waiting for him at the inn, and that he would but give them notice, and return in a minute, when there was a sudden cry of "The King! the King!"

All was in a moment bustle and confusion. Some men on horseback, riding forward, drove back the crowd on either side of the road, making a lane for the royal cavalcade to pass; and, in the change of movements which took place,--as these harbingers were careful to treat more roughly those they did not know than those they did, it naturally happened that the servant of Sir Robert Cecil and his friend obtained a position in front of the rest.

"Now," said the man, "now! My master is coming just behind the King, on this side. Step forward with me as he passes, and give him the letter. I will tell him who you are."

Lakyn looked down the street, and, at the distance of about thirty yards beheld a somewhat corpulent and heavy-looking man, on horseback, riding with a slouching and uneasy air, coarse in feature, clumsy in person, with his broad lips partly open, and the tip of his tongue visible beneath his teeth. He had a small cap or bonnet on his head, and a long feather, clasped by a large jewel. His dress was of a bright, and somewhat glaring green; a hunting-horn hung at his side, and a long knife, but no sword; and ever and anon, as the people shouted, "God save the King! God save King James!" he bowed his head with a sidelong inclination, which was anything but graceful, though he seemed by his self-satisfied look to fancy it very gracious. Behind him came a crowd of gentlemen, amongst the first of whom appeared a personage, who, though slightly deformed, displayed the dignified carriage of an English gentleman, and sat his fiery horse with ease and grace. Lakyn immediately recognised Cecil, and was in the act of stepping forward to speak to him, when, putting his hand to the black velvet pouch, which, suspended by a belt over his shoulder, contained the important letter, he found the fingers of a stranger, armed with a knife, busily employed in cutting it away from his side.

Turning suddenly round, the old man caught the cut-purse by the throat, instantly recognising the black-browed Master Slingsby. Sir Robert Cecil's servant threw himself upon him also, having been watching quietly for the last half minute the man's proceedings in regard to his companion, Lakyn. Slingsby endeavoured to cast off his opponents and make his escape, while the people gathered round, exclaiming, "A cut-purse!--a cut-purse!--Away with him to prison, away with him!"

The tumult thus occasioned right in the King's path could not fail to attract his attention as he rode on; and, though several of the officers of the court hurried up to see what was the matter, and to remove the obstruction by driving back the crowd, in not the most ceremonious or temperate manner, the King himself rode forward, exclaiming, "What is it they cry? what is it?--A cut-purse?--Let the man be brought before us: we are the best judge of such matters."

These words were pronounced with a strong Scottish accent, and many an interjection peculiar to the monarch himself; but albeit we are not ourselves without drops of Scottish blood in our veins, we do not possess the tongue in sufficient purity to venture upon giving the monarch's expressions in their original dialect.

"Hold him fast," continued the King, "hold him fast; and let him be brought before us, with the witnesses against him. We will inquire into the case ourselves at nine o'clock this night, after we have had time to repose ourselves, and take some necessary sustenance."

Plenty of hands were ready to secure the unfortunate Master Slingsby, who, seeing that he was detected in the fact, affected to treat the matter as a jest, acknowledging that he cut the strap of the man's pouch, but only for the purpose of seeing what it contained. He was hurried away to prison, notwithstanding; and Sir Robert Cecil's servant remained in the midst of the crowd with Lakyn, answering the innumerable inquiries of the multitude, which were as vague and wide of the point as usual.

One man demanded, in a serious tone, if the culprit did not wear a brown beaver; and, on receiving a reply in the affirmative, shook his head ruefully, exclaiming, "Ah, the villain!"

Another made particular inquiries as to his beard; and a third was sure he had seen him somewhere, but could not tell where. A fourth wished to know whether he had cut the strap with a knife or a pair of shears, and opined that it would make a great difference in the judgment of the King.

Drawing his friend away from the mob as soon as he could, Sir Harry West's messenger asked in a doubtful tone, "Do you think the King will really examine him himself?"

"Ay, that he will, Matthew," answered the servant, "and perhaps judge him too. Nay, shake not your head: we have seen strange things done since the court crossed the border. So, at all events, you be ready to give your evidence; and I will call in for you at half-past eight, so that we be not late if his Majesty inquires for us."

Lakyn promised to be ready, and, with this appointment, they parted.