When Knighthood Was in Flower, page 3
When Knighthood Was in Flower....
_The Caskodens_
We Caskodens take great pride in our ancestry. Some persons, I know,hold all that to be totally un-Solomonlike and the height of vanity,but they, usually, have no ancestors of whom to be proud. The man whodoes not know who his great-grandfather was, naturally enough wouldnot care what he was. The Caskodens have pride of ancestry becausethey know both who and what.
Even admitting that it is vanity at all, it is an impersonal sort offailing, which, like the excessive love of country, leans virtueward;for the man who fears to disgrace his ancestors is certainly lesslikely to disgrace himself. Of course there are a great many excellentpersons who can go no farther back than father and mother, who,doubtless, eat and drink and sleep as well, and love as happily, as ifthey could trace an unbroken lineage clear back to Adam or Noah, orsomebody of that sort. Nevertheless, we Caskodens are proud of ourancestry, and expect to remain so to the end of the chapter,regardless of whom it pleases or displeases.
We have a right to be proud, for there is an unbroken male line fromWilliam the Conqueror down to the present time. In this lineal listare fourteen Barons--the title lapsed when Charles I fell--twelveKnights of the Garter and forty-seven Knights of the Bath and otherorders. A Caskoden distinguished himself by gallant service under theGreat Norman and was given rich English lands and a fair Saxon bride,albeit an unwilling one, as his reward. With this fair, unwillingSaxon bride and her long plait of yellow hair goes a very pretty,pathetic story, which I may tell you at some future time if you takekindly to this. A Caskoden was seneschal to William Rufus, and sat atthe rich, half barbaric banquets in the first Great Hall. Stillanother was one of the doughty barons who wrested from John the GreatCharter, England's declaration of independence; another was high inthe councils of Henry V. I have omitted one whom I should not fail tomention: Adjodika Caskoden, who was a member of the Dunce Parliamentof Henry IV, so called because there were no lawyers in it.
It is true that in the time of Edward IV a Caskoden did stoop totrade, but it was trade of the most dignified, honorable sort; he wasa goldsmith, and his guild, as you know, were the bankers andinternational clearance house for people, king and nobles. Besides, itis stated on good authority that there was a great scandal wherein thegoldsmith's wife was mixed up in an intrigue with the noble KingEdward; so we learn that even in trade the Caskodens were of honorableposition and basked in the smile of their prince. As for myself, I amnot one of those who object so much to trade; and I think itcontemptible in a man to screw his nose all out of place sneering atit, while enjoying every luxury of life from its profits.
This goldsmith was shrewd enough to turn what some persons might callhis ill fortune, in one way, into gain in another. He was one of thosehappily constituted, thrifty philosophers who hold that evenmisfortune should not be wasted, and that no evil is so great but thealchemy of common sense can transmute some part of it into good. So hecoined the smiles which the king shed upon his wife--he beingpowerless to prevent, for Edward smiled where he listed, and listednearly everywhere--into nobles, crowns and pounds sterling, and left aglorious fortune to his son and to his son's son, unto about thefourth generation, which was a ripe old age for a fortune, I think.How few of them live beyond the second, and fewer still beyond thethird! It was during the third generation of this fortune that theevents of the following history occurred.
Now, it has been the custom of the Caskodens for centuries to keep arecord of events, as they have happened, both private and public. Someare in the form of diaries and journals like those of Pepys andEvelyn; others in letters like the Pastons'; others again in verse andsong like Chaucer's and the Water Poet's; and still others in themore pretentious form of memoir and chronicle. These records we alwayshave kept jealously within our family, thinking it vulgar, like thePastons, to submit our private affairs to public gaze.
There can, however, be no reason why those parts treating solely ofoutside matters should be so carefully guarded, and I have determinedto choose for publication such portions as do not divulge familysecrets nor skeletons, and which really redound to family honor.
For this occasion I have selected from the memoir of my worthyancestor and namesake, Sir Edwin Caskoden--grandson of the goldsmith,and Master of the Dance to Henry VIII--the story of Charles Brandonand Mary Tudor, sister to the king.
This story is so well known to the student of English history that Ifear its repetition will lack that zest which attends the developmentof an unforeseen denouement. But it is of so great interest, and is sofull, in its sweet, fierce manifestation, of the one thing insolubleby time, Love, that I will nevertheless rewrite it from old SirEdwin's memoir. Not so much as an historical narrative, although Ifear a little history will creep in, despite me, but simply as apicture of that olden long ago, which, try as we will to put aside thehazy, many-folded curtain of time, still retains its shadowy lack ofsharp detail, toning down and mellowing the hard aspect of reallife--harder and more unromantic even than our own--into the blendingsoftness of an exquisite mirage.
I might give you the exact words in which Sir Edwin wrote, and shallnow and then quote from contemporaneous chronicles in the language ofhis time, but should I so write at all, I fear the pleasure of perusalwould but poorly pay for the trouble, as the English of the Bluff Kingis almost a foreign tongue to us. I shall, therefore, with a fewexceptions, give Sir Edwin's memoir in words, spelling and idiom whichhis rollicking little old shade will probably repudiate as none of hiswhatsoever. So, if you happen to find sixteenth century thoughthob-nobbing in the same sentence with nineteenth century English, benot disturbed; I did it. If the little old fellow grows grandiloquentor garrulous at times--_he_ did that. If you find him growingsuper-sentimental, remember that sentimentalism was the life-breath ofchivalry, just then approaching its absurdest climax in the bombasticconscientiousness of Bayard and the whole mental atmosphere laden withits pompous nonsense.
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_CHAPTER I_
_The Duel_
It sometimes happens, Sir Edwin says, that when a woman will shewon't, and when she won't she will; but usually in the end the adageholds good. That sentence may not be luminous with meaning, but I willgive you an illustration.
I think it was in the spring of 1509, at any rate soon after the deathof the "Modern Solomon," as Queen Catherine called her oldfather-in-law, the late King Henry VII, that his august majesty HenryVIII, "The Vndubitate Flower and very Heire of both the sayd Linages,"came to the throne of England, and tendered me the honorable positionof Master of the Dance at his sumptuous court.
As to "worldly goods," as some of the new religionists call wealth, Iwas very comfortably off; having inherited from my father, one of thecounselors of Henry VII, a very competent fortune indeed. How myworthy father contrived to save from the greedy hand of that rich oldmiser so great a fortune, I am sure I can not tell. He was the onlyman of my knowledge who did it; for the old king had a reach as longas the kingdom, and, upon one pretext or another, appropriated tohimself everything on which he could lay his hands. My father,however, was himself pretty shrewd in money matters, having inheritedalong with his fortune a rare knack at keeping it. His father was agoldsmith in the time of King Edward, and enjoyed the marked favor ofthat puissant prince.
Being thus in a position of affluence, I cared nothing for the factthat little or no emolument went with the office; it was the honorwhich delighted me. Besides, I was thereby an inmate of the king'spalace, and brought into intimate relations with the court, and aboveall, with the finest ladies of the land--the best company a man cankeep, since it ennobles his mind with better thoughts, purifies hisheart with cleaner motives, and makes him gentle without detractingfrom his strength. It was an office any lord of the kingdom might havebeen proud to hold.
Now, some four or five years after my induction into this honorableoffice, there came to court news of a terrible duel fought down inSuffolk, out of which only one of the four combatants had comealive--two, rather, but one of them in a condition worse than death.The first survivor was a son of Sir William Brandon, and the secondwas a man called Sir Adam Judson. The story went that young Brandonand his elder brother, both just home from the continental wars, hadmet Judson at an Ipswich inn, where there had been considerablegambling among them. Judson had won from the brothers a large sum ofmoney which they had brought home; for, notwithstanding their youth,the elder being but twenty-six and the younger about twenty-four yearsof age, they had gained great honor and considerable profit in wars,especially the younger, whose name was Charles.
It is a little hard to fight for money and then to lose it by a singlespot upon the die, but such is the fate of him who plays, and aphilosopher will swallow his ill luck and take to fighting for more.The Brandons could have done this easily enough, especially Charles,who was an offhand philosopher, rather fond of a good-humored fight,had it not been that in the course of play one evening the secret ofJudson's winning had been disclosed by a discovery that he cheated.The Brandons waited until they were sure, and then trouble began,which resulted in a duel on the second morning following.
This Judson was a Scotch gentleman of whom very little was known,except that he was counted the most deadly and most cruel duelist ofthe time. He was called the "Walking Death," and it is said took pridein the appellation. He boasted that he had fought eighty-seven duels,in which he had killed seventy-five men, and it was considered certaindeath to meet him. I got the story of the duel afterwards from Brandonas I give it here.
John was the elder brother, and when the challenge came was entitledto fight first,--a birthright out of which Charles tried in vain totalk him. The brothers told their father, Sir William Brandon, and atthe appointed time father and sons repaired to the place of meeting,where they found Judson and his two seconds ready for the fight.
Sir William was still a vigorous man, with few equals in sword play,and the sons, especially the younger, were better men and more skilfulthan their father had ever been, yet they felt that this duel meantcertain death, so great was Judson's fame for skill and cruelty.Notwithstanding they were so handicapped with this feeling ofimpending evil, they met their duty without a tremor; for the motto oftheir house was, "_Malo Mori Quam Fedrai_."
It was a misty morning in March. Brandon has told me since, that whenhis elder brother took his stand, it was at once manifest that he wasJudson's superior, both in strength and skill, but after a few strokesthe brother's blade bent double and broke off short at the hilt whenit should have gone home. Thereupon, Judson, with a malignant smile oftriumph, deliberately selected his opponent's heart and pierced itwith his sword, giving the blade a twist as he drew it out in order tocut and mutilate the more.
In an instant Sir William's doublet was off, and he was in his deadson's tracks, ready to avenge him or to die. Again the thrust whichshould have killed broke the sword, and the father died as the son haddied.
After this, came young Charles, expecting, but, so great was hisstrong heart, not one whit fearing, to lie beside his dead father andbrother. He knew he was the superior of both in strength and skill,and his knowledge of men and the noble art told him they had each beenthe superior of Judson; but the fellow's hand seemed to be the hand ofdeath. An opening came through Judson's unskilful play, which gaveyoung Brandon an opportunity for a thrust to kill, but his blade, likehis father's and brother's, bent double without penetrating. Unlikethe others, however, it did not break, and the thrust revealed thefact that Judson's skill as a duelist lay in a shirt of mail which itwas useless to try to pierce. Aware of this, Brandon knew that victorywas his, and that soon he would have avenged the murders that had gonebefore. He saw that his adversary was strong neither in wind nor arm,and had not the skill to penetrate his guard in a week's trying, so hedetermined to fight on the defensive until Judson's strength shouldwane, and then kill him when and how he chose.
After a time Judson began to breathe hard and his thrusts to lackforce.
"Boy, I would spare you," he said; "I have killed enough of yourtribe; put up your sword and call it quits."
Young Brandon replied: "Stand your ground, you coward; you will be adead man as soon as you grow a little weaker; if you try to run I willthrust you through the neck as I would a cur. Listen how you snort. Ishall soon have you; you are almost gone. You would spare me, wouldyou? I could preach a sermon or dance a hornpipe while I am killingyou. I will not break my sword against your coat of mail, but willwait until you fall from weakness and then.... Fight, you bloodhound!"
Judson was pale from exhaustion, and his breath was coming in gasps ashe tried to keep the merciless sword from his throat. At last, by adexterous twist of his blade, Brandon sent Judson's sword flyingthirty feet away. The fellow started to run, but turned and fell uponhis knees to beg for life. Brandon's reply was a flashing circle ofsteel, and his sword point cut lengthwise through Judson's eyes andthe bridge of his nose, leaving him sightless and hideous for life. Arevenge compared to which death would have been merciful.
The duel created a sensation throughout the kingdom, for althoughlittle was known as to who Judson was, his fame as a duelist was asbroad as the land. He had been at court upon several occasions, and,at one time, upon the king's birthday, had fought in the royal lists.So the matter came in for its share of consideration by king andcourtiers, and young Brandon became a person of interest. He becamestill more so when some gentlemen who had served with him in thecontinental wars told the court of his daring and bravery, and relatedstories of deeds at arms worthy of the best knight in Christendom.
He had an uncle at the court, Sir Thomas Brandon, the king's Master ofHorse, who thought it a good opportunity to put his nephew forwardand let him take his chance at winning royal favor. The uncle broachedthe subject to the king, with favorable issue, and Charles Brandon,led by the hand of fate, came to London Court, where that same fatehad in keeping for him events such as seldom fall to the lot of man.
