Of Tristram Lyndwood,
the old Forester, and his Grand-
daughter Mabel Of
the Peril in which the Lady Anne Boleyn
was placed during the
chase And by whom she was rescued.
In consequence of the announcement
that a grand hunting party would be held in the forest,
all the verderers, rangers, and keepers assembled at
an early hour on the fourth day after the king’s
arrival at Windsor in an open space on the west side
of the great avenue, where a wooden stand was erected,
canopied over with green boughs and festooned with
garlands of flowers, for the accommodation of the
Lady Anne Boleyn and her dames, who, it was understood,
would be present at the chase.
At a little distance from the stand
an extensive covert was fenced round with stout poles,
to which nets were attached so as to form a haye or
preserve, where the game intended for the royal sport
was confined; and though many of the animals thus
brought together were of hostile natures, they were
all so terrified, and seemingly so conscious of the
danger impending over them, that they did not molest
each other. The foxes and martíns, of which
there were abundance, slunk into the brushwood with
the hares and rabbits, but left their prey untouched.
The harts made violent efforts to break forth,
and, entangling their horns in the nets, were with
difficulty extricated and driven back; while the timid
does, not daring to follow them, stood warily watching
the result of the struggle.
Amongst the antlered captives was
a fine buck, which, having been once before hunted
by the king, was styled a “hart royal,”
and this noble animal would certainly have effected
his escape if he had not been attacked and driven
back by Morgan Fenwolf, who throughout the morning’s
proceedings displayed great energy and skill.
The compliments bestowed on Fenwolf for his address
by the chief verderer excited the jealousy of some
of his comrades, and more than one asserted that he
had been assisted in his task by some evil being,
and that Bawsey herself was no better than a familiar
spirit in the form of a hound.
Morgan Fenwolf scouted these remarks;
and he was supported by some others among the keepers,
who declared that it required no supernatural aid
to accomplish what he had done that he was
nothing more than a good huntsman, who could ride
fast and boldly that he was skilled in all
the exercises of the chase, and possessed a stanch
and well-trained hound.
The party then sat down to breakfast
beneath the trees, and the talk fell upon Herne the
Hunter, and his frequent appearance of late in the
forest (for most of the keepers had heard of or encountered
the spectral huntsman); and while they were discussing
this topic, and a plentiful allowance of cold meat,
bread, ale, and mead at the same time, two persons
were seen approaching along a vista on the right, who
specially attracted their attention and caused Morgan
Fenwolf to drop the hunting-knife with which he was
carving his viands, and start to his feet.
The new-comers were an old man and
a comely young damsel. The former, though nearer
seventy than sixty, was still hale and athletic, with
fresh complexion, somewhat tanned by the sun, and a
keen grey eye, which had lost nothing of its fire.
He was habited in a stout leathern doublet, hose of
the same material, and boots rudely fashioned out of
untanned ox-hide, and drawn above the knee. In
his girdle was thrust a large hunting-knife; a horn
with a silver mouthpiece depended from his shoulder,
and he wore a long bow and a quiver full of arrows
at his back. A flat bonnet, made of fox-skin
and ornamented with a raven’s wing, covered
his hair, which was as white as silver.
But it was not upon this old forester,
for such his attire proclaimed him, that the attention
of the beholders, and of Morgan Fenwolf in especial,
was fixed, but upon his companion. Amongst the
many lovely and high-born dames who had so recently
graced the procession to the castle were few, if any,
comparable to this lowly damsel. Her dress probably
owing to the pride felt in her by her old relative
was somewhat superior to her station. A tightly-laced
green kirtle displayed to perfection her slight but
exquisitely-formed figure A gown of orange-coloured
cloth, sufficiently short to display her small ankles,
and a pair of green buskins, embroidered with silver,
together with a collar of the whitest and finest linen,
though shamed by the neck it concealed, and fastened
by a small clasp, completed her attire. Her girdle
was embroidered with silver, and her sleeves were
fastened by aiglets of the same metal.
“How proud old Tristram Lyndwood
seems of his granddaughter,” remarked one of
the keepers.
“And with reason,” replied
another. “Mabel Lyndwood is the comeliest
lass in Berkshire.”
“Ay, marry is she,” rejoined
the first speaker; “and, to my thinking, she
is a fairer and sweeter flower than any that blooms
in yon stately castle the flower that finds
so much favour in the eyes of our royal Hal not excepted.”
“Have a care, Gabriel Lapp,”
observed another keeper. “Recollect that
Mark Fytton, the butcher, was hanged for speaking slightingly
of the Lady Anne Boleyn; and you may share his fate
if you disparage her beauty.”
“Na I meant not to disparage
the Lady Anne,” replied Gabriel. “Hal
may marry her when he will, and divorce her as soon
afterwards as he pleases, for aught I care. If
he marries fifty wives, I shall like him all the better.
The more the merrier, say I. But if he sets eyes on
Mab Lyndwood it may somewhat unsettle his love for
the Lady Anne.”
“Tush, Gabriel!” said
Morgan Fenwolf, darting an angry look at him.
“What business have you to insinuate that the
king would heed other than the lady of his love?”
“You are jealous, Morgan Fenwolf,”
rejoined Gabriel, with a malignant grin. “We
all know you are in love with Mabel yourself.”
“And we all know, likewise,
that Mabel will have nothing to say to you!”
cried another keeper, while the others laughed in chorus.
“Come and sit down beside us, Morgan, and finish
your breakfast.”
But the keeper turned moodily away,
and hied towards Tristram Lyndwood and his granddaughter.
The old forester shook him cordially by the hand,
and after questioning him as to what had taken place,
and hearing how he had managed to drive the hart royal
into the haye, clapped him on the shoulder and said,
“Thou art a brave huntsman, Morgan. I wish
Mab could only think as well of thee as I do.”
To this speech Mabel not only paid
no attention, but looked studiously another way.
“I am glad your grandfather
has brought you out to see the chase to-day, Mabel,”
observed Morgan Fenwolf.
“I dame not to see the chase,
but the king,” she replied, somewhat petulantly.
“It is not every fair maid who
would confess so much,” observed Fenwolf, frowning.
“Then I am franker than some
of my sex,” replied Mabel. “But who
is the strange man looking at us from behind that
tree, grandfather!
“I see no one,” replied the old forester.
“Neither do I,” added
Morgan Fenwolf, with a shudder. “You are
wilfully blind,” rejoined Mabel. “But
see, the person I mentioned stalks forth. Now,
perhaps, he is visible to you both.”
And as she spoke, a tall wild-looking
figure, armed with a hunting-spear, emerged from the
trees and advanced towards them. The garb of
the newcomer somewhat resembled that of a forester;
but his arms and lower limbs were destitute of covering,
and appeared singularly muscular, while his skin was
swarthy as that of a gipsy. His jet-black hair
hung in elf-locks over his savage-looking features.
In another moment he was beside them,
and fixed his dark piercing eyes on Mabel in such
a manner as to compel her to avert her gaze.
“What brings you here this morning,
Tristram Lyndwood?” he demanded, in a hoarse
imperious tone.
“The same motive that brought
you, Valentine Hagthorne,” replied the old forester “to
see the royal chase.”
“This, I suppose, is your granddaughter?”
pursued Hagthorne.
“Ay,” replied Tristram bluntly.
“Strange I should never have
seen her before,” rejoined the other. “She
is very fair. Be ruled by me, friend Tristram take
her home again. If she sees the king, ill will
come of it. You know, or should know, his character.”
“Hagthorne advises well,”
interposed Fenwolf. “Mabel will be better
at home.”
“But she has no intention of
returning at present,” replied Mabel. “You
brought me here for pastime, dear grandfather, and
will not take me back at the recommendation of this
strange man?”
“Content you, child content
you,” replied Tristram kindly. “You
shall remain where you are.”
“You will repent it!” cried Hagthorne.
And hastily darting among the trees, he disappeared
from view.
Affecting to laugh at the occurrence,
though evidently annoyed by it, the old forester led
his granddaughter towards the stand, where he was
cordially greeted by the keepers, most of whom, while
expressing their pleasure at seeing him, strove to
render themselves agreeable in the eyes of Mabel.
From this scene Morgan Fenwolf kept
aloof, and remained leaning against a tree, with his
eyes riveted upon the damsel. He was roused from
his reverie by a slight tap upon the shoulder; and
turning at the touch, beheld Valentine Hagthorne.
Obedient to a sign from the latter, he followed him
amongst the trees, and they both plunged into a dell.
An hour or two after this, when the
sun was higher in the heavens, and the dew dried upon
the greensward, the king and a large company of lords
and ladies rode forth from the upper gate of the castle,
and taking their way along the great avenue, struck
off on the right when about half-way up it, and shaped
their course towards the haye.
A goodly sight it was to see this
gallant company riding beneath the trees; and pleasant
was it, also, to listen to the blithe sound of their
voices, amid which Anne Boleyn’s musical laugh
could be plainly distinguished. Henry was attended
by his customary band of archers and yeomen of the
guard, and by the Duke of Shoreditch and his followers.
On reaching the haye, the king dismounted, and assisting
the Lady Anne from her steed, ascended the stand with
her.
He then took a small and beautifully
fashioned bow from an attendant, and stringing it,
presented it to her.
“I trust this will not prove
too strong for your fair hands,” he said.
“I will make shift to draw it,”
replied Anne, raising the bow, and gracefully pulling
the string. “Would I could wound your majesty
as surely as I shall hit the first roe that passes.”
“That were a needless labour,”
rejoined Henry, “seeing that you have already
stricken me to the heart. You should cure the
wound you have already made, sweetheart-not inflict
a new one.”
At this juncture the chief verderer,
mounted on a powerful steed, and followed by two keepers,
each holding a couple of stag-hounds in leash, rode
up to the royal stand, and placing his horn to his
lips, blew three long mootes from it. At the
same moment part of the network of the haye was lifted
up, and a roebuck set free.
By the management of the keepers,
the animal was driven past the royal stand; and Anne
Boleyn, who had drawn an arrow nearly to the head,
let it fly with such good aim that she pierced the
buck to the heart. A loud shout from the spectators
rewarded the prowess of the fair huntress; and Henry
was so enchanted, that he bent the knee to her, and
pressed her hand to his lips. Satisfied, however,
with the’ achievement, Anne prudently declined
another shot. Henry then took a bow from one of
the archers, and other roes being turned out, he approved
upon them his unerring skill as a marksman.
Meanwhile, the hounds, being held
in leash, kept up a loud and incessant baying; and
Henry, wearying of his slaughterous sport, turned to
Anne, and asked her whether she was disposed for the
chase. She answered in the affirmative, and the
king motioned his henchmen to bring forward the steeds.
In doing this, he caught sight of
Mabel, who was standing with her grandsire among the
keepers, at a little distance from the stand, and,
struck with her extraordinary beauty, he regarded her
for a moment intently, and then called to Gabriel
Lapp, who chanced to be near him, and demanded her
name.
“It is Mabel Lyndwood, an’t
please your majesty,” replied Gabriel. “She
is granddaughter to old Tristram Lyndwood, who dwells
at Black Nest, near the lake, at the farther extremity
of Windsor Forest, and who was forester to your royal
father, King Henry the Seventh, of blessed memory.”
“Ha! is it so?” cried Henry.
But he was prevented from further
remark by Anne Boleyn, who, perceiving how his attention
was attracted, suddenly interposed.
“Your majesty spoke of the chase,”
she said impatiently. “But perhaps you
have found other pastime more diverting?”
“Not so not so, sweetheart,”
he replied hastily.
“There is a hart royal in the
haye,” said Gabriel Lapp. “Is it your
majesty’s pleasure that I set him free?
“It is, good fellow it is,”
replied the king.
And as Gabriel hastened to the netted
fencework, and prepared to drive forth the hart, Henry
assisted Anne Boleyn, who could not help exhibiting
some slight jealous pique, to mount her steed, and
having sprung into his own saddle, they waited the
liberation of the buck, which was accomplished in
a somewhat unexpected manner.
Separated from the rest of the herd,
the noble animal made a sudden dart towards Gabriel,
and upsetting him in his wild career, darted past the
king, and made towards the upper part of the forest.
In another instant the hounds were un coupled and
at his heels, while Henry and Anne urged their steeds
after him, the king shouting at the top of his lusty
voice. The rest of the royal party followed as
they might, and the woods resounded with their joyous
cries.
The hart royal proved himself worthy
of his designation. Dashing forward with extraordinary
swiftness, he rapidly gained upon his pursuers for
though Henry, by putting his courser to his utmost
speed, could have kept near him, he did not choose
to quit his fair companion.
In this way they scoured the forest,
until the king, seeing they should be speedily distanced,
commanded Sir Thomas Wyat, who, with the Dukes of
Suffolk and Norfolk, was riding close behind him, to
cross by the lower ground on the left, and turn the
stag. Wyat instantly obeyed, and plunging his
spurs deeply into his horse’s sides, started
off at a furious pace, and was soon after seen shaping
his rapid course through a devious glade.
Meanwhile, Henry and his fair companion
rode on without relaxing their pace, until they reached
the summit of a knoll, crowned by an old oak and beech-tree,
and commanding a superb view of the castle, where they
drew in the rein.
From this eminence they could witness
the progress of the chase, as it continued in the
valley beyond. An ardent lover of hunting, the
king watched it with the deepest interest, rose in
his saddle, and uttering various exclamations, showed,
from his impatience, that he was only restrained by
the stronger passion of love from joining it.
Ere long, stag, hounds, and huntsmen
were lost amid a thicket, and nothing could be distinguished
but a distant baying and shouts. At last even
these sounds died away.
Henry, who had ill brooked the previous
restraint, now grew so impatient, that Anne begged
him to set off after them, when suddenly the cry of
hounds burst upon their ears, and the hart was seen
issuing from the dell, closely followed by his pursuers.
The affrighted animal, to the king’s
great satisfaction, made his way directly towards
the spot where he was stationed; but on reaching the
side of the knoll, and seeing his new foes, he darted
off on the right, and tried to regain the thicket
below. But he was turned by another band of keepers,
and again driven towards the knoll.
Scarcely had Sir Thomas Wyat reined
in his steed by the side of the king, than the hart
again appeared bounding up the hill. Anne Boleyn,
who had turned her horse’s head to obtain a better
view of the hunt, alarmed by the animal’s menacing
appearance, tried to get out of his way. But
it was too late. Hemmed in on all sides, and driven
to desperation by the cries of hounds and huntsmen
in front, the hart lowered his horns, and made a furious
push at her.
Dreadfully alarmed, Anne drew in the
rein so suddenly and sharply, that she almost pulled
her steed back upon his haunches; and in trying to
avoid the stag’s attack, caught hold of Sir Thomas
Wyat, who was close beside her. In all probability
she would have received some serious injury from the
infuriated animal, who was just about to repeat his
assault and more successfully, when a bolt from a cross-bow,
discharged by Morgan Fenwolf, who suddenly made his
appearance from behind the beech-tree, brought him
to the ground.
But Anne Boleyn escaped one danger
only to encounter another equally serious. On
seeing her fling herself into the arms of Sir Thomas
Wyat, Henry regarded her in stern displeasure for
a moment, and then calling angrily to his train, without
so much as deigning to inquire whether she had sustained
any damage from the accident, or making the slightest
remark upon her conduct, rode sullenly towards the
castle.