Chapter II

The expanses of the seas had greatly increased and whole ships were conquering seas and lands, now that the time of a century had begun to create new maps and new destinations, yet mankind was entering the first years when the most unexpected ideals had conquered the minds of the most peaceful conquerors. , but time passes, recording every moment a new step in which the previous moment had for a second the most beautiful life and in which a storyteller lays out his first lines on paper, the pen slides and everything catches the mysterious breath of life full of spirit and love.

London was in a hustle and bustle, beyond the walls, whole processions stepping on the shiny stone slabs, horses snorting, usually merchants in a hurry in their carts whipping stubborn cattle in a kind of fierce cruelty, people shouted and sometimes carters were beaten without too honorable a right, that was a treacherous goodness at the time.

At the counters, the journeymen admired the shirts of the passers-by, so that they dreamed with open eyes, until a healthier palm reddened the back of his neck, and then in the most insulting way the master did not let the ornaments of his lips move away from his tongue.

The pungent-smelling, debris-strewn roads show the lack of collection of a city of the greatest size, and puddles of water mixed with foul-smelling mud scattered beneath the feet of silent passers-by hit their nostrils hard.

The carts creaked in the thin wheels, and the carpentry of such a vehicle brought the eyes of many with their foreheads up, sometimes the trumpets of a guard of swordsmen and horsemen scattered a murmur of fear among the passers-by, it belonged to a duke or count, the links and armor set the strong and long-awaited tone of the seniors, and the world blinded by the metal beams of the armor fully suited them to such a disciplined braggart view, the claw and the sword in the other, was a distinguished emblem on the breastplates of knights, who served as mere companions a leash or a white chariot painted with silver ornaments or gilded bronze ornaments, such a picture usually depicted the power of their masters and their honor in the world. The late ages. 

It was noon, and the sky did not seem too pleased to crown the sadness of the clouds with the warm blessing of the hidden sun, so the air threatened with a cold spring-like rain, and the coolness still reigned in the air for the warm clothes of the inhabitants.

From the high tower, where a large clock with an emerald green dial with Roman insignia reached a new clock and a heavy lazy bell rang with the long-awaited lunch, was the largest Gothic-style building of the royal castle built of white stone. and the mother-of-pearl marble was rather an architectural castle quite imposing for a royal house but also a country office, the well-kept green courtyard did not allow any greedy thorny offspring to be too loved by the gardeners' scissors sometimes a wild rose broke his blood spell and adornment to tread where other vines had perished, on the cobbled alleys a swordsman in chains with a white cuirass and a red cross seemed a wandering Templar, but his virtue clinging to the sword in connection with Jerusalem, was trembling more than the stormy desire for the battles of glory, so his purple cross would mean his valiant martyrdom on the Holy Land.

But his religious discipleship did not perish even though the crusades were long gone, the kings still want to murmur the same divine hymn to their comrades.

On the golden gate a long and well-disposed escort, but especially tired after an expensive journey seeing herself after the dusty saddles of the horsemen, in blue after their rich battleships was known from the first signs a distinguished gentleman, often visiting the royal palace, but and a right hand of monarchical power.

In fact, the gentleman who paid this visit, with a serious look, saw nothing but a first stop or a virtuous satisfaction only at the royal palace, so he amazed passers-by with the charm of armor, the luster of spears, the sparks of shields and not only the beauty strong and robust stallions accustomed to tiring journeys.

The nobleman did not want any security, but trotted resolutely, the last servants who watched with a frown on their foreheads the bronzes of the golden helmet with a white mane, very thick like the clothes of a proud peacock. The horsemen entered the wooden drawbridge and, passing through the walls, breathed a sigh of relief at the fear of a mad attack. but he cared nothing for his bloody ribs, his mane in the wind, he ran like the wind unleashed by old Aeolus on the ridges of the snow-screened mountains.

They entered the stone bridge of the castle, which looked like an open-air gallery borrowing the virtues of the angels from Saint Angelo or the grandeur of the Carol Bridge, with carved stone ornaments, and the moments of time described in several statues.

The count presented his order in front of the guards guarding the large flowered iron gate with tall trees, inlaid leaves and flowers as large as pictorial decorations, passed the only gate of the castle and now galloped through the main alley beautifully trimmed with vines. vines or vines, climbing roses or hanging flowers.

Everything was shrouded in solitude, and so the little masterpieces smiled with difficulty from the shiny foliage cleared by the heavy rains of spring.

The noble count passed and looking coldly all these tears shed as a blessing of nature, had not often been stolen by these mysterious dreams, but always remembering the annoying care, he gave up willingly, this gallery full of perfume and as a bridge the endless road that meandered through trees through orchards, through gardens, all dedicated to the sound of a brook that gushed from the mouth of a golden lion, of course near these miracles a soldier watched alone among the trees tying his lazy gait to the sentry, always the escort with rattles, which mercilessly shook the white marble slabs.

Soon the procession passed through these lawns and the birds sang the same trill in trumpet notes that dripped into the sweet symphonies, but the singers were far away on the balconies and all accompanied the graceful voice of the ladies repeating in the courtyard the few hymns written in the echo of the accompanying suitors. they had been heard at once by the bright procession, but the music stopped for a moment, all accompanying the gesture of the curious women to look at the proud horseman who accompanied the count, who in turn looked up at the heights of the columns, raised his hand and saluted their divine beauty. but they raised their silk-embroidered scarves and waved them with a faint smile, believing the newcomer to be a wandering knight of Lorraine, or a passing duke of Anjou, so suitors had reason to cringe in disgust, being petty knights or barons far too young and uneducated.

Reaching the steps of the palace, the young nobleman sprang from his saddle as if in battle, and accompanied under the gray-white vaults, rang from the famous bell to which the king was obliged to ascend the throne, now in the middle of his lunch, and frowning before all. to his courtiers with obvious annoyance who took on a look of melancholy oppressed by the king's displeasure, and all looked upon the door as a condemnation, at last it opened and a very helpful footman announced the arrival of the Earl of Birmingham, to whose name the king He jumped the last piece of meat he chewed angrily and emptied the crystal-filled glass, threw his royal cloak over his shoulders, and accompanied by the courtyard he headed for the throne room, from where a bell rang in the corridors and all the family apartments. its.

He ascended the throne quietly, and the bell rang in his tower, announcing in all his palace the coming and at the same time the impatience of a distinguished guest, they all took their places, and the doorways slowly opened the wooden doors and the count and his men walked down the red cross. at the feet of King Henry VII., they all bowed down, and the count ascended the steps of the throne, from where he struggled to obtain a few letters and two blue metal boxes containing a diamond cross and in the other a recluse of Christianity, a piece of the Savior's cross. the king opened the first one, took the cross with trembling, and placed it hanging round his neck as a sign of the pope, so the king rising from his high throne pointed the cross at the nobles and said trembling in his voice:

"May the Lord God grant us his goodness, that through our messenger we may obtain his wisdom and peace!" And all of them, as a sign, made the Holy Cross on their faces, as if strengthening what the monarch had said to receive.

Then, after Our Father's prayer had been said, they all sat down on the benches, and the count withdrew to the middle of the hall from which he began to speak. William of Birmingham, came from Rome after a long journey, after riding a whole day without stopping, galloping at night to reach London, as soon as possible, tired, exhausted, from such a road, only something else not to regret his coming so soon, his wife was giving birth to a baby, a son, it was the total fulfillment of a nobleman's will, and now he strongly believed that he would no longer live in vain, knowing that his son would inherit him in deeds and live , to wear the crown of his people, so his haste was understood and his second wish was to see his son as a weeping baby, whimpering in his mother's arms, he would name him Dixon and bless him on the scalp like a real Father, but the king had scarcely seen him, and would certainly not spare him his questions, asking him to tell him in detail all that the father of Western Christianity had said, that all might be a consolation to the weary English people for centuries in battle. crusaders, for the conquest of Jerusalem, but all ended in blood and defeat, and many perished in the hope of receiving the eternal reward.

Now Count William, tired but just as steadfast in his duties, does not relinquish his honor for a fact which he would enjoy, coming precisely from Rome to send the king's message, an important family matter, which with all his soul, the monarch wanted to smash it from his heart and so asked for the support of an important and valuable pillar.

"Sire, your throne, is the reason for the peace of the two houses, the war of the two roses is a well-founded fact, and the heraldry of the Tudor people is one gem, another gem!"

The king smiled slightly and looked left and right to arouse delicate amusement on the faces of his courtiers, then looked long at the count and took a harsh look and said purplishly;

"And if it weren't for the founder, the throne wouldn't have been whole either! And how do you see him now? Stuck, cracked, woe to him!"

"Great king, I see him whole carved with stones .... he did not suffer ....!" said a courtier less fluent in his tongue, trembling from heel to his velvet cap

"Yes, Marquis, it's an expensive price ...!" Paid with blood, which I managed to earn, your age, the tender one is a rose without a flower, your sword is a chosen one, but you don't know who held its handle years ago, if it is an ancient recluse? himself and calmly the king, and sat down with a satisfied air on the soft white silk pillows, which any great Lancasterian would have wished to sit on the high deck, but for fear of having fought with his enemies before to sit down, like a good knight to the sword, as was Henry, who did not give up until the coronation, until after he had killed them all.

"You had a dream, and you didn't let it be touched by the greed of others!"

"Count, how many did not sing in strings to avenge me, but I sought peace, or others who wanted blood, I hit them with the head of the grave and now they know how hard Abey marble is, others have tilted the flag and now roses will know how to cherish a nation of two Roses!"

And he lifted up his index finger, which many looked upon with fear, for he appointed great traitors, but the arches rested the great emblem of the Tudors, and the king showed the impulse of his heart like a wet sword of drops of water cutting and killing enemies. he washes himself unseen, by some mysterious spirit.

An impulse to which he sweated for years and with unshakable will he had fought with various weapons in his great battle Bosworth and defeated the equalities with the king who fought with the same interest, Richard III, keeping them only for himself, at that time the Earl of Birmingham was only twelve years old, the age of a lad quite dark for the serenity of his countenance, so all his servants and lackeys left him speechless with their frantic impassivity, of admiration on the evening of August 22, 1485, a pity that this had not gone well with a bad mood of the king, who, with his hands stained with blood from the sword and baltag cuts, was screaming in a deserted castle, where They are humble servants.

Now returning to our present, it did not surprise the count at all to speak of the personal problems of his family, which greatly saddened Henry, but in the end the count realized the meaning of the words and addressed himself with respect. , straightening his voice like a true old vine gentleman who wants a quiet peculiarity in the throne room at the request of the sovereign, bored regretting his lunch so quickly, he could contemplate it more easily, but sometimes the rages seized him and suddenly he unleashed madly like an offended sultan in his apartments in a ceremonious nervousness on the bell, which also sounded tired, but with power from the height of his tower or the stone brighter for air than Henry and his men.

Eventually everyone came out in a human breath into His antechambers, where all the walls were upholstered in some way blooming like purple faces, in the light with the pink petals an inner rose on a white background, always on a few service tables. placed on white Damascus napkins a few pompous bottles of wine whose favors the public was devoted to at the table, the brilliance of Bordeaux wine and sparkling Normandy, brought with great purpose to Henry's pampered court, placed on a silver tray engraved with the emblem the royal one in the middle, next to this picture sought perhaps by some eager renaissance, often met at the courts of kings and queens for the sumptuous paintings to which they were obliged to answer without the lazy denial of the art of that time.

On the floor rested long sleeves of a blood-red, embroidered at the edges with a gold seam, it always became the joy of the nobles to tread lazily on a stretch of wool, as if treading on dry grass, but this wool that seemed indifferent the absolute was always characteristic of a palace.

In the throne room the count was angry, but his radiant face spread a borderless disposition that the count knew how to hide under this mask, with reason he was upset with the thought, but not with the face, so natural to people was a confrontation with good reason but the monarch seemed unwell, seated like a livid statue on the throne, or listening to the count's story as if a letter read in front of him had entered so formally that the message had been brought to him.

"Coming from Rome, sire, in not very reassuring circumstances, the holy father officially pronounced your son's engagement to Mrs. Catherine of Aragon, so I know that all this was done without the morning consent of your lordship, with secret desire, to the first characteristic The papal bubble undoes the obstacle that would stop the future marriage of the Duke of York with Catherine, as your Majesty's envoy I am handing you this letter secretly, with no other indiscreet glances around! And the count with natural air, took out of the folds of his coat a letter in a silk covering, to which Henry lost his numbness only to take it from the frozen hand of William of Birmingham, with a cold look on his face, holding his hand on the sword hanging from the gentleman's thigh in a romantic way."

The king stepped down from the throne, untied it and as impassive as at the beginning, his lips withered by the sweat of expectations as to the contents of the letter, he glanced at the paper and read in one breath all the contents like an emperor before the death message.

"Great count you have a good soul, what could I thank you for, if not in Rome, then where ...?"

"In a mill near Naples, we crossed a few hundred other leagues, tired of horses, soldiers and good mood, we faced the heat, and sometimes in the field, in the middle of the rain we wandered ignorant until we found the right way, the letter was composed under my eyes who researched in detail the picture of His Excellency, a virtuous father to whom only the mustache and the eyes with their strength show the humble cynicism of life!"

"Excited, count, in fact you crossed the whole peninsula from one end to the other with the same thought for my son, we will not look at you for this good deed, you were forced to ride like a madman and you never murmured your fate this infamy, this is what I find told in this papal missive!"

"I was followed! the count became as white as slaked lime, by whom? and he took an honorable step back, while the king sketched a mute smile of satisfaction and humor."

"Oh! he said at last, "you are my courtier especially, and his son is not sorry that you were a devout servant. I know you are in a hurry because of your newborn son, but about that stern pursuer." only the good father knows why, now I know and I'm sorry to leave you so surprised, but at the same time he marked one thing that will make him a whole life with more seriousness these Latin words "fugax sequax, sequax fugax ''!"

"I mean, run and you will be followed, follow and you will be bypassed, it seems Moliere's verse as he surpassed his feathered talent with Descartes, both illustrious writers, ah, but full of selfishness!" the count revived a little after the blow he received with his blood or cold.

"Sir, count, the instinct is a good one, in Rome the missive also says you overcame the sword of a great gladiator, Carlos Ferroni, thus the greatest talent of the country, I'm glad that you are more skilled in such gallantry, apparently thus you have left the world of Rome speechless, no matter how well you know how to fight, there would be nothing Achilles of Homer's Iliads besides your melodies, much more deadly than Venetian make-up!"

"Sire, the swordsman is badly wounded, this is due to the retreats on his back, he only knows that he would have been killed if I hadn't been chased by Carol's swordsmen, and Domana Violette if she hadn't asked the king for the duel to be stopped, to postpone his fate, was his sublime worshiper, who betrayed worse than a people, lost his lover in San Pietro, dead in a pool of blood, swore that he would fight with me once more and then one among us, it must be mentioned, he will die in an arena full of people or on the corner of a dimly lit street!"

Here the count endeavored to smile feignedly, but his smile soon faded when the door of the halls opened and the Duke of York entered with steady steps, always surrounded by the circle full of the gallantry of the nobles who rushed in, very researchers in the hall. they sat down as before, only the gentleman strode with difficulty through the multitude of counts and marquises, and with unbelievable dignity he approached the count in spite of his youth, and embraced him fraternally, whispering something in William's ear, which showed him his eyes. the king, smiling fatherly at his son.

Many looked upon this young man with fear because the prince was a barrier of passers-by to the throne, and only the high nobility had the right to approach the prince in a friendly manner, who knew his friends very well from the honor of their well-to-do building.

The prince ascended the steps of the throne like a lost lightning, and found himself a miracle without hindrance in the feeble but weak and weak arms of his father or of an honest monarch for a founder of a royal family.

"Son, what a wind carries you in the throne room, in front of these good gentlemen, my faithful and flawed knights, I think that only your love for Catherine of Aragon brings you here, the count and the knight of Suffering came hurriedly from Rome to bring the bubble, are my precious nobles and the most stormy swordsmen, by virtue of the count is connected the defeat of the barbarian gladiator, a Goliath better at the sword than with the spear, fell under the astonished eyes of an entire city!"

"Ah! Father! Knight Carlos Ferroni, the best sword defeated so rightly speaking of a messenger?" the Duke of York wakes up with a grin in his apartments with Intendant Garcia, a typical drunken drunkard who plays on his iron trumpet a little-lost song from his lyrical years and in ancient times it was already sung very rarely on at the courts of the English barons

"Good only at the royal parade, so their swords are only stuffing in the armies, he honors Bahus in a triumph of their unworthiness, some spearmen with rainy faces and unshaven mustaches, got rid of the busy life as serfs and peasants and dream of living as an emperor as an officer!"

The count spoke in front of mute crowds that wrapped themselves in auspicious velvets, some coughing their mustaches, others whispering around a column, a living paradise reflected in this room upholstered to the last corner and on these walls the paintings shone. time with a magnificent luster, which usually succeeded the charm together with the abundance of Byzantine ornaments.

The Duke of York in the edible robes, blooming with perfume and polished eagles, looked like the first marshal of Florence, but the garlands and the two gold stars fastened with white silk cord showed the duke's bravery, but in fact young Henry was not old enough to he threw his heifers to the sword, and the two recluses in his neck, one showing his connectivity and the other more chosen, with silver and sapphires, was the virtue of Henry the Younger to be the crown prince.

So with one foot on a step of the throne, sitting in a position required only by the negligent of the word for respect, he was already eager to sit on the throne of the monarchy, but the count did not resemble him, and sat honorably as a pillar, with a pale, frozen face who no longer liked the joy of the palace, but he did not seem embarrassed to lean on the hilt of the sword like a cordial staff with a point when he spoke, to be honest his pallor meant many ifose and air faithful over an old monarch.

"Duck! said the count at last whirlwinds in a deadly circle as a master swordsman, you should know for the second time that you were killed next to that titan ...!"

 "And I know in my turn that I would have been spared only with death by the calf's breath, come on, friend, you still crave me for a duel with parries and squabbles, I have my master, a worthy son of a gunsmith came from Marseilles, which honors the goblets, but also with the sword, and the most poisonous he does with death!"

A knight rises from his chair with another honest gentleman his age, an Italian of his Florentine origins, but a worthy knight of Henry born in Milan and coming when he was little with his parents in London, was Michael de Pylade , a strong man with steely arms spun a mace of struggle like the straw doll of a miller's child, and said in a hoarse voice:

"You show your master with shameless human crimes, he teaches you the sword to rob ....!"

But de Crillon a great supreme general took him by the collar of his robe and covered his mouth, but a thrust he deserved threw him to the ground, while the duke turned yellow foreboding, and the count clutching his hand on the sword began threateningly. ill to stop the knight Michael from ending his sentiment, the king stood up with a smile and said forcedly with irony;

"Knight knight, if the anger does not subside, then ask for your due forgiveness and withdraw your insult!"

-Never sire, but because I want to forgive the impulsiveness of the prince I would like to say something about the boyar he hosts, Mr. Count, he knew for a long time and is a witness not as a traitor, but as a senior eternal , the master by his name is a Spanish robber who for lack of money robbed, killed, and in the meantime learned to wield his sword, came to London with evil thoughts plot your murder and without your knowledge as an ordinary servant he makes up his mind with a vile plan, I prevent all this because I have been following his bad intentions for several months.

The king fell as if he had fallen to the throne, the duke whiter than the purest white, his lips had faded, his eyes seemed fixed on a distinct spot on the marble, and the count kept the utmost calm of a witness deep in his thoughts, the knight of Pylade approached the count, and Crillon remained inert on the floor, after he also turned into the testimony of a dagger, so no one noticed her because when Michael introduced his bastard, Crillon jerked from head to toe like a corpse. headless.

The king stood up with a frown and shouted like thunder over the strings of every heart less sensitive than the death of a friend.

"Where's the bastard? Who does he want to kill? Me?"

"Surely, your lordship, sire, is lurking in your bedroom, anywhere, and he is one of the worst enemies!"

"Count, explain yourself, you prince, my son, you have been hated for your good, bring the bastard if you are as starry as you look, or be up to the gentleman!"

The prince knelt down, while the count impassively walked around a table laden with contempt, dreamed of many, but not the guests of this feast, and began to dream again if a gesture by General de Crillon had not caught his eye. that of getting up, and taking his heel like a ghost, after turning the corner of an exit adorned on the corners with fine lace, he hurriedly stepped so that a few footmen less astonished than their livid physiognomy and with their sweaty and disheveled hair gave the most effect. sought by an unscrupulous painter to look for his most beautiful general and perhaps the bravest, well again with a sword, these were not perfect but de Crillon was seized by some terrible fears, and the cadaverous pallor was one of his terrible despair, his face took on a flash of lightning, which spread from the loaded consciousness all over his face.

Crossing the hallway or the gallery with large steps and unheard, where all sorts of tables were carefully placed polished white glass statues, they were made of the same material, a reddish lens, representing the fame of the Olympians, Crillon stopped at the exit from the hall and met the butler of the castle, an old man with sparkling eyes with a few bumps on his long nose and a mouth that looked like a dead man's, his completely white hair made him look like a gentle grandfather in his black clothes, wearing a the carefully embroidered black embroidered book in the workshops of the skilful tailors, very accustomed to taffeta, with white Damascus silk, but especially with other vain embroideries, Crillon stopped as if he were staring at his feet and thought of how his departure seemed so inevitable. absolute, he was sick!

"Mr. Butler, let me know when he calls you, my absence from the meeting ... I'm not very well, so I'm going home and I want to get some rest!"

The butler nodded like a benevolent old man and immediately let Crillon pass through the other gallery, the painting exhibition, so the supreme general considered returning a few times to see if the butler was following him, but the unsuspecting old man believed what the young man had told him. commander and leaves with difficulty for his new business.

He began to walk resolutely and soon went out into the outer courtyard of The Tower of London, climbed into the saddle, laid out two Ludovici to the stableman, and with his watered and saddled horse set out to cross the road leading to the exit of the castle.

He had to look like a great person, and after escaping from that castle with the spotless headscarf he threw himself into a stormy gallop from which no one could stop him, the trot became desperate and disappeared not long after from London without news, in while the king, more dead than alive, asked the Knight of Pylade and the Earl of Birmingham angrily, after learning of the departure of Monsieur de Crillon, who was already two leagues from London, and looked back with fear at the city walls. his stiff chin, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, he walked around each tree in fear, but he always looked back with the thought of not being pursued, even though those at the palace believed him at home, sick, lying in a chair, and all his life. kinds of hot drinks of his lackeys.

Eventually the castle and all the nobles withdrew from the hall, while the king's face was bruised and he was feverish, an escort of knights followed Crillon to his palace led by the brave Pylade who was seized by a mad rage, specific to the afflicted whose patience ends in the midst of circumstances, becoming a boundless rage.