Windsor Castle. Ainsworth William Harrison

where the knights-companions had assembled, and having received their salutations, retired to his closet. Here he remained in deep consultation with the Duke of Suffolk for some hours, when it having been announced to him that the first course of the banquet was served, he came forth, and proceeded to the presence-chamber, where he greeted the knights-companions, who were there assembled, and who immediately put themselves in order of procession. After this, the alms-knights, prebends, and officers-of-arms passed on through the guard-chamber into Saint George’s Hall. They were followed by the knights-companions, who drew up in double file, the seniors taking the uppermost place; and through these lines the king passed, his train borne up as before, until reaching the table set apart for him beneath a canopy, he turned round and received the knights’ reverences. The Earl of Oxford, as vice-chamberlain, then brought him a ewer containing water, the Earl of Surrey a bason, and Lord Rochford a napkin. Henry having performed his ablutions, grace was said by the prelate, after which the king seated himself beneath the canopy in an ancient chair with a curiously carved back representing the exploit of Saint George, which had once belonged to the founder, King Edward the Third, and called up the two cardinals, who by this time had entered the hall, and who remained standing beside him, one on either hand, during the repast.

      As soon as the king was seated, the knights-companions put on their caps, and retired to the table prepared for them on the right side of the hall, where they seated themselves according to their degree—the Duke of Richmond occupying the first place, the Duke of Suffolk the second, and the Duke of Norfolk the third. On the opposite side of the hall was a long beaufet covered with flasks of wine, meats, and dishes, for the service of the knights’ table. Before this stood the attendants, near whom were drawn up two lines of pensioners bearing the second course on great gilt dishes, and headed by the sewer. In front of the sewer were the treasurer and comptroller of the household, each bearing a white wand; next them stood the officers-of-arms in two lines, headed by the Garter. The bottom of the hall was thronged with yeomen of the guard, halberdiers, and henchmen. In a gallery at the lower end were stationed a band of minstrels, and near them sat the Lady Anne and her dames to view the proceedings.

      The appearance of the hall during the banquet was magnificent, the upper part being hung with arras representing the legend of Saint George, placed there by Henry the Sixth, and the walls behind the knights-companions adorned with other tapestries and rich stuffs. The tables groaned with the weight of dishes, some of which may be enumerated for the benefit of modern gastronomers. There were Georges on horseback, chickens in brewis, cygnets, capons of high grease, carpes of venison, herons, calvered salmon, custards planted with garters, tarts closed with arms, godwits, peafowl, halibut engrailed, porpoise in armour, pickled mullets, perch in foyle, venison pasties, hypocras jelly, and mainemy royal.

      Before the second course was served, the Garter, followed by Clarenceux and Norroy, together with the heralds and pursuivants, advanced towards the sovereign’s canopy, and cried thrice in a loud voice, “Largesse!”

      Upon this, all the knights-companions arose and took off their caps. The Garter then proceeded to proclaim the king’s titles in Latin and French, and lastly in English, as follows:—“Of the most high, most excellent, and most mighty monarch, Henry the Eighth, by the grace of God King of England, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and Sovereign of the most noble Order of the Garter.”

      This proclamation made, the treasurer of the household put ten golden marks into the Garter’s cap, who making a reverence to the sovereign, retired from the hall with his followers.

      “Come, my lord legate,” said Henry, when this ceremony was at an end, “we will drink to my future queen. What ho! wine!” he added to the Earl of Surrey, who officiated as cup-bearer.

      “Your highness is not yet divorced from your present consort,” replied Campeggio. “If it please you, I should prefer drinking the health of Catherine of Arragon.”

      “Well, as your eminence pleases,” replied the king, taking the goblet from the hand of Surrey; “I shall not constrain you.”

      And looking towards the gallery, he fixed his eyes on the Lady Anne and drained the cup to the last drop.

      “Would it were poison,” muttered Sir Thomas Wyat, who stood behind the Earl of Surrey, and witnessed what was passing.

      “Give not thy treasonable thoughts vent, gossip,” said Will Sommers, who formed one of the group near the royal table, “or it may chance that some one less friendly disposed towards thee than myself may overhear them. I tell thee, the Lady Anne is lost to thee for ever. Think’st thou aught of womankind would hesitate between a simple knight and a king? My lord duke,” he added sharply to Richmond, who was looking round at him, “you would rather be in yonder gallery than here.”

      “Why so, knave?” asked the duke.

      “Because the Fair Geraldine is there,” replied the jester. “And yet your grace is not the person she would most desire to have with her.”

      “Whom would she prefer?” inquired the duke angrily.

      The jester nodded at Surrey, and laughed maliciously.

      “You heard the health given by the king just now, my lord,” observed the Duke of Suffolk to his neighbour the Duke of Norfolk; “it was a shrewd hint to the lord legate which way his judgment should decline. Your niece will assuredly be Queen of England.”

      “I did not note what was said, my lord,” replied Norfolk; “I pray you repeat it to me.”

      Suffolk complied, and they continued in close debate until the termination of the banquet, when the king, having saluted the company, returned to the presence-chamber.

      V

      Of the Ghostly Chase beheld by the Earl of Surrey and the Duke of Richmond in Windsor Forest.

      On that same night, and just as the castle clock was on the stroke of twelve, the Earl of Surrey and the Duke of Richmond issued from the upper gate, and took their way towards Herne’s Oak. The moon was shining brightly, and its beams silvered the foliage of the noble trees with which the park was studded. The youthful friends soon reached the blasted tree; but nothing was to be seen near it, and all looked so tranquil, so free from malignant influence, that the Duke of Richmond could not help laughing at his companion, telling him that the supposed vision must have been the offspring of his over-excited fancy. Angry at being thus doubted, the earl walked off, and plunged into the haunted dell. The duke followed, but though they paused for some time beneath the gnarled oak-tree, the spirit did not appear.

      “And thus ends the adventure of Herne the Hunter!” laughed the duke, as they emerged from the brake. “By my halidom, Surrey, I am grievously disappointed. You must have mistaken some large stag, caught by its antlers in the branches of the oak-tree, for the demon.”

      “I have told you precisely what occurred,” replied Surrey angrily. “Ha! there he is—look! look!”

      And he pointed to a weird figure, mounted on a steed as weird-looking as itself, galloping through the trees with extraordinary swiftness, at a little distance from them. This ghostly rider wore the antlered helmet described by Surrey, and seemed to be habited in a garb of deer-skins. Before him flew a large owl, and a couple of great black dogs ran beside him. Staring in speechless wonder at the sight, the two youths watched the mysterious being scour a glade brightly illumined by the moon, until, reaching the pales marking the confines of the Home Park, he leaped them and disappeared.

      “What think you of that?” cried Surrey, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise, glancing triumphantly at the duke. “Was that the offspring of my fancy?”

      “It was a marvellous sight, truly!” exclaimed Richmond. “Would we had our steeds to follow him.”

      “We can follow him on foot,” replied the earl—“he is evidently gone into the forest.”

      And they set off at a quick pace in the direction taken by the ghostly rider. Clambering the park pales, they crossed the road leading to Old Windsor, and entered that part of the forest which, in more recent times, has been enclosed and allotted to the grounds of Frogmore. Tracking a long vista, they came to a thick dell,