# The Snow Driver/Chapter 1

pp. 1–5.

### CHAPTER I
#### THE MAN-AT-ARMS

UPON a fair day in May, in token of the honor due them for long and valorous service in Flanders, a small group of men were chosen to mount guard at the pavilion of his Majesty King Edward the Sixth of England. They were armigers or esquires-at-arms, and the youngest of their company was placed at the entrance of the pavilion nearest the person of the king.
The name of this armiger was Ralph Thorne. He was selected for this post because, of these survivors of a gallant company, he had done the most in battle.
“Because, sire,” explained the politic Dudley, Duke of Stratford, “he has never failed in the execution of a command. Because, being distant from the court and the eye of his sovereign, he has yet performed deeds of hardihood, suffering thereby sore scathe and wounds.”
This tribute, lightly rendered by my lord duke, was remembered by him in latter years. Verily he had good reason to regret his words and his selection of a sentinel.
For there befell in that hour and in that day of the year 1553 a strange event. And here is the tale of it, justly set down, giving every man his due, and no man more; for it is not the task of the chronicler to praise and dispraise, but to make manifest the truth.
MASTER THORNE walked his post, after receiving signs and orders from my lord, the aforesaid Duke of Stratford. The armiger was not by much the elder of the boy king who lay within the pavilion on a couch covered with a deerskin. He wore the armor of the guards—cuirass and morion—and carried a harquebus on one shoulder.
A slow match in his other hand was kept alight by swinging gently back and forth. Walking slowly from one pole of the entrance to the other, he did not look within. And the grievously sick Edward took no more notice of the sentinel than of the ancient hag who crouched at the head of his divan, shredding herbs in her boney fingers.
Thorne's first hour of duty had not passed before a cannon roared from the river be low the marquee. He had seen the flash before he heard it, and glanced keenly at four ships that were abreast the royal standard.
The court had removed that day from London town to the meadows of Greenwich on the lower Thames. Edward's pavilion was pitched nearest the shore. Across the stream was anchored a galleon that flew from its poop an ensign bearing the triangular cross of Spain.
This ship had entered the river some time since and the nobles in attendance on Edward remarked that it fired no salute when the king's standard was raised. This omission was set down to the absence of the captain or neglect or more probably to the intolerant pride of the Spaniards.
But the cannon had been fired from one of three vessels coming down the Thames. Ignorant as he was at that time of ships, Thorne saw only that they were merchant craft, stoutly built, no more than half the tonnage of the Spaniard. As they passed between him and the galleon he noticed that the mainmast of the leader came no higher than the Spaniard's
The ship that had fired the salute bore an admiral's colors and devices painted on the after-castle, also on the wooden shields that lined the rail. From the green and white coloring, and the Cross of St. George on the banner, he knew that they were English.
“Are they come at last?” cried Edward from within. Raising himself on an elbow, he added eagerly. “I pray you of your courtesy Sir Squire, tell me what ships go out with the tide.”
Turning about, Thorne lowered the muzzle of his harquebus to the earth and knelt.
“Three tall and goodly vessels, may it please your majesty, having the Tudor colors.”
“'Tis Sir Hugh's admiral ship,” amended the duke who had come to the entrance to look out, “and the two consorts.”
The boy on the couch tried in vain to catch a glimpse of the river, and sank back with a sigh. Under his transparent skin blue veins showed. Then a sudden attack of coughing sent a flush even to his forehead. The duke who was the only noble in attendance, hastened to the old woman and took a cup from hat hand, pressing it upon his royal patient.
“Nay, Dudley, nay—” Edward coughed—“I am better without these drafts. So, doth Sir Hugh truly fare forth into the sea?”
“Sir Hugh Willoughby—” the chamberlain bowed—“and Master Richard Chancellor have weighed anchor. You will remember, sire—” he ran on officiously—“that they are resolved to seek a passage to Cathay and the new world, America. They will lay their course to the northeast, endeavoring to sail beyond the Christian shores, through the Ice Sea and so south to Cathay.”
“Faith, my lord duke,” smiled the king “the Spaniards and Portugals have left us nowhither else to sail. The Pope at Rome hath divided the known world between them.”
A fanfare of trumpets at the shore acknowledged the salute, and Edward lifted his head impatiently.
“Am I not to see them? I warrant you, 'tis a brave sight. Sir Squire, thou'rt stout and stalwart; can'st bear our poor body from this tent?”
“That can I,” cried the armiger quickly, and would have laid aside his harquebus, but hesitated.
Edward was ever quick to read the thoughts of those who were near him. He studied the sentinel attentively, taking notice of the wide shoulders, the thews of neck and wrists, dwelling a second on the freckled, sunburned cheeks, still lean from convalescence.
Thorne was no more than eighteen, the king sixteen. Yet in the poise of the head, in the quick gray eyes of the squire-at-arms was manifest the surge of life and health.
“Your thoughts run to grave matters, good youth,” Edward said at once. “You are charged to keep your post and weapon. Nay, lay it aside, at my bidding.”
Thorne bowed and placed his firelock against the pavilion wall. Then, advancing to the couch, he put an arm under Edward's knees and shoulders and lifted him easily. The slight form of the sick boy in its black velvet cassock seemed no weightier than straw.
At the entrance the king urged him to go forward a few paces so that he could look up and down the river.
“Look, Dudley,” Edward cried, “the Spaniard overtops Sir Hugh's ship.”
“But yonder craft from Seville,” the noble pointed out, “is a galleon fashioned for war. The ships that bear the colors of your majesty were built for the merchant adventures.”
“Then, Dudley,” cried the boy, “they were stanchly built of seasoned and honest oak.”
“True. In the time of your majesty's illustrious grandsire and good King Harry, your father—whom may God save and assoil—no three ships could be got together, but one would be Venetian and one Dutch.”
He turned to wave back angrily the throng of soldiery and attendants that had presumed to draw near the pavilion, hoping for a word or a look from the sick boy who was beloved by kitchen knave and noble of the realm alike. Strict orders had been issued by Stratford and those who had the care of the king's person that no one should approach within arrow flight. For this reason the picked guards had been stationed.
BUT Edward's eyes were on the passing ships wistfully. Here were men faring from the known seas into the unknown. Here were ships built and furnished and manned in England, going forth to discover a new route to the Indies, to bring to England some part of the trade with Cathay and the new world that had swelled the power of Spain and Portugal.
He watched the burly shipmen in their blue tabards, laboring at the oars of the boats that were towing the vessels. When they became aware of the king they roared out a cheer and pulled the harder. Others climbed up the shrouds to stare and wave a greeting, and a tall man on the poop of the last ship doffed his cap and bowed low.
“Now, by St. Martin,” exclaimed Edward, “I should know that graybeard.”
“Sire, your eyes are as keen as your memory is unfailing,” responded Stratford after a moment's hesitation. “That venerable ship's captain is the notable navigant and cosmograpy——”
“Sebastian Cabot, the Venetian. I know him well, Dudley. And my memory of which you prate tells me his age is fourfold my own. Yet is he strong and hale enough to——”
The boy's lips quivered and were silent. Thorne the armiger turned his head to gaze at a falcon hovering over the rushes on the far bank of the river, so that he might not behold his sovereign's distress.
“Sire?”
The duke bent closer, and pursed his thin lips.
“Master Cabot or Cabota,” he added, “is indeed past his prime. 'Tis a mere courtesy that he stands on yonder deck. For-by he is governor of the Mystery and Company of Merchants-Adventurers, for the discovery of places and dominions unknown, he sails with the ships as far as the haven of Orfordnesse on the Suffolk coast. There Cabot leaves them. He is too aged to attempt the voyage into the Ice Sea. Ha, Sirrah Squire, bear your royal burden into the pavilion from which you should never have advanced. He is ailing!”
Edward was coughing, flecks of blood showing on his pallid lips. His eyes closed and he lay voiceless a moment on the couch. When he spoke it was in so low a whisper that nobleman and armiger both bent lower to catch the words—Thorne expecting that the king might have some command for him.
“Nay, Dudley. Of what avail to guard the body when life—itself is leaving me?” With an effort he opened his eyes and made shift to smile. “My lungs are in consumption, the priests say. Good youth, we trust we have not wearied you. Edward will never again rise from his bed.”
Both the listeners started. Thorne had heard frequently of the feebleness of the boy, although he had not looked to find him so wasted away. To hear that Edward expected to die was a shock. Few men were victors in the long battle with the white plague. Stratford took no pains to conceal his anger that the sentinel should have heard the words of the king.
"To your post!” he whispered, drawing the youth back from the couch, where Edward was wracked by another fit of coughing. “Keep your ears to yourself, or the provost's knife will e'en trim them to a proper size. Ha—your weapon has been taken.”
The harquebus was not where Thorne had placed it, nor was it to be seen in the pavilion. He searched the tent with his eyes, and flushed hotly, realizing that he had allowed some one to steal his firelock while on duty.
He was more than a little puzzled as to how it had been done. The officers of the household and some soldiers had pressed to the entrance of the marquee when he carried Edward forth, but he had noticed no one step within. Perforce, he had not been able to watch the weapon while he stood outside.
Stratford, he knew, had not taken the harquebus. The hag by the bedside sat as before, fumbling with her herbs. Her wrinkled face, brown and dry as a withered apple, was empty of all expression. Certainly the firelock was not concealed under her kirtle.
“So you would make the gipsy the butt of your carelessness?” granted the duke. “Have you aught to say, before I make a charge to your officers that you have suffered your arms to be taken from you while on duty?”
“I say this."
Thorne drew the sword that hung from its sling at his hip and took his station at the entrance.
“My lord, if any man seeks to cross my post unbidden he shall taste steel instead of lead.”
“Humph! The young cock can crow. What more?”
The gray eyes of the youngster narrowed and he kept silence. Although the fault had not been his, he could make no explanation. Stratford, an experienced soldier and a martinet, had no reason to make a charge against him. The duke, however, was irritated by the appointment of the Flanders veterans over his own yeomen and the officers of the household.
“What more?” he repeated sharply.
The second question required an answer, and a bleak look overspread the countenance of the armiger, drawing sharp lines about eyes and chin.
“My lord of Stratford, the command of his Majesty was heard by your lordship. He bade me put down my weapon and carry him forth.”
“Ha! Master Thorne you have yet to serve your apprenticeship as a bearer-of-arms at court. To gratify the whim of a boy you made naught of your orders. You were placed here not to act a playmate or to seek royal favor, but to guard the life of your prince. What if you had been attacked by yonder canaille? Body of me!”
This time Thorne kept silent. The nobleman's blame was unjust, but there was enough truth in it to make the armiger realise that his offense would be held unpardonable if Stratford chose to press a charge against him. True, he might appeal to the king who was honorary captain of the guards.
But Edward lay passive on his couch, forgetful of sentinel or nobleman.
Stratford paced the pavilion, hands thrust into his sword-belt, and came to a stop by Thorne. Seeing that Edward was asleep, he said in a whisper:
“When you are relieved, go to your quarters. Abide there without speaking to anybody of what you have seen or heard in this place. A soldier on duty,” he added bruskly, “may not give out what has come under his eye on his post. Can you do that?”
IT WAS long after the armiger had left with his companions of the guard but without bis firelock, that the Gipsy drew from beneath the couch where it had been hidden by the deerskin, the harquebus that she had stolen.
Unseen by Stratford and unnoticed by the new sentinel, she slipped the short weapon under her ragged mantle and slouched from the pavilion. She had stolen as naturally as a crow picks up something that catches its eye.
The superstition of high noblemen had invoked her to try to save the life of a dying ruler with her simples, and shrewder than they who had called her forth, she fled with what she could snatch before Edward should die.
Meanwhile the three ships had passed out of sight down the Thames, and out of the minds of the courtiers who talked of changes that were to come, and fortunes to be made and lost. But Edward still dwelt upon the glimpse he had had of the voyagers.
* ↑ In the end of the fifteenth century the Pope decided the conflicting claims of the two monarchs in question by totaling 180 degrees of longitude to each.
* ↑ De Gama, Albuquerque, Cortez and Magellan were opening up the gold and spice routes for rival princes. In this dawn of the age of discovery it was still believed that America lay near to Cathay. Cathay (China) had been been reached, and was thought to be the heart of the Indies