Robert Herries looked up, staggered to his feet and, chuckling,started across the floor towards his father.Nicholas Herries, his father, and Rosamund Herries, his mother,looked at him with love and pride. Nicholas, a vast man, was inthis year 1603 f... Read more

Robert Herries looked up, staggered to his feet and, chuckling,started across the floor towards his father.Nicholas Herries, his father, and Rosamund Herries, his mother,looked at him with love and pride. Nicholas, a vast man, was inthis year 1603 fifty-nine years of age and his wife thirty-seven.They were in their own house at Westminster and all was very wellwith them. Robert, their only child, was now three years of age.In build he was broad and well-formed but short, his sturdy legsstrong on the ground, his round head well set on his thick neck,his eyes steady and piercing.He was still a baby but already he had self-confidence andindependence. He was a grave baby now: he chuckled only when hisfather was at hand. Everything that was told to him, the rhymesthat his mother sang to him, the cautions and admonitions that Mrs.Margit, his nurse, gave to him--all these he took in andremembered.Already it was facts that he liked the best; his mind wandered atfairy-stories. Any tale that he was told must be wellsubstantiated. That was perhaps the reason that his father meantmore to him than any other in his world, for there was no doubt orquestion about his father, so large was he and solid, so strong inthe arm, and when he held his son against his breast the thumpingof his heart was like the reassurance of a great beating drum.Already Robert felt safe against any sort of peril if his fatherwere there. But he was not in any case a nervous baby and he hadalready a firm preponderance of the Herries matter-of-fact commonsense. Facts indeed were facts and it was already his rule of lifeto go by what you could see, feel, hold and even seize. And whathe seized he held. At this present he was holding what was justthen his favourite possession--a Fool with silver bells, a red capand a great hooked nose. As he crossed the shining parlour floorto his father he held the Fool tightly in his chubby fist and thebells carolled gaily.Nicholas had been almost asleep, for he had had a hard day that hadincluded a visit to the Queen. Then the fire was blazing finely inthe open hearth, throwing its erratic lights on the colours of darkgreen, gold, and brilliant blue that Rosamund was working into hertapestry.Nicholas had been almost dreaming--dreaming about his long life andthe principal scenes in it, of the girl Catherine he had loved whohad given her life for him, of his dear brother Robin who had beentortured to his death in the Tower, and after that of England thathe loved so dearly. He had come to full awareness with a start,crying: 'England is a lovely place: I would have no other.' Andthen, realizing his son, he had stretched out his great arms:'Come, Robin--come!'At once Robin had started across the floor. They had given himthis pet name after his beloved uncle, but he did not hesitate, ashis uncle would have done, seeing both sides of the argument. Hesaw only one--that he liked above all things his father's arms,their warmth and strength and perfect safety.So he started at once across the floor, the red-capped Fool, withhis proud nose, held captive in his fist.Nicholas picked him up, carried him to his mother who kissed him,then he took him from the room high on his shoulder. Less