The Constable of the Tower by W. Harrison Ainsworth

Loud flourishes of trumpets from the upper end of the spacious chamber then proclaimed the king’s approach. First of all the nobles entered, and were ushered to their places by the vice-chamberlain, Sir Anthony Wingfield; then the Lord Chancellor, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Lord Protector, and lastly, the king. Cranmer sat on the right of the royal chair, and the Lord Protector on the left.

Grace having been solemnly said, the trumpets were again sounded, and as the first course was brought in by a vast train of attendants, the Earl of Warwick, lord great chamberlain, and the Earl of Arundel, lord chamberlain of the household, magnificently arrayed, and mounted on horses trapped in cloth of gold and velvet, entered the hall by the great door, and rode between the long tables to the dais to superintend the service.

It would be superfluous to describe the dishes either at the king’s table or at those assigned to the less important guests. It will be enough to say that the banquet was ordered in right regal fashion, with many subtleties and strange devices; that the meats were of the daintiest, and the wines of the best and rarest. “What should I speak or write of the sumptuous, fine, and delicate meats prepared for this high and honorable coronation,” quoth an old chronicler, “or of the honorable order of the services, the clean handling and breaking of meats, the ordering of the dishes, with the plentiful abundance, so that no worshipful person went away unfeasted?”

When the second course was served, which was yet more sumptuous than the first, the great door of the hall was again thrown wide open to admit the king’s champion, Sir John Dymoke. Armed, cap-à-pied, in burnished steel, having a plume of white ostrich feathers in his helm, and mounted on a charger, trapped in gold tissue, embroidered with the arms of England and France, the champion rode slowly up the centre of the hall, preceded by a herald. The champion might well be splendidly equipped and proudly mounted, since, by his office, he was allowed the king’s best suit of armor, save one,” and the best charger from the royal stables, “save one,” with trappings to boot.

As Sir John Dymoke approached the dais, he was encountered by Garter King at Arms, who called out to him in a loud voice, “Whence come you, Sir Knight, and what is your pretence?”

“That you shall hear anon,” replied the champion, courteously. And addressing his own herald, he commanded him to make proclamation, who, after thrice exclaiming “Oyez!” thus proceeded: “If there be any person here, of whatsoever state or degree, who shall declare that King Edward the Sixth is not the rightful inheritor of this realm, I, Sir John Dymoke, the king’s champion, offer him my glove, and will do battle with him to the utterance.”

As the herald concluded, Sir John took off his gauntlet and hurled it on the ground. This challenge was afterwards repeated in different parts of the hall. As the defiance, however, was not accepted, the champion rode towards the dais, and demanded a cup of wine. A large parcel-gilt goblet, filled with malmsey, was then handed him by the chief cup-bearer, and having drunk from it, he claimed the cover, which being given him, he retired.

The banquet then proceeded. The trumpets sounded for the third course, and when it had been brought in, a side door on the right of the hall was opened, and gave admittance to a device of a very unusual character. Three colossal figures, clad in Anglo-Saxon armor of the period of the Conquest, such as may be seen in ancient tapestry, and consisting of mingled leather and steel, and wearing conical helmets, with fantastic nasal projections, shaped like the beak of a bird, entered, carrying over their heads an enormous shield, the circumference of which was almost as large as King Arthur’s famous Round Table, as it had need to be, since it formed a stage for the display of a fully-equipped knight mounted on a charger, barbed and trapped. These huge Anglo-Saxon warriors, it is scarcely necessary to say, were the gigantic warders of the Tower, while the knight they bore upon the shield, it is equally needless to add, was the king’s dwarf. Mounted on his pony, which, as we have said, was trapped like a war-horse, Xit carried a tilting lance in his hand, and a battle-axe at his saddle-bow. As he was borne along the hall in his exalted position, he looked round with a smile of triumph. After the giants came another fantastic personage, partially clad in the skins of wild animals, with a grotesque mask on his face, sandals on his feet, and a massive-looking club on his shoulder. This wild-looking man was Pacolet.