While satisfying his appetite, Xit could not help reflecting upon the probable consequences of the ridiculous statement he had made to Renard, and the idea of the anger of the ambassador when he discovered the deception practised upon him, occasioned him much internal trepidation. It did not, however, prevent him from doing full justice to the viands before him, nor from draining to the last drop the contents of the flask. Inspired by the potent liquid, he laughed at his former fears, sprang upon the bench, and committed a hundred other antics and extravagancies. But as the fumes of the wine evaporated, his valour declined; until, like Acres’s, it fairly “oozed out at his fingers’ ends.”
He then began to consider whether it might not be possible to escape. With this view, he examined the embrazures, but they were grated, and defied his efforts to pass through. He next tried the door, and to his great surprise found it unfastened; having, most probably, been left open intentionally by Wolfytt. As may be supposed, Xit did not hesitate to avail himself of the chance thus unexpectedly offered him. Issuing forth, he hurried up a small spiral stone staircase, which brought him to the entrance of the upper chamber. The door was ajar, and peeping cautiously through it, he perceived Nightgall and Wolfytt, both asleep; the former reclining with his face on the table, which was covered with fragments of meat and bread, goblets, and a large pot of wine; and the latter, extended at full length, on the floor. It was evident, from their heavy breathing and disordered attire, they had been drinking deeply.
Stepping cautiously into the chamber, which in size and form exactly corresponded with that below, Xit approached the sleepers. A bunch of keys hung at Nightgall’s girdle—the very bunch he had taken once before,—and the temptation to possess himself of them was irresistible. Creeping up to the jailor, and drawing the poignard suspended at his right side from out its sheath, he began to sever his girdle. While he was thus occupied, the keys slightly jingled, and Nightgall, half-awakened by the sound, put his hand to his belt. Finding all safe, as he imagined, he disposed himself to slumber again, while Xit who had darted under the table at the first alarm, as soon as he thought it prudent, recommenced his task, and the keys were once more in his possession.
As he divided the girdle, a piece of paper fell from it; and glancing at it, he perceived it was an order from the council to let the bearer pass at any hour whithersoever he would, through the fortress. Thrusting it into his jerkin, and carrying the keys as carefully as he could to prevent their clanking, he quitted the room, and mounted another short staircase, which brought him to the roof.
It was just getting light as Xit gained the battlements, and he was immediately challenged by the sentinel. On producing the order, however, he was allowed to pass, and crossing the roof towards the south, he descended another short spiral staircase, and emerged from an open door on the ballium wall, along which he proceeded.
On the way, he encountered three more sentinels, all of whom allowed him to pass on sight of the order. Passing through an arched door-way he mounted a flight of steps, and reached the roof of the Broad Arrow Tower.
Here he paused to consider what course he should pursue. The point upon which he stood commanded a magnificent view on every side of the ramparts and towers of the fortress. Immediately before him was the Wardrobe Tower—now removed, but then connected by an irregular pile of buildings with the Broad Arrow Tower,—while beyond it frowned the grey walls of the White Tower.
On the left was the large court where the masque had been given by the Earl of Devonshire, at which he had played so distinguished a part, surrounded on the west and the south by the walls of the palace. On the right, the view comprehended the chain of fortifications as far as the Flint Tower, with the range of store-houses and other buildings in front of them. At the back ran the outer line of ramparts, leading northward to the large circular bastion, still existing, and known as the Brass Mount; and southward to the structure denominated the Tower leading to the Iron Gate, and now termed the Devil’s Battery. Further on, was to be seen London Bridge with its pile of houses, and the tower of Saint Saviour’s Church formed a prominent object in the picture..
But Xit’s attention was not attracted to the view. He only thought how he could make good his escape, and where he could hide himself in case of pursuit. After debating with himself for some time, he determined to descend to the lowest chamber of the fortification on which he stood and see whether it had any communication with the subterranean passages of which he possessed the keys.
Accordingly, he retraced the steps he had just mounted, and continued to descend till he reached an arched door. Unlocking it with one of the keys from his bunch, he entered a dark passage, along which he proceeded at a swift pace. His course was speedily checked by another door, but succeeding in unfastening it, he ran on as fast as his legs could carry him, till he tumbled headlong down a steep flight of steps. Picking himself up he proceeded more cautiously, and arrived, after some time, without further obstacle, at a lofty, and as he judged from the sound, vaulted chamber.
To his great dismay, though he searched carefully round it, he could find no exit from this chamber, and he was about to retrace his course, when he discovered a short ladder laid against the side of the wall. It immediately occurred to him that this might be used as a communication with some secret door, and rearing it against the wall, he mounted, and feeling about, to his great joy encountered a bolt.
Drawing it aside, a stone door slowly revolved on its hinges, and disclosed a small cell in which a female was seated before a table with a lamp burning upon it. She raised her head at the sound, and revealed the features of Cicely.
Xit uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and rushing towards her, expressed his joy at seeing her. Cicely was equally delighted at the sight of the dwarf, and explained to him that she had been thus long forcibly detained a prisoner by Nightgall.
“Your captivity is at an end,” said Xit, as her relation was concluded. “I am come to deliver you, and restore you to your lover. I am afraid he won’t think your beauty improved—but I am sure he won’t like you the worse for that. Come along. Lean on me. I will support you.”
They were just emerging from the cell, when hasty footsteps were heard approaching, and a man entered the vaulted chamber, bearing a torch. It was Nightgall. His looks were wild and furious, and on seeing the dwarf and his companion, he uttered an exclamation of rage, and hurried towards them. Cicely ran screaming to the cell, while Xit, brandishing Night-gall’s own poniard, threatened to stab him if he dared to mount the ladder.
On the 2nd of January, 1554, a solemn embassy from the emperor Charles the Fifth, consisting of four of his most distinguished nobles, the Count D’Egmont, the Count Lalaing, the Seigneur De Courrieres, and the Sieur De Nigry, chancellor of the order of the Toison D’Or, arrived in London to sign the marriage-treaty between Philip and Mary which had been previously agreed upon by the courts of England and Spain.
Gardiner, who as long as he found it possible to do so, had strenuously opposed the match, and had recommended Mary to unite herself to Courtenay, or at least to some English nobleman, finding her resolutely bent upon it, consented to negociate the terms of marriage with Renard, and took especial care that they were favourable to his royal mistress.
They were as follows:—The queen was to have for her jointure thirty thousand ducats a year, with all the Low Countries of Flanders,—her issue was to be heir as well to the kingdom of Spain as to the Low Countries,—her government was to continue in all things as before,—and no stranger was to be member of the council, nor have custody of any forts of castles, nor bear any rule or office in the queen’s household, or elsewhere in all England.
To these terms Renard, on behalf of his sovereign, readily assented, and the subject was brought before the Parliament where it met with violent opposition from all parties. In spite of this, Mary asserted her privilege to wed whom she pleased, and after a long and stormy discussion the measure, chiefly through the management of Arundel, Paget and Rochester, was carried.
During the agitation of the question, Mary deemed it prudent to feign indisposition to avoid receiving an address intended to be presented to her from the Commons imploring her to marry one of her own countrymen. But when at length she could no longer decline giving them an audience, she dismissed them with these words:—
“I hold my crown from God, and I beseech him to enlighten me as to the conduct I ought to pursue in a matter so important as my marriage. I have not yet determined to wed, but since you say in your address that it is for the welfare of the state that I should choose a husband, I will think of it—nothing doubting I shall make a choice as advantageous as any you may propose to me, having as strong an interest in the matter as yourselves.”
While this was going forward, De Noailles and his party had not been idle. Many schemes were devised, but some were abandoned from the irresolution and vacillation of Courtenay; others were discovered and thwarted by Renard. Still, the chief conspirators, though suspected, escaped detection, or rather their designs could not be brought home to them, and they continued to form their plans as the danger grew more imminent with greater zeal than ever.
At one time, it was determined to murder Arundel, Paget, Rochester, and the chief supporters of the Spanish match, to seize the person of the queen and compel her to marry Courtenay, or depose her and place Elizabeth on the throne. This plan not suiting the views of Lord Guilford Dudley and Suffolk, was opposed by them; and owing to the conflicting interests of the different parties that unity of purpose indispensable to success could not be obtained.
Elizabeth, as has before been intimated, had dissembled her religious opinions, and though she formed some excuse for not being present at the performance of mass, she requested to have an instructor in the tenets of the Catholic faith, and even went so far as to write to the emperor to send a cross, a chalice, and other ornaments for the celebration of the religious rites of Rome, to decorate her chapel.
As to Courtenay, he appeared to have become sensible of the perilous position in which he stood, and was only prevented from withdrawing from the struggle by his unabated passion for Elizabeth. Lord Guilford Dudley still cherished his ambitious views, and Jane still mourned in secret.
Matters were in this state at the commencement of the new year, when as above related, the ambassadors arrived from the court of Spain. Shortly after their arrival, they had an audience of the queen in the council-chamber of the White Tower; and when they had declared in due form that the Prince of Spain demanded her in marriage, she replied with great dignity, but some little prudery:—
“It does not become one of my sex to speak of her marriage, nor to treat of it herself. I have therefore charged my council to confer with you on the matter, and, by the strictest conditions, to assure all rights and advantages to my kingdom, which I shall ever regard as my first husband.”
As she pronounced the last words she glanced at the ring placed on her finger by Gardiner on the day of her coronation.
On the following day, the four ambassadors held a conference with Gardiner, Arundel, and Paget. The terms were entirely settled; and on the 12th of January, the treaty was signed, and delivered on both sides.
Three days after the marriage-treaty was signed,—namely, on the 15th of January, 1554, the lords of the council, the lord mayor, the aldermen, and forty of the head commoners of the city, were summoned to the Tower, where they were received in the presence-chamber of the palace by Gardiner and Renard; the former of whom, in his capacity of chancellor, made them a long oration, informing them that an alliance was definitively concluded between the queen and Philip of Spain; and adding, “that they were bound to thank God that so noble, worthy, and famous a prince would so humble himself in his union with her highness, as to take upon him rather the character of a subject, than of a monarch of equal power.”
The terms of the treaty were next read, and the chancellor expatiated upon the many important concessions made by the imperial ambassadors; endeavouring to demonstrate that England was by far the greatest gainer by the alliance, and stating, “that it was her highness’s pleasure and request, that like good subjects they would, for her sake, most lovingly receive her illustrious consort with reverence, joy, and honour.”
No plaudits followed this announcement, nor was the slightest expression of joy manifested, except by the lords Arundel, Paget, and Rochester,—the main supporters of the match, as has been previously stated, when it was brought before Parliament. Gardiner glanced at the council—at the civic authorities—as if in expectation of a reply, but none was attempted, unless their very silence could be so construed. Whatever his real sentiments might be, the chancellor assumed an air of deep displeasure, and turning to Renard, who, with arms folded on his breast, scanned the assemblage with a cold scrutinizing gaze, asked in an under tone, whether he should dismiss them?
“On no account,” replied the ambassador. “Compel them to give utterance to their thoughts. We shall the better know how to deal with them. My project once carried, and Philip united to Mary,” he muttered to himself, “we will speedily cudgel these stubborn English bull-dogs into obedience.”
“Renard does not appear to relish the reception which the announcement of her majesty’s proposed alliance has met with,” observed De Noailles, who stood in one corner of the chamber with Courtenay. “It will give him a foretaste of what is to follow. Had your lordship been proposed to the assembly, their manner would have been widely different.”
“Perhaps so,” returned Courtenay, with a gratified smile; “and yet I know not.”
“It may be shortly put to the proof,” answered De Noailles. “Never,” replied Courtenay; “I will never wed Mary.”
“But Elizabeth?” cried the ambassador.
“Ay, Elizabeth,” echoed the earl passionately, “with, or without a throne, she would be equally dear to me.”
“You shall have her and the crown as well,” replied De Noailles.
“I care not for the latter, provided I can obtain the former,” returned the earl.
“One is dependent upon the other,” rejoined De Noailles. “While Mary reigns, you must give up all hopes of Elizabeth.”
“It is that conviction alone that induces me to take part in the conspiracy,” sighed Courtenay. “I am neither ambitious to rule this kingdom, nor to supplant Philip of Spain. But I would risk fortune, title, life itself, for Elizabeth.”
“I know it,” ejaculated De Noailles to himself, “and therefore I hold her out as a lure to you, weak, wavering fool! I will use you as far as I find necessary, but no further. Rash and harebrained as he is, Lord Guilford Dudley would make the better leader, and is the more likely to succeed. Jane’s party is hourly gaining strength. Well, well, I care not who wins the day, provided I foil Renard, and that I will do at any cost.”
“A thousand marks that I read your excellency’s thoughts!” cried a martial-looking personage, approaching them. He was attired in a coat of mail, with quilted sleeves, a velvet cassock, cuisses, and buff boots drawn up above the knee; and carried in his hand a black velvet cap, ornamented with broad bone-work lace. His arms were rapier and dagger, both of the largest size. “Is the wager accepted?” he added, taking the ambassador’s arm within his own, and drawing him aside.
“My thoughts are easily guessed, Sir Thomas Wyat,” replied De Noailles, “I am thinking how prosperously all goes for us.”
“Right,” rejoined Wyat; “out of that large assemblage three only are favourable to the imperialists. If you approve it, I will myself—though not a member of the council—answer Gardiner’s speech, and tell him we will not suffer this hateful alliance to take place.”
“That were unwise,” rejoined De Noailles, “do not meddle in the matter. It will only attract suspicion towards us.”
“I care not if it does,” replied Wyat; “we are all ready and sure of support. I will go further, if need be, and add, if the queen weds not Courtenay, a general insurrection will follow.”
“Courtenay will never wed the queen,” observed the earl, who had followed them, and overheard the remark.
“How?” exclaimed Wyat, in surprise.
“No more at present,” interposed De Noailles, hastily. “Renard’s eyes are upon us.”;
“What if they are?” cried Wyat, glancing fiercely in the direction of the imperial ambassador. “His looks—basilisk though they be—have no power to strike us dead. Oh that I had an opportunity of measuring swords with him! He should soon perceive the love I bear his prince and him.”
“I share in your hatred towards him,” observed Courtenay. “The favour Mary shows him proves the ascendancy he has obtained over her.”
“If he retains his power, farewell to the liberty of Englishmen,” rejoined Wyat; “we shall become as abject as the Flemings. But I, for one, will never submit to the yoke of Spain.”
“Not so loud!” cried De Noailles, checking him. “You will effectually destroy our scheme. Renard only seeks some plea to attack us. Have a moment’s patience, and some one not connected with the plot will take the responsibility upon himself.”
The prudence of the ambassador’s counsel was speedily exemplified. While the conversation above related occurred, a few words passed between the principal members of the council, and the heads of the civic authorities, and, at their instance, the Earl of Pembroke stepped forward.
“We are aware, my lord,” he said, addressing Gardiner, “that we ought on the present occasion, to signify our approval of the queen’s choice—to offer her our heartfelt congratulations—our prayers for her happiness. But we shall not seek to disguise our sentiments. We do not approve this match; and we have heard your lordship’s communication with pain—with sorrow—with displeasure—displeasure, that designing counsellors should have prevailed upon her highness to take a step fatal to her own happiness, and to the welfare of her kingdom. Our solicitations are, therefore—and we earnestly entreat your lordship to represent them to her majesty, that she will break off this engagement, and espouse some English nobleman. And we further implore of her to dismiss from her councils the imperial ambassador, M. Simon Renard, by whose instrumentality this match has been contrived, and whose influence we conceive to be prejudicial to the interests of our country.”
“You do me wrong, Lord Pembroke,” replied Renard; “and I appeal to the lord chancellor, whether, in negotiating this treaty, I have made any demands on the part of my sovereign calculated to detract from the power or authority of yours.”
“On the contrary,” replied Gardiner, “your excellency has conceded more than we had any right to expect.”
“And more than my brother-ambassadors deemed fitting,” rejoined Renard. “But I do not repent what I have done,—well knowing how anxious the emperor Charles the Fifth is to unite his son to so wise, so excellent, and so religious a princess as the queen of this realm, and that no sacrifice could be too great to insure him her hand.”
“I am bound to add that your excellency has advanced nothing but the truth,” acquiesced Gardiner; “and though, at first, as is well known to Lord Pembroke and others of the council, I was as averse to the match as he or they could be, I am now its warmest advocate. But I will not prolong the discussion. Her highness’s word is passed to the prince—the contract signed—the treaty concluded. Your remonstrances, therefore, are too late. And if you will suffer me to point out to you the only course that can with propriety be pursued, I would urge you to offer her majesty your loyal congratulations on her choice—to prepare to receive her consort in the manner she has directed—and to watch over the interests of your country so carefully, that the evils you dread may never arise.”
“If my solemn assurance will satisfy the Earl of Pembroke and the other honourable persons here present,” remarked Renard, “I will declare, in the prince my master’s name, that he has not the remotest intention of interfering with the government of this country—of engaging it in any war—or of placing his followers in any office or post of authority.”
“Whatever may be the prince’s intentions,” rejoined Gardiner, “he is precluded by the treaty from acting upon them. At the same time, it is but right to add, that these terms were not wrung from his ambassador, but voluntarily proposed by him.”
“They will never be adhered to,” cried Sir Thomas Wyat, stepping forward, and facing Renard, whom he regarded with a look of defiance.
“Do you dare to question my word, sir?” exclaimed Renard.
“I do,” replied Wyat, sternly. “And let no Englishman put faith in one of your nation, or he will repent his folly. I am a loyal subject of the queen, and would shed my heart’s blood in her defence. But I am also a lover of my country, and will never surrender her to the domination of Spain!”
“Sir Thomas Wyat,” rejoined Gardiner, “you are well known as one of the queen’s bravest soldiers; and it is well you are so, or your temerity would place you in peril.”
“I care not what the consequences are to myself, my lord,” replied Wyat, “if the queen will listen to my warning. It is useless to proceed further with this match. The nation will never suffer it to take place; nor will the prince be allowed to set foot upon our shores.”
“These are bold words, Sir Thomas,” observed Gardiner, suspiciously. “Whence do you draw your conclusions?”
“From sure premises, my lord,” answered Wyat, “the very loyalty entertained by her subjects towards the queen makes them resolute not to permit her to sacrifice herself. They have not forgotten the harsh treatment experienced by Philip’s first wife, Maria of Portugal. Hear me, my lord chancellor, and report what I say to her highness. If this match is persisted in, a general insurrection will follow.”
“This is a mere pretext for some rebellious design, Sir Thomas,” replied Gardiner, sternly. “Sedition ever masks itself under the garb of loyalty. Take heed, sir. Your actions shall be strictly watched, and if aught occurs to confirm my suspicions, I shall deem it my duty to recommend her majesty to place you in arrest.”
“Wyat’s rashness will destroy us,” whispered De Noailles to Courtenay.
“Before we separate, my lords,” observed Renard, “I think it right to make known to you that the emperor, deeming it inconsistent with the dignity of so mighty a queen as your sovereign to wed beneath her own rank, is about to resign the crown of Naples and the dukedom of Milan to his son, prior to the auspicious event.”
A slight murmur of applause arose from the council at this announcement.
“You hear that,” cried the Earl of Arundel. “Can you longer hesitate to congratulate the queen on her union?”
The earl was warmly seconded by Paget and Rochester, but no other voice joined them.
“The sense of the assembly is against it,” observed the Earl of Pembroke.
“I am amazed at your conduct, my lords,” cried Gardiner, angrily. “You deny your sovereign the right freely accorded to the meanest of her subjects—the right to choose for herself a husband. For shame!—for shame! Your sense of justice, if not your loyalty, should prompt you to act differently. The prince of Spain has been termed a stranger to this country, whereas his august sire is not merely the queen’s cousin, but the oldest ally of the crown. So far from the alliance being disadvantageous, it is highly profitable, ensuring, as it does, the emperor’s aid against our constant enemies the Scots and the French. Of the truth of this you may judge by the opposition it has met with, overt and secret, from the ambassador of the King of France. But without enlarging upon the advantages of the union, which must be sufficiently apparent to you all, I shall content myself with stating that it is not your province to dictate to the queen whom she shall marry, or whom she shall not marry, but humbly to acquiesce in her choice. Her majesty, in her exceeding goodness, has thought fit to lay before you—a step altogether needless—the conditions of her union. It pains me to say you have received her condescension in a most unbecoming manner. I trust, however, a better feeling has arisen among you, and that you will now enable me to report you, as I desire, to her highness.”
The only assenting voices were those of three lords constituting the imperial party in the council.
Having waited for a short time, Gardiner bowed gravely, and dismissed the assemblage.
As he was about to quit the presence-chamber, he perceived Courtenay standing in a pensive attitude in the embrasure of a window. Apparently, the room was entirely deserted, except by the two ushers, who, with white wands in their hands, were stationed on either side of the door. It suddenly occurred to Gardiner that this would be a favourable opportunity to question the Earl respecting the schemes in which he more than suspected he was a party, and he accordingly advanced towards him.
“You have heard the reception which the announcement of her majesty’s marriage has met with,” he said. “I will frankly own to you it would have been far more agreeable to me to have named your lordship to them. And you have to thank yourself that such has not been the case.”
“True,” replied Courtenay, raising his eyes, and fixing them upon the speaker. “But I have found love more powerful than ambition.”
“And do you yet love Elizabeth?” demanded Gardiner, with a slight sneer. “Is it possible that an attachment can endure with your lordship longer than a month?”
“I never loved till I loved her,” sighed Courtenay.
“Be that as it may, you must abandon her,” returned the chancellor. “The queen will not consent to your union.”
“Your lordship has just observed, in your address to the council,” rejoined Courtenay, “that it is the privilege of all—even of the meanest—to choose in marriage whom they will. Since her highness would exert this right in her own favour, why deny it to her sister?”
“Because her sister has robbed her of her lover,” replied Gardiner. “Strong-minded as she is, Mary is not without some of the weaknesses of her sex. She could not bear to witness the happiness of a rival.”
Courtenay smiled.
“I understand your meaning, my lord,” pursued Gardiner sternly; “but if you disobey the queen’s injunctions in this particular, you will lose your head, and so will the princess.”
“The queen’s own situation is fraught with more peril than mine,” replied Courtenay. “If she persists in her match with the prince of Spain, she will lose her crown, and then who shall prevent my wedding Elizabeth?”
Gardiner looked at him as he said this so fixedly, that the earl involuntarily cast down his eyes.
“Your words and manner, my lord,” observed the chancellor, after a pause, “convince me that you are implicated in a conspiracy, known to be forming against the queen.”
“My lord!” cried Courtenay.
“Do not interrupt me,” continued Gardiner,—“the conduct of the council to-day, the menaces of Sir Thomas Wyat, your own words, convince me that decided measures must be taken. I shall therefore place you in arrest. And this time, rest assured, care shall be taken that you do not escape.”
Courtenay laid his hand upon his sword, and looked uneasily at the door.
“Resistance will be in vain, my lord,” pursued Gardiner; “I have but to raise my voice, and the guard will immediately appear.”
“You do not mean to execute your threats, my lord?” rejoined Courtenay.
“I have no alternative,” returned Gardiner, “unless by revealing to me all you know respecting this conspiracy, you will enable me to crush it. Not to keep you longer in the dark, I will tell you that proofs are already before us of your connection with the plot. The dwarf Xit, employed by M. de Noailles to convey messages to you, and who assisted in your escape, has, under threat of torture, made a full confession. From him we have learnt that a guitar, containing a key to the cipher to be used in a secret correspondence, was sent to Elizabeth by the ambassador. The instrument has been found in the princess’s possession at Ashbridge, and has furnished a clue to several of your own letters to her, which we have intercepted. Moreover some of the French ambassador’s agents, under the disguise of Huguenot preachers, have been arrested, and have revealed his treasonable designs. Having thus fairly told you the nature and extent of the evidence against you, I would recommend you to plead guilty, and throw yourself upon the queen’s mercy.”
“If you are satisfied with the information you have obtained, my lord,” returned Courtenay, “you can require nothing further from me.”
“Yes!—the names of your associates,” rejoined Gardiner.
“The rack should not induce me to betray them,” replied Courtenay.
“But a more persuasive engine may,” rejoined the chancellor. “What if I offer you Elizabeth’s hand provided you will give up all concerned in this plot?”
“I reject it,” replied the earl, struggling between his sense of duty and passion.
“Then I must call the guard,” returned the chancellor.
“Hold!” cried Courtenay, “I would barter my soul to the enemy of mankind to possess Elizabeth. Swear to me she shall be mine, and I will reveal all.”
Gardiner gave the required pledge.
“Yet if I confess, I shall sign my own condemnation, and that of the princess,” hesitated Courtenay.
“Not so,” rejoined the chancellor. “In the last session of parliament it was enacted, that those only should suffer death for treason, who had assisted at its commission, either by taking arms themselves, or aiding directly and personally those who had taken them. Such as have simply known or approved the crime are excepted—and your case is among the latter class. But do not let us tarry here. Come with me to my cabinet, and I will resolve all your scruples.”
“And you will ensure me the hand of the princess?” said Courtenay.
“Undoubtedly,” answered Gardiner. “Have I not sworn it?”
And they quitted the presence-chamber.
No sooner were they gone, than two persons stepped from behind the arras where they had remained concealed during the foregoing conversation. They were De Noailles and Sir Thomas Wyat.
“Perfidious villain!” cried the latter, “I breathe more freely since he is gone. I had great difficulty in preventing myself from stabbing him on the spot.”
“It would have been a useless waste of blood,” replied De Noailles. “It was fortunate that I induced you to listen to their conversation. We must instantly provide for our own safety, and that of our friends. The insurrection must no longer be delayed.”
“It shall not be delayed an hour,” replied Wyat. “I have six thousand followers in Kent, who only require to see my banner displayed to flock round it. Captain Bret and his company of London trainbands are eagerly expecting our rising. Throckmorton will watch over the proceedings in the city. Vice-Admiral Winter, with his squadron of seven sail, now in the river, under orders to escort Philip of Spain, will furnish us with ordnance and ammunition; and, if need be, with the crews under his command.”
“Nothing can be better,” replied De Noailles. “We must get the Duke of Suffolk out of the Tower, and hasten to Lord Guilford Dudley, with whom some plan must be instantly concerted. Sir Peter Carew must start forthwith for Devonshire,—Sir James Croft for Wales. Your destination is Kent. If Courtenay had not proved a traitor, we would have placed him on the throne. As it is, my advice is, that neither Elizabeth nor Jane should be proclaimed, but Mary Stuart.”
“There the policy of France peeps out,” replied Wyat. “But I will proclaim none of them. We will compel the queen to give up this match, and drive the Spaniard from our shores.”
“As you will,” replied De Noailles, hastily. “Do not let us remain longer here, or it maybe impossible to quit the fortress.”
With this, they left the palace, and seeking the Duke of Suffolk, contrived to mix him up among their attendants, and so to elude the vigilance of the warders. As soon as they were out of the Tower, Sir Thomas Wyat embarked in a wherry, manned by four rowers, and took the direction of Gravesend. De Noailles and the Duke of Suffolk hastened to Sion House, where they found Lord Guilford Dudley seated with Jane and Cholmondeley. On their appearance, Dudley started to his feet, and exclaimed, “We are betrayed!”
“We are,” replied De Noailles. “Courtenay has played the traitor. But this is of no moment, as his assistance would have been of little avail, and his pretensions to the crown might have interfered with the rights of your consort. Sir Thomas Wyat has set out for Kent. We must collect all the force we can, and retire to some place of concealment till his messengers arrive with intelligence that he is marching towards London. We mean to besiege the Tower, and secure the queen’s person.”
“Dudley,” cried Jane, “if you have one spark of honour, gratitude, or loyalty left, you will take no part in this insurrection.”
“Mary is no longer queen,” replied her husband, bending the knee before her. “To you, Jane, belongs that title; and it will be for you to decide whether she shall live or not.”
“The battle is not yet won,” observed the Duke of Suffolk. “Let us obtain the crown before we pass sentence on those who have usurped it.”
“The lady Jane must accompany us,” whispered De Noailles to Dudley. “If she falls into the hands of our enemies, she may be used as a formidable weapon against us.”
“My lord,” cried Jane, kneeling to the Duke of Suffolk; “if my supplications fail to move my husband, do not you turn a deaf car to them. Believe me, this plot will totally fail, and conduct us all to the scaffold.”
“The duke cannot retreat if he would, madam,” interposed Do Noailles. “Courtenay has betrayed us all to Gardiner, and ere now I doubt not officers are despatched to arrest us.”
“Jane, you must come with us,” cried Dudley.
“Never,” she replied, rising. “I will not stir from this spot. I implore you and my father to remain here likewise, and submit yourselves to the mercy of the queen.”
“And do you think such conduct befitting the son of the great Duke of Northumberland?” replied Dudley. “No, madam, the die is cast. My course is taken. You must come with us. There is no time for preparation. M. De Noailles, I place myself entirely in your hands. Let horses be brought round instantly,” he added, turning to his esquire.
“They shall be at the gate almost before you can reach it, my lord,” returned Cholmondeley. “There are several ready-saddled within the stables.”
“It is well,” replied Dudley.
And the esquire departed.
“Father, dear father,” cried Jane, “you will not go. You will not leave me.”
But the duke averted his gaze from her, and rushed out of the room.
De Noailles made a significant gesture to Dudley, and followed him.
“Jane,” cried Dudley, taking her hand, “I entreat—nay command you—to accompany me.”
“Dudley,” she replied, “I cannot—will not—obey you in this. If I could, I would detain you. But as I cannot, I will take no part in your criminal designs.”
“Farewell for ever, then,” rejoined Dudley, breaking from her. “Since you abandon me in this extremity, and throw off my authority, I shall no longer consider myself bound to you by any ties.”
“Stay!” replied Jane. “You overturn all my good resolutions. I am no longer what I was. I cannot part thus.”
“I knew it,” replied Dudley, straining her to his bosom. “You will go with me.”
“I will,” replied Jane, “since you will have it so.”
“Come, then,” cried Dudley, taking her hand, and leading her towards the door—“to the throne!”
“No,” replied Jane, sadly—“to the scaffold!”
The party had not quitted Sion House more than an hour, when a band of soldiers, headed by Sir Edward Hastings, master of the horse, and one of the privy council, arrived to arrest them. But no traces of their retreat could be discovered; and after an unsuccessful search, Hastings was compelled to return to Gardiner with the tidings that their prey had escaped. Not one of the conspirators charged by Courtenay could be found, and it was evident they had received timely warning, though from what quarter the chancellor could not divine. At first, his suspicions fell upon the Earl of Devonshire, but the utter impossibility of this being the case speedily made him reject the idea.
A council was immediately held; at which several resolutions, founded upon the information obtained from Courtenay, were passed. Fresh troops were ordered into the Tower, and active preparations made for its defence, in case of a siege. The chancellor himself deemed it prudent to wear a coat of mail beneath his robes; and quitting his palace, old Winchester House, situated on the Surrey side of the river, a little to the west of Saint Saviour’s, he took up his abode within the fortress. Mary was also advised to remove thither from Whitehall, and, at the instance of Renard, she reluctantly complied.
On the day after her return to the Tower, the imperial ambassadors, D’Egmont, Lalaing, De Courrieres, and De Nigry, were conducted by the Earl of Arundel to Saint John’s Chapel, where they found the whole of the council assembled, and the queen kneeling before the altar. The sacrament was administered by Gardiner, and high mass performed; after which Mary, kneeling with her face to the assemblage, said: “I take God to witness that I have not consented to wed the prince of Spain from any desire of aggrandizement, or carnal affection; but solely for the honour and profit of my kingdom, and the repose and tranquillity of my subjects. Nor shall my marriage prevent me from keeping inviolably the oath I have made to the crown, on the day of my coronation.” Uttered with great earnestness and dignity, these words produced a strong effect upon the hearers. Ratifications of the treaty were then exchanged, and the customary oaths taken on both sides.
This ceremony over, the queen arose, and glancing at the council, observed: “I have heard, my lords, that most of you highly disapprove my match with the prince of Spain; but I feel confident, when you have well considered the matter, you will see cause to alter your opinion. However this may be, I am well assured that your loyalty will remain unchanged, and that I may fully calculate upon your services for the defence and protection of my person, in case the rebellion with which I am threatened should take place.”
“Your highness may rely upon us all,” replied the Duke of Norfolk.
And the assurance was reiterated by the whole assemblage.
At this moment, an attendant stepped forward, and informed the queen that a messenger who had ridden for his life, was arrived from Kent, bringing intelligence of an insurrection in that county.
“Let him approach,” replied Mary. “You shall hear, my lords, what danger we have to apprehend. Well, fellow,” she continued, as the man was ushered into her presence, “thy news?”
“I am the bearer of ill tidings, your majesty,” replied the messenger, bending the knee before her. “Sir Thomas Wyat yesterday, by sound of trumpet published, in the market-place at Maidstone a proclamation against your highness’s marriage; exhorting all Englishmen wishing well to their country to join with him and others, to defend the realm from the threatened thraldom of Spain.”
“Ah! traitor!” exclaimed the queen. “And how was the proclamation received?—Speak out—and fear not.”
“With universal acclamations,” replied the messenger, “and shouts of ‘A Wyat! A Wyat! No Spanish match—no inquisition! I and such treasonable vociferations. Sir Thomas had fifteen hundred men in arms with him, but before he quitted Maidstone, above five hundred more joined him, and multitudes were flocking to his standard when I left the place.”
Scarcely had the messenger concluded his recital, when another was introduced.
“What further news hast thou, good fellow?1’ demanded the queen.
“I am come to inform your highness,” replied the man, “that Sir Thomas Wyat and his followers have taken possession of the castle of Rochester, and fortified it as well as the town. Moreover, they have broken down the bridge across the Medway, and stop all passengers, by land or water, taking from them their arms.”
“Now by our lady!” exclaimed the queen, “this Wyat is a hardy traitor. But he shall meet with the punishment due to his offences. Your grace,” she added, turning to the Duke of Norfolk, “shall march instantly against him with a sufficient force to dislodge him from his hold. And for your better defence, you shall take with you the trained bands of our good city of London, under the command of Captain Bret.”
With this, she quitted the chapel, and returned to the palace.
As soon as he could collect his forces, amounting to about a thousand men, the Duke of Norfolk, accompanied by Bret and the trained bands, set out on his expedition, and arrived at Stroud the same night, where he made preparations to besiege Rochester castle at daybreak.
Meantime, the utmost anxiety prevailed within the Tower, and tidings of the issue of the expedition were eagerly looked for. Towards the close of the day after Norfolk’s departure, a messenger arrived, bringing the alarming intelligence that Bret and his band had revolted to Wyat, shouting, “We are all Englishmen!—we are all Englishmen!—We will not fight against our countrymen.” It was added, that the duke, who had just planted his cannon against the castle, seeing how matters stood, and being uncertain of the fidelity of the troops remaining with him, had made a hasty retreat, leaving his ammunition and horses in the hands of the enemy.
This intelligence struck terror into the hearts of all who heard it, and it was the general impression that the insurgents would be victorious—an opinion considerably strengthened, a few hours afterwards, by the arrival of other messengers, who stated that Wyat had besieged and taken Cowling castle, the residence of Lord Cobham, and was marching towards London. It was also affirmed that he had been joined by Lord Guilford Dudley, the Duke of Suffolk, Lord Thomas Grey, and others, with a considerable force, and that their object was to depose Mary, and replace Jane upon the throne. Humours of insurrections in other parts of the country as well as in London were added; but these could not be so well authenticated.
On the following day, it being ascertained that the rebels had reached Dartford, Sir Edward Hastings and Sir Thomas Cornwallis were sent to hold a parley with the rebels. The army of the insurgents was stationed at the west of the town, before which their ordnance was planted. Dismounting, the two knights sent forward a herald to Wyat, who was standing with Dudley, Suffolk, and Bret, near the outworks; and on learning their business, he immediately advanced to meet them. After a haughty salutation on both sides, Sir Edward Hastings spoke.
“Sir Thomas Wyat,” he said, “the queen desires to know why you, who style yourself, in your proclamations, her true subject, act the part of a traitor in gathering together her liege subjects in arms against her?”
“I am no more a traitor than yourself, Sir Edward Hastings,” replied Wyat, “and the reason why I have gathered together the people, is to prevent the realm from being overrun by strangers, which must happen, if her highness’s marriage with Philip of Spain takes place.”
“No strangers are yet arrived,” replied Hastings, “and the mischief you apprehend is yet far off. But if this is your only grievance, are you content to confer on the matter with the council?”
“I am,” replied Wyat; “but I will be trusted rather than trust. I will treat with whomsoever the queen desires; but in surety of her good faith, I must have delivered to me the custody of the Tower of London, and of her highness’s person. Furthermore, I require the head of Simon Renard, the originator of this tumult.”.
“Insolent!” cried Hastings. “Rather than your traitorous demands shall be complied with, you and all your rabble rout shall be put to the sword.”
With these words, he sprang upon his steed, and accompanied by Cornwallis and his attendants, rode back to the Tower, to declare the ill success of his mission to Mary.
Wyat’s successes created the greatest consternation among the queen’s party. Though the Tower was filled with armed men, its inmates did not feel secure, being in constant apprehension of a rising in London. The imperial ambassadors were not less alarmed, as it was generally thought they would be sacrificed to the popular fury. Gardiner counselled them to make good their retreat to Brussels; and they all, with the exception of Simon Renard, who declared he would remain upon his post, decided upon following the advice.
They would not, however, depart without taking leave of Mary, who desired them to recommend her to the emperor, and to assure him she was under no alarm for her personal safety. Costly presents were offered them; but, under the circumstances, they were declined. The ambassadors quitted the Tower at dead of night, embarking at Traitor’s Gate, and were compelled to leave their horses, attendants, and baggage, behind them.
In spite of the secrecy of their departure, it was discovered, and an attempt was made to capture them by some watermen, who in all probability would have succeeded, if they had not been driven off by the batteries of the fortress. Fortunately, the fugitives found a fleet of merchantmen, armed with a few guns, ready to sail for Antwerp; in one of which they embarked, and under cover of night, got safely down the river.
On the following morning, news was brought that Wyat was within a few miles of London; and it was added that his appearance before the walls of the fortress would be the signal for the rising of the citizens,—that the gates of the city would be thrown open to him, and perhaps those of the Tower itself. Every possible precaution was taken by Sir Henry Bedingfeld. He visited the whole line of ramparts and fortifications, and ascertained that all the men were at their posts, and in readiness, in case of a sudden attack. By his directions, the drawbridges on London Bridge were broken down—the craft moored on the Middlesex side of the river—the ferry-boats staved and sunk—and the bridges for fifteen miles up the river destroyed. While this was going on, Gardiner, seriously alarmed by the aspect of things, sought the queen’s presence, and endeavoured to persuade her to fly to France. But Mary, who, it has been more than once observed, inherited all the lion spirit of her father, and whose courage rose in proportion to the danger by which she was surrounded, at once, and disdainfully, rejected the proposal.
“My people may abandon me,” she said, “but I will never abandon them. I have no fear of the result of this struggle, being well assured I have plenty of loyal English hearts to serve and defend me. If need be, I will take up arms myself, and try the truth of this quarrel; for I would rather die with those who will stand by me, than yield one jot to such a traitor as Wyat.”
“Your majesty is in the right,” replied Renard, who was present on the occasion, “if you fly, all is lost. My counsel to you is to resort to the severest measures. Since Lady Jane Grey has disappeared, and you cannot avenge yourself upon her, let the Princess Elizabeth be brought from Ashbridge to the fortress, and on the appearance of Wyat, have a scaffold erected on the summit of Traitor’s Tower, and if the arch-rebel will not withdraw his forces, put her and Courtenay to death in his sight.”
“I like not your proposal, sir,” replied the queen, “I have no thirst for Courtenay’s blood. Nay, the love I once bore him would prevent my taking his life—and it should only be at the last extremity that I would deal severely with Elizabeth. Neither do I think your counsel politic. Such a course might answer in Spain, but not in England. It would only inflame still more the minds of the seditious, and excite them to a state of ungovernable fury.”
“You judge wisely, madam,” replied Gardiner. “Besides, I have made myself answerable for the safety of the Earl of Devonshire. The blow that falls upon his head, must strike mine also. Since your majesty, with a resolution worthy of the daughter of your great sire, decides on maintaining your ground against these rebels, I nothing fear for the result. Let the worst come to the worst, we can but die; and we will die fighting in your cause.”
“My lord,” rejoined the queen, after a moment’s reflection, “bid Sir Henry Bedingfeld, and the whole of the officers and men not required on duty on the ramparts, attend high mass within Saint John’s chapel an hour hence. You yourself will officiate with all the prelates and priesthood in the fortress. The service over, I shall repair to the council-chamber, where it is my purpose to address them.”
Gardiner bowed and retired to execute her commands, and the queen enjoining Renard’s attendance at the chapel, retired to her closet with her dames of honour.