THE MEETING AT THE GUILDHALL.
No suspicion whatever had been entertained of the Prince’s absence from
the ship. He was supposed to be alone in the state-cabin, where, as we
know, the Count D’Egmont had been left as his representative, and, after
the strict orders given to that effect, the Count remained entirely
undisturbed. As time wore on, and midnight drew near, D’Egmont began to
feel uneasy, and it was a relief to him when, shortly afterwards, the
Prince appeared with Osbert.
“I fear you must be fatigued with waiting for me, Count,” said Philip,
as soon as the usher had retired. “I have stayed longer on shore than I
intended.”
“I trust your Highness has been amused,” observed D’Egmont, assisting
the Prince to take off his mantle. “Heavens! what do I see?” he
exclaimed. “The cloak is cut in pieces.”
“Not unlikely,” replied Philip, laughing. “It has warded off more than
one deadly thrust. Your cloak has done me good service, Count. Without
it, Queen Mary might have wanted a husband, and the Emperor an heir to
his dominions.”
“Your Highness has acted rashly and unwisely in thus exposing yourself,”
cried D’Egmont. “Recollect how much hangs upon your life. The destinies
of the world would be changed if aught befel you. The saints have
guarded you at this moment of peril, and will continue to guard you, but
it is tempting Heaven to jeopardise your safety unnecessarily.”
“You assume that I have acted rashly, D’Egmont,” rejoined Philip, “but I
did not provoke the conflict. Set upon by assassins, I was compelled to
defend my life. Thanks to your cloak and to my own right hand, I have
come off without a scratch.”
“I do not presume to ask for particulars,” said the Count. “But I trust
you have not been recognised. If so, your secret visit to the town will
be known to all within it to-morrow, and will assuredly be reported to
the Queen.”
“I have thought of that,” rejoined the Prince. “Precautions must be
taken lest any idle tale be told her Majesty. No tidings of the
occurrence can reach her to-night, and at daybreak you shall convey a
letter to her, wherein I will inform her that I landed privily with the
design of hastening to Winchester to throw myself at her feet, when my
purpose was prevented by this untoward circumstance. Osbert Clinton
shall accompany you. Having been with me at the time of the attack, he
will be able to answer any questions the Queen may put to him relative
to it.”
“Your Highness will be pleased to give me my lesson previously,”
remarked Osbert. “I presume I must say nothing of Constance Tyrrell?”
“Nothing but what will recommend her to the Queen,” rejoined Philip.
“Her Majesty will be pleased to learn that the damsel preserved my life
by stepping between me and the weapons of the assassins.”
“And did she so?” inquired D’Egmont.
“Ay, in good sooth,” returned Philip; “and it was worth the risk I ran
to be so protected. Constance Tyrrell is the fairest creature my eyes
ever lighted on. Her charms have completely enthralled me.”
“Then let me counsel your Highness to shake off the fascination as
speedily as possible,” said D’Egmont, gravely. “It was an unlucky chance
that threw the temptress in your way at this juncture.”
“Lucky or not, I shall not relinquish her,” rejoined Philip. “Were you
to preach to me as energetically as Father de Castro, you would produce
no effect, so you may spare your breath. And now to prepare the letter
to the Queen.”
So saying, he withdrew into an inner chamber, from which he presently
emerged with the letter, sealed with a broad seal, and tied with a
silken thread.
“This for her Majesty’s own hands,” he observed, with a smile, while
delivering it to D’Egmont. “Be it your business to obtain an audience
before any messenger from Southampton can reach her. All will then go
well. As you serve me discreetly,” he added, significantly to Osbert,
“so shall you prosper.”
With this he dismissed them, and summoning his groom of the chamber,
prepared to retire to rest.
In obedience to the Prince’s commands, Count D’Egmont, accompanied by
Osbert and a small train of attendants, went ashore at an early hour in
the morning, and as soon as horses could be procured, started for
Winchester.
A glorious day dawned upon Southampton. A morning gun, fired from the
batteries of the castle, awoke the slumbering town into sudden
animation, while another gun from the English admiral’s ship had a
similar effect upon the crews of the combined fleets studding the smooth
waters. Men could be seen on the decks, or amidst the rigging, actively
employed in decorating the vessels with banners and streamers. Hundreds
of boats came ashore to obtain fresh meat, bread, fruit, vegetables, and
milk; and the quays, which were speedily thronged, became a perfect
Babel. Horses and mules, bearing heavy panniers, laden with provisions,
crossed the drawbridges, and were soon sent back for fresh stores, the
supply being far from equal to the demand.
In the town all was bustle and excitement. The church bells began to
peal joyously, and the streets were soon thronged with townsfolk, clad
in holiday attire. But there was considerable misgiving amongst those
who were aware of the occurrence of the previous night. At an early hour
the mayor and aldermen repaired to the Guildhall, which, as we have
previously mentioned, occupied the interior of the Bar-gate, and here
they found the Earl of Arundel, Lord Steward of the Queen’s Household,
the Marquis of Winchester, Lord High Treasurer, and other noblemen, who
had met to investigate the attempt upon the Prince’s life, and to
consider the measures necessary to be adopted to ensure his Highness’s
safety on his disembarkation.
Nothing, it appeared on inquiry, had been found upon Derrick Carver; but
on the body of the man slain by Philip, a letter, written in the French
language, was discovered, which, though very cautiously worded, bore
evident reference to the dark transaction. The plan, no doubt, had been
precipitated by the recognition of the Prince during his secret visit to
the town. Diligent, but hitherto fruitless, search had been made for the
four other ruffians engaged in the attack. These daring miscreants being
yet at large, it was possible some further attempt might be made, and no
precaution, said the Earl of Arundel, who presided over the meeting,
must be neglected to ensure the Prince’s safety. The guard must be
doubled, and persons of assured loyalty must be placed near his person,
while the slightest attempt at outbreak or commotion must be instantly
repressed.
“It would have been a lasting disgrace to the country,” continued the
Earl, “if the Prince whom our Queen has chosen as her spouse, and whom
we are all bound to love, honour, and defend, had been basely
assassinated on setting foot on our shores, and we may be thankful that
we have been spared that foul reproach—thankful, also, that the design
was not conceived by an Englishman. But for the present, for reasons
which will be apparent to you all, a veil must be thrown over the
mysterious occurrence. Out of these walls none of you will speak of it.
The preservation of public tranquility necessitates this caution. Some
rumours of the attempt may be bruited abroad, but it will be best to
discredit them. Doubtless the Prince desires to keep his nocturnal visit
to the town secret. Nothing, therefore, must be publicly said of it.
This you will carefully observe. Bear in mind, also, that you will have
many Spaniards in your town to-day. They are a fiery nation, easily
roused to anger, and if this unlucky affair be talked about, they may
resent it, and quarrels and bloodshed will ensue. It is the Queen’s
desire that all who come with her destined consort be cordially
welcomed. As loyal subjects, I am sure you will carry out her wishes.”
The mayor and the town authorities having promised compliance with his
lordship’s instructions, the meeting broke up.
Before leaving the Bar-gate, however, the Earl of Arundel desired to see
the prisoner. Accordingly, he was conducted by the mayor to the
subterranean dungeon, where, in a dark and noisome cell, the floor of
which was humid with the drippings from the stone walls, they found the
miserable wretch stretched upon a few trusses of straw. His wounds had
been bound up, but little beyond had been done for his comfort. Pained
by the light of the lamp flashed upon him by the officer in attendance
on the visitors, he tried to turn aside his head, but ineffectually.
“Raise him, that I may look at him,” said the Earl of Arundel to the
officer.
The execution of the order gave the poor wretch so much pain that he
could not repress a groan. But though he was suffering excruciating
agony, his courage did not desert him, and his answers to the
interrogations put to him showed unfaltering resolution. Threats of
torture could wring nothing from him, and he sternly refused to betray
his accomplices.
“I gave no orders to have his wounds dressed,” said the mayor. “By whom
hath he been tended, Piers?”
“By Master Malwood, the chirurgeon,” replied the officer.
“I thank him not for his care,” said the prisoner. “Had he let me be, I
had ere this escaped man’s malice.”
“He speaks the truth, an please your worship,” observed Piers. “Master
Malwood declared, that if left to himself, the poor wretch would die
before the morning.”
“But who sent for Master Malwood, answer me that, Sirrah?” demanded the
mayor.
“Nay, I am not to blame, your worship,” rejoined Piers, humbly. “The
chirurgeon was sent by Mistress Constance Tyrrell, at her proper
charge.”
“This is the second ill turn she hath done me,” said Derrick Carver.
“But for her, the idolatrous tyrant had not escaped me, and now she
preserves me for a lingering death.”
“Thou art like the wild beast, who would tear the hand put forth to
succour him,” cried the mayor, in disgust. “Will it please your good
lordship to question him further?”
“Not now,” returned the Earl of Arundel. “Who is this Mistress Constance
Tyrrell of whom he has just spoken?”
“The daughter of one of our wealthiest merchants,” replied the mayor. “A
very pious damsel, and ever engaged in acts of charity.”
“Is she a heretic?” demanded the Earl.
“Not so, my lord; she is a most zealous Catholic, and it is most like
she will enter a nunnery,” replied the mayor.
“Accursed be she, then!” cried Derrick Carver. “Had I known this, I
would have resisted the chirurgeon.”
“Let us hence, my good lord,” cried the mayor. “If he continues these
blasphemies, we shall have the walls fall upon us and crush us.”
“Before your worship goes, I would fain know whether I may admit
Mistress Constance Tyrrell to the prisoner,” said Piers. “She hath asked
to see him, but I would not grant the request till I had your worship’s
sanction.”
“Let her not come near me,” cried Derrick Carver. “Her presence will
trouble me.”
“For that very reason she shall have admittance to thee,” rejoined the
mayor. “She hath helped to cure thy body—may she now help to save thy
soul!”
“I need not her aid,” rejoined Derrick Carver. “She hath more need of my
teaching than I have of hers.”
“If I thought thou wouldst taint her with thy heresies, I would keep her
from thee,” said the mayor. “But I have no such fear. Admit her when she
will, Piers.”
And he quitted the cell with the Earl.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]