them further, or it shall be worse for thee.”
Having obtained this permission, Carver called out in a loud voice to
the assemblage, that he desired to address them, upon which the tumult
and clamour instantly ceased.
“Hear me, good friends,” he cried, amidst the sudden silence. “I am come
here to give testimony by my death to truth and pure religion against
Antichrist and false doctrines, and I beseech you, if you hold with me
in the faith, to let me die in peace. I would have my ending profitable
to you, and not the cause of bloodshed and destruction even of my
enemies.”
This address produced the effect desired, and from that moment the crowd
became tranquil, and offered no further interruption to the proceedings.
Seeing that order was restored, the sheriff committed the further
conduct of the ceremonial to Brand, and withdrew to the upper window
overlooking the street, whence he could contemplate the tragical
spectacle as from a tribune.
Meantime, Derrick Carver, pushing aside Father Josfrid, marched up to
the stake, and after embracing it tenderly, knelt down, and in tones of
the utmost fervour prayed for strength and heavenly grace that he might
by his death glorify the Saviour’s holy name, ratify his Gospel, comfort
the hearts of the weary, confirm his Church, and convert such as were to
be converted. He further prayed for support during the grievous torments
to which he was about to be subjected, offering himself up as a willing
sacrifice and burnt-offering, and concluded by imploring that the
blessing of the Word, of which the realm was at present unhappily
deprived, might be once more vouchsafed to it. This prayer, uttered
aloud and with great earnestness, produced a profound impression on all
who heard it.
Seeing this, and anxious to efface the impression, Father Josfrid
advanced towards him and said,—
“Wretched man, thy last hour is arrived; but there is yet time to save
thy soul if thou wilt recant thine heresies, and return to the Church
thou hast abandoned, but which is willing to receive thee.”
“Hence with thee, tempter!” cried Carver, rising to his feet. “Wert thou
to offer me all the riches of the earth, I would not become an
idolater.”
Thus rebuked, Father Josfrid withdrew, and his place was taken by two
rough-looking men, one of whom rudely ordered the prisoner to make
ready.
Upon this, Carver proceeded to divest himself of a portion of his
apparel, and while he was thus employed, several persons among the crowd
called out to him for a memorial, upon which he threw his garments
amongst them, and they were instantly seized upon by a hundred eager
hands, and rent in pieces, the fragments being carefully preserved by
those who were fortunate enough to secure them.
As he was taking off his doublet, the sacred volume which had been the
solace of his long imprisonment, and which he had kept about him to this
moment, fell to the ground; seeing which, Captain Brand, who was
standing by, picked it up, and with a look of disdain, tossed it into
the tar-barrel near the stake.
The two rough-looking men, who had remained near the prisoner, now took
hold of him, and raising him in their arms, set him within the barrel.
Thus disposed, Carver’s first business was to take up the Bible, and
after pressing his lips to it, he threw it amidst the crowd.
Greatly enraged by the act, Captain Brand called out in a furious voice
to the person who had secured the prize to restore it instantly on pain
of death, whereupon it was flung back, and was subsequently consigned to
the flames.
A heavy chain was then passed around Carver’s body and made fast to the
stake. Left to himself for a moment, the martyr then called out in a
loud voice, “Farewell, dear brethren, farewell! Our Church is
encompassed about by deadly enemies, who seek its destruction, and it is
for the restoration of that Church that my blood is this day freely
poured forth. It will not be shed in vain. Comfort ye amid your
troubles, and remain stedfast in your faith! Happier days shall soon
dawn upon you. Farewell, O, farewell!”
No sooner had he concluded this valediction which was responded to by
loud lamentations from the majority of the assemblage, than the men
began to heap fagots around him, filling the barrel with dry gorse and
brushwood.
Before the pile, which was heaped up to his shoulders, could be lighted,
the martyr exclaimed, “Blessed are they who die in the Lord. Thrice
blessed are they who die in the Lord’s cause. Fear not them that kill
the body, for they cannot kill the soul. He that shall lose his life for
my sake shall find it, saith our blessed Saviour, in the which hope I
now die. Again, dear brethren, I bid you farewell!”
“A truce to thy blasphemy!” cried Brand, seizing a torch and applying it
to the pile.
Fast and fierce burnt the fire, and quickly mounted the flame, but, to
judge from the serene expression of his countenance, it might have been
as innocuous to the martyr as was the blaze of the burning fiery furnace
to the three Israelites. Not a groan escaped Derrick Carver, and his
last words were, “I go to obtain my reward.”
Captain Brand was as good as his word. A rare bonfire was seen that day
at Lewes. Fagots and brushwood were heaped upon the pile till the flames
rose up higher than the upper windows of the old hostel, and the heat
was so great, that those nearest the blazing mass drew back half
scorched.
When the fire had burnt out, all that remained was a heap of ashes, in
the midst of which stood a charred stake with an iron chain attached to
it.
Such was the martyrdom of Derrick Carver.
His memory is not forgotten in Lewes; and on the fifth of November in
each year, a great torchlight procession, composed of men in fantastic
garbs and with blackened visages, and dragging blazing tar-barrels after
them, parades the High Street, while an enormous bonfire is lighted
opposite the Star Inn, on the exact spot where Derrick Carver perished,
into which, when at its highest, various effigies are cast. A more
extraordinary spectacle than is presented by this commemoration of the
Marian persecutions in Lewes it has never been our lot to witness.
End of the Sixth Book.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
BOOK VII.
THE TREASURE-CHESTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE LOVES OF OG AND LILIAS.
It will probably be recollected under what singular circumstances the
acquaintance began between Og the gigantic and Lilias the fair. From the
very moment when the damsel, seated behind the giant on the broad back
of Arundel, passed her arm round his waist, a flame was kindled in his
breast never afterwards to be extinguished.
A magnetic influence was exercised over him by Lilias, and he speedily
became so much enthralled by her fascinations as was Sir Bevis of
Southampton, whom he then represented, by the charms of the peerless
Princess Josyan. When he and his gigantic brothers, with Sir Narcissus
and Lady le Grand, proceeded to Winchester to take part in the pageants
displayed there during the royal nuptials, Lilias accompanied them, and,
before many days had elapsed, her conquest of Og was complete. She had
him, as Gog confidentially remarked to Magog, “entirely under her
thumb.”
“Will he be fool enough to marry her, think you, brother?” observed
Magog, shrugging his shoulders, and thinking of Dame Placida.
“Hum! I cannot say, but I shall do my best to dissuade him from the
step,” rejoined Gog.
So the brothers laid their huge heads together, and the result was that
they devised a plan by which they hoped to get rid altogether of the
fair syren, and cure Og of his ridiculous passion, as they deemed it.
Their plan was to send back Lilias to Southampton, and persuade Og that
she had left him of her own accord to return to her former admirer, and
they managed the matter so adroitly, that Og was completely duped, and,
after a tremendous burst of indignation against the fickleness of the
sex, vowed he would never think of the false jillflirt again. His
brothers commended his resolution, and told him he had had a narrow
escape.
“If you are wise, you will take warning by me, and never marry,” said
Magog.
“If he must needs marry, let him choose a buxom widow, and not a
tricksome girl like Lilias.”
“I don’t mean to marry at all,” cried Og, resolutely.
But the fangs of disappointment gnawed his heart. He grew moody and
dull, and avoided the society of his brothers.
After a month’s absence from the Tower, the three gigantic warders
returned there, and resumed their ordinary duties. But Og’s melancholy
increased, and his brothers at last began to feel uneasy about him, and
to regret the part they had played.
“It would be a grievous thing were he to break his heart for this silly
girl,” remarked Gog. “He seems pining away for her.”
“He may be pining away,” observed Magog; “but he is in good case still,
and his appetite is not amiss, judging by the havoc he made with the
cold chine of beef and lumbar-pie at breakfast this morning, to say
nothing of the stoup of ale which he managed to empty. Nevertheless, I
agree with you, brother Gog, that he is not himself, and hath quite lost
his old pleasant humour. He never jests, as was his wont, and I have not
heard a hearty laugh from him since we sent Lilias away.”
“I begin to think we did wrong in meddling in the matter,” observed Gog.
“I shall never cease to reproach myself if anything should happen to
him.”
“Well, we acted for the best,” said Magog. “I only wish my marriage had
been prevented,” he added, with a groan. “Let us see how he goes on.
Perchance, he may recover.”
But Og did _not_ recover, and, although he did not exhibit any of the
usual symptoms of despairing love, as loss of appetite, or flesh, a
lacklustre eye, and disordered manner, still he became more gloomy and
sullen than ever, and rarely exchanged a word with his brothers.
Nearly eight months had now flown since he had beheld Lilias, and still
her image was constantly before him, and the witchery she had practised
upon him by her fascinations and allurements had not lost a jot of its
power. He was still as much under her sway as if she had been with him
all the time.
One evening, while he was taking a solitary walk upon the ramparts, and
thinking of Lilias, he saw Xit hastening towards him, and would have
avoided him, but the dwarf stopped him, saying,—
“Give thee good e’en, Og. I was looking for thee. I bring thee good
news.”
“Out of my way,” rejoined the giant, gruffly. “I am in no humour for
jesting.”
“I know thou art become as surly as a bear with a sore head,” replied
Xit; “but thou hadst best not provoke a quarrel with me, or thou wilt
rue it.”
“Pass on,” roared Og, “and exercise thy wit at the expense of those who
are amused by it—my brothers for example. But meddle not with me. I am
dangerous.”
“Big words do not terrify me,” rejoined Xit, with a mocking laugh.
“Furious as thou art, I can tame thee with a word. I have but to
pronounce the name of ‘Lilias Ringwood,’ and thou wilt straight become
as gentle as a lamb. Ha ha! ha! Was I not right?”
“Hast thou aught to tell me concerning Lilias?” cried Og, suddenly
becoming as meek as the animal to which he had been likened. “If so,
speak quickly!”
“Soh! thou art in the mood for converse now, and my jests do not appear
tiresome to thee,” rejoined Xit; “but I will not gratify thee. Thou art
dull company. I will go to thy brothers.”
“Nay, but Xit, sweet Xit, if thou hast any love for me, tell me what
thou knowest of Lilias.”
“Thou dost not deserve that I should tell thee aught, uncourteous
giant,” said Xit. “Nevertheless, out of compassion for thy miserable
state, I will speak. Know, then, most amorous Titan, that I have seen
the lady of thy love——”
“Thou hast seen Lilias!” interrupted Og. “Oh! thou art my best friend.
How doth she look? Is she comely as ever? Or is she changed and married
to another? Tell me the worst. It may break my heart—but spare me not.”
“I will tell thee the best and the worst as quickly as may be,” rejoined
Xit. “The best is, that Lilias is still true to thee, and looking
lovelier than ever—and the worst is, that she is coming to the Tower in
a few days, and therefore thou wilt soon behold her again.”
“Why, the worst is best of all!” cried Og, transported with delight.
“Nay, it is worst,” rejoined Xit; “because, when she comes, thou wilt be
compelled to marry her.”
“But I say to thee again that it is best, for I desire nothing so much
as marriage with her. But thou art not making merry with me all this
while? ’Twere a sorry jest to trifle with me thus.”
“I am not trifling with thee, incredulous giant,” replied Xit. “If the
hand of the fair Lilias will make thee happy, thou shalt have it. That I
promise thee. Now listen. Compassionating thy woful condition, I have
been to Southampton, and seen the mistress of thy affections, and
finding her still unfettered by matrimonial ties, still amiably disposed
towards thee, I proposed marriage to her in thy name, and the offer
was—accepted.”
“Thou hast done me an incalculable service!” cried Og, taking him in his
arms, and hugging him tightly. “And so thou hast been to Southampton,
and seen Lilias, and won her for me—eh? I have missed thee for the last
week, but fancied thou wert with her Majesty at Whitehall.”
“Set me down, and I will talk to thee,” replied Xit. “Thou hast almost
squeezed the breath out of my body;” and as Og placed him gently on the
ground, he continued, “I will now let thee into a secret. But first
promise not to be angry.”
“I am far too happy to be angry with any one now,” rejoined Og. “Speak
out. What hast thou to reveal?”
“I must set thee right upon one point. When Lilias quitted thee so
suddenly at Winchester, it was not, as thou wert led to suppose, from a
desire to be reconciled to her first lover. Her disappearance was
contrived by Gog and Magog, who did not wish thee to wed the damsel.”
“Thunder and lightning! was it so?” roared Og, with sudden fury.
“Remember thy promise,” said Xit.
“Well, proceed,” cried Og, trying to calm himself.
“Perceiving the mischief they had occasioned, and despairing of
remedying the matter, thy brothers applied to me, and out of my love for
them and thee, I offered to go to Southampton to see what could be done
with Lilias. Accordingly I went, and how I succeeded in my mission thou
art already aware.”
“I am for ever beholden to thee,” said Og. “And so Lilias will certainly
be here in a few days. Why didst thou not bring her with thee?”
“I would fain have done so,” replied Xit; “but she had preparations to
make before her departure. However, she will be escorted by a young
gentleman whom you may remember, Captain Rodomont Bittern, of Cardinal
Pole’s household.”
“Rodomont Bittern!” exclaimed Og, knitting his bushy brow. “Why should
he escort her?”
“Because he chances to be coming up to London at the same time—nothing
more, thou jealous and suspicious fool,” rejoined Xit. “Captain
Bittern’s errand to Southampton was very different from mine. He did not
go to propose a marriage, but to attend a funeral. You remember
Constance Tyrrell?”
“Daughter of a wealthy Southampton merchant,” replied Og. “Yes, I
remember her. It was whispered that the King was enamoured of her, but
that she preferred young Osbert Clinton. She is now at Lambeth Palace,
under the guardianship of Cardinal Pole.”
“I see you are well informed about her,” replied Xit. “Well, old
Tyrrell, her father, is just dead, and has made a very singular will.
Since his daughter has become tainted with heresy, he has lost all
affection for her, and has now disinherited her, and left the whole of
his immense riches to—whom think’st thou?”
“Nay, I cannot guess,” replied Og. “Not to Rodomont Bittern, I trust?”
“No, not to him,” returned Xit. “He has made Cardinal Pole his heir, and
the sum he has bequeathed is such as not even a Cardinal need despise.
This was the reason why Rodomont Bittern and others of the Cardinal’s
household were sent down to Southampton to bury the old merchant and
take possession of his property, and as I chanced to be there at the
same time, I naturally came in contact with them, and on acquainting
Captain Bittern with mine errand, he proffered his services, and
accompanied me when I called on Lilias. It is but justice to him to add,
that he pleaded thy cause with the damsel as warmly as I could do
myself. When the affair was arranged, and Captain Bittern found that a
longer stay at Southampton was inconvenient to me, he obligingly
undertook to escort thy destined bride to London. Thus thou hast now the
whole affair before thee. Methinks I have some little claim on thy
gratitude. So if you will come with me to thy brothers, and assure them
they are forgiven, I shall deem myself amply requited.”
Og readily assented, and quitting the ramparts, they proceeded to the
Byward Tower, where they found Gog and Magog at supper, an immense
pasty, with a cold ham, a mountainous loaf, and a mighty mazer filled
with ale, being set before them.
As Og and Xit entered, they both rose from the table at which they were
seated, and seeing there were no traces of anger on their brother’s
countenance, they held out their hands to him, which Og, so far from
refusing, shook very cordially.
In a few moments all explanations were over, and the brothers amicably
seated at the table, discussing the pasty, ever and anon applying to the
mazer, and talking, when they were able to talk at all, of the
approaching marriage.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
OF THE MEETING BETWEEN OG AND LILIAS ON TOWER-GREEN.
Precisely at the time that Lilias was expected, the King paid a visit to
the Tower. He came from Whitehall by water, and was attended by Sir John
Gage and Sir Henry Jerningham. On landing, he was received by the
Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir Henry Bedingfeld, and a guard, among whom
were the gigantic warders, and by his own desire was at once conducted
to the Jewel House, where his chests of bullion were deposited.
This building was situated in a court belonging to the old palace, its
precise position being on the south of the White Tower, between the
Queen’s lodgings and the Cold Harbour Tower. At the door of the Jewel
Tower, the King was received by Master Thomas Lovel, the keeper, who
seemed to expect his Majesty, and took him forthwith to the strong-room
containing the treasure. After satisfying himself that the coffers were
safe, Philip informed Lovel that he was about to place them in the
Exchequer, and gave him some directions respecting their removal.
Before leaving the Jewel House, the King had some private converse with
Lovel, who, it appeared, had an important communication to make to him.
Having given further instructions in secret to the keeper, Philip
proceeded to the White Tower, where he ascended to the great
council-chamber, and after surveying it with much curiosity, repaired to
the ancient Norman chapel dedicated to Saint John the Evangelist, and
passed some time in devotion within it.
His examination of the White Tower ended, the King was proceeding with
Sir Henry Bedingfeld towards the lieutenant’s lodgings, and they had
just reached the Tower Green, which was then, as now, shaded by noble
trees, when lively strains greeted their ears, and other joyous sounds
proclaimed that some festivities were going on. Turning to Sir Henry
Bedingfeld, Philip inquired the cause of this rejoicing, but the latter
looked perplexed, and being unable to obtain any information from those
about him, despatched a warder to ascertain the meaning of the gleeful
sounds. While the man was gone on his errand, Philip occupied himself in
examining the exterior of the Beauchamp Tower, opposite which he had
halted. In another minute the warder returned, with a broad grin upon
his face, and imparted something to Sir Henry Bedingfeld, which at once
caused a corresponding smile to illumine the lieutenant’s grave
countenance.
“An please your Majesty,” said Sir Henry, addressing Philip, “I have
just ascertained that those sounds of rejoicing are occasioned by the
arrival from Southampton of the destined bride of one of our gigantic
warders, Og—there he stands to answer for himself, if your Majesty will
deign to question him.”
“From Southampton!” exclaimed Philip. “I should not be surprised if it
were the fair damsel I beheld there at the time of my arrival, who
enacted the part of the Princess, when the giant himself personated the
redoubted Sir Bevis.”
“’Tis the very same, Sire,” replied Og, advancing towards the King, and
making a profound obeisance. “’Tis Lilias Ringwood, whom your Majesty
deigns to remember. It would appear she has just arrived, though I
myself have not had the gratification of beholding her.”
“Thou shalt have the gratification anon,” returned Philip; “but where
are thy brothers? They were with thee just now. Are they with Lilias?”
“I conclude so, Sire,” replied Og. “While your Majesty was in the White
Tower, they were summoned by Xit, with what intent I knew not then,
though I can guess it now. They are giving Lilias a joyful welcome
preparatory to our meeting. Under these circumstances, may I crave your
gracious permission to join my intended bride?”
“Control thine impatience for a moment, and answer me one question,”
said Philip. “How long is it since thou hast seen her?”
“Not since your Majesty was espoused to the Queen at Winchester,”
replied Og.
“And she has not changed her mind during that long interval? By my
faith, she is a very model of constancy!” exclaimed Philip, laughing.
“Sir Henry Bedingfeld,” he added to the lieutenant, “I would fain
witness the meeting between this loving pair. Let the damsel be brought
hither.”
Whereupon an order to that effect was instantly given by Bedingfeld.
Shortly afterwards the sound of a tabour and fife were heard, while the
trampling of feet and other confused noises announced that a number of
persons were coming up the road leading from the Bloody Tower to the
Green, and in another moment a little procession came in view.
At the head of the train strutted Xit, in a jerkin and mantle of crimson
velvet, embroidered with gold, and carrying in his hand a pole decorated
with ribbons of various colours, and hung with bells. Behind the
mannikin marched Gog and Magog, sustaining between them a chair, in
which sat Lilias Ringwood, arrayed in a very becoming green kirtle, and
her pretty countenance suffused with blushes. Some twenty or thirty
persons in holiday attire followed the bride, amongst whom were Rodomont
Bittern, and his friends Nick Simnel and Jack Holiday. Besides Lady le
Grand and Magog’s wife, Dame Placida, there was a troop of young
damsels, several of whom had considerable pretensions to beauty.
As soon as the procession reached the green it came to a halt, and Xit
advancing alone towards the King, and making a very ceremonious
obeisance to his Majesty, desired to know his pleasure.
“Let the damsel approach,” said Philip.
Whereupon Xit signed to the two giants to advance with their fair
burden, and as they drew near, the King bade Og go forward and help her
to alight. It is needless to say that the command was promptly obeyed.
With a few mighty strides Og cleared the space between him and his
mistress, while his brothers elevated the chair on which she was seated,
as if to place her out of his reach. Lilias, however, did not hesitate
to spring from the giddy height into her gigantic lover’s outstretched
arms, and was instantly clasped to his mighty breast. After gazing on
her rapturously for a moment, and uttering a few passionate words, he
deposited her gently on the ground, amid the shouts and laughter of the
beholders.
“Welcome!—thrice welcome!” he cried. “This moment amply repays me for
all the misery I have endured.”
“And have you really been unhappy without me?” inquired Lilias.
“Unhappy!” exclaimed Og; “I have been so wretched that it is a marvel I
didn’t drown myself in the Tower moat. However, it’s all right now.”
“To be sure it is,” interposed Xit. “You will have plenty of time for
explanations hereafter. Your first business is to present your bride to
his Majesty.”
“Come, then,” said the giant, taking her hand, and leading her towards
the king.
Lilias displayed no bashfulness, but tripped gracefully by the side of
her gigantic admirer, and made a profound reverence to his Majesty as
she was presented to him.
“By my faith, good fellow, thou art to be envied,” said Philip. “I would
not advise thee to let this fair creature out of thy sight in future.”
“I do not intend to give him the opportunity, Sire,” replied Lilias,
demurely.
“Wisely resolved,” rejoined Philip, laughing. “As I chanced to witness
the commencement of your love affair, I am glad to see it brought to
such a satisfactory conclusion. Make merry with your friends, and that
you may do so without scruple, here is that shall help to pay for the
wedding feast.”
So saying, he took a well-filled purse from the velvet pouch depending
from his girdle, and gave it to Sir Henry Bedingfeld, by whom it was
handed to Og.
“We thank you most heartily for your bounty, Sire,” said Og, bowing as
he received the princely gift, “and shall not fail to drink long life to
your Majesty.”
“Ay, long life to his Majesty,” cried Gog, in a stentorian voice, “and
may Heaven shower its choicest blessings on his head. Shout, friends,
shout!” he added, turning to the others, who instantly responded by loud
cries of “Long live the King!”
Bowing graciously in acknowledgment, Philip moved away with his
attendants, and proceeding to the lower end of the Green, entered the
lieutenant’s lodgings, where he remained for some little time.
No sooner was the King gone, then Xit called out, in his shrillest
tones,—
“A dance! a dance! Let us not separate without some mirthful pastime
suited to the occasion. A dance, I say, and as the merriest and best,
let us begin with a brawl.”
The proposition meeting with general concurrence, the minstrels began to
play a very lively air, while the entire assemblage, with three
exceptions, took hands, and formed an immense ring. The three persons
excepted were the giants, whose stature forbade them to join in the
dance; but as the others wheeled round them, they found it impossible to
keep their limbs quiet, and began to execute such grotesque movements
that the dancers were scarcely able to proceed for laughter.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
BY WHOM THE WEDDING BREAKFAST WAS INTERRUPTED.
The next day was a joyous one for Og, since it saw him indissolubly
bound to the object of his affections. The marriage took place in the
little chapel on the Tower Green, and the edifice was crowded during the
ceremonial.
At its close, the happy couple adjourned, with their kinsfolk and
friends, to the Stone Kitchen, where a copious and excellent repast had
been prepared by Peter Trusbut, the pantler, who still exercised his
vocation as purveyor to the warders of the Tower; and it need scarcely
be said that full justice was done to the many good things provided by
him on this auspicious occasion.
It was always agreeable to Peter Trusbut and his worthy dame to see
their guests enjoy themselves, and the rapidity and gusto with which the
dishes were now demolished perfectly satisfied them. Gog and Magog ate
more than usual in honour of their brother’s marriage, and the
bridegroom’s prowess was hardly inferior to their own.
Of course Xit had been present at the wedding, and was likewise a
principal guest at the breakfast that followed it. He was in high
spirits, and diverted the company by his lively sallies. When the dishes
had been removed, he leaped upon the table, goblet in hand, and, in
appropriate terms, proposed the health of Og and his bride—a toast which
was drunk with great cheers. While they were in the very midst of
enjoyment, the door suddenly opened, and a man of exceedingly sinister
aspect, and habited in a tight-fitting leathern doublet, appeared at it.
At the sight of this ill-favoured personage, the countenances of the
company fell, and their laughter ceased.
“Who is that strange man?” inquired Lilias of Og, in an under tone.
“It is Mauger, the executioner,” replied her husband. “What brings thee
here?” he added, half angrily, to the headsman.
“I am come to congratulate you on your marriage,” replied Mauger. “Am I
not welcome?”
“Sit down, and take a cup of wine,” rejoined Og, filling a goblet.
“Here’s health to the bonny bride!” cried Mauger, eyeing her curiously
as he raised the flagon to his lips.
“I do not like his looks,” said Lilias, clinging to her husband. “I wish
he had not come.”
“Harkye, Mauger,” cried Xit, who was still standing upon the table, “thy
presence is unsuited to this festive occasion, and we can, therefore,
dispense with thy society.”
“I shall not go at thy bidding, thou malapert knave,” rejoined Mauger.
“I came to see the bride, not thee.”
And he was about to seat himself in the chair left empty by the dwarf,
when the latter prevented him, exclaiming,—
“That chair is mine. Begone instantly, if thou wouldst not be
unceremoniously thrust from the room.”
Og seemed inclined to second the dwarf’s threat, but his wife
interposed, saying,—
“Let him not be turned out, or it may bring us ill luck.”
“It _will_ bring you ill luck if I be so dealt with, fair mistress,”
rejoined Mauger, with an uncouth attempt at gallantry.
And, pushing Xit aside, he sat down in the vacant chair.
“I have a present for you, fair mistress,” pursued the headsman to
Lilias. “Here it is,” he added, producing a silver box from his doublet.
“This pomander was given me by Queen Catherine Howard on the day of her
execution, and I have kept it about me ever since, but I will now bestow
it upon you, and I will tell you why. You have a neck as long, and as
white, and as snowy as Queen Catherine’s, and she had the whitest and
slenderest throat my axe ever touched—therefore you well deserve the
box. Take it, and if you ever need my services,” he continued, with a
grim smile, “you shall give it me back again. Smell to it—it is filled
with delicate perfumes—ambergris, storax, benjoin, labdanum, civet and
musk. You will find it a preservative against infection.”
“It seems to me to smell of blood,” said Lilias, tossing back the box.
“I will not have it.”
“As you please,” said Mauger, returning it to his doublet. “Yet it is
not a gift to be despised.”
“Enough of this,” said Og, somewhat sternly. “Do you not perceive that
you interrupt our festivities? My wife thanks you for your intended
present, but declines it.”
“I have nothing else to offer her, unless it be an earring worn by Queen
Anne Boleyn——”
“I would not touch it for the world,” cried Lilias, recoiling with
horror.
“You know not what you refuse,” said Mauger, testily; “but it is in vain
that I try to render myself agreeable. Since I am an unwelcome guest, I
will go. But I will tell you a word in parting. This day has begun
blithely enough, but it will not end so merrily.”
“What meanest thou?” cried Og, angrily. “Wouldst thou insinuate that
something is about to happen to me and my bride?”
“Or to me—or to any other among us?” added Xit, with equal fierceness.
“No, I mean not that,” replied Mauger. “But I tell you that the day will
end differently from what you expect.”
“Pshaw! thou art only saying this to frighten the women,” said Og. “Sit
down again and take another cup of wine.”
“No, I have had enough,” rejoined Mauger, in a surly tone. “I came here
with presents to the bride—presents such as none other in the Tower
could offer her—and they have been scornfully rejected. Be it so. A day
may come for some of you when it may be necessary to bespeak my favour.”
And casting a stern and vindictive look around, he limped out of the
room.
“I am glad he is gone,” observed Lilias. “And yet I wish he had not left
us in anger.”
“Pshaw! heed him not,” rejoined Og. “His odious office causes him to be
generally shunned, and hence he is sour-tempered. He is gentler than
usual to-day.”
“Then he must, indeed, be savage,” said Lilias, forcing a laugh.
“He is strangely superstitious,” pursued Og, “and pretends he has
warnings beforehand of the persons he is to put to death. From what he
let fall just now, I fancy he has had one of those warnings.”
“Saints preserve us! I hope not!” cried Lilias, turning pale. “I declare
I feel quite ill. Did you not remark that he compared my neck to that of
Queen Catherine Howard?”
“Nay, he meant that as a compliment,” said her husband. “In good sooth,
thou hast a dainty neck, sweetheart.”
“Dainty or not, I like not the comparison,” said Lilias. “When he looked
at me, it seemed as if I felt the sharp edge of the axe—oh! take me into
the air, or I shall faint.”
Og instantly took her in his arms, saying, as he carried her forth, “If
aught betide thee, sweet chuck, the day shall not end merrily for
Mauger.”
“Do nothing to him, I charge you,” rejoined Lilias, faintly. “We have
offended him enough already.”
[Illustration]
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[Illustration]
CHAPTER IV.
HOW THE TREASURE-CHESTS WERE CARRIED TO
TRAITORS’ GATE.
The bride’s sudden indisposition naturally put an end to the breakfast,
and ere many minutes all the guests had quitted the Stone Kitchen. On
being brought into the open air, Lilias speedily revived, and the bloom
which had temporarily deserted them returned to her cheeks. A stroll on
the green completely restored her, though she was nearly made ill again
by an injudicious remark of Xit, who pointed out to her the spot whereon
the scaffold was usually erected.
In order to divert her from the gloomy thoughts which seemed to have
been inspired by Mauger, Og took her to the palace and showed her over
the royal apartments, with the size and splendour of which she was much
astonished. They next visited the garden, with which she was also
delighted, and were crossing the outer court towards the Cold Harbour
Tower, when they encountered Lovel, the keeper of the Jewel Tower, who,
courteously saluting the bride, volunteered to show her the treasures
under his custody.
Lilias gratefully accepted the offer, and was taken with her husband and
the whole party into the Jewel House, where the many precious articles
contained in it were displayed to them. After they had feasted their
eyes on this rich collection, Lovel said to the bride,—
“You shall now see the coffers containing the bullion deposited here by
his Majesty. This is the only opportunity you will have of viewing them,
for they are to be removed to the Exchequer to-night.”
Upon this he unlocked the door of the strong-room, and showed them
fifteen mighty chests piled within it. Each chest was wrapped in a cover
emblazoned with the arms of Castile and Aragon. Removing the cover from
one of them, Lovel disclosed a handsome coffer made of walnut,
strengthened by bands of brass, and secured by two locks.
“Oh! how I should like to see what is inside it!” cried Lilias, after
she had examined the exterior of the box.
And she looked so beseechingly at Lovel that he could not refuse to
gratify her curiosity.
“It is against my orders to open the chests,” he said. “Nevertheless, I
will yield to your wishes.”
And taking a bunch of keys from his girdle, he unlocked the coffer, and
raising the lid, revealed the bars of gold to Lilias’s admiring gaze.
“Oh! how beautiful they look!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Cannot
you spare one of them?—it would never be missed.”
“Were the gold mine, you should have one, and welcome, fair mistress,”
replied Lovel, gallantly. “But this is the King’s treasure, and I am
bound to guard it.”
“But suppose it were carried off by force, what would you say then?”
pursued Lilias, playfully.
“I cannot entertain any such supposition,” he replied, shutting down the
lid, and locking the coffer. “There! now I have removed temptation,” he
added, with a smile.
“That chest must be enormously heavy,” observed Lilias to her husband.
“Do you think you could lift it, Og?”
“I don’t know,” he replied; “but if Master Lovel will allow me, I will
try.”
“Make the attempt, and welcome,” replied Lovel, with a laugh.
Seizing hold of the chest with a herculean grasp, Og threw it over his
shoulder.
“There, now you have got possession of it, away with you,” cried Lilias.
“Master Lovel will not prevent you.”
“Hold! hold!” exclaimed the keeper of the treasure. “This is carrying
the jest rather too far.”
“Did you really think I was making off with the chest, Master Lovel?”
cried Og, setting it down with a great laugh.
“Well, it looked like it, I must own,” returned the other. “But you
couldn’t go very far with such a burden as that.”
“Couldn’t I?” rejoined Og. “You don’t know what I could do if I tried.
Why, I would carry the chest from the Tower to Whitehall, if the King
would only bestow it upon me for my pains.”
And he burst into another tremendous laugh, in which his brothers
heartily joined.
“That were a feat worthy of Samson,” observed Lovel, dryly. “Suppose I
put your strength to the test.”
“Do so,” rejoined Og. “What would you have me perform? You have just
told us that the chests are to be removed to the Exchequer to-night. You
don’t want me to carry them to Westminster Hall?”
“No, no! I don’t want that,” said Lovel, laughing. “They are to be
transported by water, and it will save time if they are taken at once to
Traitor’s Gate, where they will be embarked.”
“Say no more—we’ll do it, won’t we?” cried Og, turning to his brothers,
who readily assented.
Without more ado, he again took up the ponderous coffer, and called out,
“Now, I’m ready.”
“So are we,” cried Gog and Magog, as they each shouldered a chest.
Upon this, the whole party went out of the chamber, the door of which
was carefully locked by the keeper. It was a striking sight to see the
three giants, laden in the manner we have described, cross the court of
the palace, and descend with slow but firm footsteps the slope leading
to the Bloody Tower, each having upon his broad shoulders a weight
sufficient to call into activity the full forces of three ordinary men,
and yet bearing it—if not easily—yet stoutly. It was true that the
muscles of their bull throats and brawny legs were tremendously
developed, and looked almost as large as cables, but these were the only
evidences of the strain put upon them. Lilias walked by the side of her
husband, enchanted by this display of his strength, while Xit strutted
in front, as if the giants were under his command.
State offenders, as is well known, were formerly brought into the Tower
through a gloomy archway, spanning a sluice from the river—the sluice
being protected by a ponderous wooden gate, constructed of huge beams of
wood, worked by machinery in the superstructure. This massive portal was
popularly known as “Traitors’ Gate.” A flight of stone steps offered a
landing-place from the channel, which was capable of holding some three
or four large boats, and led to the outer ward of the fortress, but the
approach was guarded by another ponderous wooden portal. Within the
archway on the right of the steps was a stone platform, whence there was
access through a narrow arched passage to a guard-room in the building
above, which was known as Saint Thomas’s Tower. These details are
necessary for the understanding of what is to follow.
It was upon the platform just described that Lovel caused the giants to
deposit the chests. This done, they immediately went back to the Jewel
Tower for a fresh supply, and paused not in their exertions till the
fifteen ponderous coffers had been laid upon the platform. Lovel, of
course, superintended their task, and, when their labours were over,
proposed an adjournment to the Stone Kitchen, to which the giants made
no objection, so the gate being locked, and instructions given to
Croyland, the warder who had charge of Saint Thomas’s Tower, the whole
party proceeded in search of refreshment. On reaching the Stone Kitchen,
Lovel called for a plentiful supply of hydromel, which being quickly
brought by Peter Trusbut, the giants were enabled to quench their
thirst. By her husband’s desire, Lilias sipped a few drops from his
brimming goblet ere he emptied it.
“I tell you what, Master Lovel,” observed Magog. “I have some misgiving
about that treasure. Do you think it quite safe where you have left it?”
“Ay, marry,” replied the other; “as safe as in the Jewel House itself.
Who can meddle with it? Traitors’ Gate will not be opened by Croyland
without my order.”
“True,” rejoined Magog. “Still, with a treasure like that, no
precautions ought to be neglected. To make matters sure, I will go to
Saint Thomas’s Tower, and stay there till all the chests are fetched
away.”
“Then you will have to stay there till night,” said Lovel.
“No matter,” rejoined Magog, getting up. “Peter Trusbut will send me a
few flasks of wine, and I shall be just as comfortable there as anywhere
else. Are you coming with me, Gog?” he added to his brother.
“I will follow in a few minutes, and bring the wine with me,” replied
Gog.
“And I will join you later on—as soon as Lilias can spare me,” laughed
Og.
“Nay, then, there can be no doubt the treasure will be well guarded,”
said Lovel.
And, bowing to the company, he quitted the Stone Kitchen with Magog.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
CHAPTER V.
SHOWING WHO WAS CONCEALED IN THE JEWEL HOUSE.
After accompanying Magog along the outer ward to the entrance of Saint
Thomas’s Tower, where he left him, Lovel passed under the gloomy archway
of the Bloody Tower, and, ascending the hill, made his way to the Jewel
House.
Arrived there, he did not proceed to that part of the building which we
last visited, but sought his private chamber, and having entered it, and
bolted the door inside, he tapped at the door of a small inner room, and
called out “You may come forth, Sir.”
The summons was promptly obeyed by a young man, who stepping quickly
towards him, said, “You have been long absent, Lovel. What news do you
bring?”
“Excellent news, good Master Osbert Clinton,” replied the other. “If all
goes well, you will have the treasure to-night. It will delight you to
hear that the coffers have been transported by the gigantic warders to
Traitor’s Gate, and are now lying there, ready for you and your friends
to take them away. So far all has gone well—far better than could have
been expected—and I hope the rest will turn out equally prosperously.
Indeed, it can scarcely fail to do so, unless from ill management.”
“What course do you advise us to pursue, Lovel?” demanded Osbert.
“First of all, there must be no delay in the execution of the project,”
replied the other. “The business must be done to-night. A boat capable
of containing the chests must be brought to Traitors’ Gate. I shall be
in Saint Thomas’s Tower, and after going through the usual formalities,
will cause the great wooden gate to be opened. If no untoward
circumstance occurs, the coffers can thus be readily carried off and
conveyed to a place of safety.”
“Once out of Traitors’ Gate, all the rest will be easy,” said Osbert.
“Your plan promises well, good Lovel, and I trust nothing will occur to
mar it. Possessed of this gold, we shall be able to carry into immediate
effect our grand enterprise. It may be wrong to seize this treasure, but
neither I nor my associates have any scruples on the subject. We know
that this gold is intended to be employed to bribe our nobles to enslave
the country, and we consider it lawful plunder, of which we may
rightfully possess ourselves by force or stratagem.”
“I take precisely the same view of the matter as yourself, Sir,” said
Lovel; “and, as you, know, have engaged in this enterprise without fee
or reward. I am anxious, as you and your friends are, to see the country
delivered from Spanish thraldom, and the Protestant religion restored.
While martyrs are giving up their lives in testimony of their faith, I
do not hesitate to jeopardise mine to benefit the same cause. If this
Spanish gold can be employed against our enemies, instead of being used
by them to our disadvantage, I shall be content.”
“In three day’s time there will be a rising in Essex and Suffolk,” said
Osbert; “and in less than a week an army of insurgents, larger than that
commanded by Wyat, will be marching to London, its battle-cry being,
‘Down with the Spaniard and the Pope!’ This gold will give us all we
need. And so you positively refuse any reward for the great service you
are rendering us, Lovel?”
“Were I to take a reward, I should consider that I had violated my
trust,” replied the other. “My object is to serve my country, and if it
be freed from oppression I shall be amply rewarded. But now to proceed
with the business. No time must be lost in communicating with Sir Henry
Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston, Master Udal, and the rest of your
associates.”
“That can be quickly done,” replied Osbert. “They are close at hand—at
the ‘Rose and Crown,’ on Tower Hill. There can be no difficulty as to a
boat, since one has been already provided. At what hour ought the
attempt to be made?”
“Let me see,” said Lovel, reflecting. “The tide will serve at nine. The
boat should be at Traitor’s Gate at that hour.”
“Good,” returned Osbert. “Now then to communicate with my friends.”
“Leave that to me,” said Lovel; “you cannot quit the Tower with safety,
as, if you should be seen and recognised, your instant arrest would
follow. I will go to the ‘Rose and Crown’ at once, and give full
instructions to your friends. Retire to the inner room, and do not stir
forth from it till my return.”
And as Osbert complied, the keeper of the treasure left the Jewel House,
and set out on his errand.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VI.
HOW THE PLOT WAS DISCOVERED BY XIT, AND DISCLOSED
BY HIM TO MAGOG.
Meantime, Magog, with whom Lovel had parted at the entrance of Saint
Thomas’s Tower, had gone in, and made his way through the side-passage,
previously described, to the interior of Traitors’ Gate. He found the
chests lying upon the platform, just as they had been laid there by
himself and his brothers, and sitting down upon one of them, presently
fell asleep, and made the vaulted roof resound with his deep breathing.
How long he remained in this state he could not say, but he was roused
by feeling something crawling, as he thought, over his face, and
supposing it to be a gigantic water-rat—the place being infested with
such vermin—he put out his hand, and catching hold of the noxious
creature, as he deemed it, was about to throw it into the water, when a
shrill cry admonished him that the fancied water-rat was no other than
Xit.
“Wouldst drown me, Magog?” shrieked the dwarf, clinging to him.
“Drown thee—not I!” replied the giant, laughing. “But I took thee for a
rat or an otter.”
“None but a sleepy dolt like thyself would have made such a mistake,”
said Xit. “I could not waken thee without plucking thy beard. Call’st
thou this keeping guard over the treasure? I call it gross negligence.”
“Well, well, I am vigilant enough now,” rejoined Magog. “What hast thou
to say to me?”
“Something that will keep thee wakeful, I trust,” said Xit. “Lend me
thine ears, and I will disclose it to thee. I have discovered a plot.”
“Poh! thou art always making some silly discovery that leads to
nothing,” rejoined Magog.
“But this will lead more than one man to the scaffold,” pursued Xit,
mysteriously. “’Tis an important discovery I have made.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Magog, with some curiosity. “What is it? Let me hear
and judge.”
“It relates to the chests on which thou art sitting,” replied Xit.
“There is a plot to carry them off. Master Lovel, the keeper of the
treasure, is concerned in it, but the principal contrivers are Osbert
Clinton, Sir Henry Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston, Udal, and the others
connected with the late outbreak.”
“Ah, this is indeed important!” cried Magog. “And how didst thou make
this discovery?”
“You shall hear,” replied Xit. “Suspecting all was not right, I followed
Lovel to his lodging, and by listening at the keyhole, managed to
overhear a conversation between him and Osbert Clinton, who is at
present concealed in the Jewel House. From this I learnt that the
treasure is to be carried off by the traitors, in order to assist them
in getting up another insurrection of a far more formidable character
than the last. Their plan is to bring a boat to Traitors’ Gate at nine
o’clock to-night, when, feigning to be officers sent by the King to
remove the treasure to the Exchequer, they will present a warrant, and
Master Lovel, being their accomplice, the coffers will be delivered to
them—so at least they calculate.”
“A well-devised plan, I must own,” observed Magog, “and like enough to
have succeeded.”
“It would infallibly have succeeded but for my shrewdness in detecting
it,” said Xit.
“Well, thou wilt, doubtless, receive due credit for thy penetration from
Sir Henry Bedingfeld, to whom the matter must be forthwith
communicated,” observed Magog, getting up.
“What art thou about to do, thou foolish giant?” cried Xit. “We can
manage this affair without Sir Henry Bedingfeld’s assistance. Recollect
that a heavy price is set upon the heads of all these offenders, and if
we can effect their arrest—as we shall do if my counsels be followed—the
reward will be ours. We must take them all, like fish in a net. Not one
must be allowed to escape. Listen to me, and I will show thee how it can
be done. The moment the barge is admitted into this place, Traitor’s
Gate must be closed by thee or by thy brothers, and we shall then have
them like rats in a trap. Though they may offer some resistance at
first, they will soon be forced to surrender. Osbert Clinton is sure to
be on the spot with Lovel, and we can arrest them both at the same time.
What think’st thou of my plan?”
“By my faith, it promises well,” replied Magog.
“We shall need assistance,” pursued Xit; “and besides Og and Gog, I
propose to call in the aid of Captain Bittern and his friends. They are
men of discretion, and can be relied on. Care must be taken not to
awaken Lovel’s suspicions, or our plan will be defeated. And now let us
quit this damp place. I am half choked by the mist. I wonder thou
couldst sleep in it. Come! There is no fear of the treasure being
carried off just yet.”
Upon this Magog arose, and they adjourned to the guard-chamber.
Xit’s plan was carried out. About eight o’clock in the evening, Og tore
himself from his bride, promising faithfully to return to supper, and,
accompanied by Gog, Rodomont Bittern, Holiday, and Simnel, to all of
whom the dwarf’s important discovery had been communicated, repaired to
Saint Thomas’s Tower, and mounted to an upper chamber overlooking the
river, where they held themselves in readiness for whatever might occur,
beguiling the tedium of waiting with some flasks of wine which they had
brought from the Stone Kitchen.
Xit, meanwhile, had kept watch over Lovel’s movements. He saw the keeper
of the treasure return from his errand to Tower Hill, and cautiously
following him, and adopting the same plan of espionage which he had
previously employed, he heard him inform Osbert Clinton that he had seen
Sir Henry Dudley and the other conspirators, who were well pleased with
the arrangement, and undertook to bring a barge to Traitor’s Gate at the
appointed hour that night.
“The coffers once secured,” pursued Lovel, “your friends propose to take
them up the river to Chelsea and land them there. No time must be lost
in disposing of the treasure, for the moment it becomes known that it
has been carried off, a general search will be made.”
“Once in our possession, the treasure will never find its way to the
royal Exchequer—of that you may be quite certain, Lovel,” replied
Osbert. “But what do you propose to do? Your connection in the affair
will assuredly be suspected.”
“I shall provide for my safety by flight,” said Lovel. “This very night
I shall quit the Tower secretly, and remain in concealment till your
proposed insurrection will enable me to appear with safety.”
“If we succeed, as I trust under Heaven we shall, your services shall
not be forgotten, Lovel,” observed Osbert. “You shall have a better post
under Elizabeth than that which you now occupy under Philip and Mary.”
“I have said that I do not seek reward,” rejoined Lovel; “but since, in
abandoning this post, I shall sacrifice all, it is but just that I
should have some compensation.”
“You shall have compensation in full, doubt it not, Lovel,” said Osbert.
“And now let us finally arrange our plans for to-night. How many persons
are there in Saint Thomas’s Tower?”
“Only three,” replied Lovel. “Croyland, the keeper of the gate, his man,
and a sentinel. Stay! I had forgotten. One of the gigantic warders,
Magog, is there at this moment, but I do not think he will remain there
till night, and if he should, he will be no hindrance to us, since all
will be conducted with so much formality that suspicion will be
disarmed. We will go together to Saint Thomas’s Tower, and if my
instructions to Sir Henry Dudley are carefully carried out, no
difficulty will be experienced.”
What answer was made to this by Osbert, Xit could not tell. Fancying he
heard a movement towards the door, he beat a hasty retreat, and left the
Jewel House, perfectly content with the information he had obtained.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VII.
HOW THE CONSPIRATORS WENT IN AT TRAITORS’ GATE
BUT CAME NOT OUT AGAIN.
Night, anxiously expected both by plotters and counter-plotters, arrived
at last. Within the lower chamber of Saint Thomas’s Tower were Magog and
Xit, but the two other gigantic warders, with Rodomont Bittern and his
comrades, kept out of sight, lest Lovel’s suspicions should be awakened.
Croyland, the keeper of the Tower, had been made a party to the plan,
and consented to act as Xit directed. The night was dark, and the mist
hanging over the river, and almost shrouding Saint Thomas’s Tower from
view, was favourable to the project of the conspirators.
Some quarter of an hour before the time fixed for the arrival of the
barge, Lovel, accompanied by Osbert, who was well armed, and wrapped in
his cloak, quitted the Jewel House, and proceeded to Saint Thomas’s
Tower. The door was opened by Croyland, who had a lamp in his hand,
which he raised for a moment to survey Osbert, and then, apparently
satisfied with his scrutiny, ushered them into the guard-chamber, which
done, he returned to fasten the door.
Within the guard-chamber were Xit and Magog. The giant appeared to be
fast asleep, with his huge head resting on a table, and did not move on
their entrance; but Xit immediately arose, and alter a word with Lovel,
was informed by the latter that the gentleman with him was an officer
sent by his Majesty to take charge of the treasure. With this
information the dwarf seemed perfectly content, and bowed ceremoniously
to Osbert, who slightly returned the salutation. In another moment
Croyland returned with a lamp, and taking it from him, Lovel beckoned to
Osbert to follow him, and led the way to the platform on which the
chests were laid.
No sooner were they gone than Magog raised his head, and said in a
whisper to Xit, “Is it Osbert Clinton?”
The dwarf replied in the affirmative, but added, “Don’t ask any more
questions, or you will be overheard. Here they are coming back. Down
with your head!”
On this, Magog resumed his previous posture. Next moment Lovel
reappeared with the lamp, but Osbert remained in the passage, so as not
to expose himself to observation.
“The coffers are all right, I perceive,” remarked Lovel, as he set down
the lamp upon the table. “I sha’n’t be sorry when they are gone,” he
added, with a laugh. “They have been a great source of anxiety to me.”
“I daresay they have,” replied Xit. “Your office wouldn’t suit me at
all, Master Lovel.”
“Wherefore not?” demanded the other.
“Because my honesty would never be proof against the temptation I should
be exposed to. The sight of so much treasure would exercise a baneful
influence over me, and I should long to appropriate it to my own use.
Whereas, you, worthy Lovel, are of an incorruptible nature, and can see
gold without coveting it. You would never dream of making free with the
contents of those coffers.”
“Certainly not,” replied Lovel.
“Therein we differ,” pursued Xit. “Had those coffers been confided to
me, I should have fallen. The Arch Enemy could not find a more certain
means of destroying me than they would afford him. Knowing my own
frailty, I respect your honesty the more, worthy Lovel. You can touch
gold without being defiled by it. Unluckily, such is not my case.”
Ere Lovel could reply, Osbert called out from the passage:—
“The barge is at hand. I hear a noise outside in the river.”
And, as he spoke, the bell hanging above the outer arch of Traitors’
Gate was rung.
“Here they are!” cried Xit, shaking Magog. “Rouse thyself, thou great
sluggard.”
“Who are here?” cried the giant, pretending to waken from a sound sleep.
“Why, the officers sent by the King to take away the treasure,” rejoined
Xit.
“Oh, indeed!” ejaculated Magog, with a prodigious yawn.
Meanwhile, Lovel, followed by Croyland, had mounted a spiral stone
staircase, which quickly brought them to the summit of the round
projecting tower at the western angle of the fortification. On reaching
the battlements, they could discern through the gloom a large barque
lying in the river immediately beneath them. The barge was rowed by four
stalwart oarsmen, and its head was brought close up to Traitors’ Gate.
At the prow stood a tall man, apparently in command of the party, and
who was no other than Sir Henry Dudley. The barge had already been
challenged by the sentinel, and a short parley had taken place, but when
Lovel and Croyland appeared, Dudley called out in a loud, authoritative
voice:—
“Open the gate quickly. We are officers sent by the King to bring away
the treasure.”
“Have you a warrant for its removal?” inquired Lovel.
“Ay,” returned Dudley, “a warrant you will not care to dispute.”
“Enough,” answered Lovel. “The gate shall be opened immediately.”
With this he disappeared from the battlements, while Dudley, turning to
his companion in the barge, said in a low, exulting tone, “The prize
will soon be ours. We shall get in without difficulty.”
“Heaven grant we may get out as easily!” rejoined Sir Anthony Kingston,
who was standing near him. “More people go in at Traitors’ Gate than
come out from it.”
As he spoke, the ponderous wooden valves, worked by some machinery in
the upper part of the tower, began slowly to revolve upon their hinges,
disclosing the interior of the passage, which was now illumined by
torches held by Magog and Croyland, who, with Lovel and Xit, were
stationed near the head of the steps. In the background, partly
concealed by the coffers, stood Osbert Clinton.
As soon as the valves had opened wide enough to admit the barge, Dudley,
who was all impatience to secure the prize, called to the oarsmen to
push in, and the order being promptly obeyed, the barge entered the
channel, and was propelled to the foot of the steps. Sir Henry Dudley
then leaped ashore, and was followed by Sir Anthony Kingston and some
four or five others.
“Here is the order for the delivery of the treasure, Sir,” said Dudley,
presenting a paper to Lovel, who advanced to meet him.
Lovel glanced at it for a moment, and then, apparently satisfied by the
inspection, observed,—
“We have been expecting you, Sir. The chests are all ready, as you see.”
“That is well,” said Dudley, scarcely able to conceal his satisfaction.
“Let them be embarked at once.”
While this brief dialogue occurred, Traitor’s Gate was noiselessly
returning to its place, and in another minute was closed. The
conspirators, however, were too much occupied with what they had in hand
to notice this suspicious circumstance. The oarsmen now got out of the
barge, and were preparing to place the uppermost chest on board, when
Osbert Clinton suddenly stepped forward, and said, in a low voice, to
Sir Henry Dudley,—
“We are betrayed. See you not that the gate is shut?”
“Ha! so it is!” cried Dudley. “Why is this, Sir?” he added, fiercely, to
Lovel. “How comes it that yon gate is closed?”
“I did not know it was so,” replied the other. “There must be some
mistake. But I will cause it to be reopened instantly.”
“There is no mistake,” cried Xit, in his loudest and most important
voice; “it is by my orders that Traitors’ Gate has been shut, and it
will not be opened again. Traitors, ye are caught in a trap. Ye have
come here, with wicked and felonious intent, to carry off the King’s
treasure, but instead of departing with your plunder to stir up
rebellion, you will be lodged in the dungeons of the Tower, and ere long
expiate your manifold and dire offences on the scaffold.”
At this address the conspirators stared aghast, and laid their hands
upon their swords.
Osbert Clinton, however, signed to them to keep quiet, and said to
Lovel, “What means this, Sir? Is it some ill-timed jest?”
“I will tell you what it means, Master Osbert Clinton,” interposed Xit.
“It means, that you, and all those with you, are my prisoners. I arrest
you all for high treason. You yourself, Master Osbert Clinton—you Sir
Henry Dudley—you, Sir Anthony Kingston—you, Master Udal, and all the
rest of you. Deliver up your swords.”
“This is droll,” cried Osbert Clinton, forcing a laugh; “but the jest
may prove no laughing matter for thee. Get the gate opened,” he added to
Lovel. “We will have the treasure in spite of them.”
“Traitors’ Gate shall _not_ be opened,” screamed Xit. “I forbid it, and
ye shall find whether or not I shall be obeyed. Stir a single foot, thou
traitor Lovel, and thou art a dead man.” And drawing his sword, he
presented it at the breast of the keeper of the treasure, exclaiming, “I
arrest thee, also, on a charge of conspiracy and treason.”
“An end must be put to this folly,” cried Osbert, fiercely. “By the time
you have got the treasure on board I will have the gate opened,” he
added to Dudley. Then drawing his sword, he commanded Xit to stand out
of the way.
“Help me, my faithful giants!” cried Xit, retreating. “Help me!”
And at the words, Og and Gog issued from the passage where they had
remained concealed, and with their halberds opposed Osbert’s advance.
“Back!” roared Magog, in a voice of thunder, “or you rush upon your
death.”
“You had better yield,” cried Xit. “You cannot escape. You will more
easily cut your way through the solid beams of Traitors’ Gate than you
will hew a passage through these living walls.”
“I will cut a way through both sooner than surrender,” rejoined Osbert.
“Follow me, friends.”
And he was about to fling himself upon the giants, who awaited his
attack unmoved, when his desperate purpose was averted by the sudden
ringing of the alarm-bell. This sound, which proclaimed that the
fortress was alarmed, paralysed his energies, and caused him to drop the
point of his sword, while the rest of the conspirators looked equally
disheartened. Other sounds, calculated to increase their apprehensions,
were now heard, and the trampling of feet, accompanied by the clatter of
arms, showed that a number of men were collecting in the outer ward. It
was plain that the conspirators were betrayed, and the glances they
exchanged betokened that they felt so.
“You had better yield with a good grace,” cried Xit, “and not compel us
to take your swords from you by force.”
“I will die rather than yield,” cried Osbert Clinton.
“So will we all,” responded the others.
“Resistance is in vain,” cried Lovel, suddenly changing his manner. “It
is time to throw off the mask. You are prisoners to the King.”
“Ha! it is thou who hast brought us into this snare,” cried Dudley.
“Take the reward of thy treachery,” he added, passing his rapier through
his body.
“Ha! I am slain!” exclaimed Lovel, as he fell backwards into the water.
At this moment the massive portal communicating with the outer ward was
opened, and an astounding spectacle revealed.
Beneath the gloomy archway of the Bloody Tower stood the King, the
torchlight flashing upon his stately figure, and communicating to his
countenance a stern and sinister expression.
With him was Sir Henry Bedingfeld. At the back of the archway rose a
grove of pikes, while on the right and left was ranged a strong guard of
halberdiers, several of whom held torches, which gleamed upon the steel
caps, corslets, and partisans of their comrades.
At this unlooked-for spectacle the conspirators recoiled in confusion
and dismay. Flight was impossible, and as Bedingfeld advanced towards
them with an officer, and demanded their swords, telling them they were
his prisoners, they had no alternative but submission.
By the King’s commands, the conspirators were then brought before him,
and he surveyed them for some moments with a smile of gratified
vengeance.
“Soh, traitors!” he exclaimed, at length, “you thought you had devised a
cunning scheme to carry off my treasure. But you have been outwitted.
Your plans have been revealed to me, and I have allowed you to proceed
thus far in order to ensnare you all. You have fallen like wolves into
the trap set for you.”
“The wretch who betrayed us has met his reward,” cried Sir Henry Dudley.
“He has perished by my sword.”
“Is Lovel slain?” exclaimed Philip. “I am sorry for it.”
“He richly deserved his fate,” cried Osbert. “I see now how we have been
duped.”
At this moment Xit made his way towards the King, and said, “An please
your Majesty, these rebels and traitors were captured by me. I claim the
reward.”
“Retire, thou presumptuous and intrusive varlet,” cried Bedingfeld.
“This matter is too serious for thy interference.”
“But for my interference, Sir Henry,” rejoined Xit, proudly and
indignantly, “the plot would not have been discovered.”
“There thou art wrong,” rejoined Bedingfeld; “the plot has been all
along known to his Majesty. It was revealed to him by Lovel, who, it
seems, has gone to his account.”
“Lovel is killed, sure enough,” said Xit. “But I trust my services will
not go unrewarded.”
“Thy claims shall be considered hereafter,” said Philip. And as Xit,
satisfied with this assurance, bowed and retired, he addressed the
conspirators: “For the heinous crimes and offences you have committed,
you cannot doubt what your sentence will be.”
“We are all prepared for our fate,” said Dudley, resolutely. “In
engaging in this enterprise we well knew the risk we incurred. Having
failed, we are ready to pay the penalty.”
“Do you deem your base attempt consistent with the principles you
profess?” demanded Philip, contemptuously.
“Ay,” rejoined Dudley. “Your gold has been one of the chief weapons used
against this unhappy land, and it was the part of true Englishmen—as we
are—to deprive you of it.”
“Ye are robbers and felons, and shall die the death of such vile
miscreants,” said Philip, coldly. “By this foul act you have forfeited
your privileges as gentlemen.”
“What!” exclaimed Osbert Clinton. “Are we to die like common felons?”
“Such will be your doom,” rejoined Philip, sternly.
“Your Majesty is too magnanimous to stoop to such an unworthy revenge,”
said Osbert Clinton. “Let us die upon the scaffold. ’Tis the sole grace
we ask of you.”
“Ay, spare them this ignominious ending, I beseech you, Sire,” said
Mauger, advancing from the guard, among whom he was standing, “and let
them fall by my hand.”
“I owe thee a guerdon,” rejoined Philip, “and will give thee their
heads. As to you, Osbert Clinton,” he added, “I could devise no worse
torture for you than your own bitter reflections will furnish. Had you
not engaged in this last design, you might have been pardoned your
former offences, have been restored to my favour, and have wedded
Constance Tyrrell. Reflect upon this when you are alone in your
dungeon.”
“This is only said to torture me!” cried Osbert.
“It is said that you may be aware of the happiness you have so
recklessly thrown away,” rejoined the King. “At the intercession of
Cardinal Pole, I had consented to pardon you, and, moreover, had
promised his Eminence not to oppose your marriage with Constance. But
there will be no pardon for you now—no Constance.”
Osbert made no reply, but covered his face with his hand.
After a brief pause, the King turned to Sir Henry Bedingfeld, and
ordered him to remove the prisoners to their dungeons. “To-morrow they
will be privately interrogated,” he said, “after which their
arraignment, condemnation, and execution will speedily follow. You will
not have to wait long for your fees,” he added to Mauger.
“I humbly thank your Majesty,” replied the headsman.
On this, the conspirators were led off by the guard, and placed in
different state prisons in the inner ward, a cell in the Flint Tower
being assigned to Osbert Clinton. Shortly afterwards, the King rode back
to Whitehall, attended by a mounted escort.
As soon as tranquility was restored, Og returned to his bride, whom he
had left in the care of Dame Trusbut, at the Stone Kitchen. A very
substantial supper was in readiness for him, and to this he sat down
with his brothers, Xit, Rodomont Bittern, Simnel, and Holiday, and,
despite the previous occurrences, they made a right merry night of it.
Next day, the treasure-chests, which had been left on the platform in
Traitors’ Gate, were removed from the Tower, and safely deposited in the
Exchequer.
End of the Seventh Book.
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[Illustration]
BOOK VIII.
CONSTANCE TYRRELL.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE IMPORTANT DISPATCH RECEIVED FROM THE
EMPEROR BY PHILIP.
About a month must now be allowed to elapse. During this time, the whole
of the conspirators, with the exception of Osbert Clinton, had suffered
death on Tower Hill. But though Osbert’s execution was thus delayed, no
hope of pardon was held out to him. On the contrary, he was told by Sir
Henry Bedingfeld, who visited him almost daily, that his sentence would
infallibly be carried out, and that he ought to be prepared for a sudden
summons to the scaffold. “I will give you notice when I am sent for by
his Majesty,” he said. “That will be an intimation to you that the hour
is at hand.”
The Queen’s accouchement being now daily expected, great preparations
were made for the important event; religious processions thronged the
streets, prayers were offered for her Majesty’s safe deliverance, and
couriers kept in constant readiness to bear the gladsome tidings to
foreign courts. While all were on the tenter-hooks of expectation, the
Romanists were gratified, and the Protestants deeply chagrined, by the
sudden and, as it turned out, unfounded intelligence that her Majesty
had given birth to a son. The news spread with extraordinary rapidity,
not only in London, but throughout the whole kingdom. Public rejoicings
were made. Bonfires were lighted in the streets. _Te Deum_ was sung in
the churches, and one preacher—the priest of St. Anne’s in
Aldersgate—went so far as to describe the personal appearance of the
new-born Prince, depicting him as a miracle of beauty and proportion.
But next day all was changed. The Romanists were mortified by the
authoritative contradiction of the report, whilst the Protestants
exulted. Other rumours were then circulated, and it was said that the
Queen had died in child-bed. But this statement was soon discovered to
be false, and it eventually became known that the disease under which
her Majesty was labouring, and which had deceived her physicians, was
dropsy.
For some days Mary continued in a very precarious state, and serious
apprehensions of a fatal result were entertained; but these dangerous
symptoms abated, and in less than a week she was pronounced out of
danger. During her illness she had been sedulously attended by Constance
Tyrrell, for whom she had sent when she supposed herself sinking, and it
was to Constance’s unwearying attentions that she mainly attributed her
recovery.
Naturally, the Queen’s state of health had been a source of the deepest
anxiety to Cardinal Pole, and the news of her amendment was a
proportionate relief to him. Having received permission to wait upon
her, he immediately repaired to Whitehall, and on arriving at the palace
he was met by Doctor Ford, the Queen’s physician, who conducted him to
her Majesty’s presence.
Mary was in her cabinet, reclining in a large easy-chair, propped up by
cushions, wrapped in a loose gown of purple velvet, lined with miniver,
and with her feet supported by a tabouret. Her features were swollen,
and her complexion turbid, and she had an air of extreme lassitude and
debility. The only person by whom she was attended was Constance
Tyrrell, who likewise looked extremely pale and ill.
Having accompanied the Cardinal to the door of the cabinet, Doctor Ford
retired.
“I am glad to see your Eminence,” said Mary, as the Cardinal approached
her. “Sit down beside me, I pray you. At one time I feared I should
never behold you again; but I am better, and I owe my preservation,
under Heaven, to the ministry of this damsel. Without her I believe I
should have died, and I never can forget the services she has rendered
me—never sufficiently requite them.”
“Your Majesty overrates my poor services,” said Constance.
“She has poured balm into my wounded heart, as well as helped me to
sustain my bodily sufferings,” pursued Mary. “Oh, my good Lord Cardinal,
how can I have so deeply offended Heaven that I should be thus severely
afflicted!—that the boon I have so earnestly prayed for should be denied
me. What have I done to merit this chastisement?—how have I sinned? I
have searched my breast, but can discover no wickedness therein. I have
swerved from no duty. It cannot be a crime to love the King my
husband—though, perchance, I have made him an idol. But enjoin me any
penance you please. I will perform it.”
“I enjoin you only resignation to the decrees of Heaven, gracious
Madam,” returned Pole. “Your afflictions have been given you for some
wise but inscrutable purpose, and must be patiently borne.”
“I have borne them with patience,” rejoined Mary; “yet it is hard to be
deprived of blessings which are vouchsafed to the meanest of my
subjects. How many a poor cottager’s wife can clasp her offspring to her
breast!—while I, alas! am childless.”
“Your grief is shared by all your subjects, Madam,” observed the
Cardinal.
“Not by all,” rejoined Mary, with asperity. “There are many who exult in
my distress, who have prayed that I might have no issue, but that the
sceptre might pass from my hands to those of my sister Elizabeth. And
their prayers would seem to be heard, while mine are rejected. Oh, what
happiness would have been mine had a son been granted me, for I feel all
a mother’s tenderness in my breast. A son would have compensated me for
all my troubles—for the neglect I have experienced, and for the
desertion which will ensue—but now I shall go to my grave
broken-hearted.”
“Be comforted, Madam, be comforted,” said Pole. “All will yet be well.
The King will _not_ leave you.”
“He _will_ leave me, that is certain,” rejoined Mary. “And then will
come the severest part of my trial. When he is gone, all will be a blank
to me. I would fain bury my woes in a cloister.”
“No, Madam, you must rouse yourself,” said Pole. “You must not give way
to this excess of grief. It has pleased the Supreme Disposer of events
to deprive you, and the country placed under your governance, of a great
blessing; but do not repine on that account. Rather rejoice that you
have been afflicted. Devote all your energies to the welfare of your
kingdom, and to the maintenance of religion. Peace will then be restored
to your breast—peace, which nothing can disturb.”
“I do not expect to find peace on this side of the grave,” sighed Mary;
“but I will try to follow your Eminence’s counsel.”
“In time your wounds will be healed,” rejoined Pole; “and you will then
understand why they have been inflicted.”
“I humbly resign myself to Heaven’s decrees,” said Mary. “_Fiat voluntas
tua._”
At this juncture, without being announced, the King entered the cabinet,
followed by Count D’Egmont. His Majesty’s features did not wear their
customary sombre expression, but were radiant with joy, and his
deportment evinced considerable excitement.
Advancing quickly towards the Queen, and bowing reverently to the
Cardinal, he said,—
“Count D’Egmont has just brought me a most important letter from the
Emperor, and I lose not a moment in laying its contents before your
Majesty.”
Then, turning to Pole, who was about to withdraw, he added, “I pray your
Eminence not to retire. The matter is one that will interest you. Not to
keep you in suspense, I will state at once, and in a word, the purport
of the dispatch. The Emperor is about to abdicate, and resign his
hereditary dominions to me.”
“What do I hear?” exclaimed Mary, in extremity of surprise. “The Emperor
about to abdicate!”
“’Tis exactly as I have stated, Madam,” cried Philip. “I have it here
under his own hand.”
“His Imperial Majesty has for some months meditated this step, gracious
Madam,” interposed D’Egmont, bowing to the Queen, “but it is only
recently that his final resolution has been taken. Of late a profound
melancholy has seized upon him, which he finds it impossible to shake
off. Tired of pomp and state, sated with glory and conquest, wearied
with the cares of government, racked by a cruel disease, which allows
him little respite from suffering, his august Majesty is about to put
off the purple robe and crown, and, clothing himself in the lowly garb
of a monk, to pass the remainder of his days in seclusion. I have been
sent by the Emperor to announce his determination to his royal son, into
whose hands he designs to relinquish his vast dominions.”
“You hear, Madam—you hear what my father intends,” cried Philip, with
irrepressible delight.
“Yes, I hear it,” rejoined Mary, mournfully.
“The solemn ceremony of abdication will take place at Brussels,” pursued
D’Egmont, “in the presence of all the nobles and deputies of Flanders,
who, at the Emperor’s request, will transfer their allegiance to his
son. Subsequently, the sovereignty of Castile and Aragon will be ceded
to King Philip.”
“And what of the crown of Germany?” demanded Philip.
“That will deck the brows of your uncle Ferdinand, King of the Romans,”
said D’Egmont. “The Empire of Germany will be resigned in his favour.”
“Is such my father’s intent?” said Philip.
“I believe so, Sire—nay, I am sure,” returned D’Egmont. “To prove the
motives by which your august sire is actuated in his retirement, it will
be enough to state, that out of his immense revenues he only intends to
reserve himself a pension of a hundred thousand ducats.”
“Only so much,” cried Mary. “Why, ’tis less than a noble’s revenue.”
“It is more than the Emperor will need, Madam, in the solitary life he
designs to lead,” observed D’Egmont.
“I am filled with amazement,” observed Pole. “That Charles V., the
foremost monarch of Christendom, the greatest warrior of the age, who
holds in his hands the destinies of Europe, should retire in the
plenitude of his power, is indeed a wondrous circumstance, to which
there is no parallel, save in the instance of Diocletian. May the
Christian monarch be as happy in his retirement as was the heathen
Emperor in his garden at Salona. Heavy, indeed, must be the weight of a
crown, since its wearer desires to put it off thus.”
“In his letter to me, the Emperor explains the motives of his intent to
abdicate,” said Philip. “Referring to the troubled and agitated life he
has led, to his great fatigues and exposure, his frequent travels in
Europe and Africa, the constant warfare in which he has been engaged,
and his incessant labours for the public welfare and for religion, he
observes: ‘As long as my strength would allow me, I have fulfilled my
duties, but now my infirmities counsel—nay, command—repose. Ambition,
and the desire to rule, no longer sway my breast. The remainder of my
days will be consecrated to holy thought and preparation for eternity.
To you, my son, and to your care, I shall resign my vast possessions,
conjuring you never to relax in your efforts for the welfare of the
people committed to your charge. The time may come when, exhausted,
loaded with infirmities, and praying for release, you may desire to
imitate your father’s example.’”
“May that day be long distant!” cried D’Egmont. “A brilliant career is
before your Majesty.”
“Yet let the Emperor’s words never be forgotten, Sire,” remarked Pole,
solemnly. “Lay them to heart, and be guided by them; and so, when you
arrive at that period which your august sire has reached, when earthly
glories shall fade away and become as nothing in your sight, you will
derive comfort from the happiness and prosperity you have conferred upon
your people. Rarely has a crown been similarly bestowed. Never could
crown be more richly graced. Wear it, Sire, as it has hitherto been
worn—wear it as your great father has worn it, and when you put it off,
you will do so, like him, without a sigh.”
“Once mine, I shall be in no haste to part with it,” observed Philip.
“But have I no congratulations from your Majesty?” he added to the
Queen. “Do you not rejoice with me on my good luck?”
“Your good luck is my misfortune,” rejoined Mary. “This unlooked-for act
of the Emperor must cause our separation.”
“Only for a season,” returned Philip. “I must needs obey my father’s
summons to Brussels; but I shall speedily return.”
“Impossible!” cried Mary. “As King of Spain, you will have much to do,
and cannot quit your dominions, even if you should be so minded. No! I
am not to be deceived. _I_ cannot go to Spain, or to Flanders, and _you_
will not come to England. Henceforward we must dwell apart.”
“Nay, nay, you are wrong, Madam—by my faith, you are!” cried Philip. “I
shall return before three months have elapsed. Meantime, I confide you
to the care of his Eminence, who, I trust, will be rarely absent from
you. It is my wish,” he added, “that the Lord Cardinal be appointed
chief of the Privy Council, and that nothing concerning the government
of the realm be concluded without his sanction.”
“All shall be done as you desire,” rejoined Mary.
“Nay, Sire, I must decline a post for which I am unfitted,” said Pole,
“and which, as it would necessarily engage me in concerns of the world,
is little suited to the spiritual character with which I am invested.”
“But I will take no refusal,” said Philip. “You must, at least, accept
the post till her Majesty is perfectly restored to health.”
“I shall have only your Eminence to look to when the King is gone,” said
Mary. “If need be, I must lay my positive commands upon you.”
“In that case I have no alternative but submission,” rejoined the
Cardinal. “The sole condition I would annex to my consent is, that I may
be allowed to exercise my religious functions as heretofore.”
“Far be it from me to interfere with them,” said Mary. “Apartments shall
be assigned you in the palace, so that I may have an opportunity of
seeing you more frequently, and profiting by your counsels.”
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[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
HOW SIR HENRY BEDINGFELD CAME FOR OSBERT’S DEATH-WARRANT;
AND WHAT HE OBTAINED.
At this moment an usher entered, and informed the King that Sir Henry
Bedingfeld was without, having come to Whitehall in obedience to his
Majesty’s commands.
“Admit him straight,” replied Philip. And as the usher withdrew, Philip
approached the Queen, and spoke a few words to her in a low tone. What
he said was inaudible to the others, but its import could be gathered
from Mary’s troubled looks. She attempted some remonstrance, but the
King appeared inflexible.
While this was passing, Constance stole softly towards the Cardinal, and
said to him in a whisper, “Sir Henry Bedingfeld is come for Osbert’s
death-warrant. I am sure of it, from the look given me by her Majesty.
Oh! my Lord Cardinal, intercede for him with the King—intercede for him,
I implore of you.”
“I will do what I can,” replied Pole, in the same tone.
Meantime, Philip continued urgent with the Queen, his manner becoming
stern and peremptory.
“Must it be done at once?” inquired Mary.
“Ay, at once,” rejoined the King. “I will have his head before my
departure to-morrow. Then I shall be sure that my injunctions are
obeyed. Here is the warrant,” he added, placing a scroll of parchment
before her. “Sign it.”
Mary, however, manifested great reluctance, and was still appealing to
the King, who continued inflexible, when Sir Henry Bedingfeld appeared,
and making a profound obeisance to the royal pair, said, “I await your
Majesty’s commands.”
“I shall be ready for you in an instant, good Sir Henry,” rejoined the
King. “Sign it, Madam—sign it,” he added quickly to the Queen. “Why do
you hesitate?”
“Because——” And she glanced towards Constance, who had now turned aside,
weeping. “I owe my life to her,” she added. “Ought I to requite her
thus?”
“I have said I will not depart without assurance of this traitor’s
death,” rejoined Philip; “and your reluctance shows how my orders would
be obeyed in my absence. Sir Henry Bedingfeld awaits the warrant.”
Thus urged, Mary took up the pen, when Pole interposed.
“A moment, Madam,” he cried. “Ere you sign that death-warrant, I crave
permission to say a few words to his Majesty.”
“I am entirely at your Eminence’s disposal,” rejoined Philip, advancing
towards him.
“Sire,” said Pole, “you will, I am assured, acknowledge that Heaven’s
bounties have been bestowed upon you with a lavish hand.”
Philip assented, and Pole went on. “You have been summoned to the
greatest throne in Europe, and while your heart is naturally elated by
what you have gained, it should be opened to the kindliest and most
generous emotions. Let your first act be one which shall show you are
influenced by such feelings.”
“What would you have me do?” replied Philip, somewhat coldly. “I am
about to testify my gratitude to Heaven by public prayer and
thanksgiving in Westminster Abbey, by largesses to my attendants, by
liberal donations of alms to the poor, and in various other ways, as my
confessor shall direct, and as I trust will meet with your Eminence’s
approval.”
“All this is well,” replied the Cardinal; “and yet your heart may not be
touched as I would have it. Perform a noble deed. Osbert Clinton has
deeply offended you. His life is in your hands. Pardon him.”
“I cannot pardon him,” replied Philip. “I have sworn that he shall die.”
“I will absolve you of your oath,” said the Cardinal. “The occasion is
one that demands from you some self-sacrifice, and you must make it.”
“I would do aught in my power to gratify your Eminence, to whom I am
infinitely beholden, but I cannot forego an act of just vengeance,”
replied Philip. “I have purposely delayed this execution, not from any
intention of sparing the traitor, but because I would prolong his
punishment. To-morrow he dies. Press me no more, for I must perforce
refuse your request. I will not be balked of my revenge.”
“It is well, Sire,” replied Pole. “But I warn you that you will repent
your indulgence of this evil passion.”
“You plead the cause of a rebel and traitor,” cried Philip, impatiently.
“Osbert Clinton has been justly condemned for his crimes.”
“Search your heart, Sire,” said the Cardinal, in a severe tone, “and you
will find why Osbert became a rebel and a traitor. He was loyal and
devoted till his wrongs—ay, wrongs, Sire—made him what he is.”
“But he rose in rebellion against the Queen,” cried Philip.
“I pardon him for his offences against me—fully and freely pardon him,”
interposed Mary; “and I pray your Majesty to pardon him likewise.”
Philip made no reply, but his looks continued inexorable.
“Essay what you can do,” said Pole, in a low voice to Constance.
“Alas, I despair of moving him,” she rejoined. “Nevertheless, I will
make the attempt.” And casting herself at Philip’s feet, she said, “Oh,
Sire, if this sentence be carried out, and Osbert perish on the block,
you will have my life to answer for as well as his, since I shall not
long survive him. The blow which strikes him will reach me also. I am
the cause of all Osbert’s treasonable acts. But for his love for me, he
would have been loyal and devoted to you and to her Majesty. Oh, that
you had never seen me, Sire! Oh, that chance, on your arrival in this
country, had not brought you near me! Since that fatal hour nothing but
calamity has attended me. But now that you are departing, Sire, leave me
not to wretchedness and despair. Pity Osbert, Sire—overlook his
offences, and pardon him. By so doing, you will save yourself from a
remorse which no penitence will remove, but which will ever haunt you if
you doom us both to death. But no, Sire, I see you relent—your nobler
and better feelings triumph—you are yourself—the worthy son of Charles
V. You forgive me—you pardon Osbert Clinton?”
“Arise, Constance,” said Philip, taking her hand and raising her; “you
have conquered. That I have done you much wrong, and caused you great
unhappiness, I freely confess. That I may have goaded Osbert Clinton
into the commission of the offences of which he has been guilty, I will
not attempt to deny. But I will make amends. He shall have a pardon.”
“Nobly done, Sire!” ejaculated Pole. “Nobly done!”
“To make sure that Osbert is worthy of the grace bestowed upon him,”
said Philip, “he shall accompany me to Brussels, and thence to Spain,
and when I have proved him, I will send him back to reap his reward.”
“Oh, Sire, you overwhelm me with gratitude!” cried Constance.
“Happiness, so long a stranger to me, begins to smile on me again.”
“On his return, it will be for your Eminence to complete the work by
bestowing upon him the hand of your ward,” said Philip to the Cardinal.
“And at the same time I shall surrender the fortune which I hold in
trust for her,” said Pole.
“Sir Henry Bedingfeld,” said Philip to the Lieutenant of the Tower,
whose looks manifested the lively interest he took in what was passing,
“you will return to the Tower, not with a death-warrant, but with an
order for Osbert’s immediate liberation.”
“Here it is, Sir Henry,” said Mary, tracing a few lines on a sheet of
paper, and giving it to Bedingfeld. “Tell him that he has our full
pardon.”
“I shall not fail, gracious Madam,” rejoined the Lieutenant of the
Tower, with a profound obeisance.
And he moved towards the door. Before reaching it, however, he was
stopped by an usher, who placed a packet in his hands, saying it was
important, and had just been brought from the Tower. The packet
contained a letter, enclosed within which was a small piece of paper. On
glancing at the letter, Bedingfeld started, and his countenance fell.
“What is the matter, Sir Henry?” demanded the King, remarking his
altered looks.
“The prisoner, Sire!—the prisoner!” faltered Bedingfeld.
“What of him?” shrieked Constance, in tones that chilled those who heard
her. “What has happened?”
“Read, Sire,” said Bedingfeld, handing the missive he had just received
to the King.
“Ha! is it so?” cried Philip, his countenance changing as he read the
dispatch. “Remove her, I pray you, my Lord Cardinal,” he added to Pole.
“I will not go till I learn the truth,” cried Constance, distractedly.
“Speak, Sir, I conjure you,” she added to Bedingfeld.
“Better let her know the truth, be it what it may,” said Pole.
“Ay, speak, Sir Henry—keep her not in suspense,” said the Queen. “The
prisoner was well when you left the Tower—ha?”
“He was, Madam, but——”
“But what?” demanded Mary.
“Since then he has died by poison,” said Philip.
“By poison! how could it be procured?” asked the Queen.
“It appears to have been contained in a ring which he was unluckily
allowed to wear,” replied Philip.
“Is there no poison left for me, that I may join him?” cried Constance.
“Kind Heaven support her!” exclaimed Pole. “Her reason wanders.”
“No, I am calm enough now,” she rejoined.
“Then you may bear to hear that Osbert’s last thoughts were given to
you,” said Philip. “This scrap of paper was found clutched in his dying
grasp. On it are written the words, ‘Farewell for ever, beloved
Constance!’”
Taking the piece of crumpled paper from the King, she gazed at it for a
few moments, and then pressed it convulsively to her lips.
“Farewell, Osbert—farewell for ever!” she cried.
“No, not for ever,” rejoined Pole, solemnly. “You will be united in a
better world.”
Praying the Cardinal to stay with her and console her, the King withdrew
with D’Egmont and Bedingfeld.
Left alone with Pole and the Queen, Constance was permitted by them to
indulge her grief without restraint before any attempt at consolation
was made; but when these paroxysms were over, and she became calmer, the
good Cardinal poured balm into her bruised spirit, and ceased not till
his efforts were successful.
From that moment Constance became perfectly resigned—and though all
youthful gaiety and lightness of heart deserted her, and her features
wore an unvarying expression of melancholy and sadness, she never
uttered a murmur. She would fain have spent the rest of her life in
solitude and retirement, but the Queen refused to part with her, and
retained her with her to the close of her days.
With remarkable consideration, Mary did not interfere with her religious
observances, but allowed her what she denied all others, freedom of
conscience. This concession, however, on the Queen’s part, was made on
the earnest recommendation of Cardinal Pole. Thus Constance continued
unshaken in her faith. By her gentle assiduities she was enabled
materially to alleviate the anguish of mind endured by the Queen during
Philip’s absence, and when at length Mary sank after protracted
suffering, her last moments were soothed by Constance Tyrrell.
[Illustration]
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[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
TWO LIGHTS EXTINGUISHED.
Upwards of three years had flown since the occurrences last
narrated—three terrible years, during which religious persecution never
ceased. Bradford and Marsh had perished at the stake, so had Ridley and
Latimer, with many others, and Cranmer had won a martyr’s crown.
Gardiner had long gone to his account, being stricken with a mortal
disease, while reading a letter describing the torments of Ridley and
Latimer. He lingered for a month, and then dying, was buried with great
pomp in Winchester Cathedral. But though Gardiner was gone, Bonner yet
lived, and the barbarous proceedings against the Protestants were
unrelaxed.
On Cranmer’s death, Pole was immediately created Archbishop of
Canterbury, and began to put into execution the plan he had long
designed for reforming the abuses of the Church. Notwithstanding the
opposition of the clergy, aided as they were by Paul IV., the then
ruling Pontiff, whose displeasure Pole had incurred, he succeeded in
effecting many beneficial changes, and would doubtless have accomplished
much more, had he been spared, but in the very midst of his exertions he
was attacked by a quartan ague, engendered by the pestilent exhalations
from Lambeth marshes. By its extreme violence, the fever threatened from
the first a fatal termination.
Though not unconscious of his danger, and, indeed scarcely entertaining
a hope of recovery, the Cardinal continued his labours during the
intervals when he was free from fever. His chief cause of concern at
this moment was, that the Queen also was lying upon a sick couch, from
which it was scarcely probable she could rise. Foreseeing the disastrous
consequences to the Church of Rome which must inevitably ensue from her
death, he felt so troubled in spirit that his mental anxiety added force
to the attacks of the ague.
Throughout the Cardinal’s illness, Priuli watched over him with
unremitting solicitude, and such entire reliance had Pole in the
judgment and devotion of his friend, that he confided everything to him.
One day, when the Cardinal was free from fever, and he and Priuli were
alone together in the library of Lambeth Palace, he requested his friend
to unlock a small coffer which he pointed out, and at the same time gave
him a key. Priuli obeyed, and on opening the coffer perceived within it
a parchment, so endorsed as to leave him no doubt as to its nature.
“That is my will,” said Pole. “I desire you to read it.”
On perusing the document, Priuli found that the Cardinal had appointed
him his sole heir and executor, whereupon, looking Pole earnestly in the
face, he said, “I am glad you have consulted me on this matter, dear
friend, and allowed me the opportunity of expressing my opinion upon it.
It would have grieved me to disobey your injunctions, and yet I cannot
conscientiously fulfil them. Readily will I undertake the office to
which you have appointed me, and will carefully attend to your
directions as to the distribution of your property, but with regard to
the rich inheritance you would bestow upon me, I must peremptorily
decline it. I cannot—will not accept any part of it. I thank you for the
intent, but I am rich enough without this augmentation of my worldly
goods.”
“Distribute my possessions among the poor, or build churches and
hospitals with them,” rejoined the Cardinal. “Whatever you do, will, I
am sure, be for the best. But if you decline my bequest, at least accept
some slight object, be it only a jewel or ring, to be kept as a memorial
of our long friendship.”
“I desire neither jewel nor ring, nor any other memorial richer than the
breviary you constantly use,” replied Priuli. “Of all gifts, I should
value that the most.”
“It shall be yours, dear friend,” rejoined Pole. “I shall keep it as
long as my eyes are able to fix upon it—as long as my hands will hold
it—then take it. May it afford you the comfort it has ever afforded me,
and draw you towards Heaven, as it has never failed to draw me.”
Pole was constant in his inquiries after the Queen, and on her part Mary
was equally anxious for information as to the state of his health.
Messengers were continually passing between Lambeth Palace and
Whitehall, but from neither place were the tidings satisfactory. On the
contrary, the reports of the condition of both illustrious sufferers
grew worse, and it became a question as to which of the two would be the
survivor. Pole prayed that he might be the first to depart—but it was
not so ordained.
The grief felt by every member of the Cardinal’s vast establishment for
the deprivation which they felt they must soon undergo, was sincere and
profound, but no one deplored his exalted master’s precarious condition
more deeply than Rodomont Bittern. The poor who thronged the gates of
the palace, and received alms and food from Priuli, put up earnest
prayers for their benefactor’s recovery.
But the fever abated not, and though its attacks were somewhat mitigated
in severity, still the Cardinal’s debilitated frame was less able to
withstand them. He daily grew weaker and weaker.
Notwithstanding his prostration, however, he was carried twice in each
day to the chapel to hear mass. One evening after vespers, the large
easy-chair in which he reclined was wheeled into the library, and
Priuli, who now seldom left him, took his accustomed place by his side.
Four days having elapsed since the Cardinal’s last attack, it was
certain that the night would not pass without a return of the fever.
Notwithstanding this, Pole was conversing cheerfully with his friend,
when Rodomont Bittern entered to say that Mistress Constance Tyrrell was
without, and desired to see his Eminence.
“Admit her straight,” replied Pole. “She is ever welcome.”
And the next moment Constance came in. The expression of her
countenance, which was as pale as death, struck Priuli, but did not
appear to attract Pole’s attention. Moving noiselessly towards the
Cardinal, Constance knelt before him, while he spread his thin white
hands over her head, and in feeble tones gave her his benediction.
“How fares the Queen?” inquired Pole, as Constance arose. “She was
somewhat easier this morning, as I understand.”
“Her Majesty is easier now,” replied Constance. “She is free from all
pain.”
“Is she gone?” inquired Pole, while a premonitory shiver shook his
wasted frame.
“She is gone,” rejoined Constance. “The heart that has so long suffered
has ceased to beat.”
“May the angels of Heaven receive her soul and present it before the
Lord!” exclaimed Pole. “And may whatever sin she has committed in life
through human frailty be forgiven her! Did her spirit pass away easily?”
“Most easily,” replied Constance. “Her sole concern was for the welfare
of her Church.”
“The chief pillar of the Church is broken,” cried Pole, in a voice of
anguish; “and my hand, which might have helped to support the falling
structure, is also powerless. _Domine, salva nos, perimus! Salvator
Mundi, salva Ecclesiam tuam._”
For some moments he remained in fervent prayer, after which he seemed
calmer, and inquired if the Queen had said aught concerning the King her
husband.
“She spoke not of him at the last,” replied Constance, “but it would
seem that the loss of Calais produced a deep impression on her, for she
said, ‘My physicians seek to know the cause of my malady. Let them open
my breast, and they will find “Calais” graven on my heart.’”
“It was not the loss of Calais that broke her heart,” said Pole. “Heaven
forgive him who has brought her prematurely to the tomb. England has
lost a great sovereign, and our Church its chief defence. Elizabeth is
now Queen, and with her the Protestant Church will be restored.
Fortunately, I shall not live to see that day. Farewell, dear daughter.
My blessing be ever upon you!”
Finding that the fever was coming on, he caused himself to be
transported to his chamber, and was laid upon the couch which he was
never again to leave with life.
Towards morning his condition became alarming, and he received extreme
unction, the last rites being performed by the Bishop of Asaph. This
done, after some words to Priuli, he clasped to his breast the crucifix,
which he had ever with him, and seemed to sink into a gentle slumber.
And so he breathed his last.
Crucifix and breviary were kept as sacred relics by Priuli.
In the chapel of Saint Thomas à Becket, which he himself built in
Canterbury Cathedral, rests the saintly Reginald Pole. This simple
inscription is placed over his tomb:—
DEPOSITUM CARDINALIS POLI.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
WHITING AND COMPANY, LIMITED, SARDINIA STREET, LINCOLN’S-INN-FIELDS.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s note:
Hyphenation is not entirely consistent. Where hyphenation occurs on a
line or page break, the hyphen is retained or removed based on the usage
elsewhere in the text.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions.
15.42 welcomed her with [e]very demonstration of joy Added.
20.26 [Y/L]et us give them reason Replaced.
27.28 the Cross of Santiago[./,] Replaced.
38.1 which represent the renow[n]ed Sir Bevis Added.
39.1 Then all the wealthy merchants of Removed.
South[h]ampton,
43.41 thus ensconced themse[l]ves, Added.
53.26 where the traitor[or]ous nobles Removed.
54.16 white as m[u/a]rble Replaced.
57.5 I command you to let me go[.] Added.
57.31 and all the town flock[ /e]d to the quay Restored.
76.2 to q[n/u]estion him further? Inverted.
100.4 Heaven avert such a contingency[?/!] Replaced.
106.28 I am a physici[a/o]n to those who are sick Replaced.
113.29 during a s[ei/ie]ge. Transposed.
137.1 found scant accom[m]odation Added.
143.1 at whic[k/h] King Arthur Replaced.
157.25 [“]My confessor, Father Alfonso, shall take Added.
you in hand.
160.42 upon a sta[i]rcase Added.
164.10 there was a tolerably ex[s/t]ensive garden Replaced.
174.40 “Again I say, forbear[?/!]” cried Osbert. Replaced.
189.17 and on the haut[-]pas, but not beneath the Removed.
canopy
199.41 twelve gentlemen ushers[,] steward, Added.
201.11 Further on co[u]ld be observed Added.
205.6 Yonder comes his Em[m]inence Removed.
208.24 Mary looked ill and la[u/n]guid Inverted.
210.5 retorted Gard[e/i]ner Gardiner. Replaced.
240.21 after passing th[r]ough the vestibule Added.
241.24 but may confidently look forward to[ to] a Removed.
meeting
250.41 [i]t has not been contrary to law. Restored.
252.12 [“]but I gave up all Added.
258.25 I will bring back the man to him to[-]morrow. Restored.
260.8 having been excommun[ci/ic]ated Transposed.
266.24 and receive my blessing[,/.] Replaced.
274.40 she was borne to the sacris[i]ty by Rodomont Removed.
276.12 Hide yourself in this cupboa[r]d, Added.
276.28 Are you still in the same mood as when I saw Replaced.
you last[./?]
281.4 [“]Again, I implore you to renounce your Added.
errors.”
295.30 as soon as he and Bonner were left alone.[”] Removed.
298.32 But why should she be exposed to such Replaced.
treatment[./?]
299.3 said Mary[,/.] Replaced.
301.8 I warn you, therefore[,] of your danger Added.
304.28 the solicitation of Gard[e/i]ner Replaced.
313.27 grasping the hand stretched out to him.[”] Removed.
317.18 the alarm-bell was run[g] more violently than Added.
ever
318.24 shout[ing/ed] several voices, Replaced.
320.28 Constance Tyrrell and Derrick Carver.[”] Added.
321.13 and suffic[i]ent smaller craft Added.
324.2 demanded Osbert, on seeing him.[”] Removed.
334.12 Bonner said, in a bitter and derisive Rep
tone[,/.]
336.41 he is excommunicated[./,]and if ye give him Replaced.
aught
354.11 “That is best know[n] to themselves,” Added.
356.9 they are rebels and traitor[s]! Added.
370.31 had considerable pretensions to beauty[.] Added.
376.12 to that of Queen Catherine [./?] Replaced.
378.41 away with you,” cried Lilias[.] Added.
396.36 “To[-]morrow they will be privately Restored.
interrogated,”
403.31 loaded with infi[r]mities Added.
415.34 [“]Heaven forgive him Added.