Three days after Northumberland’s reconciliation with the Church of
Rome, the warrant for his execution was signed by Queen Mary. The fatal
intelligence was brought him by the lieutenant, Sir John Gage, and
though he received it with apparent calmness, his heart sank within him.
he simply inquired when it was to take place, and, being informed on the
following day at an early hour, he desired to be left alone. As soon
as the lieutenant was gone, he abandoned himself wholly to despair,
and fell into a state bordering on distraction. While he was in this
frenzied state, the door of his cell opened, and the jailor introduced
Gunnora Braose and a tall man muffled in the folds of an ample black
cloak.
“Wretch!” cried the Duke, regarding the old woman fiercely. “You have
deceived me. But the device shall avail you little. From the scaffold
I will expose the snare in which I have been taken. I will proclaim my
Protestant opinions; and my dying declaration will be of more profit to
that faith than my recent recantation can be to yours.”
“Your grace is mistaken,” rejoined Gunnora. “I do not deserve your
reproaches, as I will presently show. I am the bearer of a pardon to
you.”
“A pardon!” exclaimed Northumberland, incredulously.
“Ay, a pardon,” replied the old woman. “The Queen’s highness will spare
your life. But it is her pleasure that her clemency be as public as your
crime. You will be reprieved on the scaffold.”
“Were I assured of this,” cried Northumberland, eagerly grasping at the
straw held out to him, “I would exhort the whole multitude to embrace
the Catholic faith.”
“Rest satisfied of it, then,” replied Gunnora. “May I perish at the same
moment as yourself if I speak not the truth!”
“Whom have we here?” inquired the Duke, turning to the muffled
personage. “The headsman?”
“Your enemy,” replied the individual, throwing aside his mantle, and
disclosing the features of Simon Renard.
“It is but a poor revenge to insult a fallen foe,” observed
Northumberland, disdainfully.
“Revenge is sweet, however obtained,” rejoined Renard. “I am not come,
however, to insult your grace, but to confirm the truth of this old
woman’s statement. Opposed as I am to you, and shall ever be, I would
not have you forfeit your life by a new and vile apostacy. Abjure the
Catholic faith, and you will die unpitied by all. Maintain it; and at
the last moment, when the arm of the executioner is raised, and the axe
gleams in the air—when the eyes of thousands are fixed on it—sovereign
mercy will arrest the blow.”
“You awaken new hope in my bosom,” rejoined the Duke.
“Be true to the faith you have embraced, and fear nothing,” continued
Renard. “You may yet be restored to favour, and a new career of ambition
will open to you.”
“Life is all I ask,” replied the Duke; “and if that be spared, it shall
be spent in her majesty’s service. My pride is thoroughly humbled. But
the language you hold to me, M. Renard, is not that of an enemy. Let me
think that our differences are ended.”
“They will be ended to-morrow,” replied Renard, coldly.
“Be it so,” replied Northumberland. “The first act of the life I receive
from her highness shall be to prostrate myself at her feet: the next, to
offer my thanks to you, and entreat your friendship.‘’
“Tush,” returned Renard, impatiently. “My friendship is more to be
feared than my enmity.”
“If there is any means of repairing the wrong I have done you,” said the
Duke, turning to Gunnora, “be assured I will do it.”
“I am content with what your grace has done already,” rejoined Gunnora,
sternly. “You cannot restore the Duke of Somerset to life. You cannot
give back the blood shed on the scaffold—”
“But I can atone for it,” interrupted the Duke.
“Ay,” cried Gunnora, her eyes flashing with vindictive fire, “you
can—fearfully atone for it.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the Duke.
“Your grace will not heed her raving,” remarked Renard, seeing that
Northumberland’s suspicions were aroused by the old woman’s manner.
“You can atone for it,” continued Gunnora, aware of the impression she
had produced, and eager to remove it, “by a life of penance. Pass the
night in prayer for the repose of his soul, and do not omit to implore
pardon for yourself, and to-morrow I will freely forgive you.”
“I will do as you desire,” replied the Duke.
“I must now bid your grace farewell,” said Renard. “We shall meet
to-morrow—on the scaffold.”
“But not part there, I hope,” replied Northumberland, forcing a smile.
“That will rest with your grace—not me,” replied Renard, in a freezing
tone.
“Will you accept this from me?” said Northumberland, detaching a
jewelled ornament from his dress, and offering it to Gunnora.
“I will accept nothing from you,” replied the old woman. “Yes,—one
thing,” she added quickly.
“It is yours,” rejoined the Duke. “Name it?”
“You shall give it me to-morrow,” she answered evasively.
“It is his head you require,” observed Renard, with a sinister smile, as
they quitted the Beauchamp Tower.
“You have guessed rightly,” rejoined the old woman, savagely. “We have
him in our toils,” returned Renard. “He cannot escape. You ought to be
content with your vengeance, Gunnora. You have destroyed both body and
soul.”
“I am content,” she answered.
“And now to Mauger,” said Renard, “to give him the necessary
instructions. You should bargain with him for Northumberland’s head,
since you are so anxious to possess it.”
“I shall not live to receive it,” rejoined Gunnora.
“Not live!” he exclaimed. “What mean you?”
“No matter,” she replied. “We lose time. I am anxious to finish this
business. I have much to do to-night.”
Taking their way across the Green, and hastening down the declivity they
soon arrived at the Bloody Tower. Here they learnt from a warder that
Manger, since Queen Mary’s accession, had taken up his quarters in the
Cradle Tower, and thither they repaired. Traversing the outer ward in
the direction of the Lantern Tower, they passed through a wide portal
and entered the Privy gardens, on the right of which stood the tower in
question.
0209
As they drew near, they heard the shrill sound produced by the
sharpening of some steel instrument. Smiling significantly at Gunnora,
Renard instead of opening the door proceeded to a narrow loop-hole, and
looked in. He beheld a savage-looking individual seated on a bench
near a grindstone. He had an axe in one hand, which he had just
been sharpening, and was trying its edge with his thumb. His fierce
blood-shot eyes, peering from beneath his bent and bushy brows, were
fixed upon the weapon. His dress consisted of a doublet of red serge
with tight black sleeves, and hose of the same colour. His brow was
lowering and wrinkled—the summit of his head perfectly bald, but the
sides were garnished with long black locks, which together with
his immense grizzled moustaches, bristling like the whiskers of a
cat-a-mountain, and ragged beard, imparted a wild and forbidding look to
his physiognomy. Near him rested a square, solid piece of wood, hollowed
out on either side to admit the shoulder and head of the person laid
upon it. This was the block. Had Renard not known whom he beheld,
instinct would have told him it was the headsman.
0210
Apparently satisfied with the sharpness of the implement, Manger was
about to lay it aside, when the door opened, and Renard and Gunnora
entered the chamber. The executioner rose to receive them. He had
received a wound in his left leg which had crippled the limb, and he got
up with difficulty.
“Do not disturb yourself,” said Renard. “My business will be despatched
in a few seconds. You are preparing I see for the execution to-morrow.
What I have to say relates to it. The moment the Duke’s head is laid
upon this block,” he added, pointing to it, “strike. Give him not a
moment’s pause. Do you hear?”
“I do,” replied Mauger. “But I must have some warrant?”
“Be this your warrant,” replied Renard, flinging him a heavy purse. “If
you require further authority, you shall have it under the Queen’s own
hand.”
“I require nothing further, worshipful sir,” replied Mauger, smiling
grimly. “Ere the neck has rested one second upon the block, the head
shall be off.”
“I have also a boon to offer, and an injunction to give,” said Gunnora
taking off the ring given her by the unfortunate Lady Jane, and
presenting it to him.
“Your gift is the richer of the two, or I am mistaken, good mistress,”
said Mauger, regarding the glittering gem with greedy eyes. “What am I
to do for it? I cannot behead him twice.”
“I shall stand in front of the scaffold to-morrow,” replied Gunnora, “in
some conspicuous place where you will easily discern me. Before you deal
the fatal blow, make a sign to me—thus—do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” replied the headsman. “I will not fail you.”
Upon this, Renard and the old woman quitted the Cradle Tower, and walked
together as far as the outer ward, where each took a separate course.
The last night of his existence was passed by the Duke of Northumberland
in a most miserable manner. Alternately buoyed up by hope, and depressed
by fear, he could neither calm his agitation, nor decide upon any line
of conduct. Allowed, as a matter of indulgence, to remain within the
large room, he occupied himself in putting the finishing touches to a
carving on the wall, which he had commenced on his first imprisonment,
and had wrought at at intervals. This curious sculpture may still
be seen on the right hand of the fireplace of the mess-room in the
Beauchamp Tower, and contains his cognizance, a bear and lion supporting
a ragged staff surrounded by a border of roses., acorns and flowers
intermingled with foliage.
0213
Northumberland was employed upon the third line of the quatrain below
his name, which remains unfinished to the present day, when he was
interrupted by the entrance of a priest, sent to him by Gardiner. The
holy man found him in no very favourable frame of mind, but succeeded
after some time in awakening him to a due sense of his awful situation.
The Duke then made a full confession of his guilt, and received his
shrift. At daybreak, the priest departed, with a promise to attend him
to the place of execution.
Much tranquillised, the Duke now prepared himself for his last trial. He
pondered over what he should say on the scaffold, and nerved himself
to meet his fate, whatever it might be. The Duke of Warwick was then
introduced to him to receive his blessing, and to take an everlasting
farewell. After he had received the Duke’s embrace, the Earl observed,
“Would I could change places with you, father. I would say that on the
scaffold which would shake the bigot Mary on the throne.”
The Duke then partook of some refreshment, and wrapped himself in a
loose robe of grain-coloured damask. At eight o’clock, the Sheriffs
of London arrived at the Bulwark Gate, and demanded the body of the
prisoner. Upon this, the Lieutenant, accompanied by four warders,
proceeded to the Beauchamp Tower, and informed the Duke that all was in
readiness.
“I am ready, too,” replied Northumberland, once more embracing his
son, whose firmness did not desert him at this trying juncture. And he
followed the Lieutenant to the Green. Here they found the priest, and
a band of halberdiers waiting to escort him to the scaffold. Among the
by-standers stood Simon Renard, who immediately advanced towards him.
“How fares your grace!” he asked.
“Well enough, sir, I thank you,” answered the Duke, bowing. “I shall be
better anon.”
The train then set forward, passing through lines of spectators, until
it reached the Middle Tower, where it halted, to allow the Lieutenant to
deliver the prisoner to the Sheriffs and their officers. This ceremony
over, it again set forward, and passed through the Bulwark Gate.
Prepared as the Duke was for some extraordinary sight, he was yet taken
completely by surprise. The whole area of Tower Hill seemed literally
paved with human heads. A line of scaffoldings was erected on the brink
of the moat, and every seat in them was occupied. Never before had so
vast an assemblage been collected in the same place. The whole of the
western ramparts of the fortress—the roof and battlements of the White
Tower—every point from which a view of the spectacle could be obtained,
was thronged. On the Duke’s appearance, a murmur of satisfaction
pervaded the immense host, and he then felt that even if the Queen’s
pardon should arrive, his personal safety was more than questionable.
Preceded by a band of arquebussiers, armed with calivers, and attended
by the sheriffs, the priest, and Simon Renard, Northumberland marched
slowly forward. At length, he reached the scaffold. It was surrounded
by seats, set aside for persons of distinction; and among its occupants
were many of his former friends and allies. Avoiding their gaze, the
Duke mounted the scaffold with a firm foot; but the sight of the vast
concourse from this elevated point almost unmanned him. As he looked
around, another murmur arose, and the mob undulated like the ocean. Near
the block stood Manger, leaning on his axe; his features concealed by a
hideous black mask. On the Duke’s appearance, he fell on his knees, and,
according to custom, demanded forgiveness, which was granted. Throwing
aside his robe, the Duke then advanced to the side of the scaffold, and
leaning over the eastern rail, thus addressed the assemblage:
“Good people. I am come hither this day to die, as ye know. Indeed,
I confess to you all that I have been an evil liver, and have done
wickedly all the days of my life; and, of all, most against the Queen’s
highness, of whom I here openly ask forgiveness,” and he reverentially
bent the knee. “But I alone am not the original doer thereof, I assure
you, for there were some others who procured the same. But I will not
name them, for I will now hurt no man. And the chief occasion that I
have erred from the Catholic faith and true doctrine of Christ, has been
through false and seditious preachers. The doctrine, I mean, which has
continued through all Christendom since Christ. For, good people, there
is, and hath been ever since Christ, one Catholic church; which church
hath continued from him to his disciples in one unity and concord, and
so hath always continued from time to time until this day, and yet doth
throughout all Christendom, ourselves alone excepted. Of this church I
openly profess myself to be one, and do steadfastly believe therein.
I speak unfeignedly from the bottom of my heart. And I beseech you all
bear witness that I die therein. Moreover, I do think, if I had had this
belief sooner, I never should have come to this pass: wherefore I exhort
you all, good people, take example of me, and forsake this new doctrine
betimes. Defer it not long, lest God plague you as he hath me, who now
suffer this vile death most deservedly.”
Concluding by desiring the prayers of the assemblage, he returned
slowly, and fixing an inquiring look upon Renard, who was standing with
his arms folded upon his breast, near the block, said in a low tone, “It
comes not.”
“It is not yet time,” replied Renard.
The Duke was about to kneel down, when he perceived a stir amid the mob
in front of the scaffold, occasioned by some one waving a handkerchief
to him. Thinking it was the signal of a pardon, he paused. But he was
speedily undeceived. A second glance showed him that the handkerchief
was waved by Gunnora, and was spotted with blood.
Casting one glance of the bitterest anguish at Renard, he then
prostrated himself, and the executioner at the same moment raised his
hand. As soon as the Duke had disposed himself upon the block, the axe
flashed like a gleam of lightning in the sunshine,—descended,—and the
head was severed from the trunk.
Seizing it with his left hand, Mauger held it aloft, almost before the
eyes were closed, crying out to the assemblage, in a loud voice, “Behold
the head of a traitor!”
Amid the murmur produced by the released respiration of the multitude, a
loud shriek was heard, and a cry followed that an old woman had suddenly
expired. The report was true. It was Gunnora Braose.
0216
0218