While satisfying his appetite, Xit could not help reflecting upon the
probable consequences of the ridiculous statement he had made to Renard,
and the idea of the anger of the ambassador when he discovered the
deception practised upon him, occasioned him much internal trepidation.
It did not, however, prevent him from doing full justice to the viands
before him, nor from draining to the last drop the contents of the
flask. Inspired by the potent liquid, he laughed at his former fears,
sprang upon the bench, and committed a hundred other antics and
extravagancies. But as the fumes of the wine evaporated, his valour
declined; until, like Acres’s, it fairly “oozed out at his fingers’
ends.”
He then began to consider whether it might not be possible to escape.
With this view, he examined the embrazures, but they were grated, and
defied his efforts to pass through. He next tried the door, and to his
great surprise found it unfastened; having, most probably, been left
open intentionally by Wolfytt. As may be supposed, Xit did not hesitate
to avail himself of the chance thus unexpectedly offered him. Issuing
forth, he hurried up a small spiral stone staircase, which brought him
to the entrance of the upper chamber. The door was ajar, and peeping
cautiously through it, he perceived Nightgall and Wolfytt, both asleep;
the former reclining with his face on the table, which was covered with
fragments of meat and bread, goblets, and a large pot of wine; and the
latter, extended at full length, on the floor. It was evident, from
their heavy breathing and disordered attire, they had been drinking
deeply.
0362
Stepping cautiously into the chamber, which in size and form exactly
corresponded with that below, Xit approached the sleepers. A bunch
of keys hung at Nightgall’s girdle—the very bunch he had taken once
before,—and the temptation to possess himself of them was irresistible.
Creeping up to the jailor, and drawing the poignard suspended at his
right side from out its sheath, he began to sever his girdle. While
he was thus occupied, the keys slightly jingled, and Nightgall,
half-awakened by the sound, put his hand to his belt. Finding all safe,
as he imagined, he disposed himself to slumber again, while Xit who
had darted under the table at the first alarm, as soon as he thought
it prudent, recommenced his task, and the keys were once more in his
possession.
As he divided the girdle, a piece of paper fell from it; and glancing at
it, he perceived it was an order from the council to let the bearer pass
at any hour whithersoever he would, through the fortress. Thrusting
it into his jerkin, and carrying the keys as carefully as he could to
prevent their clanking, he quitted the room, and mounted another short
staircase, which brought him to the roof.
It was just getting light as Xit gained the battlements, and he was
immediately challenged by the sentinel. On producing the order, however,
he was allowed to pass, and crossing the roof towards the south, he
descended another short spiral staircase, and emerged from an open door
on the ballium wall, along which he proceeded.
On the way, he encountered three more sentinels, all of whom allowed
him to pass on sight of the order. Passing through an arched door-way
he mounted a flight of steps, and reached the roof of the Broad Arrow
Tower.
0363
Here he paused to consider what course he should pursue. The point
upon which he stood commanded a magnificent view on every side of the
ramparts and towers of the fortress. Immediately before him was the
Wardrobe Tower—now removed, but then connected by an irregular pile of
buildings with the Broad Arrow Tower,—while beyond it frowned the grey
walls of the White Tower.
On the left was the large court where the masque had been given by the
Earl of Devonshire, at which he had played so distinguished a part,
surrounded on the west and the south by the walls of the palace. On the
right, the view comprehended the chain of fortifications as far as the
Flint Tower, with the range of store-houses and other buildings in front
of them. At the back ran the outer line of ramparts, leading northward
to the large circular bastion, still existing, and known as the Brass
Mount; and southward to the structure denominated the Tower leading to
the Iron Gate, and now termed the Devil’s Battery. Further on, was to
be seen London Bridge with its pile of houses, and the tower of Saint
Saviour’s Church formed a prominent object in the picture..
But Xit’s attention was not attracted to the view. He only thought how
he could make good his escape, and where he could hide himself in case
of pursuit. After debating with himself for some time, he determined to
descend to the lowest chamber of the fortification on which he stood and
see whether it had any communication with the subterranean passages of
which he possessed the keys.
Accordingly, he retraced the steps he had just mounted, and continued
to descend till he reached an arched door. Unlocking it with one of the
keys from his bunch, he entered a dark passage, along which he proceeded
at a swift pace. His course was speedily checked by another door, but
succeeding in unfastening it, he ran on as fast as his legs could carry
him, till he tumbled headlong down a steep flight of steps. Picking
himself up he proceeded more cautiously, and arrived, after some time,
without further obstacle, at a lofty, and as he judged from the sound,
vaulted chamber.
To his great dismay, though he searched carefully round it, he could
find no exit from this chamber, and he was about to retrace his course,
when he discovered a short ladder laid against the side of the wall. It
immediately occurred to him that this might be used as a communication
with some secret door, and rearing it against the wall, he mounted, and
feeling about, to his great joy encountered a bolt.
Drawing it aside, a stone door slowly revolved on its hinges, and
disclosed a small cell in which a female was seated before a table with
a lamp burning upon it. She raised her head at the sound, and revealed
the features of Cicely.
Xit uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and rushing towards her,
expressed his joy at seeing her. Cicely was equally delighted at the
sight of the dwarf, and explained to him that she had been thus long
forcibly detained a prisoner by Nightgall.
“Your captivity is at an end,” said Xit, as her relation was concluded.
“I am come to deliver you, and restore you to your lover. I am afraid
he won’t think your beauty improved—but I am sure he won’t like you the
worse for that. Come along. Lean on me. I will support you.”
They were just emerging from the cell, when hasty footsteps were heard
approaching, and a man entered the vaulted chamber, bearing a torch. It
was Nightgall. His looks were wild and furious, and on seeing the
dwarf and his companion, he uttered an exclamation of rage, and hurried
towards them. Cicely ran screaming to the cell, while Xit, brandishing
Night-gall’s own poniard, threatened to stab him if he dared to mount
the ladder.
XXV.—OF THE ARRIVAL OF THE IMPERIAL AMBASSADORS; AND OF THE SIGNING OF
THE MARRIAGE-TREATY BETWEEN MARY AND PHILIP OF SPAIN.
On the 2nd of January, 1554, a solemn embassy from the emperor Charles
the Fifth, consisting of four of his most distinguished nobles, the
Count D’Egmont, the Count Lalaing, the Seigneur De Courrieres, and the
Sieur De Nigry, chancellor of the order of the Toison D’Or, arrived in
London to sign the marriage-treaty between Philip and Mary which had
been previously agreed upon by the courts of England and Spain.
Gardiner, who as long as he found it possible to do so, had strenuously
opposed the match, and had recommended Mary to unite herself to
Courtenay, or at least to some English nobleman, finding her resolutely
bent upon it, consented to negociate the terms of marriage with Renard,
and took especial care that they were favourable to his royal mistress.
They were as follows:—The queen was to have for her jointure thirty
thousand ducats a year, with all the Low Countries of Flanders,—her
issue was to be heir as well to the kingdom of Spain as to the Low
Countries,—her government was to continue in all things as before,—and
no stranger was to be member of the council, nor have custody of any
forts of castles, nor bear any rule or office in the queen’s household,
or elsewhere in all England.
To these terms Renard, on behalf of his sovereign, readily assented, and
the subject was brought before the Parliament where it met with violent
opposition from all parties. In spite of this, Mary asserted her
privilege to wed whom she pleased, and after a long and stormy
discussion the measure, chiefly through the management of Arundel, Paget
and Rochester, was carried.
During the agitation of the question, Mary deemed it prudent to feign
indisposition to avoid receiving an address intended to be presented to
her from the Commons imploring her to marry one of her own countrymen.
But when at length she could no longer decline giving them an audience,
she dismissed them with these words:—
“I hold my crown from God, and I beseech him to enlighten me as to the
conduct I ought to pursue in a matter so important as my marriage. I
have not yet determined to wed, but since you say in your address that
it is for the welfare of the state that I should choose a husband, I
will think of it—nothing doubting I shall make a choice as advantageous
as any you may propose to me, having as strong an interest in the matter
as yourselves.”
While this was going forward, De Noailles and his party had not been
idle. Many schemes were devised, but some were abandoned from the
irresolution and vacillation of Courtenay; others were discovered and
thwarted by Renard. Still, the chief conspirators, though suspected,
escaped detection, or rather their designs could not be brought home
to them, and they continued to form their plans as the danger grew more
imminent with greater zeal than ever.
At one time, it was determined to murder Arundel, Paget, Rochester, and
the chief supporters of the Spanish match, to seize the person of
the queen and compel her to marry Courtenay, or depose her and place
Elizabeth on the throne. This plan not suiting the views of Lord
Guilford Dudley and Suffolk, was opposed by them; and owing to the
conflicting interests of the different parties that unity of purpose
indispensable to success could not be obtained.
Elizabeth, as has before been intimated, had dissembled her religious
opinions, and though she formed some excuse for not being present at the
performance of mass, she requested to have an instructor in the tenets
of the Catholic faith, and even went so far as to write to the emperor
to send a cross, a chalice, and other ornaments for the celebration of
the religious rites of Rome, to decorate her chapel.
As to Courtenay, he appeared to have become sensible of the perilous
position in which he stood, and was only prevented from withdrawing from
the struggle by his unabated passion for Elizabeth. Lord Guilford Dudley
still cherished his ambitious views, and Jane still mourned in secret.
Matters were in this state at the commencement of the new year, when as
above related, the ambassadors arrived from the court of Spain.
Shortly after their arrival, they had an audience of the queen in the
council-chamber of the White Tower; and when they had declared in due
form that the Prince of Spain demanded her in marriage, she replied with
great dignity, but some little prudery:—
0367
“It does not become one of my sex to speak of her marriage, nor to treat
of it herself. I have therefore charged my council to confer with you on
the matter, and, by the strictest conditions, to assure all rights
and advantages to my kingdom, which I shall ever regard as my first
husband.”
As she pronounced the last words she glanced at the ring placed on her
finger by Gardiner on the day of her coronation.
On the following day, the four ambassadors held a conference with
Gardiner, Arundel, and Paget. The terms were entirely settled; and on
the 12th of January, the treaty was signed, and delivered on both sides.
0368
XXVI.—BY WHAT MEANS GARDINER EXTRACTED THE SECRET OF THE CONSPIRACY FROM
COURTENAY; AND OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE DISCLOSURE.
Three days after the marriage-treaty was signed,—namely, on the 15th of
January, 1554, the lords of the council, the lord mayor, the aldermen,
and forty of the head commoners of the city, were summoned to the
Tower, where they were received in the presence-chamber of the palace by
Gardiner and Renard; the former of whom, in his capacity of chancellor,
made them a long oration, informing them that an alliance was
definitively concluded between the queen and Philip of Spain; and
adding, “that they were bound to thank God that so noble, worthy, and
famous a prince would so humble himself in his union with her highness,
as to take upon him rather the character of a subject, than of a monarch
of equal power.”
The terms of the treaty were next read, and the chancellor expatiated
upon the many important concessions made by the imperial ambassadors;
endeavouring to demonstrate that England was by far the greatest gainer
by the alliance, and stating, “that it was her highness’s pleasure and
request, that like good subjects they would, for her sake, most lovingly
receive her illustrious consort with reverence, joy, and honour.”
No plaudits followed this announcement, nor was the slightest
expression of joy manifested, except by the lords Arundel, Paget, and
Rochester,—the main supporters of the match, as has been previously
stated, when it was brought before Parliament. Gardiner glanced at the
council—at the civic authorities—as if in expectation of a reply, but
none was attempted, unless their very silence could be so construed.
Whatever his real sentiments might be, the chancellor assumed an air of
deep displeasure, and turning to Renard, who, with arms folded on his
breast, scanned the assemblage with a cold scrutinizing gaze, asked in
an under tone, whether he should dismiss them?
“On no account,” replied the ambassador. “Compel them to give utterance
to their thoughts. We shall the better know how to deal with them.
My project once carried, and Philip united to Mary,” he muttered to
himself, “we will speedily cudgel these stubborn English bull-dogs into
obedience.”
“Renard does not appear to relish the reception which the announcement
of her majesty’s proposed alliance has met with,” observed De Noailles,
who stood in one corner of the chamber with Courtenay. “It will give him
a foretaste of what is to follow. Had your lordship been proposed to the
assembly, their manner would have been widely different.”
“Perhaps so,” returned Courtenay, with a gratified smile; “and yet I
know not.”
“It may be shortly put to the proof,” answered De Noailles. “Never,”
replied Courtenay; “I will never wed Mary.”
“But Elizabeth?” cried the ambassador.
“Ay, Elizabeth,” echoed the earl passionately, “with, or without a
throne, she would be equally dear to me.”
“You shall have her and the crown as well,” replied De Noailles.
“I care not for the latter, provided I can obtain the former,” returned
the earl.
“One is dependent upon the other,” rejoined De Noailles. “While Mary
reigns, you must give up all hopes of Elizabeth.”
“It is that conviction alone that induces me to take part in the
conspiracy,” sighed Courtenay. “I am neither ambitious to rule this
kingdom, nor to supplant Philip of Spain. But I would risk fortune,
title, life itself, for Elizabeth.”
“I know it,” ejaculated De Noailles to himself, “and therefore I hold
her out as a lure to you, weak, wavering fool! I will use you as far as
I find necessary, but no further. Rash and harebrained as he is, Lord
Guilford Dudley would make the better leader, and is the more likely to
succeed. Jane’s party is hourly gaining strength. Well, well, I care
not who wins the day, provided I foil Renard, and that I will do at any
cost.”
“A thousand marks that I read your excellency’s thoughts!” cried a
martial-looking personage, approaching them. He was attired in a coat
of mail, with quilted sleeves, a velvet cassock, cuisses, and buff boots
drawn up above the knee; and carried in his hand a black velvet cap,
ornamented with broad bone-work lace. His arms were rapier and dagger,
both of the largest size. “Is the wager accepted?” he added, taking the
ambassador’s arm within his own, and drawing him aside.
“My thoughts are easily guessed, Sir Thomas Wyat,” replied De Noailles,
“I am thinking how prosperously all goes for us.”
“Right,” rejoined Wyat; “out of that large assemblage three only are
favourable to the imperialists. If you approve it, I will myself—though
not a member of the council—answer Gardiner’s speech, and tell him we
will not suffer this hateful alliance to take place.”
“That were unwise,” rejoined De Noailles, “do not meddle in the matter.
It will only attract suspicion towards us.”
“I care not if it does,” replied Wyat; “we are all ready and sure of
support. I will go further, if need be, and add, if the queen weds not
Courtenay, a general insurrection will follow.”
“Courtenay will never wed the queen,” observed the earl, who had
followed them, and overheard the remark.
“How?” exclaimed Wyat, in surprise.
“No more at present,” interposed De Noailles, hastily. “Renard’s eyes
are upon us.”;
“What if they are?” cried Wyat, glancing fiercely in the direction of
the imperial ambassador. “His looks—basilisk though they be—have no
power to strike us dead. Oh that I had an opportunity of measuring
swords with him! He should soon perceive the love I bear his prince and
him.”
“I share in your hatred towards him,” observed Courtenay. “The favour
Mary shows him proves the ascendancy he has obtained over her.”
“If he retains his power, farewell to the liberty of Englishmen,”
rejoined Wyat; “we shall become as abject as the Flemings. But I, for
one, will never submit to the yoke of Spain.”
“Not so loud!” cried De Noailles, checking him. “You will effectually
destroy our scheme. Renard only seeks some plea to attack us. Have a
moment’s patience, and some one not connected with the plot will take
the responsibility upon himself.”
The prudence of the ambassador’s counsel was speedily exemplified. While
the conversation above related occurred, a few words passed between
the principal members of the council, and the heads of the civic
authorities, and, at their instance, the Earl of Pembroke stepped
forward.
“We are aware, my lord,” he said, addressing Gardiner, “that we ought on
the present occasion, to signify our approval of the queen’s choice—to
offer her our heartfelt congratulations—our prayers for her happiness.
But we shall not seek to disguise our sentiments. We do not approve this
match; and we have heard your lordship’s communication with pain—with
sorrow—with displeasure—displeasure, that designing counsellors should
have prevailed upon her highness to take a step fatal to her own
happiness, and to the welfare of her kingdom. Our solicitations are,
therefore—and we earnestly entreat your lordship to represent them to
her majesty, that she will break off this engagement, and espouse some
English nobleman. And we further implore of her to dismiss from
her councils the imperial ambassador, M. Simon Renard, by whose
instrumentality this match has been contrived, and whose influence we
conceive to be prejudicial to the interests of our country.”
“You do me wrong, Lord Pembroke,” replied Renard; “and I appeal to the
lord chancellor, whether, in negotiating this treaty, I have made any
demands on the part of my sovereign calculated to detract from the power
or authority of yours.”
“On the contrary,” replied Gardiner, “your excellency has conceded more
than we had any right to expect.”
“And more than my brother-ambassadors deemed fitting,” rejoined Renard.
“But I do not repent what I have done,—well knowing how anxious the
emperor Charles the Fifth is to unite his son to so wise, so excellent,
and so religious a princess as the queen of this realm, and that no
sacrifice could be too great to insure him her hand.”
“I am bound to add that your excellency has advanced nothing but the
truth,” acquiesced Gardiner; “and though, at first, as is well known to
Lord Pembroke and others of the council, I was as averse to the match
as he or they could be, I am now its warmest advocate. But I will not
prolong the discussion. Her highness’s word is passed to the prince—the
contract signed—the treaty concluded. Your remonstrances, therefore, are
too late. And if you will suffer me to point out to you the only course
that can with propriety be pursued, I would urge you to offer her
majesty your loyal congratulations on her choice—to prepare to receive
her consort in the manner she has directed—and to watch over the
interests of your country so carefully, that the evils you dread may
never arise.”
“If my solemn assurance will satisfy the Earl of Pembroke and the other
honourable persons here present,” remarked Renard, “I will declare, in
the prince my master’s name, that he has not the remotest intention of
interfering with the government of this country—of engaging it in any
war—or of placing his followers in any office or post of authority.”
“Whatever may be the prince’s intentions,” rejoined Gardiner, “he is
precluded by the treaty from acting upon them. At the same time, it is
but right to add, that these terms were not wrung from his ambassador,
but voluntarily proposed by him.”
“They will never be adhered to,” cried Sir Thomas Wyat, stepping
forward, and facing Renard, whom he regarded with a look of defiance.
“Do you dare to question my word, sir?” exclaimed Renard.
“I do,” replied Wyat, sternly. “And let no Englishman put faith in one
of your nation, or he will repent his folly. I am a loyal subject of the
queen, and would shed my heart’s blood in her defence. But I am also a
lover of my country, and will never surrender her to the domination of
Spain!”
“Sir Thomas Wyat,” rejoined Gardiner, “you are well known as one of the
queen’s bravest soldiers; and it is well you are so, or your temerity
would place you in peril.”
“I care not what the consequences are to myself, my lord,” replied
Wyat, “if the queen will listen to my warning. It is useless to proceed
further with this match. The nation will never suffer it to take place;
nor will the prince be allowed to set foot upon our shores.”
“These are bold words, Sir Thomas,” observed Gardiner, suspiciously.
“Whence do you draw your conclusions?”
“From sure premises, my lord,” answered Wyat, “the very loyalty
entertained by her subjects towards the queen makes them resolute not
to permit her to sacrifice herself. They have not forgotten the harsh
treatment experienced by Philip’s first wife, Maria of Portugal. Hear
me, my lord chancellor, and report what I say to her highness. If this
match is persisted in, a general insurrection will follow.”
“This is a mere pretext for some rebellious design, Sir Thomas,”
replied Gardiner, sternly. “Sedition ever masks itself under the garb of
loyalty. Take heed, sir. Your actions shall be strictly watched, and
if aught occurs to confirm my suspicions, I shall deem it my duty to
recommend her majesty to place you in arrest.”
“Wyat’s rashness will destroy us,” whispered De Noailles to Courtenay.
“Before we separate, my lords,” observed Renard, “I think it right to
make known to you that the emperor, deeming it inconsistent with the
dignity of so mighty a queen as your sovereign to wed beneath her own
rank, is about to resign the crown of Naples and the dukedom of Milan to
his son, prior to the auspicious event.”
A slight murmur of applause arose from the council at this announcement.
“You hear that,” cried the Earl of Arundel. “Can you longer hesitate to
congratulate the queen on her union?”
The earl was warmly seconded by Paget and Rochester, but no other voice
joined them.
“The sense of the assembly is against it,” observed the Earl of
Pembroke.
“I am amazed at your conduct, my lords,” cried Gardiner, angrily. “You
deny your sovereign the right freely accorded to the meanest of her
subjects—the right to choose for herself a husband. For shame!—for
shame! Your sense of justice, if not your loyalty, should prompt you to
act differently. The prince of Spain has been termed a stranger to this
country, whereas his august sire is not merely the queen’s cousin,
but the oldest ally of the crown. So far from the alliance being
disadvantageous, it is highly profitable, ensuring, as it does, the
emperor’s aid against our constant enemies the Scots and the French. Of
the truth of this you may judge by the opposition it has met with,
overt and secret, from the ambassador of the King of France. But without
enlarging upon the advantages of the union, which must be sufficiently
apparent to you all, I shall content myself with stating that it is not
your province to dictate to the queen whom she shall marry, or whom she
shall not marry, but humbly to acquiesce in her choice. Her majesty,
in her exceeding goodness, has thought fit to lay before you—a step
altogether needless—the conditions of her union. It pains me to say you
have received her condescension in a most unbecoming manner. I trust,
however, a better feeling has arisen among you, and that you will now
enable me to report you, as I desire, to her highness.”
The only assenting voices were those of three lords constituting the
imperial party in the council.
Having waited for a short time, Gardiner bowed gravely, and dismissed
the assemblage.
As he was about to quit the presence-chamber, he perceived Courtenay
standing in a pensive attitude in the embrasure of a window. Apparently,
the room was entirely deserted, except by the two ushers, who, with
white wands in their hands, were stationed on either side of the
door. It suddenly occurred to Gardiner that this would be a favourable
opportunity to question the Earl respecting the schemes in which he more
than suspected he was a party, and he accordingly advanced towards him.
“You have heard the reception which the announcement of her majesty’s
marriage has met with,” he said. “I will frankly own to you it would
have been far more agreeable to me to have named your lordship to them.
And you have to thank yourself that such has not been the case.”
“True,” replied Courtenay, raising his eyes, and fixing them upon the
speaker. “But I have found love more powerful than ambition.”
“And do you yet love Elizabeth?” demanded Gardiner, with a slight sneer.
“Is it possible that an attachment can endure with your lordship longer
than a month?”
“I never loved till I loved her,” sighed Courtenay.
“Be that as it may, you must abandon her,” returned the chancellor. “The
queen will not consent to your union.”
“Your lordship has just observed, in your address to the council,”
rejoined Courtenay, “that it is the privilege of all—even of the
meanest—to choose in marriage whom they will. Since her highness would
exert this right in her own favour, why deny it to her sister?”
“Because her sister has robbed her of her lover,” replied Gardiner.
“Strong-minded as she is, Mary is not without some of the weaknesses of
her sex. She could not bear to witness the happiness of a rival.”
Courtenay smiled.
“I understand your meaning, my lord,” pursued Gardiner sternly; “but if
you disobey the queen’s injunctions in this particular, you will lose
your head, and so will the princess.”
“The queen’s own situation is fraught with more peril than mine,”
replied Courtenay. “If she persists in her match with the prince of
Spain, she will lose her crown, and then who shall prevent my wedding
Elizabeth?”
Gardiner looked at him as he said this so fixedly, that the earl
involuntarily cast down his eyes.
“Your words and manner, my lord,” observed the chancellor, after a
pause, “convince me that you are implicated in a conspiracy, known to be
forming against the queen.”
“My lord!” cried Courtenay.
“Do not interrupt me,” continued Gardiner,—“the conduct of the council
to-day, the menaces of Sir Thomas Wyat, your own words, convince me that
decided measures must be taken. I shall therefore place you in arrest.
And this time, rest assured, care shall be taken that you do not
escape.”
Courtenay laid his hand upon his sword, and looked uneasily at the door.
“Resistance will be in vain, my lord,” pursued Gardiner; “I have but to
raise my voice, and the guard will immediately appear.”
“You do not mean to execute your threats, my lord?” rejoined Courtenay.
“I have no alternative,” returned Gardiner, “unless by revealing to me
all you know respecting this conspiracy, you will enable me to crush
it. Not to keep you longer in the dark, I will tell you that proofs
are already before us of your connection with the plot. The dwarf Xit,
employed by M. de Noailles to convey messages to you, and who assisted
in your escape, has, under threat of torture, made a full confession.
From him we have learnt that a guitar, containing a key to the cipher
to be used in a secret correspondence, was sent to Elizabeth by the
ambassador. The instrument has been found in the princess’s possession
at Ashbridge, and has furnished a clue to several of your own letters to
her, which we have intercepted. Moreover some of the French ambassador’s
agents, under the disguise of Huguenot preachers, have been arrested,
and have revealed his treasonable designs. Having thus fairly told you
the nature and extent of the evidence against you, I would recommend you
to plead guilty, and throw yourself upon the queen’s mercy.”
“If you are satisfied with the information you have obtained, my lord,”
returned Courtenay, “you can require nothing further from me.”
“Yes!—the names of your associates,” rejoined Gardiner.
“The rack should not induce me to betray them,” replied Courtenay.
“But a more persuasive engine may,” rejoined the chancellor. “What if
I offer you Elizabeth’s hand provided you will give up all concerned in
this plot?”
“I reject it,” replied the earl, struggling between his sense of duty
and passion.
“Then I must call the guard,” returned the chancellor.
“Hold!” cried Courtenay, “I would barter my soul to the enemy of mankind
to possess Elizabeth. Swear to me she shall be mine, and I will reveal
all.”
Gardiner gave the required pledge.
“Yet if I confess, I shall sign my own condemnation, and that of the
princess,” hesitated Courtenay.
“Not so,” rejoined the chancellor. “In the last session of parliament
it was enacted, that those only should suffer death for treason, who had
assisted at its commission, either by taking arms themselves, or aiding
directly and personally those who had taken them. Such as have simply
known or approved the crime are excepted—and your case is among the
latter class. But do not let us tarry here. Come with me to my cabinet,
and I will resolve all your scruples.”
“And you will ensure me the hand of the princess?” said Courtenay.
“Undoubtedly,” answered Gardiner. “Have I not sworn it?”
And they quitted the presence-chamber.
No sooner were they gone, than two persons stepped from behind the arras
where they had remained concealed during the foregoing conversation.
They were De Noailles and Sir Thomas Wyat.
“Perfidious villain!” cried the latter, “I breathe more freely since he
is gone. I had great difficulty in preventing myself from stabbing him
on the spot.”
“It would have been a useless waste of blood,” replied De Noailles. “It
was fortunate that I induced you to listen to their conversation. We
must instantly provide for our own safety, and that of our friends. The
insurrection must no longer be delayed.”
“It shall not be delayed an hour,” replied Wyat. “I have six thousand
followers in Kent, who only require to see my banner displayed to flock
round it. Captain Bret and his company of London trainbands are eagerly
expecting our rising. Throckmorton will watch over the proceedings in
the city. Vice-Admiral Winter, with his squadron of seven sail, now in
the river, under orders to escort Philip of Spain, will furnish us
with ordnance and ammunition; and, if need be, with the crews under his
command.”
“Nothing can be better,” replied De Noailles. “We must get the Duke of
Suffolk out of the Tower, and hasten to Lord Guilford Dudley, with
whom some plan must be instantly concerted. Sir Peter Carew must start
forthwith for Devonshire,—Sir James Croft for Wales. Your destination is
Kent. If Courtenay had not proved a traitor, we would have placed him
on the throne. As it is, my advice is, that neither Elizabeth nor Jane
should be proclaimed, but Mary Stuart.”
“There the policy of France peeps out,” replied Wyat. “But I will
proclaim none of them. We will compel the queen to give up this match,
and drive the Spaniard from our shores.”
“As you will,” replied De Noailles, hastily. “Do not let us remain
longer here, or it maybe impossible to quit the fortress.”
With this, they left the palace, and seeking the Duke of Suffolk,
contrived to mix him up among their attendants, and so to elude the
vigilance of the warders. As soon as they were out of the Tower, Sir
Thomas Wyat embarked in a wherry, manned by four rowers, and took the
direction of Gravesend. De Noailles and the Duke of Suffolk hastened to
Sion House, where they found Lord Guilford Dudley seated with Jane
and Cholmondeley. On their appearance, Dudley started to his feet, and
exclaimed, “We are betrayed!”
“We are,” replied De Noailles. “Courtenay has played the traitor. But
this is of no moment, as his assistance would have been of little avail,
and his pretensions to the crown might have interfered with the rights
of your consort. Sir Thomas Wyat has set out for Kent. We must collect
all the force we can, and retire to some place of concealment till his
messengers arrive with intelligence that he is marching towards London.
We mean to besiege the Tower, and secure the queen’s person.”
“Dudley,” cried Jane, “if you have one spark of honour, gratitude, or
loyalty left, you will take no part in this insurrection.”
“Mary is no longer queen,” replied her husband, bending the knee before
her. “To you, Jane, belongs that title; and it will be for you to decide
whether she shall live or not.”
“The battle is not yet won,” observed the Duke of Suffolk. “Let us
obtain the crown before we pass sentence on those who have usurped it.”
“The lady Jane must accompany us,” whispered De Noailles to Dudley. “If
she falls into the hands of our enemies, she may be used as a formidable
weapon against us.”
“My lord,” cried Jane, kneeling to the Duke of Suffolk; “if my
supplications fail to move my husband, do not you turn a deaf car to
them. Believe me, this plot will totally fail, and conduct us all to the
scaffold.”
“The duke cannot retreat if he would, madam,” interposed Do Noailles.
“Courtenay has betrayed us all to Gardiner, and ere now I doubt not
officers are despatched to arrest us.”
“Jane, you must come with us,” cried Dudley.
“Never,” she replied, rising. “I will not stir from this spot. I implore
you and my father to remain here likewise, and submit yourselves to the
mercy of the queen.”
“And do you think such conduct befitting the son of the great Duke of
Northumberland?” replied Dudley. “No, madam, the die is cast. My course
is taken. You must come with us. There is no time for preparation. M. De
Noailles, I place myself entirely in your hands. Let horses be brought
round instantly,” he added, turning to his esquire.
“They shall be at the gate almost before you can reach it, my lord,”
returned Cholmondeley. “There are several ready-saddled within the
stables.”
“It is well,” replied Dudley.
And the esquire departed.
“Father, dear father,” cried Jane, “you will not go. You will not leave
me.”
But the duke averted his gaze from her, and rushed out of the room.
De Noailles made a significant gesture to Dudley, and followed him.
“Jane,” cried Dudley, taking her hand, “I entreat—nay command you—to
accompany me.”
“Dudley,” she replied, “I cannot—will not—obey you in this. If I
could, I would detain you. But as I cannot, I will take no part in your
criminal designs.”
“Farewell for ever, then,” rejoined Dudley, breaking from her. “Since
you abandon me in this extremity, and throw off my authority, I shall no
longer consider myself bound to you by any ties.”
“Stay!” replied Jane. “You overturn all my good resolutions. I am no
longer what I was. I cannot part thus.”
“I knew it,” replied Dudley, straining her to his bosom. “You will go
with me.”
“I will,” replied Jane, “since you will have it so.”
“Come, then,” cried Dudley, taking her hand, and leading her towards the
door—“to the throne!”
“No,” replied Jane, sadly—“to the scaffold!”