A CRY OF TREASON
THE little party at the wizard’s door stood a moment confounded by this
mysterious response to their summons. They looked anxiously up the
narrow flight of stairs, expecting to see the strange master of the
house, but there was neither sign nor sound of human occupation. The
more superstitious of the party drew back in alarm.
“’Tis magic,” said Lady Rochford, with a shudder; “let us leave this
evil place!”
Simon Raby laughed. “Have no fear,” he said lightly; “’tis but an act
of mummery to frighten the ignorant. Madam,” he added, turning to the
queen, “will your grace ascend?”
“Ay, surely,” replied Anne, with forced gayety, for the aspect of
the place disturbed her; “we did not come so far to turn back like
frightened children. My Lady Rochford, if you are afraid, you may even
stay without with my two grooms.”
“I thank you, madam,” her sister-in-law retorted tartly; “I appreciate
the company to which you assign me, but I am brave enough to follow
where my sovereign leads.”
“Good lack!” said Anne, laughing bitterly; “how hapless should I be
to lose so brave an attendant! Come, Francis,” she added, turning to
her cousin, “you and Master Raby lead the way and we five women will
follow, and remember that here I am not a queen, but only Mistress
Anne.”
“Madam, your will is law,” replied Bryan; but although he had smiled at
the fears of the women, he loosened his sword in the scabbard before he
led the way up the narrow stairs, followed closely by the queen, who
was assisted by Master Raby, and behind these three came the four maids
of honor, while the two yeomen remained at the door.
The tedious ascent of the long staircase was made slowly, the queen
stopping once or twice to complain that she was short of breath, being
really discouraged from her plan but too wilful to surrender her whim.
The stairs went straight up between two blank walls, having no landings
or doors opening upon them. The steps were imperfectly lighted with
tapers set in iron brackets at intervals all the way up.
“I marvel if Jacob’s ladder was any longer,” said the queen, laughing,
as they came at last to the top.
At the head of the stairs a heavy curtain of black velvet hung before
them, shutting off the rooms beyond. Sir Francis Bryan, lifting it,
held the folds aside that the queen’s party might enter, and thus
revealed a brightly lighted room decorated with dark tapestries and
carpeted with ray-cloth. It was richly furnished, and on the table in
the center stood a great crystal ball. From this room a short flight
of stairs went up to the upper story, a narrow pointed door at the top
cutting off the view.
“We must conjure the wizard, it seems,” Simon Raby said, as they looked
about them at the empty room; and taking a few steps up the narrow
stair, he struck the little door with his fist, after trying in vain to
open it.
It was instantly unfastened, and the wizard himself stood on the
threshold. Taken by surprise, Raby recoiled a step at the startling
vision. The little man was arrayed in blood red from head to foot,
his velvet doublet heavily embroidered in black, and on his breast,
sparkling like an evil eye, was a splendid opal. He viewed his
uninvited guests calmly, his keen glance instantly singling out the
queen, though she had drawn back behind the others. Sanders smiled,
coming down the steps to meet them.
“Sir Francis Bryan and Master Raby, you are welcome,” he said quietly;
“these ladies, I see, would not be called by their names, but, even
unknown, they are also welcome.”
“We have come here for entertainment and instruction, Sir Wizard,” Raby
said, seeing the hesitation of his companions; “’tis for your art to
furnish it.”
“Ay,” replied the wizard calmly, his brilliant black eyes still fixed
upon Anne Boleyn, “I saw you when you came down to the water-stairs at
Greenwich.”
The queen started and drew her mantle closer, while both Lady Rochford
and Mistress Gaynsford recoiled in superstitious dread. Anxious as
they all were to conceal Anne’s identity, this remark threw them into
confusion. It was Betty who came boldly to the rescue.
“Good Master Wizard,” she said, “I pray you tell us our fortunes.”
“Yours I have already told, Mistress Carew,” he replied with a smile.
At this Betty, too, drew back in amazement, but Simon Raby reassured
her.
“He knew thy voice,” he whispered; “’tis but child’s play, have no
fear.”
Alarmed at the wizard’s knowledge, Lady Rochford had laid her hand on
the queen’s arm, trying to draw her away, but Anne shook her off with
impatience; possessing a naturally intrepid and wilful nature, she had
no mind to be so easily balked in her purpose. She walked over to the
table, and pointed her finger at some glass instruments and a scepter
lying there.
“What are these, sir?” she said curiously, her natural taste for
adventure overcoming her hesitation.
“They are used to conjure the four kings, madam,” replied the wizard,
courteously; “I will gladly show you more curious things.”
The room was hung with every gruesome evidence of his trade, and as
he spoke, he opened a curiously wrought box of silver to show Anne a
serpent skin, but her mind was on other matters.
“Sir,” she said abruptly, “are you the wizard who consorted so freely
with my lord privy seal when he was in the house of the cardinal?”
Sanders was too keen to be caught in the snare that she had set for him.
“Nay, madam,” he replied coolly, “great men have come to me, but not
my lord privy seal. Yonder is the cardinal’s great book,” he added,
pointing to a tome upon a cabinet, “and this is a ring he wore. I
foretold the day that he would sit upon a mule, with his legs bound
under its belly, for his machinations against the queen’s grace; but he
heeded me not, and lo, the end was accomplished even as I said. Whose
horoscope shall I first cast, fair ladies?” he added, bowing to the
group, for the others had gathered eagerly about the queen.
“Mine,” answered Anne, laughing; “’tis I who would discern the future,
sir; one, at least, of these good dames is too affrighted to ask her
fortune,” she added, with a haughty glance at Lady Rochford.
“Madam, I pray you, think,” protested Mary Wyatt, plucking at her
mantle; but the queen withdrew it with an imperious gesture.
“I am happy to serve you,” said the wizard, blandly; and he turned,
and ascending the little stairway, opened the door above. “Madam will
ascend,” he said, “while I read the stars.”
Without a moment’s hesitation Anne went up the stairs, and her maids
would have followed her, but Sanders barred the way.
“But one here,” he said with his odd smile; “more would destroy the
spell.”
“I will go with her,” cried Mrs. Wyatt, too alarmed and suspicious to
consider her words.
“That you will not,” said the queen, haughtily; “you shall not spoil
my entertainment. Remain there, good friends,” she added, recollecting
her disguise; “we must propitiate the sage. Lead on, Sir Wizard; I will
follow.”
“Be assured, madam, that I feel the honor of the visit,” he replied
complaisantly, holding the door open for her to enter and then shutting
it deliberately in the faces of her discomfited escorts.
“This is your fault, Mistress Wyatt,” cried Lady Rochford, angrily;
“and if harm comes to her, you will rue it!”
“Have patience, madam,” said Raby, smiling; “what harm could come to
her grace when we are here? and why should the little man design evil
against her?”
“There be plenty who do design it,” she replied coldly, “and would
gladly compass it.”
“Ay, those who are jealous of her beauty and her high estate,” said
Mary Wyatt, with a hard glance at Lady Rochford, who affected not to
notice it.
“’Twas no place to bring her in her nervous state,” remarked Mistress
Gaynsford; “’tis enough to set a strong man’s heart beating. How could
you dream of it, Mistress Wyatt?”
“Alas!” said Mary, passionately, “’tis hard that I who greatly love the
queen’s grace should be held charged with this expedition. How could I
know that she would plan it? It was as unlooked for by me as by any of
you, and from my heart I do regret my careless tongue which tripped out
the idle story.”
“You are not to blame,” said Betty, with generous warmth; “’tis a
shame to charge it on you. The queen was bent upon some change, some
diversion. I know this man Sanders, and truly I do not fear that he
will offend her grace, for I believe he knows her.”
“He hath the eye of a ferret,” remarked Sir Francis, “and with you,
Mistress Carew, I think he will be careful; he knows that it would cost
little to split his gullet if he designed evil.”
They stood grouped about the steps, too anxious to retire from
them, yet each trying to put a good face on the matter. Having been
recognized, Betty had removed her mask and stood farthest from the
stairs. There was an uneasy pause as they waited, and in it they heard
a step at the outer entrance; before they could decide how to receive a
new-comer, the black curtain was lifted, and Sir Barton Henge entered
the room.
“How did he pass the guard below?” whispered Bryan to Raby, and both
looked askance at the intruder, Raby’s face flushing with anger.
Recognizing at once that this was a party from the palace, Henge
made a graceful obeisance to the women, and was greeted both by Lady
Rochford and Mistress Gaynsford with some show of cordiality. Divining,
doubtless, who was within the wizard’s secret chamber, he took his
place amongst them, but singled out Betty Carew as the object of his
attention. Approaching the young girl, he began to whisper to her in
spite of her indignant gesture of disdain. Her instinctive horror
of him gaining control of her already agitated mind, she shrank
farther into the corner, casting an appealing glance at Simon Raby,
who instantly responded. He pushed roughly past Sir Barton and began
to talk to Betty, turning his back squarely in the face of her less
favored wooer. Henge paused a moment astounded, his face crimson with
wrath, and then he plucked Raby by the sleeve. Simon turned upon him
with an air that was in itself an insult.
“Sir,” he said, “was it you, or the devil, that touched my sleeve?”
“It had better have been the devil for your sake, Master Raby,” cried
Henge, fiercely. “I was speaking to Mistress Carew; mayhap you are
blind and deaf and knew it not.”
“And I am speaking to her now,” said Raby, with a mocking laugh;
“therefore, sir, go to the devil!”
Henge laid his hand upon his sword.
“You will answer for this insult,” he said. “I would have you know that
Mistress Carew is my affianced wife.”
At this, Betty came forward, her face white but her eyes on fire.
“I call you all to witness the baseness of this man,” she said. “When I
was yet unborn a dishonorable and wicked contract was made that he now
claims against me. I utterly repudiate it, and my uncle, Sir William
Carew, of Mohun’s Ottery, doth uphold me. I swear, and Heaven is my
witness, that I would rather mate with the veriest beggar at Saint
Paul’s Cross than wed with this man!”
“And none but a coward and a villain would pursue so base a claim!”
said Raby; and drawing off his embroidered glove, he struck it full
upon Sir Barton’s face.
In an instant Henge’s sword flew from the scabbard; but Sir Francis
Bryan, springing on him as suddenly, snatched it away and snapped it
asunder.
“Hell and damnation!” cried Sir Barton, “I will have satisfaction.”
“Not here or now,” exclaimed Bryan, in a tone of authority.
But even as he spoke, they were startled by a shriek so shrill, so
agonized, that their hearts stood still.
“’Tis the queen’s voice,” screamed Mary, forgetful of everything but
her beloved mistress.
“Help!--treason, treason!” shrieked the queen, in a tone of anguish.
They dashed up the stairs, jostling each other in their eagerness;
but Mistress Wyatt outstripped them all, and was the first to enter
the mysterious chamber. Here a strange sight met their eyes. It was a
large square room, the roof of glass and the walls hung with crimson.
There was no furniture in it but a great mirror that was opposite the
door. In the center of the place stood Queen Anne; she had dropped her
mantle and mask, and was revealed in her splendid dress of white and
silver; her long hair had escaped its bonds and hung wildly about
her deathlike face. She looked more like a corpse than one alive,
save for her eyes, which were dilated with the terror of a mad woman.
Before her, calm and unruffled, stood the strange figure of the wizard,
looking at her in mild surprise.
“Treason!” she cried again, as her attendants burst into the room; “he
is a traitor! Seize him, gentlemen, bind him, in the king’s name!”
Raby already had his hand on the wizard’s collar and had drawn his
sword, but Sanders was calm.
“Her grace is overwrought,” he said coolly. “She asked to look into the
future; I but obeyed her behest.”
“God’s death!” shrieked the queen, with a recurrence of her anguish,
“he would have slain me, gentlemen!”
“Madam, I do beseech you, do me justice,” protested the wizard. “I laid
no finger on you, nor intended harm to a hair of your royal head. Your
grace should believe that I can but reveal, and not alter destiny.”
The queen stood a moment staring at him wildly, and then, despite
Mistress Wyatt’s supporting arm, she fell forward on her knees,
pressing her hands over her face.
“Alas!” she said, “the sight will kill me.”
“Call the Captain of the Guard,” cried Lady Rochford; “the villain hath
bewitched the queen; she faints, she dies!”
Both Mary Wyatt and Betty were supporting Anne’s sinking form.
“Madam, I pray you remember that you are the Queen of England,”
whispered her favorite, looking in agony at the white face of her
mistress.
“The traitor has poisoned her!” exclaimed Sir Francis; “he shall hang
at Tyburn!”
“I swear I have not harmed her,” retorted Sanders, casting an anxious
glance at the stricken woman.
Aroused by Mary Wyatt’s passionate entreaties, Anne opened her eyes,
and seeing the wizard held by Raby and the furious faces of her
attendants, she rallied her sinking powers.
“Loose him,” she said faintly. “I was mad at a fearful vision; I would
not have this matter bruited abroad; men shall not jeer at Anne Boleyn.”
Making a great effort, she rose to her feet, and stood, supported by
her maids.
“Sir Wizard,” she said coldly, “has it availed to conjure hell to
fright a feeble woman? I forgive you, but ’tis my mercy shelters you
from the wrath of my lord the king.”
“He shall to jail, madam!” exclaimed Raby.
“Nay, I charge you, loose him and depart with me,” she said, with
sudden majesty of demeanor; “it was my folly to come here. Lend me
your aid, Cousin Francis; my limbs tremble beneath me, but my heart is
stout.”
She took but two steps, however, before she tottered, so that Bryan
almost carried her from the room, followed by her maids like a flock of
startled pigeons. As they departed, Henge stepped in front of Raby.
“At what hour and place, sir?” he asked fiercely.
Raby laughed scornfully. “To-morrow at sunrise, at the tryst beyond the
palace park,” he answered lightly, and ran down the steps to overtake
the royal party.
When he reached the water-gate, the almost unconscious queen had been
already laid in the stern of the barge, her head resting in the lap of
Mary Wyatt. And the slow journey back began in silence, the attendants
all being too alarmed for conversation. The moonlight still shone upon
the waters and fell full on the deathlike face of Anne Boleyn, but
there was no sound save the soft dip of the oars in the river.
A few hours later, her three maids of honor, Lady Rochford, Mistress
Gaynsford, and Betty, sat around the fire in the anteroom of the
queen’s chamber, anxiously awaiting tidings of her condition. Within,
an old and skilled nurse and Mrs. Wyatt labored to still Anne’s
hysterics. For she had wept and laughed at intervals ever since she
regained consciousness. They feared to call the court physician, lest
the escapade should reach the ears of the king, and it was long before
the royal patient sank into repose. Her cries and weird laughter had
been hushed for half an hour, when the door opened silently, and Mary
Wyatt came out with a look of horror on her face. So strange was her
expression that it hushed the anxious inquiries upon the lips of the
others. She came to the fire, and falling on her knees, gazed into it
while she told her story in a strange voice, and the superstition of
the age held her listeners in a spell of terror.
“She has told me all,” she said; “that evil man--that prince of
devils--cast her horoscope, and told her that her end would be as much
in shame and misery as her present state was lofty. This, pretending
that he knew not the queen, the lying jackal! Then he caused her to
look into that mirror--you saw it opposite the door--he told her that
it was enchanted and would show her her life. He chanted an incantation
while the poor lady looked and saw, she says, every event of her life;
and some, she swears, were known to none. She saw her childhood at
Hever; her journey to France with Queen Mary; her sojourn there at
court, with Mary and with Queen Claude. She saw her life in Catherine’s
court, the love of the gallant Percy, Wolsey’s interference; the visits
of the king’s grace to Hever--she saith it was the king’s very face
and walk before he had the swelling in his legs. Then she beheld the
glorious pageant of her coronation; saw herself, young and lovely,
kneeling to Cranmer for Saint Edward’s crown. After this a black veil
hung over the mirror; the wizard knelt and mumbled, making passes, when
of a sudden the veil lifted, and she saw--oh, heaven! why took I the
queen to such a devil?” For a moment Mary Wyatt was choked by sobs, and
then she whispered the rest, so low that the others knelt about her to
hear, all their faces stricken with awe of the supernatural.
“She saw,” continued the sorrowful woman,--“she saw the Tower green,
and by the block were my lord privy seal, the Duke of Norfolk, his
grace of Richmond, the king’s son. From the Tower came Sir William
Kingston leading--the queen herself. ’Twas her face, her form, her
gait, her image, clad in black with a white cape upon her shoulders,
and behind her came I and three others weeping. She saw herself speak,
kneel down, and as the axe fell, she shrieked in mortal agony; and in a
moment the mirror was blank, and no one with her but the conjurer.”