WHITEHALL
Supper was served that evening at Whitehall with more than customary
state and splendour—for King Philip was present.
The Queen was royally attired in robes of purple velvet, and men noted
that, to-night, she wore her famous diamonds.
Beside her sat King Philip in magnificent apparel, and wearing the
Collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece.
Few guests were present, conspicuous among them being the Queen's half-
sister, the Lady Elizabeth, lately restored to Court favour; next to her
sat De Noailles, the French Ambassador, with whom the Princess kept up a
lively conversation.
Don Renard and the Lords Paget, Pembroke, Arundel, and Clinton were
there, all in splendid attire.
The hall was hung with the beautiful arras collected by King Henry the
Eighth, and a soft pleasant light diffused from silver lamps fed with
perfumed oil. Foreign minstrels provided sweet music, to which the
guests seemed to pay little heed, for to-night the Queen was in
unusually good spirits, and the Court, taking its cue from her, jested
and laughed freely.
Later on, supper being ended, the Court (now largely augmented in
numbers) met in the gorgeous salon which was adorned by some famous
pictures of Titian, brought hither, perhaps, by Philip, whose father,
Charles V, was the great patron of the painter.
On the walls also hung portraits by Holbein and many works of the
Flemish and Italian schools.
The furniture of the room was of costly nature, being chiefly of ebony,
richly inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Here the light was given by hundreds of wax candles, set in silver
sconces, and it shone upon the fairest dames which England had to show
to the proud Castilian nobles who grouped around the King.
Here, also, great Churchmen were present—among whom the Cardinal stood
pre-eminent in his scarlet robes.
Presently the Cardinal found his way to the side of Queen Mary, who
welcomed him with a smile, though it was a faint and weary one. For Mary
was growing feeble in health and broken in spirits, though, to-night,
she had shown herself more like the Mary Tudor of former days.
Alas, poor Queen!
Disappointed of her fondest hopes, childless and neglected by her
husband, who would not pity her?
In the Court to-night she could but see how the young gallants gathered
round the rising star—the Lady Elizabeth.
It was mainly by Philip's influence that she had recalled the hope of
the Reformation Party to Court, and she saw, with bitter pain, that the
Spanish King was strangely attentive to her young rival. Had Stephen
Gardiner's advice been followed, Elizabeth would long ere now been swept
from her path.
"Ah! had she erred?" thought the Queen in her inmost heart.
For this young and gay Princess was next in succession to the Throne,
according to the will of their father, King Henry.
And so all her work might be undone, and the fondest, dearest hopes of
her heart frustrated!
As these thoughts darkened her soul she saw Pole approaching her, and
his very presence brought new life to her heart.
He knelt and kissed the Queen's hand, and when he rose Mary beckoned him
to a seat beside her, and they fell into a close and confidential
conversation.
The night was wearing on, the Queen was growing weary, yet she said in
reply to a request from him—
"Yes, to-night, after Chapel, in my boudoir;" and so they separated.
The King had left the salon.
A Court courier had arrived from Brussels, and together with Don Renard
he had withdrawn to his own rooms.
There they hastily examined the messenger's portfolio, and that business
being transacted the Ambassador entered upon other matters.
King Philip was a hard master! Great statesmen and famous warriors knew
that it behoved them to walk warily in their dealings with him. Eminent
service and a long discharge of duty would not save them from the prison
cell, and even the block, if they thwarted their imperious master.
Don Renard knew this full well.
At this moment he was the King's most trusted servant—none knew England
and the English as he did, and Philip placed great reliance on his
astute counsels. To-night he felt the extreme difficulty of the course
he was pursuing.
He knew that the King was violently offended by Ralph's attack upon a
Royal officer; that, moreover, he had a suspicion that this was a
Protestant plot and that the offender himself was a kind of "Hot
Gospeller!"
He must walk very warily to-night.
He had a communication from the Council of the City of London to lay
before the King.
"The citizens have debated the conditions of the loan your Majesty did
them the honour to ask of them," said Don Renard.
"Yes," said Philip, somewhat eagerly, "and I trust they raise no
difficulty."
"These purse-proud burgesses are not like the money-lenders of Madrid or
Amsterdam, they are not satisfied with the securities we offer," said
the Ambassador.
The King frowned, as he replied—
"The money must be procured; our expedition hangs fire, and the English
troops are badly equipped. You must see to it, and that quickly."
"The expedition is not popular in the City," said Renard, "we must do
something to placate these stubborn islanders."
"Yes, I know," replied the King petulantly; "but what can we do?"
"Will your Majesty pardon me if I suggest something?" replied the
Ambassador, and in obedience to Philip's nod of assent, he continued,
"That young man, Ralph Jefferay, who was condemned to-day in the Court
of the Star Chamber, is accounted a hero in London."
"And why?" asked Philip impatiently, the frown on his face deepening;
"is it not because he is a heretic?"
"Nay, your Majesty, I know not whether he is of the 'New Learning' or
not," replied Don Renard. "But the real reason goes far deeper than
that: he is known to be a young man of splendid daring and of intrepid
courage," he continued.
The King was not appeased.
"Go on," he said, "I see you have something further to tell me; I
listen."
"Oh, sire," cried the Ambassador, "pardon me if I err through zeal in
your service. There is a deed on record, just lately performed, which
raised the admiration of the Londoners."
Then as briefly as possible Don Renard told the stirring tale of the
rescue on the Thames, hiding for the moment his own connection with it.
He told it well, bringing out vividly all the strong points.
The King was a cold-blooded man, yet he was something of a soldier, and
a deed of arms like this moved him.
"And the man they rescued, who was he, you have not told me his name?"
said he.
"It was my stepson, Don Diego, sire," was the reply.
"Ah! I see, I see," said the King.
Then after a moments thought he continued—
"I will see the Queen on his behalf, and I will ask that the pillory and
the mutilation be not undergone by the condemned man. Yet, Renard, he is
a seditious man, and, I doubt not, a heretic. The sentence as to the
fine and the imprisonment must stand."
"That will not render the Queen nor your Majesty popular in the City; it
will not expedite our loan nor induce young Englishmen to come forward
to fight our battles," replied Renard. "Pardon me once more, sire, if I
make a suggestion to you. We are calling for an English contingent of
eight thousand men: Lord Clinton tells me that men are coming forward
very slowly.
"These twin brothers, William and Ralph Jefferay, are of gentle birth
and they are born soldiers. They have an intended brother-in-law, a
young nobleman named Geoffrey de Fynes. All the three are willing to
take arms in your Majesty's cause and to fight under your banner.
"This is my proposition, sire, that you ask the Queen to extend her
gracious pardon to Ralph Jefferay, on the condition that the three young
men I have named take service in Lord Clinton's contingent."
The frown cleared from the King's brow, he even smiled as he said—
"You plead well, Don Renard, you would have made a great lawyer; well,
be it as you wish, I will ask her to do us this service."
"To-night, sire?" said the Ambassador.
"Nay, to-morrow," replied the King; "I must not urge State matters on
the Queen at this late hour."
"But, sire, to-morrow will be too late, the Star Chamber acts promptly,
and to-morrow at ten o'clock Ralph Jefferay will stand in pillory at
Tyburn!" replied Renard.
The King flushed and looked somewhat angered; he was not accustomed to
be thus urged.
It was at this moment that an usher craved admission into the chamber,
he brought a message from the Queen.
"Would the King grant her a few minutes interview forthwith in her
boudoir?"
"Tell her Majesty that I will wait upon her immediately," he said to the
usher.
Then to the Ambassador he said—
"There is your answer, Don Renard—Heaven fights for you!"
"Yes, sire, thank God!" replied Renard fervently.
Meanwhile the cause the Ambassador had at heart had progressed
elsewhere.
Mary was always strictly attentive to her religious duties, and, at the
accustomed hour, she had gone to Vespers in the Chapel Royal, many of
the courtiers accompanying her thither.
At the conclusion of the short service she retired to her boudoir,
dismissing her Court for the night.
The Cardinal still knelt in the Chapel, until an usher came to summon
him to the Queen's presence. He rose and followed him.
The Queen had laid aside some of her heavy State robes, and her diamonds
no longer glistened on her head and neck. She was clad in a rich suit of
black velvet, her favourite attire.
As the Cardinal entered she knelt before him.
"Your blessing, father," she said.
Then she rose, and in his turn the Prelate knelt and kissed her hand.
She motioned him to a seat.
Behind her stood two ladies-in-waiting. Pointing to them the Queen said—
"Shall my ladies leave us? It shall be as you wish."
Pole hesitated for a moment.
He had a difficult and delicate cause to plead, he felt that he might be
pitting the Queen against her husband if the Ambassador, on his part,
failed to influence Philip.
"It may be advisable, your Majesty," he said, and thereupon the Queen
motioned to the ladies to withdraw.
They were alone, and Reginald lifted up his heart to God for Divine
guidance.
"Madam," he said, "the hour grows late and you are weary, I will be very
brief in what I have to say."
"Nay," said the Queen, "nay, my Lord Cardinal and good cousin, the hour
matters not and your voice brings comfort to my soul! Speak all that
your heart bids you say, I listen."
Then the Cardinal addressed himself to his task.
"I come, madam, on a matter of life and death, on behalf of one who was
tried and condemned in the Court of the Star Chamber to-day—by name
Ralph Jefferay. The youth was found guilty of 'conspiracy,' yet am I
sure that, though he may be guilty on this charge in a strictly legal
sense, yet is he absolutely innocent morally; so loyal to your royal
person is he at heart, that when the cruel sentence was pronounced, he
cried out in loud tones—'God save the Queen!' The poor youth's offence
is one of assault and nothing more, let me tell you briefly the
circumstances of the case."
Then the Cardinal rapidly recounted the episode of the Chiddingly woods.
"Mark, Madam, I beseech you, that no blood was shed, though the
Pursuivant threatened him with dire punishment, being at the moment
absolutely at his mercy."
The Queen listened attentively, but she made no observation.
Pole's heart sank within him, he felt that he had not yet convinced his
noble auditor's judgment, nor had he deeply moved her feelings.
Was it possible that the King had forestalled him, representing the
matter as a heretical plot and Ralph as a wild incendiary—a "Hot
Gospeller," in fact?
Once more the Cardinal's soul appealed to Heaven for help, nor did he
appeal in vain!
In warm and earnest language he set forth the brothers' exploit on the
Thames and their narrow escape from a violent death.
"Oh, Madam," he cried, "as I looked upon his pale, scarred, but noble
face this day in the Star Chamber, a deep sense of pity took possession
of me. He had atoned for his offence! It could not be that one so young,
so brave, so nobly daring should suffer a felon's doom, and I besought
Heaven to have mercy on him."
The sound of a gentle sob reached his ear, and he looked on the Queen's
sad face.
Yes, she was deeply moved at last!
"Stay, my Lord Cardinal," she said in a low voice, "I have heard enough.
God spared that young man's life—shall we be less merciful?"
Then it was that she sent for Philip, and in a few minutes he was at the
door, the Ambassador, at his request, accompanying him.
With Castilian courtesy Philip knelt and kissed the Queen's hand, then,
rising, he repeated the salute on her forehead.
The Queen's face flushed with pleasure, for she dearly loved her
husband—alas, he was all that she had to love in this world!
Then she marked the presence of the Ambassador, and extended her hand
towards him as he knelt humbly to kiss it.
The Cardinal stood aside, he had made lowly obeisance to the King as he
entered.
"Your Majesty sent for me, I await your gracious pleasure," said Philip
in low tones.
"I crave your pardon if I have disturbed State business," said Mary
apologetically, glancing at the Spanish Ambassador, "but I need your
advice this night, although the hour grows late."
Philip bowed gracefully as he said—
"I am always at your Majesty's service."
"I will state the matter in as few words as possible," replied the
Queen. "His eminence, our good cousin, has pleaded for a Royal pardon in
the case of one Ralph Jefferay—condemned to-day in the Star Chamber as a
conspirator. He has given me good reason to believe that the youth is
innocent of the alleged offence, he attributes his assault upon our
Pursuivant in the woods of Chiddingly to the hot blood of youth, and to
no lack of loyalty to us. This is the youth of whom your Majesty spoke
to me yesterday, and I now ask your advice and consent, ere I grant his
Eminence's petition."
A smile sat on Philips face as he replied—
"I, too, your Majesty, have heard somewhat more of this youth since he
was the subject of our conversation, and when your usher arrived just
now, our Ambassador, Don Renard here, was urging me to seek your Royal
pardon for him. I do so, on the condition (may it please your Majesty)
that the two brothers take service in the English contingent now being
raised under Lord Clinton to fight under my banner against France. His
Excellency undertakes that the young men accept this condition,
therefore I sue for your Majesty's pardon."
"We grant it joyfully," replied the Queen, "and we leave the matter
confidently in the hands of the Cardinal and the Ambassador, who will,
doubtless, see that all due formalities are observed."
Then Don Renard stepped forward and bowed profoundly.
"Have I your Majesties' permission to speak?" he said.
Then at his Sovereigns' nod of assent, he continued—
"The matter is so urgent that I have here a blank form of Royal Pardon;
it needs but the Queen's signature."
Thereupon he knelt at Mary's feet and presented the paper.
Mary took it to a side-table, signed it and gave the precious document
into Don Renard's hands.
The long interview was ended.
The two petitioners (the Cardinal and the Ambassador) knelt before the
Royal pair, kissed hands and departed.
In the courtyard of Whitehall the Ambassadors people were awaiting him
with a carriage, into which the Statesman and the Churchman entered.
"To the Fleet prison," Don Renard said to his coachman. "It is
midnight," he said to the Cardinal as they drove through the silent and
deserted streets, "yet I think we are in good time; I sent word to the
Governor of the prison, ere I came to Court, asking him to await our
arrival to-night and to notify to his prisoner, Ralph Jefferay, of our
intentions."
"And I," replied the Cardinal, "have told Sir John Jefferay that to-
night I hoped to bring him good news. We shall do better, we shall bring
him his nephew!"
A few minutes later the carriage drew up at the frowning gates of the
Fleet prison.
A few words with the warders sufficed, the gates opened and the Cardinal
and the Ambassador entered the prison and followed the warder to the
Governor's lodging. The Fleet was the most gloomy prison in London, but
the Governor's lodging offered a violent contrast to its dismal
surroundings.
In days long past it had formed a part of the Town house of a great
noble, and the fine hall into which the two visitors were ushered was a
relic of its past magnificence.
The walls were wainscoted with dark oak, richly carved, and a bright
fire lit up an open hearth ornamented by a chimney-piece sculptured with
many a quaint device. On a table in the centre of the hall wax candles
in heavy silver candlesticks shed forth a warm and pleasing light; the
table was laden with refreshments.
As the distinguished guests entered the hall the Governor (Sir Thomas
Middylton) hastened forward to greet them, bowing repeatedly.
But to his courteous entreaty that his visitors would honour him by
resting awhile and taking refreshment, the Ambassador replied—
"Ah, Sir Thomas, how gladly would we avail ourselves of your courtesy,
but we have yet much to do this night, and, I grieve to say, it must be
done quickly. We come to you from Whitehall: the Queen has been
graciously pleased to extend her royal pardon to your prisoner Ralph
Jefferay, and we bring to you an order for his deliverance to us, signed
by her Majesty."
Therewith Don Renard handed the precious document to the Governor, who
read it with grave deference. He then touched a gong, and, as a warder
appeared, he bade him fetch the prisoner Ralph Jefferay.
In a few minutes Ralph was brought into the hall in the charge of two
warders, and the Governor instantly addressed him.
"Mr. Ralph Jefferay," he said, "her Majesty, the Queen, has been pleased
to grant you a full and free pardon; you are no longer in my custody,
and I am happy to deliver you into the hands of your friends who have
come hither to convey you hence."
Ralph stood as one amazed and overwhelmed.
He had been forewarned that on the next day he would stand in the
pillory, that the common hangman would do his cruel office of
mutilation, and lo! here was pardon, freedom, joy and rejoicing!
The bright light of the hall had somewhat dazzled him: he had not
perceived that behind the Governor stood his deliverers. As they stepped
forward to greet him he recognized the Cardinal, whom he had last seen
in the Star Chamber, and he fell at his feet and sought to kiss his
hand.
"Rise, my son," said the Cardinal in kindly tones; "we thank God for His
mercy to you, and the Queen for her goodness. And here is one," he
continued, "to whom you owe much more than to me; for while I wrought
with the Queen on your behalf, his Excellency the Ambassador besought
the consent of King Philip."
Then Don Renard affectionately embraced him, kissing him upon both
cheeks.
And while Ralph stood speechless with joy the Ambassador exclaimed—
"Mr. Governor, you will pardon our hasty departure, I am sure, for we
must hie to Gray's Inn, where eager hearts await us."
Sir Thomas bowed in reply, and himself led the way to the great gate of
the prison, where their carriage awaited them.
Gray's Inn at last!
And there the Treasurer, the sweet sister, the much-loved brother
received from the hands of the liberators the released and pardoned
prisoner, as "one risen from the dead."
Ah, what joy and rejoicing, what radiant happiness were theirs that
night, as they knelt together to thank Heaven for its mercies!
The night was departing, the day was at hand, yet the men of the party
gathered together round the hearth for a brief consultation after Susan
had left them.
"Don Renard comes hither at mid-day," said Sir John, "and he brings with
him Lord Clinton, who happens to be in London. I fear that this portends
that the conditions upon which Ralph obtained his freedom are to be
fulfilled at once.
"I heard to-day that King Philip has commenced his campaign against the
French King, and the English contingent are assembling at Dover.
"I would Geoffrey de Fynes were here; his man-servant has arrived with
the news that his master's departure from Lewes was delayed, but that he
would follow him in a few hours. Perhaps we assumed his consent to join
you two boys too readily; but we shall soon know—he may be here to
breakfast."
"Have no fear on that score, dear uncle," replied Ralph; "he will tell
you himself, as he has often told me, that he longs to see military
service."
Then a final "good-night" was said, and the men betook themselves to
rest.
When William and Ralph entered the breakfast room at a somewhat later
hour than usual, they were overjoyed to see Geoffrey de Fynes already at
table; he had ridden up to London that day. Very hearty were the
greetings which passed between the young men. How much they had to tell
each other!
De Fynes was the eldest of the trio, being twenty years of age. He was
of moderate height, his strong limbs were finely proportioned, his
clear-cut features exhibited all the manly grace which seemed to be
hereditary in the noble family of the Dacres, of which he was the sole
male representative. He had not heard the great news that he was to
accompany the brothers to France. He was of a race of warriors, and now
the passionate longings of his heart were to be fulfilled!
"God save the Queen!" he cried, as he leapt from his seat and flung his
cap in the air.
Then he grasped the brothers' hands and shook them heartily; they would
be his "brothers-in-arms" now, and ere long, please God, they would be
united by a yet closer tie!
That last thought was very opportune, for at that moment Susan entered
the room and the lovers fondly embraced.
"I heard your voice as I was waiting on Sir John in the library, and I
hastened thither," she said. "Now tell me, I pray you, the cause of all
this uproarious joy?"
Geoffrey hung his head; he had come to London to ask for Susan's hand in
marriage, and now he was rejoicing at the news that he was "off to the
wars"!
Susan's womanly heart divined his trouble, and she hastened to dissipate
it with caressing words.
"God wills it, dear Geoffrey," she said; "I would not have it otherwise;
for think! at this very hour our beloved Ralph might have been standing
in the pillory at Tyburn. Oh, let us thank God for His mercy!"
Quickly an hour flew by, and at mid-day the expected visitors arrived
and the young people were summoned to the library, where Don Renard and
Lord Clinton awaited them, holding converse, meanwhile, with Sir John
Jefferay.
The Ambassador introduced them severally to Lord Clinton, and the
veteran soldier narrowly scanned his young recruits. He was still in the
prime of life, though he had seen much service, as the scars on his
rough and rugged face plainly showed.
Evidently the General was pleased with the appearance of the young men,
of whom Don Renard had told him much. He took especial note of Geoffrey.
"Your father and I," he said, "were at Court together, and we had the
honour of forming part of the escort which accompanied Queen Ann of
Cleves from Canterbury to London. I am glad to meet the son of Lord
Dacres."
Then he talked to each of them individually, as one who was anxious to
make their personal acquaintance, and perhaps to form some opinion of
their capacities and inclinations.
The English contingent, he informed them, consisted of eight thousand
men, of whom an advance body would leave Dover for Calais under his
command to-morrow.
For the present he offered them, with the King's permission, commissions
in the Arquebusiers, with posts on his own staff. If this met their
views it would be necessary for them to join their regiment this very
night: the notice was short, but the case was urgent; were they ready?
The young men eagerly gave willing consent, and so the matter was
decided, and the visitors rose to depart.
"I have much to do to-day, Sir John," said Lord Clinton, "and so, I
doubt not, will be the case with these young gentlemen. I pray you
pardon so short a visit and so hurried a departure."
Don Renard took an affectionate leave of his two protégés, and the
momentous interview was over.
Intense activity prevailed at Gray's Inn that day.
There were many preparations to be made, many farewells to be said and
counsels to be given.
It was late in the evening that the young soldiers, each accompanied by
a trusty serving-man, mounted their horses for Dover, where they were to
embark with the troops for Calais.
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