A KING AND A VICTIM. TWO GRIM MEN
There was a "Red Mass," a votive Mass of the Holy Ghost, sung on the
next morning in the Tower.
The King and Queen, with all the Court, were present.
Johnnie knelt with the gentlemen attached to the persons of the King and
Queen, the gentlemen ushers behind them, and then the military officers
of the guard.
The _Veni Creator Spiritus_ was intoned by the Chancellor, and the music
of the Mass was that of Dom Giovanni Palestrina, director of sacred
music at the Vatican at that time.
The music, which by its dignity and beauty had alone prevented the
Council of Trent from prohibiting polyphonic music at the Mass, had a
marvellous appeal to the Esquire. It was founded upon a _canto fermo_, a
melody of an ancient plain song of the Middle Ages, and used in High
Mass from a very remote period.
The six movements of the Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus, and
Agnus Dei were of a superlative technical excellence. The trained ear,
the musical mind, were alike enthralled by them. Tinel, Waddington, and
Christopher Tye had written no music then, and the mellow angelic
harmonies of Messer Palestrina were all new and fresh in their
inspiration of dignity, grandeur, and devotion, most precious incense,
as it were, about the feet of the Lord.
The Bishop of London was celebrant, and Father Deza deacon. The Queen
and King received in the one Kind, while two of the re-established
Carthusians from Sheen, and two Brigittine monks from Sion, held a white
cloth before Their Graces.
This was not liked by many there--it had always been the privilege of
peers.
But of this Commendone knew nothing. The hour was for him one of the
deepest devotion and solemnity. He had not slept all the night long. For
a few moments he had seen Elizabeth, had spoken with her, had held her
by the hand. His life was utterly and absolutely changed. His mind,
excited with want of sleep, irrevocably stamped and impressed by the
occupation of the last two days, was caught up by the exquisite music
into a passionate surrender of self as he vowed his life to God and his
lady.
Earth and all it held--save only her--was utterly dissolved and swept
away. An unspeakable peace and stillness was in his heart.
Much, we read, is required from those to whom much is given, and Johnnie
was to go through places far more terrible than the Valley of the
Shadow of Death ever is to most men before he saw the Dawn.
When the Mass was said--the final "_Missa est_" was to ring in the young
man's ears for many a long day--he went to breakfast. He took nothing in
the Common Room, however, but John Hull brought him food in his own
chamber.
The man's brown, keen face beamed with happiness. He was like some
faithful dog that had lost one master and found another. He could not do
enough for Johnnie now--after the visit to Mr. Cressemer's house. He
took charge of him as if he had been his man for years. There was a
quiet assumption which secretly delighted Commendone. There they were,
master and man, a relationship fixed and settled.
On that afternoon there was to be a tournament in the tilting yard, and
Johnnie meant to ride--he had nearly carried away the ring at the last
joust. Hull knew of it--in a few hours the fellow seemed to have fallen
into his place in an extraordinary fashion--and he had been busy with
his master's armour since early dawn.
While Johnnie was making his breakfast, though he would very willingly
have been alone, and indeed had retired for that very purpose, Hull came
bustling in and out of the armour-room his face a brown wedge of
pleasure and excitement. The _volante piece_, the _mentonniere_, the
_grande-garde_ of his master's exquisite suite of light Milan armour
shone like a newly-minted coin. The black and lacquered _cuirasse_,
with a line of light blue enamel where it would meet the gorget, was
oiled and polished--he had somehow found the little box of bandrols with
the Commendone colour and cypher which were to be tied above the
coronels of Johnnie's lances.
And all the time John Hull chattered and worked, perfectly happy,
perfectly at home. Already, to Commendone's intense amusement, the man
had become dictatorial--as old and trusted servants are. He had got some
powder of resin, and was about to pour it into the jointed steel
gauntlet of the lance hand.
"It gives the grip, master," he said. "By this means the hand fitteth
better to the joints of the steel."
"But 'tis never used that I know of. 'Tis not like the grip of a bare
hand on the ash stave of a pike...."
There was a technical discussion, which ended in Johnnie's defeat--at
least, John Hull calmly powdered the inside of the glaive.
He was got rid of at last, sent to his meal with the other serving-men,
and Commendone was left alone. He had an hour to himself, an hour in
which to recall the brief but perfect joy of the night before.
They had taken him to Elizabeth after supper, his good host and hostess.
There was something piteously sweet in the tall slim girl in her black
dress--the dear young mouth trembling, the blue eyes full of a mist of
unshed tears, the hair ripest wheat or brownest barley.
She had taken his hand--hers was like cool white ivory--and listened to
him as a sister might.
He had sat beside her, and told her of her father's glorious death. His
dark and always rather melancholy face had been lit with sympathy and
tenderness. Quite unconscious of his own grace and grave young dignity,
he had dwelt upon the Martyr's joy at setting out upon his last journey,
with an incomparable delicacy and perfection of phrase.
His voice, though he knew it not, was full of music. His extreme good
looks, the refinement and purity of his face, came to the poor child
with a wonderful message of consolation.
When he told her how a brutal yeoman had thrown a faggot at the
Archdeacon, she shuddered and moaned a little.
Mr. Cressemer and his sister looked at Johnnie with reproach.
But he had done it of set purpose. "And then, Mistress Elizabeth," he
continued, "the Doctor said, 'Friend, I have harm enough. What needeth
that?'"
His hand had been upon his knee. She caught it up between her
own--innocent, as to a brother, unutterably sweet.
"Oh, dear Father!" she cried. "It is just what he would have said. It is
so like him!"
"It is liker Christ our Lord," Robert Cressemer broke in, his deep voice
shaking with sorrow. "For what, indeed, said He at His cruel nailing?
'[Greek: Pater, aphes autois ou gar oidasi ti poiusi.]'"
... And then they had sent Johnnie away, marvelling at the goodness,
shrewdness, and knowledge of the Alderman, with his whole being one sob
of love, pity, and protection for his dear simple mourner--so crystal
clear, so sisterlike and sweet!
* * * * *
It was time to go upon duty.
Johnnie looked at his thick oval watch--a "Nuremberg Egg," as it was
called in those days--cut short his reverie of sweet remembrance, and
went straight to the King Consort's wing of the Palace.
When he was come into the King's room he found him alone with Torrome,
his valet, sitting in a big leather-covered arm-chair, his ruff and
doublet taken off, and wearing a long dressing-gown of brown stuff, a
friar's gown it almost seemed.
The melancholy yellow face brightened somewhat as the Esquire came in.
"I am home again, Senor," he said in Spanish, though "_en casa_" was the
word he used for home, and that had a certain pathos in it. "There is a
_torneo_, a _justa_, after dinner, so they tell me. I had wished to ride
myself, but I am weary from our _viajero_ into the country. I shall sit
with the Queen, and you, Senor, will attend me."
He must have seen a slight, fleeting look of disappointment upon
Commendone's face.
Himself, as the envoy Suriano said of him in 1548, "deficient in that
energy which becometh a man, sluggish in body and timid in martial
enterprise," he nevertheless affected an exaggerated interest in manly
sports. He had, it is true, mingled in some tournaments at Brussels in
the past, and Calvera says that he broke his lances, "very much to the
satisfaction of his father and aunts." But in England, at any rate, he
had done nothing of the sort, and his voice to Commendone was almost
apologetic.
"We will break a lance together some day," he said, "but you must forego
the lists this afternoon."
Johnnie bowed very low. This was extraordinary favour. He knew, of
course, that the King would never tilt with him, but he recognised the
compliment.
He knew, again, that his star was high in the ascendant. The son of the
great Charles V was reserved, cautious, suspicious of all men--except
when, in private, he would unbend to buffoons and vulgar rascals like
Sir John Shelton--and the icy gravity of his deportment to courtiers
seldom varied.
Commendone was quite aware that the King did not class him with men of
Shelton's stamp. He was the more signally honoured therefore.
"This night," His Grace continued, "after the jousts, your attendance
will be excused, Senor. I retire early to rest."
The Esquire bowed, but he had caught a certain gleam in the King's small
eyes. "Duck Lane or Bankside!" he thought to himself. "Thank God he hath
not commanded me to be with him."
Johnnie was beginning to understand, more than he had hitherto done,
something of his sudden rise to favour and almost intimacy. The King
Consort was trying him, testing him in every way, hoping to find at
length a companion less dangerous and drunken, a reputation less blown
upon, a servant more discreet....
He could have spat in his disgust. What he had tolerated in others
before, though loftily repudiated for himself, now became utterly
loathsome--in King or commoner, black and most foul.
The King wore a mask; Johnnie wore one also--there was _finesse_ in the
game between master and servant. And to-night the King would wear a
literal mask, the "_maschera_," which Badovardo speaks of when he set
down the frailties of this monarch for after generations to read of:
"_Nelle piaceri delle donne e incontinente, predendo dilletatione
d'andare in maschera la notte et nei tempi de negotii gravi_."
Then and there Johnnie made a resolution, one which had been nascent in
his mind for many hours. He would have done with the Court as soon as
may be. Ambition, so new a child of his brain, was already dead. He
would marry, retire from pageant and splendour even as his father had
done years and years ago. With Elizabeth by his side he would once more
live happily among the woods and wolds of Commendone.
Torrome, the _criado_ or valet, came into the room again from the
bed-chamber. His Highness was to change his clothes once more--at high
noon he must be with the Queen upon State affairs. The Chancellor and
Lord Wharton were coming, and with them Brookes, the Bishop of
Gloucester, the papal sub-delegate, and the Royal Proctors, Mr. Martin
and Mr. Storey.
The prelates, Ridley and Latimer, were lying in prison--their ultimate
fate was to be discussed on that morning.
The King had but hardly gone into his bed-chamber when the door of the
Closet opened and Don Diego Deza entered, unannounced, and with the
manner of habitude and use.
He greeted Commendone heartily, shaking him by the hand with
considerable warmth, his clear-cut, inscrutable face wearing an
expression of fixed kindliness--put on for the occasion, meant to appear
sincere, there for a purpose.
"I will await His Grace here," the priest said, glancing at the door
leading to the bedroom, which was closed. "I am to attend him to the
Council Chamber, where there is much business to be done. So next week,
Mr. Commendone, you'll be at Whitehall! The Court will be gayer
there--more suited to you young gallants."
"For my part," Johnnie answered, "I like the Tower well enough."
"Hast a contented mind, Senor," the priest answered brightly. "But I hap
to know that the Queen will be glad to be gone from the City. This hath
been a necessary visit, one of ceremony, but Her Grace liketh the Palace
of Westminster better, and her Castle of Windsor best of all. I shall
meet you at Windsor in the new year, and hope to see you more advanced.
Wilt be wearing the gold spurs then, I believe, and there will be two
knights of the honoured name of Commendone!"
Johnnie answered: "I think not, Father," he said, turning over his own
secret resolve in his mind with an inward smile. "But why at Windsor?
Doubtless we shall meet near every day."
"Say nothing, Mr. Commendone," the priest answered in a low voice.
"There can be no harm in telling you--who are privy to so much--but I
sail for Spain to-morrow morn, and shall be some months absent upon His
Most Catholic Majesty's affairs."
Shortly after this, the King came out of his room, three of his Spanish
gentlemen were shown in, and with Johnnie, the Dominican, and his
escort, His Highness walked to the Council Chamber, round the tower of
which stood a company of the Queen's Archers, showing that Her Grace
had already arrived.
Then for two hours Johnnie kicked his heels in the Ante-room, watching
this or that great man pass in and out of the Council Chamber, chatting
with the members of the Spanish suite--bored to death.
At half-past one the Council was over, and Their Majesties went to
dinner, as did also Johnnie in the Common Room.
At half-past three of the clock the Esquire was standing in the Royal
box behind the King and Queen, among a group of other courtiers, and
looking down on the great tilting yard, where he longed himself to be.
The Royal Gallery was at one end of the yard, a great stage-box, as it
were, into which two carved chairs were set, and which was designated,
as a somewhat fervent chronicler records, "the gallery, or place at the
end of the tilting yard adjoining to Her Grace's Palace of the Tower,
whereat her person should be placed. It was called, and with good cause,
the Castle, or Fortress of Perfect Beauty, forasmuch as Her Highness
should be there included."
Johnnie stood and watched it all with eyes in which there was but little
animation. A few days before nothing would have gladdened him more than
such a spectacle as this. To-day it was as nothing to him.
Down below was a device of painted canvas, imitating a rolling-trench,
which was supposed to be the besieging works of those who attempted the
"Fortress of Perfect Beauty."
"Upon the top of it were set two cannons wrought of wood, and coloured
so passing well, as, indeed, they seemed to be two fair field-pieces of
ordnance. And by them were placed two men for gunners in cloth and
crimson sarcanet, with baskets of earth for defence of their bodies
withal."
At the far end of the lists there came a clanking and hammering of the
farriers' and armourers' forges.
Grooms in mandilions--the loose, sleeveless jacket of their
calling--were running about everywhere, leading the chargers trapped
with velvet and gold in their harness. Gentlemen in short cloaks and
Venetian hose bustled about among the knights, and here and there from
the stables, and withdrawing sheds outside the lists, great armoured
figures came, the sun shining upon their plates--russet-coloured,
fluted, damascened with gold in a hundred points of fire.
Nothing could be more splendid, as the trumpeters advanced into the
lists, and the fierce fanfaronade snarled up to the sky. The Garter
King-at-arms in his tabard, mounted on a white horse with gold housings,
rode out into the centre of the yard, and behind him, though on foot,
were Blue-mantle and Rouge-dragon.
The afternoon air was full of martial noise, the clank of metal, the
brazen notes of horns, the stir and murmur of a great company.
To Johnnie it seemed that he did not know the shadow from the substance.
It all passed before him in a series of coloured pictures, unreal and
far away. Had he been down there among the knights and lords, he felt
that he would but have fought with shadows. It was as though a weird
seizure had taken hold on him, a waking dream enmeshed him in its drowsy
impalpable net, so that on a sudden, in the midst of men and day, while
he walked and talked and stood as ever before, he yet seemed to move
among a world of ghosts, to feel himself the shadow of a dream. Once
when Sir Charles Paston Cooper, a very clever rider at the swinging
ring, and also doughty in full shock of combat, had borne down his
adversary, the Queen clapped her hands.
"Habet!" she cried, like any Roman empress, excited and glad, because
young Sir Charles was a very strong adherent of the Crown, and known to
be bitterly opposed to the pretensions of the Lady Elizabeth. "Habet!"
the Queen cried again, with a shriek of delight.
She looked at her husband, whose head was a little bent, whose sallow
face was lost in thought. She did not venture to disturb his reverie,
but glanced behind him and above his chair to where John Commendone was
standing.
"C'est bien fait, n'est-ce pas, Monsieur?" she said in French.
The young man's face, also, was frozen into immobility. It did not waken
to the Queen's joyous exclamation. The eyes were turned inwards, he was
hearing nothing of it all.
Her Grace's face flushed a little. She said no more, but wondered
exceedingly.
The stately display-at-arms went on. The sun declined towards his
western bower, and blue shadows crept slowly over the sand.
A little chill wind arose suddenly, and as it did so, Commendone awoke.
Everything flashed back to him. In the instant that it did so, and the
dreaming of his mind was blown away, the curtain before his subconscious
intelligence rolled up and showed him the real world. The first thing he
saw was the head of King Philip just below him. The tall conical felt
hat moved suddenly, leaning downwards towards a corner of the arena just
below the Royal box.
Johnnie saw the King's profile, the lean, sallow jowl, the corner of the
curved, tired, and haughty lip--the small eye suddenly lit up.
Following the King's glance, he saw below the figure of Sir John
Shelton, dressed very quietly in ordinary riding costume, and by the
side of the knight, Torrome, the valet of His Highness.
Both men nodded, and the King slightly inclined his head in reply.
Then His Highness leant back in his chair, and a little hissing noise, a
sigh of relief or pleasure, came from his lips.
Immediately he turned to the Queen, placed one hand upon her jewelled
glove, and began to speak with singular animation and brightness.
The Queen changed in a moment. The lassitude and disappointment went
from her face in a flash. She turned to her husband, radiant and happy,
and once more her face became beautiful.
It was the last time that John Commendone ever saw the face of Queen
Mary. In after years he preferred always to think of her as he saw her
then.
The tourney was over. Everybody had left the tilting yard and its
vicinity, save only the farriers, the armour smiths, and grooms.
In front of the old palace hardly a soul was to be seen, except the
sentinels and men of the guard, who paced up and down the terraces.
It was eight o'clock, and twilight was falling. All the windows were
lit, every one was dressing for supper, and now and then little
roulades of flutes, the twanging of viols being tuned, the mellow
clarionette-like voice of the _piccolo-milanese_ showed that the Royal
band was preparing for the feast.
Johnnie was off duty; his time was his own now, and he could do as he
would.
He longed more than anything to go to Chepe to be with the Cressemers
again, to see Elizabeth; but, always punctilious upon points of
etiquette, and especially remembering the sad case and dolour of his
love, he felt it would be better not to go. Nevertheless, he took a
sheet of paper from his case into the Common Room, and wrote a short
letter of greeting to the Alderman. With this he also sent a posy of
white roses, which he bribed a serving-man to get from the Privy Garden,
desiring that the flowers should be given to Mistress Elizabeth Taylor.
This done, he sought and found his servant.
"To-night, John Hull," he said, "I shall not need thee, and thou mayest
go into the City and do as thou wilt. I am going to rest early, for I am
very tired. Come you back before midnight--you can get the servant's
pass from the lieutenant of the guard if you mention my name--and wake
me and bring me some milk. But while thou art away, take this letter and
these flowers to the house of Master Robert Cressemer. Do not deliver
them at once when thou goest, but at ten or a little later, and desire
them to be taken at once to His Worship."
This he said, knowing something of the habits of the great house in
Chepeside, and thinking that his posy would be taken to Elizabeth when
she was retiring to her sleep.
"Perchance she may think of me all night," said cunning Johnnie to
himself.
Hull took the letter and the flowers, and departed. Johnnie went to his
chamber, disembarrassing himself of his stiff starched ruff, took off
his sword, and put on the cassock-coat, which was the undress for the
young gentlemen of the Court when they met in the Common Room for a
meal.
He designed to take some food, and then to go straight to bed and sleep
until his servant should wake him with the milk he had ordered, and
especially with the message of how he had done in Chepe.
He had just arrayed himself and was wearily stretching out his arms,
wondering whether after all he should go downstairs to sup or no, when
the door of his bedroom was pushed open and Ambrose Cholmondely entered.
Johnnie was glad to see his friend.
"_Hola!_" he said, "I was in need of some one with whom to talk. You
come in a good moment, _mon ami_."
Cholmondely sat down upon the bed.
"Well," he said, "didst come off well at the tourney?"
Johnnie shook his head. "I didn't ride," he said, "I was in attendance
upon His Grace, rather to my disgust, for I had hoped for some exercise.
But you? Where were you, Ambrose?"
"I? Well, Johnnie, I was excused attendance this afternoon. I made
interest with Mr. Champneys, and so I got off."
"Venus, her service, I doubt me," Johnnie answered.
Ambrose Cholmondely nodded.
"Yes," he said, "i' faith, a very bootless quest it was. A girl at an
inn that I lit upon some time agone--you would not know it--'tis a big
hostel of King Henry's time without Aldgate, the 'Woolsack.'"
Johnnie started. "I went there once," he said.
"I should well have thought," Cholmondely replied, "it would have been
out of your purview. Never mind. My business came not to a satisfactory
end. The girl was very coy. But I tell you what I did see, and that hath
given me much reason for thought. Along the road towards Essex, where I
was walking, hoping to meet my inamorata, came a damsel walking, by her
dress and bearing of gentle birth, and with a serving-maid by her side.
I was not upon the high road, but sat under a sycamore tree in a field
hard by, but I saw all that passed very well. A carriage came slowly
down the road towards this lady. Out of it jumped that bully-rook John
Shelton, and close behind him the Spanish valet Torrome, that is the
King's private servant. They caught hold of the girl, Shelton clapped a
hand upon her mouth, and they had her in the carriage in a moment and
her maid with her--which immediately turned round and went back at a
quick pace through Aldgate. I would have interfered, but I could not get
to the high road in time; 'twas so quickly done. Johnnie, there will be
great trouble in London, if Shelton and these Spaniards he is so
friendly with are to do such things in England. It may go on well enough
for a time, but suddenly the bees will be roused from their hive, and
there will be such a to-do and turmoil, such a candle will be lit as
will not easily be put out."
Johnnie shrugged his shoulders. In his mood of absolute disgust with his
surroundings, the recital interested him very little. He connected it at
once with the appearance of Shelton and the valet at the end of the
tourney, but it was not his business.
"The hog to his stye," he said bitterly. "I am going to take some
supper, and then to bed, for I am very weary."
Arm in arm with Ambrose Cholmondely, he descended the stairs, went into
the Common Room, and made a simple meal.
The place was riotous with high spirits, the talk was fast and free, but
he joined in none of it, and in a very few minutes had returned to his
room, closed the door, and thrown himself upon the bed.
Almost immediately he sank into a deep sleep.
He was dreaming of Elizabeth, and in his dream was interwoven the sound
of great bells, when the fantastic painted pictures of sleep were
suddenly shaken violently and dissolved. They flashed away, and his
voice rose in calling after them to stay, when he suddenly awoke.
The bells were still going on, deep golden notes from the central cupola
over the Queen's Gallery, beating out the hour of eleven. But as they
changed from dream into reality--much louder and imminent--he felt
himself shaken violently. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, a hoarse
voice mingled with the bell-music in his ears. He awoke.
His little room was lit by a lanthorn standing upon the mantel with the
door open.
John Hull, a huge broad shadow, was bending over him. He sat up in bed.
"_Dame!_" he cried, "and what is this?"
"Master! Master! She has been taken away! My little mistress! Most
foully taken away, and none know where she may be!"
Johnnie sprang from his bed, upright and trembling.
"I took the letter and the flowers as you bade me. But all was sorrow
and turmoil at the house. Mistress Elizabeth went out in the afternoon
with Alice her maid. She was to take the air. They have not returned.
Nothing is known. His Worship hath fifty men searching for her, and hath
had for hours. But it avails nothing."
Johnnie suddenly became quite quiet. Hull saw his face change. The
smooth, gracious contours were gone. An inner face, sharp, resolute,
haggard and terribly alive, sprang out and pushed the other away.
"His Worship writ thee a letter, sir. Here 'tis."
Johnnie held out his hand. The letter was brief, the writing hurried and
indistinct with alarm.
"DEAR LAD,--They have taken our Lizzie, whom I know not. But I
fear the worst things. I cannot find her with all my resource.
An' if _I_ cannot, one must dread exceeding. I dare say no
more. But come to me on the instant, if canst. Thou--being at
Court--I take it, may be able to do more than I, at the moment
and in the article of our misfortune. The weight I bring to
bear is heavy, but taketh time. Command me in every way as
seemeth good to you. Order, and if needs be threaten in my
name. All you do or say is as if I said it, and they that deny
it will feel my hand heavy on them.
"But come, dear lad. Our Lady help and shield the little lamb.
"Your friend,
"ROBERT CRESSEMER,
"Alderman."
Johnnie thrust the letter into his bosom.
"John Hull, art ready to follow me to the death, as it may be and very
like will?"
"Certes, master."
"Anything for her? Are you my man to do all and everything I tell thee
till the end?"
John Hull answered nothing. He ran out of the room and returned in an
instant with his master's boots and sword. He saw that the holster
pistols were primed. He took one of Johnnie's daggers and thrust it into
the sheath of his knife without asking.
The two men armed themselves to the teeth without another word.
"I'll be round to the stables," Hull said at length. "Two horses,
master? I will rouse one groom only and say 'tis State business."
"You know then where we must go?"
"I know not the place. But I guess it. We hear much--we Court servants!"
He spat upon the floor. "And I saw _him_ looking at her as the Doctor
rode to Hadley."
"Wilt risk it?--death, torture, which is worse, John Hull?"
"Duck Lane, master?"
"Duck Lane."
"I thought so. I'm for the horses."
A clatter of descending footsteps, a man standing in a little darkling
room, his hand upon his sword hilt. His teeth set, his brain working in
ice.
Receding footsteps.... "Faithfullest servant that ever man had!"
And so to the bitter work!