The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Why have you come hither?” he demanded. “But I need not ask. You have come to gratify your vengeance with a sight of my misery. Now you are satisfied, depart.”

  “I am come partly with that intent, and partly with another,” replied Gunnora. “Strange as it may sound, and doubtful, I am come to save you.”

  “To save me!” exclaimed Northumberland, starting. “How? But — no! — no! This is mockery. Begone, accursed woman!”

  “It is no mockery,” rejoined Gunnora. “Listen to me, Duke of Northumberland. I love vengeance well, but I love my religion better. Your machinations brought my foster-son, the Duke of Somerset, to the block, and I would willingly see you conducted thither. But there is one consideration that overcomes this feeling. It is the welfare of the Catholic Church. If you become a convert to that creed, thousands will follow your example; and for this great good I would sacrifice my own private animosity. I am come hither to tell you your life will be spared, provided you abandon the Protestant faith, and publicly embrace that of Rome.”

  “How know you this?” demanded the Duke.

  “No matter,” replied Gunnora. “I am in the confidence of those who, though relentless enemies of yours, are yet warmer friends to the Church of Rome.”

  “You mean Simon Renard and Gardiner?” observed Northumberland.

  Gunnora nodded assent.

  “And now my mission is ended,” she said. “Your Grace will do well to weigh what I have said. But your decision must be speedy, or the warrant for your execution will be signed. Once within the pale of the Catholic Church, you are safe.”

  “If I should be induced to embrace the offer?” said the Duke.

  “If!” cried Gunnora, her eye suddenly kindling with vindictive fire.

  “Woman,” rejoined the Duke, “I distrust you. I will die in the faith I have lived.”

  “Be it so,” she replied. “I have discharged the only weight I had upon my conscience, and can now indulge my revenge freely. Farewell! my lord. Our next meeting will be on Tower Hill.”

  “Hold!” cried Northumberland. “It may be as you represent, though my mind misgives me.”

  “It is but forswearing yourself,” observed Gunnora sarcastically. “Life is cheaply purchased at such a price.”

  “Wretch!” cried the Duke. “And yet I have no alternative. I accede.”

  “Sign this, then,” returned Gunnora, “and it shall be instantly conveyed to her Highness.”

  Northumberland took the paper, and casting his eye hastily over it, found it was a petition to the Queen, praying that he might be allowed to recant his religious opinions publicly, and become reconciled to the Church of Rome.

  “It is in the hand of Simon Renard,” he observed, “It is,” replied Gunnora.

  “Rut who will assure me if I do this, my life will be spared?”

  “I will,” answered the old woman.

  “You!” cried the Duke.

  “I pledge myself to it,” replied Gunnora. “Your life would be spared, even if your head were upon the block. I swear to you by this cross,” she added, raising the crucifix that hung at her neck, “if I have played you falsely, I will not survive you.”

  “Enough,” replied the Duke, signing the paper.

  “This shall to the Queen at once,” said Gunnora, snatching it with a look of ill-disguised triumph. “Tomorrow will be a proud day for our Church.”

  And with this she quitted the cell.

  The next morning, the Duke was visited by Gardiner, on whose appearance he flung himself on his knees. The bishop immediately raised him, and embraced him, expressing his delight to find that he at last saw through his errors. It was then arranged that the ceremonial of the reconciliation should take place at midnight in St. John’s Chapel in the White Tower. When the Duke’s conversion was made known to the other prisoners, the Marquess of Northampton, Sir Andrew Dudley (Northumberland’s brother), Sir Henry Gates, and Sir Thomas Palmer, they all — with the exception of the Earl of Warwick, who strongly and indignantly reprobated his father’s conduct — desired to be included in the ceremonial. The proposal being readily agreed to, priests were sent to each of them, and the remainder of the day was spent in preparation for the coming rites.

  At midnight, as had been arranged, they were summoned. Preceded by two priests, one of whom bore a silver cross, and the other a large flaming wax candle, and escorted by a band of halberdiers carrying lighted torches, the converts proceeded singly, at a slow pace, across the Green, in the direction of the White Tower. Behind them marched the three gigantic warders, Og, Gog, and Magog, each provided with a torch. It was a solemn and impressive spectacle, and as the light fell upon the assemblage collected to view it, and upon the hoary walls of the keep, the effect was peculiarly striking. Northumberland walked with his arms folded, and his head upon his breast, and looked neither to the right nor to the left.

  Passing through Coal-harbour Gate, the train entered an arched doorway in a structure then standing at the south-west of the White Tower. Traversing a long winding passage, they ascended a broad flight of steps, at the head of which was a gallery leading to the western entrance of the chapel. Here, before the closed door of the sacred structure, beneath the arched and vaulted roof, surrounded by priests and deacons in rich copes, one of whom carried the crosier, while others bore silver-headed staves, attired in his amice, stole, pluvial, and alb, and wearing his mitre, sat Gardiner upon a faldstool. Advancing slowly towards him, the Duke fell upon his knees, and his example was imitated by the others. Gardiner then proceeded to interrogate them in a series of questions appointed by the Romish formula for the reconciliation of a heretic; and the profession of faith having been duly made, he arose, took off his mitre, and delivering it to the nearest priest, extended his arms over the converts, and pronounced the absolution. With his right thumb he then drew the sign of the cross on the Duke’s forehead, saying, “Accipe signum crucis?” and being answered, “Accept,” he went through the same form with the rest. Once more assuming the mitre, with his left hand he took the Duke’s right, and raised him, saying, “Ingredere in ecclesiam Dei d qud incaute aberrasti. Horresce idola. Respue omnes pravitates et superstitiones hereticas. Cole Deum omnipotentem et Jesum filimn ejus, et Spiritum Sanctum.”

  Upon this, the doors of the chapel were thrown open, and the bishop led the chief proselyte towards the altar. Against the massive pillars at the east end of the chapel, reaching from their capitals to the base, was hung a thick curtain of purple velvet, edged with a deep border of gold. Relieved against this curtain stood the altar, covered with a richly-ornamented antipendium, sustaining a large silver crucifix, and six massive candlesticks of the same metal. At a few paces from it, on either side, were two other colossal silver candlesticks, containing enormous wax lights. On either side were grouped priests with censers, from which were diffused the most fragrant odors.

  As Northumberland slowly accompanied the bishop along the nave, he saw, with some misgiving, the figures of Simon Renard and Gunnora emerge from behind the pillars of the northern aisle. His glance met that of Renard, and there was something in the look of the Spaniard that made him fear he was the dupe of a plot — but it was now too late to retreat. When within a few paces of the altar, the Duke again knelt down, while the bishop removed his mitre as before, and placed himself in front of him. Meanwhile, the whole nave of the church, the aisles, and the circular openings of the galleries above, were filled with spectators. A wide semicircle was formed around the converts. On the right stood several priests. On the left Simon Renard had planted himself, and near to him stood Gunnora; while on the same side, against one of the pillars, was reared the gigantic frame of Magog. A significant look passed between them as Northumberland knelt before the altar. Extending his arms over the convert, Gardiner now pronounced the following exhortation:— “Omnipotens sempiterne Deus hanc ovem tuam de faucibus lupi tud virtute subtractam paterná recipe pietate et gregi tuo reforma pid benignitate ne de familid tu
d damno inimicus exidtet; sed de conversione et liberatione ejus ecclesiam ut pia mater de filio reperto gratuletur per Christum Dominum nostrum.”

  “Amen!” ejaculated Northumberland.

  After uttering another prayer, the bishop resumed his mitre, and seating himself upon the faldstool, which in the interim had been placed by the attendants in front of the altar, again interrogated the proselyte:

  “Homo, abrenuncias Sathanas et angelos ejus?”

  “Abreanncio,” replied the Duke.

  “Abrenuncias, etiam omnes sectas hereticm pravitatis?” continued the bishop.

  “Abrenuncio,” responded the convert.

  “Vis esse et vivere in unitate sanctce fidei Catholicoe?” demanded Gardiner.

  “Volo,” answered the Duke.

  Then again taking off his mitre, the bishop arose, and laying his right hand upon the head of the Duke, recited another prayer, concluding by signing him with the cross. This done, he resumed his mitre, and seated himself on the faldstool, while Northumberland, in a loud voice, again made a profession of his faith, and abjuration of his errors — admitting and embracing the apostolical ecclesiastical traditions, and all others — acknowledging all the observances of the Roman Church — purgatory — the veneration of saints and relics — the power of indulgences promising obedience to the Bishop of Rome — and engaging to retain and confess the same faith entire and inviolated to the end of his life. “Ago talis,” he said, in conclusion, “cognoscens veram Catholicam et Apostolicam fidem. Anathematizo hic publicé omnen heresem, prcecipue illam de quá hactenus extiti.” This he affirmed by placing both hands upon the book of the holy gospels, proffered him by the bishop, exclaiming, “Sic me Deus adjuvet, et hoec sancta Dei evangelia!”

  The ceremony was ended, and the proselyte arose. At this moment, he met the glance of Renard — that triumphant and diabolical glance — its expression was not to be mistaken. Northumberland shuddered. He felt that he had been betrayed.

  CHAPTER VII.

  HOW THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND WAS BEHEADED ON TOWER HILL.

  THREE days after Northumberland’s reconciliation with the Church of Rome, the warrant for his execution was signed by Queen Mary. The fatal intelligence was brought him by the Lieutenant, Sir John Gage, and though he received it with apparent calmness, his heart sank within him. He simply inquired when it was to take place, and, being informed on the following day at an early hour, he desired to be left alone. As soon as the Lieutenant was gone, he abandoned himself wholly to despair, and fell into a state bordering on distraction. While he was in this frenzied state, the door of his cell opened, and the jailer introduced Gunnora Braose and a tall man muffled in the folds of an ample black cloak.

  “Wretch!” cried the Duke, regarding the old woman fiercely. “You have deceived me. But the device shall avail you little. From the scaffold I will expose the snare in which I have been taken. I will proclaim my Protestant opinions; and my dying declaration will be of more profit to that faith than my recent recantation can be to yours.”

  “Your Grace is mistaken,” rejoined Gunnora. “I do not deserve your reproaches, as I will presently show. I am the bearer of a pardon to you.”

  “A pardon!” exclaimed Northumberland incredulously. “Ay, a pardon,” replied the old woman. “The Queen’s Highness will spare your life. But it is her pleasure that her clemency be as public as your crime. You will be reprieved on the scaffold.”

  “Were I assured of this,” cried Northumberland, eagerly grasping at the straw held out to him, “I would exhort the whole multitude to embrace the Catholic faith.”

  “Rest satisfied of it, then,” replied Gunnora. “May I perish at the same moment as yourself if I speak not the truth!”

  “Whom have we here?” inquired the Duke, turning to the muffled personage. “The headsman?”

  “Your enemy,” replied the individual, throwing aside his mantle, and disclosing the features of Simon Renard.

  “It is but a poor revenge to insult a fallen foe,” observed Northumberland disdainfully.

  “Revenge is sweet, however obtained,” rejoined Renard. “I am not come, however, to insult your Grace, but to confirm the truth of this old woman’s statement. Opposed as I am to you, and shall ever be, I would not have you forfeit your life by a new and vile apostasy. Adjure the Catholic faith, and you will die unpitied by all. Maintain it; and at the last moment, when the arm of the executioner is raised and the axe gleams in the air — when the eyes of thousands are fixed on it — sovereign mercy will arrest the blow.”

  “You awaken new hope in my bosom,” rejoined the Duke.

  “Be true to the faith you have embraced, and fear nothing,” continued Renard. “You may yet be restored to favor, and a new career of ambition will open to you.”

  “Life is all I ask,” replied the Duke; “and if that be spared, it shall be spent in her Majesty’s service. My pride is thoroughly humbled. But the language you hold to me, M. Renard, is not that of an enemy. Let me think that our differences are ended.”

  “They will he ended to-morrow,” replied Renard coldly. “Be it so,” replied Northumberland. “The first act of the life I receive from her Highness shall be to prostrate myself at her feet: the next to offer my thanks to you, and entreat your friendship.”

  “Tush,” returned Renard impatiently. “My friendship is more to be feared than my enmity.”

  “If there is any means of repairing the wrong I have done you,” said the Duke, turning to Gunnora, “be assured I will do it.”

  “I am content with what your Grace has done already,” rejoined Gunnora sternly. “You cannot restore the Duke of Somerset to life. You cannot give back the blood shed on the scaffold—”

  “But I can atone for it,” interrupted the Duke.

  “Ay,” cried Gunnora, her eyes flashing with vindictive fire, “you can — fearfully atone for it.”

  “Ha!” exclaimed the Duke.

  “Your Grace will not heed her raving,” remarked Renard, seeing that Northumberland’s suspicions were aroused by the old woman’s manner.

  “You can atone for it,” continued Gunnora, aware of the impression she had produced, and eager to remove it, “by a life of penance. Pass the night in player for the repose of his soul, and do not omit to implore pardon for yourself, and to-morrow I will freely forgive you.”

  “I will do as you desire,” replied the Duke.

  “I must now bid your Grace farewell,” said Renard “We shall meet to-morrow — on the scaffold.”

  “But not part there, I hope,” replied Northumberland, forcing a smile.

  “That will rest with your Grace — not me,” replied Renard, in a freezing tone.

  “Will you accept this from me?” said Northumberland, detaching a jewelled ornament from his dress, and offering it to Gunnora.

  “I will accept nothing from you,” replied the old woman. “Yes — one thing,” she added quickly.

  “It is yours,” rejoined the Duke. “Name it.”

  “You shall give it me to-morrow,” she answered evasively.

  “It is his head you require,” observed Renard, with a sinister smile, as they quitted the Beauchamp Tower.

  “You have guessed rightly,” rejoined the old woman savagely.

  “We have him in our toils,” returned Renard. “He cannot escape. You ought to be content with your vengeance, Gunnora. You have destroyed both body and soul.”

  “I am content,” she answered.

  “And now to Mauger,” said Renard, “to give him the necessary instructions. You should bargain with him for Northumberland’s head, since you are so anxious to possess it.”

  “I shall not live to receive it,” rejoined Gunnora.

  “Not live!” he exclaimed. “What mean you?”

  “No matter,” she replied. “We lose time. I am anxious to finish this business. I have much to do tonight.”

  Taking their way across the Green, and hastening down the declivity, they soon arrived
at the Bloody Tower. Here they learned from a warder that Mauger, since Queen Mary’s accession, had taken up his quarters in the Cradle Tower, and thither they repaired. Traversing the outer ward in the direction of the Lanthorn Tower, they passed through a wide portal and entered the Privy Gardens, on the right of which stood the tower in question.

  As they drew near, they heard the shrill sound produced by the sharpening of some steel instrument. Smiling significantly at Gunnora, Renard instead of opening the door proceeded to a narrow loophole, and looked in. He beheld a savage-looking individual seated on a bench near a grindstone. He had an axe in one hand, which he had just been sharpening, and was trying its edge with his thumb. His fierce bloodshot eyes, peering from beneath his bent and bushy brows, were fixed upon the weapon. His dress consisted of a doublet of red serge with tight black sleeves, and hose of the same color. His brow was lowering and wrinkled, the summit of his head perfectly bald, but the sides were garnished with long black locks, which together with his immense grizzled moustaches, bristling like the whiskers of a cat-a-mountain, and ragged beard, imparted a wild and forbidding look to his physiognomy. Near him rested a square, solid piece of wood, hollowed out on either side to admit the shoulder and head of the person laid upon it. This was the block. Had Renard not known whom he beheld, instinct would have told him it was the headsman.

  Apparently satisfied with the sharpness of the implement, Mauger was about to lay it aside, when the door opened, and Renard and Gunnora entered the chamber. The executioner rose to receive them. He had received a wound in his left leg which had crippled the limb, and he got up with difficulty.

  “Do not disturb yourself,” said Renard. “My business will be despatched in a few seconds. You are preparing, I see, for the execution to-morrow. What I have to say relates to it. The moment the Duke’s head is laid upon this block,” he added, pointing to it, “strike. Give him not a moment’s pause. Do you hear?”