“You wrong me, gracious madam. On my soul you do,” rejoined Courtenay. “I may have trifled with others, but I have given my heart wholly to you.”
“It is false!” cried Mary furiously. “You love the Princess, my sister.”
Courtenay turned very pale. But he instantly recovered himself.
“Your Highness is mistaken,” he answered.
“What!” cried the Queen, her anger increasing each moment. “Dare you persist in the denial of your falsehood? Dare you tell me to my face that you have not breathed words of passion to her? Dare you assert that you have not lamented your engagement to me? Dare you say this?”
“I dare, madam.”
“Then your own words shall give you the lie, traitor,” replied the Queen. “Here is your letter to her,” she added, producing a paper, “wherein you tell her so.”
“Confusion!” muttered Courtenay, “Renard has betrayed me.”
“Is this letter your writing?” demanded the Queen.
“I will not prevaricate, madam,” replied Courtenay; “it is.”
“And in the face of this you declare you have not deceived me?”
“I have deceived you, gracious madam,” replied Courtenay, “but I have never ceased to love you.”
“My lord! my lord!” exclaimed Mary, in a menacing tone. “Beware how you attempt to deceive me further, or as God shall judge me, you shall find that the daughter of Henry the Eighth is not to be offended with impunity.”
“I know you are terrible in anger, gracious madam,” replied Courtenay; “but you are also just. Judge me — condemn me, if you please, but hear me. He who gave you that letter — Simon Renard — counselled me to write it.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the Queen.
“I have been guilty of folly — madness,” rejoined Courtenay, “but not the black perfidy your Highness imagines. Dismiss me from your presence — send me into exile — I deserve any punishment — but do not believe that I have ceased to love you.”
“I know not what you term love, my lord,” replied Mary; “but I have no idea of sharing the affection of any man with another. Grant, however, that you speak the truth, why have you addressed this passionate epistle to the Princess Elizabeth?”
“I have already said I was deceived,” replied Courtenay. “I cannot excuse my conduct — though I lament it.”
“Are you sincere?” said Mary, who began to be softened by her lover’s apparent penitence.
“By what oath shall I confirm my truth?” he replied fervently.
“I will test it more surely,” rejoined the Queen, as if struck by a sudden idea.
“In any way your Highness thinks proper,” returned Courtenay.
“Summon the Princess Elizabeth to our presence instantly,” said Mary, striking a small bell, the sound of which brought an usher before her.
“The Princess Elizabeth!” exclaimed Courtenay.
“Ay, the Princess,” repeated the Queen. “I will confront you with her. Bid the Lord Chancellor and the ambassadors of Spain and France attend us,” she continued to the usher.
“I know not what your Highness intends,” said Courtenay, as the attendant departed. “But I will die rather than do aught to prejudice the Princess.”
“I doubt it not, my lord,” rejoined Mary bitterly. “But though I cannot punish the perfidy of a lover, I can the disobedience of a subject. If you refuse to obey my commands, you will take the consequences.”
Courtenay bit his lips to repress the answer that rose to them.
In a few minutes the usher returned and announced the Princess Elizabeth, as well as Gardiner, Renard, and De Noailles. Instantly perceiving how matters stood, the imperial ambassador deemed his own triumph complete, and Courtenay’s disgrace certain.
“My lord,” said Mary, addressing Gardiner, “it is no secret to you, neither to you, M. Renard, nor to you, M. De Noailles, that of all those proposed to me in marriage — the Princes of Spain and Portugal, the King of the Romans, Cardinal Pole, and others — I have preferred this man, whom I myself have raised to the rank he now holds, and enriched with the estates he enjoys.”
“We know it, gracious madam,” replied Gardiner, alarmed at the ominous commencement, “and we think your Highness has made a happy choice, and one most acceptable to your subjects. Do we not, M. Renard?” The ambassador bowed, but said nothing.
“The alliance is in all respects agreeable to my sovereign, Henry the Second of France,” observed De Noailles.
“What then if I inform you,” pursued Mary, “that the Earl of Devonshire has rejected my proposal? What if he has broken his oath of fidelity? What if he has cast aside the crown offered him, and smitten by the charms of a youthful beauty, abandoned the Queen, who has stooped to raise him to her throne!”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Gardiner and De Noailles. “You are mistaken,” rejoined Mary sternly. “You shall hear him avow his perfidy with his own lips.”
“When I do hear it,” replied De Noailles, looking steadily at Courtenay, “I will believe it. But I cannot think him capable of such madness.”
“Nor I,” said Gardiner, glancing significantly from beneath his bent brows.
Elizabeth, who on the commencement of the Queen’s address had turned very pale, could with difficulty maintain her composure. Her agitation did not escape the notice of Mary, whose jealousy was increased by the sight.
“What if I tell you,” she continued, “that this false Earl has transferred his affections to our sister?”
“Your Highness!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Peace!” cried the Queen fiercely. “And she, well knowing his engagement to ourself, has dared to encourage his suit.”
“Whoever told your Majesty this, lied in his throat,” cried Courtenay. “I own myself guilty, but the Princess Elizabeth is no partner to my folly.”
“You do well to shield her, my lord,” retorted Mary. “But you cannot deceive me. She is equally culpable.”
“Nay, more so, if it comes to this,” interposed Elizabeth, whose spirit, which was quite equal to her sister’s, was aroused. “If I had repressed my admiration for the Earl of Devonshire, he would have made no advances to me. I am the most to blame in this matter.”
“Not so,” replied Courtenay. “Let my folly and presumption be visited on my own head. I pray your Highness to pass sentence on me at once. But do not let the Princess suffer for my fault.”
“So, so!” exclaimed Mary, with a bitter laugh, “I have brought you to your confessions at last. If I had before doubted your love for each other, your present conduct would have convinced me of it. You shall have your request, my lord,” she added, turning to Courtenay. “I will pass sentence upon you.”
“Hold, madam,” cried Gardiner. “Before the sentence is passed and irrevocable, reflect — if only for one moment. You are a great Queen, and the daughter of a great king. But the rashness of one moment may annihilate all your future peace, destroy the hopes of your people, and the prosperity of your reign. The conduct of the Earl of Devonshire is unpardonable, I allow. But for your own sake — for the sake of your kingdom — not for his — I beseech you to overlook it. That he loves you, I am assured.”
“Let him declare as much,” said Renard.
“Hear me, then,” replied Courtenay, throwing himself at the Queen’s feet. “I bitterly repent my rashness; and though I can never hope to be restored to the place I once held in your Majesty’s affections, I shall never cease to reproach myself — never cease to love you.”
Mary was visibly moved.
“If I thought you sincere?” she said.
“I will answer for his sincerity,” said Gardiner.
“And I,” added De Noailles. “She relents,” he continued in a whisper to Courtenay. “Improve the advantage you have gained.”
“Grant me an instant’s private audience with your Majesty,” implored Courtenay; “and I feel certain I can remove all your doubts.”
“No, my lord
,” rejoined Mary. “As our rupture has been public, our reconciliation (if it takes place), shall be public also.”
“It must never take place,” remarked Renard in an undertone.
“Peace, sir,” said the Queen aloud. “As far as our government is concerned, we are content to follow your counsel; but in matters of the heart we shall follow its dictates alone.”
“Your Majesty is in the right,” observed Gardiner.
“Declare, my lord,” pursued Mary, addressing Courtenay, “in the presence of these gentlemen, in that of our sister — rival we ought to say — that you have deceived her, and, though your conduct may have misled her, you have never swerved from your devotion to ourself.”
While the Queen pronounced these words, Renard’s keen glance wandered from Courtenay to Elizabeth. The latter was violently agitated, and seemed to await the Earl’s answer as if her fate hung upon it.
“Do you assert this, my lord?” demanded Mary.
“Hesitate, and you are lost, and so is the Princess,” whispered De Noailles.
Before Courtenay could reply Elizabeth fainted, and would have fallen if Renard had not flown to her assistance.
“Summon our maids of honor, and let her be instantly cared for,” said Mary, with a look of ill-disguised satisfaction. “My lord,” she added to Courtenay, “you are forgiven.”
The Earl hastily, and with some confusion, expressed his thanks, while, in obedience to the Queen’s mandate, Elizabeth was removed.
“And now, my lord,” said Mary to him, “I must pass from my own affairs to those of my kingdom. I will not detain you further — nor you, M. de Noailles. But I must crave your attendance, my lord, for a few minutes,” she added, turning to Gardiner, “and yours, M. Renard.”
“Your Highness may always command my best counsel,” replied the latter, in a slightly sarcastic tone, “provided you will act upon it.”
“Farewell, my lord,” said Mary, extending her hand to Courtenay, which he pressed to his lips. “I shall walk upon the Tower Green in an hour, and shall expect you there.”
“I will attend your Majesty,” replied Courtenay. And accompanied by De Noailles, he quitted the chamber.
“You have had a narrow escape, my lord,” remarked the French Ambassador, as they traversed the long gallery together.
“So narrow that I thought I had lost all chance of the crown,” replied Courtenay. “It is the work of that perfidious Simon Renard. But if I live an hour, I will requite him.”
“You are the victor, my lord,” returned De Noailles. “Maintain your present position, and you may defy his utmost malice.”
“Tarry with me a moment, M. de Noailles,” said Courtenay, “and you shall see how I will avenge myself upon him.”
“Prudence, my good lord — prudence,” replied De Noailles. “Your rashness has already put you once in his power. Do not let it do so a second time.”
“I will punish his treachery, if it costs me my life,” replied Courtenay.
CHAPTER IX.
OF THE DUEL BETWEEN COURTENAY AND SIMON RENARD; AND HOW IT WAS INTERRUPTED.
MEANWHILE a long discussion was carried on between Mary and her councillors, as to the best means of effecting the entire restoration of the Romish religion.
“I have a letter from Cardinal Pole,” observed the Queen, “wherein his Eminence urges me to adopt no half-measures.”
“It will not be safe to do so as matters now stand, gracious madam,” replied Gardiner. “You must proceed cautiously. The noxious weed, heresy, has taken too deep a root in this country to he forcibly extirpated. I need not remind you of the murmurs that followed the celebration of mass in the chapel in the White Tower, for the repose of the King your brother’s soul — of Cranmer’s vehement opposition — of the Lord Mayor’s remonstrance, because mass was sung in another chapel in the city — of the riot for a similar cause in Smithfield — of the dagger thrown at Dr. Bourne, when he preached at St. Paul’s Cross, and inveighed against the deprivation of our prelates during the late reign. Your Majesty did wisely to declare, at my suggestion, that although your conscience is stayed in matters of religion, yet you meant not to compel and constrain other men’s consciences. Abide by this declaration a little longer. The two chief opponents of our religion, Ridley and Latimer, are already prisoners in the fortress, and Cranmer will be speedily brought hither.”
“So speedily, my lord, that he shall be lodged within it to-day,” replied Mary. “The order is already signed for his committal on a charge of high treason for counselling our disinheritance, and aiding the Duke of Northumberland with horse and men against us in the revolt of the Lady Jane Grey.”
“When will your Highness have him arraigned?” asked Gardiner.
“After our coronation,” replied Mary; “when Lady Jane Grey and her husband shall also be tried.”
“Suffolk is already liberated,” remarked Renard; “and yet he was more deeply implicated than Cranmer.”
“True,” replied Mary; “but he is not so dangerous.”
“The counsel of my master, the Emperor,” rejoined Renard, “as I have more than once stated to your Highness, is to spare none of the rebels — above all, the Lady Jane Grey, who, though she may have been the instrument of others, is yet in the eyes of the people the principal offender.”
“Poor Lady Jane!” exclaimed Mary, in a compassionate tone. “She is very young — very beautiful. I would rather reconcile her to our Church than doom her to the block.”
“I do not despair of being able to accomplish her conversion,” said Gardiner, “though she is an obstinate heretic. I have appointed to-morrow for a conference with her on the subject of her religion, and I trust to be able to convince her of her errors.”
“With your lordship’s permission, I will attend the conference,” said Renard.
“By all means,” replied Gardiner. “It will take place in the Beauchamp Tower. Her husband, Lord Guilford Dudley, has become a proselyte, and they will be both present at the disputation.”
“I leave the care of her soul in your hands, my lord,” replied Mary. “And now I must to my own devotions.”
So saying, she dismissed them, and proceeded to an oratory, where she was joined by her confessor, Feckenham.
On issuing from the audience-chamber, Renard perceived De Noailles and Courtenay pacing the gallery.
“I have waited for you, sir,” said the latter, advancing to meet him.
“I am sorry to have detained your lordship so long,” replied Renard.
“Apologies are needless,” rejoined Courtenay. “M. Renard, you are a double-faced villain.”
“Rail on, my lord, and welcome,” replied Renard contemptuously. “Your ill-humor has no effect on me!”
“Coward! will not that move you?” cried Courtenay, taking off his glove and striking him with it in the face.
Ha!” exclaimed Renard fiercely, and half unsheathing his sword. “Follow me, my lord, and you shall find me as prompt to avenge an insult as you can be to offer one.”
“My lord,” interposed De Noailles, “and you, M. Renard, I warn you before you proceed further in this quarrel, that it will deeply offend the Queen.”
“It was not my seeking,” replied Renard sternly. “But since it is forced upon me, I will not be stayed As his lordship has found no difficulty in duping her Majesty with a feigned passion, so, if he survives, he may readily make out his case by an equally false statement that I was the aggressor.”
“Insolent!” cried Courtenay. “Fool that I was to place any faith in one in whom the whole perfidy of his country seems concentred. Follow me, and quickly, or I will repeat the blow — unless,” he added, with bitter scorn, “like your own arrogant hut cowardly nation you prefer avenging it by assassination.”
“The cowardice will be yours, my lord,” rejoined Renard haughtily, “if you attempt to repeat the blow — nay, if you tarry here longer I shall think you desire to attract the attention of some of her Majesty’s
attendants and by causing us to be arrested contrive to escape my vengeance.”
“Trust me, sir, I have no such intention,” replied Courtenay. “An Englishman never deals a blow without allowing his adversary to return it. M. de Noailles, I request your attendance at the duel. It will be a mortal combat — for I will neither give mercy nor receive it from this perfidious villain.”
“Pardon me, my lord, if I refuse your request,” replied De Noailles. “I pledge my word that I will not interrupt you, nor cause you to be interrupted during the adjustment of your differences: but I will be no party to the duel.”
“As you please,” replied Courtney. “Come then, sir,” he added, turning to Renard, “and let the recollection of the insult I have offered you be fresh in your memory.”
“M. de Noailles,” said Renard, “I take you to witness before I depart, that I have not sought this quarrel. Whatever ensues, you will avouch the truth.”
“Undoubtedly,” replied De Noialles. “Whither are you going?” he demanded.
“To the palace-garden,” replied Courtenay. “It is the only place in the Tower where we can be free from interruption. Beneath the trees we shall be unobserved.”
“Lead on, then, my lord,” cried Renard impatiently. “The affair ought to have been arranged by this time.” Hastily quitting the corridor they descended the grand staircase, and traversing with rapid steps a long suite of apartments, passed through a small door opening from the range of building called the Queen’s gallery upon the Privy Garden. At the western angle of this garden stood a grove of trees, and thinking themselves unobserved they hastened towards it.
It chanced, however, at this moment that Xit was passing along one of the walks, and struck by their furious looks he immediately conjectured their errand, and being, as has before been shown, of an inquisitive turn, determined to watch them, and with this view struck into a shrubbery, which effectually screened him from observation.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 139
