“Obey me, sir,” vociferated Mary furiously, “or I will fetch the guard myself. An outraged woman may tamely submit to her wrongs — an outraged Queen can revenge them. Heaven be thanked! I have the power to do so, as I have the will. Down on your knees, Edward Courtenay, whom I have made Earl of Devonshire, and would have made King of England — on your knees, I say. Now, my lord, your sword.”
“It is here,” replied the Earl, presenting it to her, “and I entreat your Majesty to sheathe it in my bosom.”
“His crime does not amount to high treason,” whispered Renard, “nor can your Highness do more than disgrace him.”
“The guard! the guard, sir!” cried Mary authoritatively. “Our father, Henry the Eighth, whose lineaments frown upon us from that wall, had not authority for all he did. He was an absolute King, and we are absolute Queen. Again I say, the guard! and bid Sir Henry Bedingfeld attend us.”
“Your Majesty shall be obeyed,” replied Renard, departing.
“Do with me what you please, gracious madam,” said Courtenay, as soon as they were alone. “My life is at your disposal. But, I beseech you, do not visit my faults upon the Princess Elizabeth. If your Majesty tracked me hither, you must be well aware that my presence was as displeasing to her as it could be to yourself.”
“I will not be sheltered under this plea,” replied Elizabeth, whose anger was roused by her sister’s imperious conduct. “That the interview was unsought on my part, your Highness well knows. But that I leant a willing ear to the Earl of Devonshire’s suit is equally true. And if your Highness rejects him, I see nothing to prevent my accepting him.”
“This to my face!” cried Mary in extremity of indignation.
“And wherefore not?” returned Elizabeth maliciously.
“Anger me no further,” cried Mary, “or by my father’s soul, I will not answer for your head.” Her manner was so authoritative, and her looks so terrible, that even Elizabeth was awed.
“Again,” interposed Courtenay humbly, “let me, who am the sole cause of your Majesty’s most just displeasure, bear the weight of it. The Princess Elizabeth, I repeat, is not to blame.”
“I am the best judge in my own cause, my lord,” replied the Queen. “I will not hear a word more.”
A deep silence then ensued, which was broken by the entrance of the Lieutenant of the Tower and the guard. Renard brought up the rear.
“Sir Henry Bedingfeld,” said Mary, “I commit the Princess Elizabeth and the Earl of Devonshire to your custody.”
“I can scarcely credit my senses, gracious madam,” replied Bedingfeld, gazing at the offenders with much concern, “and would fain persuade myself it is only a part of the pastime I have so recently witnessed.”
“It is no pastime, Sir Henry,” replied the Queen sternly. “I little thought, when I entrusted you with the government of this fortress, how soon, and how importantly, you would have to exercise your office. Let the prisoners be placed in close confinement.”
“This is the first time in my life,” replied the old knight, “that I have hesitated to obey your Majesty. And if I do so now, I beseech you to impute it to the right motive.”
“How, sir!” cried the Queen fiercely. “Do you desire to make me regret that I have removed Sir John Gage? He would not have hesitated.”
“For your own sake, gracious madam,” said Sir Henry, falling on his knees before her, “I beseech you pause. I have been a faithful servant of your high and renowned father, Henry the Eighth — of your illustrious mother, Catherine of Aragon, who would almost seem — from their pictures on that wall — to be present now. In their names, I beseech you pause. I am well aware your feelings have been greatly outraged. But they may prompt you to do that which your calmer judgment may deplore.”
“Remonstrance is in vain,” rejoined the Queen. “I am inexorable. The Princess Elizabeth may remain a close prisoner in her own apartments. The Earl of Devonshire must be removed elsewhere. You will be answerable for their safe custody.”
“I will,” replied Bedingfeld, rising; “but I would that I had never lived to see this day!”
With this, he commanded his attendants to remove Courtenay, and when the order was obeyed, he lingered for a moment at the door, in the hope that the Queen would relent. But, as she continued immovable, he departed with a sorrowful heart, and conveyed the Earl to his own lodgings.
Courtenay gone, Elizabeth’s proud heart gave way, and she burst into a flood of tears. As Mary saw this, a feeling of compassion crossed her, which Renard perceiving, touched her sleeve, and drew her away.
“It were better to leave her now,” he observed. Yielding to his advice, Mary was about to quit the room, when Elizabeth arose and threw herself at her feet.
“Spare him!” she cried.
“She thinks only of her lover,” thought the Queen; “those tears are for him. I will not pity her.”
And she departed without returning an answer.
Having seen two halberdiers placed at the door of the chamber, and two others at the foot of the masked staircase by which she and Renard had approached, Mary proceeded with the Ambassador to her own apartments.
On thinking over the recent occurrences, her feelings were so exasperated that she exclaimed aloud, “Oh that I could avenge myself on the perjured traitor!”
“I will show you how to avenge yourself,” replied Renard.
“Do so, then,” returned the Queen.
“Unite yourself to my master, Philip of Spain,” rejoined the Ambassador. “Your cousin, the Emperor, highly desires the match. It will be an alliance worthy of you, and acceptable to your subjects. The Prince is a member of your own religion, and will enable you to restore its worship throughout your kingdom.”
“I will think of it,” replied Mary musingly.
“Better act upon it,” rejoined Renard. “The Prince, besides his royal birth, is in all respects more richly endowed by nature than the Earl of Devonshire.”
“So I have heard him accounted,” replied Mary.
“Your Majesty shall judge for yourself,” rejoined Renard, producing a miniature. “Here is his portrait. The likeness is by no means flattering.”
“He must be very handsome,” observed Mary, gazing at the miniature.
“He is,” replied Renard; “and his Highness is as eager for the alliance as his imperial father. I have ventured to send him your Majesty’s portrait, and you shall hear in what rapturous terms he speaks of it.”
And taking several letters from his doublet, he selected one sealed with the royal arms of Spain, from which he read several highly complimentary remarks on Mary’s personal appearance.
“Enough, sir,” said Mary, checking him. “More unions are formed from pique than from affection, and mine will be one of them. I am resolved to affiance myself to the Prince of Spain, and that forthwith. I will not allow myself time to change my mind.”
“Your Highness is in the right,” observed Renard eagerly.
“Meet me at midnight in St. John’s Chapel in the White Tower,” continued the Queen, “where in your presence, and in the presence of Heaven, I will solemnly affiance myself to the Prince.”
“Your Majesty transports me by your determination,” replied the Ambassador. And full of joy at his unlooked-for success, he took his departure.
At midnight, as appointed, Renard repaired to St. John’s Chapel. He found the Queen, attended only by Feckenham, and kneeling before the altar, which blazed with numerous waxlights. She had changed her dress for the ceremony, and was attired in a loose robe of three-piled crimson velvet, trimmed with swansdown. Renard remained at a little distance, and looked on with a smile of Satanic triumph.
After she had received the sacrament, and pronounced the Veni Creator, Mary motioned the Ambassador towards her, and placing her right hand on a parchment lying on the altar, to which were attached the broad seals of England, addressed him thus: “I have signed and sealed this instrument, by which I contract and affiance myse
lf in marriage to Philip, Prince of Spain, son of his Imperial Majesty, Charles the Fifth. And I further give you, Simon Renard, representative of the Prince, my irrevocable promise, in the face of the living God and His saints, that I will wed him and no other.”
“May Heaven bless the union!” exclaimed Feckenham. “There is the contract,” pursued Mary, giving the parchment to Renard, who reverentially received it. “On my part, it is a marriage concluded.”
“And equally so on the part of the Prince, my master,” replied Renard. “In his name I beg to express to your Highness the deep satisfaction which this union will afford him.”
“For the present this contract must be kept secret, even from our privy councillors,” said the Queen.
“It shall never pass my lips,” rejoined Renard.
“And mine are closed by my sacred calling,” added the confessor.
“Your Majesty, I am sure, has done wisely in this step,” observed Renard, “and, I trust, happily.”
“I trust so too, sir,” replied the Queen; “but time will show. These things are in the hands of the Great Disposer of events.”
CHAPTER XVI.
WHAT BEFEL CICELY IN THE SALT TOWER.
Horror-stricken by the discovery he had made of the body of the ill-fated Alexia, and not doubting from its appearance that she must have perished from starvation, Cholmondeley remained for some time in a state almost of 20 stupefaction in the narrow chamber where it lay. Rousing himself, at length, he began to reflect that no further aid could be rendered her, that she was now, at last, out of the reach of her merciless tormentor, and that his attention ought, therefore, to be turned towards one who yet lived to suffer from his cruelty.
Before departing he examined the corpse more narrowly to ascertain whether it bore any marks of violence, and while doing so, a gleam of light called his attention to a small antique clasp fastening her tattered hood at the throat. Thinking it not impossible this might hereafter furnish some clue to the discovery of her real name and condition, he removed it. On holding it to the light, he thought he perceived an inscription upon it, but the characters were nearly effaced, and reserving the solution of the mystery for a more favorable opportunity, he carefully secured the clasp, and quitted the cell. He then returned to the passages he had recently traversed, explored every avenue afresh, reopened every cell door, and after expending several hours in fruitless search, was compelled to abandon all hopes of finding Cicely.
Day had long dawned when he emerged from the dungeon, and as he was slowly wending his way towards the Stone Kitchen, he descried Lawrence Nightgall advancing towards him. From the furious gestures of the jailer, he at once knew that he was discovered, and drawing his sword, he stood upon his defence. But a conflict was not what Nightgall desired. He shouted to the sentinels on the ramparts, and informing them that his keys had been stolen, demanded their assistance to secure the robber. Some half-dozen soldiers immediately descended, and Cholmondeley finding resistance in vain, thought fit to surrender. The keys being found upon him, were delivered to Nightgall, while he himself was conveyed to the guard-room near the By-ward Tower.
After he had been detained there for some hours in close captivity — not even being allowed to communicate with his friends in the Stone Kitchen — Nightgall returned with an order from the Council for his imprisonment in the Nun’s Bower, whither he was forthwith removed. On the way to his place of confinement, he encountered Xit, and the friendly dwarf would fain have spoken with him, but he was kept at a distance by the halberts of the guard. He contrived, however, to inform him by sundry nods, winks, and expressive gestures, that he would keep a sharp watch upon the proceedings of Nightgall.
Having seen Cholmondeley safely bestowed, the jailer repaired to the entrance of the subterranean dungeons, and lighting a torch, opened the door of a small recess, from which he took a mattock and spade. Armed with these implements, he proceeded to the vault, beneath the Devilin Tower, where he commenced digging a grave. After laboring hard for a couple of hours, he attained a sufficient depth for his purpose, and taking the torch, ascended to the small chamber. Lifting the skeleton frame in his arms, he returned to the vault. In placing the torch on the ground it upset, and rolling into the grave was extinguished, leaving him in profound darkness. His first impulse was to throw down the body, but having in his agitation placed the hands, which were clasped together over his neck, he found it impossible to free himself from it. His terror was so great that he uttered a loud cry, and would have fled, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He sank at last on his knees, and the corpse dropped upon him, its face coming into contact with his own. Grown desperate, at length he disengaged himself from the horrible embrace, and threw the body into the grave. Relieved by this step from much of his fear, he felt about for the spade, and having found it, began to shovel in the mould.
While thus employed, he underwent a fresh alarm. In trampling down the mould, a hollow groan issued from the grave. Trembling in every limb, he desisted from his task. His hair stood erect, and a thick damp gathered on his brow. Shaking off his terrors, he renewed his exertions, and in a short time his task was completed.
He then groped his way out of the vault, and having become by long usage familiarized with its labyrinths, soon reached the entrance, where he struck a light, and having found a lantern, set fire to the candle within it. This done, he returned to the vault, where, to his great horror, he perceived that the face of the corpse was uncovered. Averting his gaze from it, he heaped the earth over it, and then flattened the mass with repeated blows of the spade. All trace of his victim being thus removed, and the vault restored to its original appearance, he took back the implements he had used, and struck into a passage leading in another direction.
Pursuing it for some time, he came to a strong door, unlocked it, and ascending a flight of stone steps, reached another arched passage, which he swiftly traversed. After threading other passages with equal celerity, he came to a wider avenue, contrived under the eastern ramparts, and tracked it till it brought him to a flight of steps leading to a large octangular chamber, surrounded by eight deep recesses, and forming the basement story of the Salt Tower, at that time, and for upwards of a century afterwards, used as one of the prison lodgings of the fortress. In a chamber in the upper story of this fortification, now occupied as a drawing-room, is a curious sphere, carved a few years later than the date of this chronicle, by Hugh Draper, an astrologer, who was committed to the Tower on suspicion of sorcery.
Quitting this chamber, Nightgall ascended a winding stone staircase which brought him to an arched door, leading to the room just described. Taking a key from the bunch at his girdle, he unlocked it and entered the room. A female was seated in one corner with her face buried in her hands. Raising her head at his approach, she disclosed the features of Cicely. Her eyes were red with weeping, and her figure attenuated by long suffering. Conceiving from the savage expression of the jailer’s countenance that he meditated some further act of cruelty, she uttered a loud shriek, and tried to avoid him.
“Peace!” cried Nightgall, “I will do you no harm. Your retreat has been discovered. You must go with me to the tower leading to the Iron Gate.”
“I will never go thither of my accord,” replied Cicely. “Release me, villain. I will die sooner than become your bride.”
“We shall see that,” growled the jailer. “Another month’s captivity will make you alter your tone. You shall never be set free, unless you consent to be mine.”
“Then I shall die a prisoner like your other victims,” cried Cicely.
“Who told you I had other victims?” cried Nightgall moodily.
“No matter who told me. I have heard Cuthbert Cholmondeley, whom I love as much as I hate you, speak of one — Alexia, I think, she was named.”
“No more of this,” cried Nightgall fiercely; “come along, or—”
“Never!” shrieked Cicely—” I will not go. You will murder me.” And she filled the cha
mber with her screams.
“Confusion!” cried Nightgall, “we shall be heard. Come along, I say.”
In struggling to free herself from him, Cicely fell upon the ground. Regardless of this, Nightgall dragged her by main force through the doorway, and so down the secret staircase. She continued her screams, until her head striking against the stones, she was stunned by the blow, and became insensible. He then raised her in his arms, and descending another short flight of steps, traversed a narrow passage, and came to a dark chamber beneath the tower leading to the Iron Gate.
CHAPTER XVII.
OF THE CONSPIRACY FORMED BY DE NOAILLES; AND HOW XIT DELIVERED A LETTER TO ELIZABETH, AND VISITED COURTENAY IN THE LIEUTENANT’S LODGINGS.
As soon as it was known that the Princess Elizabeth and Courtenay were placed under arrest, the greatest consternation prevailed throughout the Tower. While some few rejoiced in the favorite’s downfall, the majority deplored it; and it was only the idea that when Mary’s jealous indignation subsided, he would be restored to his former position, that prevented open expression being given to their sentiments. On being made acquainted with what had occurred, Gardiner instantly sought an audience of the Queen, and without attempting to defend Courtenay’s conduct, he besought her earnestly to pause before she proceeded to extremities — representing the yet unsettled state of her Government, and how eagerly advantage would be taken of the circumstances to stir up dissension and rebellion. Mary replied that her feelings had been so greatly outraged that she was resolved upon vengeance, and that nothing but the Earl’s life would satisfy her.
“If this is your determination, madam,” replied Gardiner, “I predict that the crown will not remain upon your head a month. Though the Earl of Devonshire has grievously offended your Highness, his crime is not treason. And if you put him to death for this offence, you will alienate the hearts of all your subjects.”
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