“If you are disposed to travel, my lord,” she said sarcastically, “I will take care you have such appointments to foreign courts as will best suit your age and inclination.”
“Your Majesty has perchance some delicate mission at the court of Madrid which you desire me to execute,” replied the Earl significantly.
“Had I any mission to that court,” replied the Queen, repressing her emotion, “it is not to your hands I should entrust it. You have offended me once, Courtenay. Beware how you do so a second time. Abandon all hopes of Elizabeth. She never can be — never shall be yours.”
“That remains to be seen,” muttered Courtenay, as he quitted the presence.
The interview over, Courtenay was joined by De Noailles, and from that moment he surrendered himself unresistingly to the designs of the artful ambassador.
Mary had now removed her court to Whitehall. But she frequently visited the Tower, and appeared to prefer its gloomy chambers to the gorgeous halls in her other palaces. One night, an order was received by Hairun, the bearward, who had charge of the wild animals, that on the following day the Queen would visit the menagerie. Preparations were accordingly made for her reception; and the animals were deprived of their supper, that they might exhibit an unusual degree of ferocity. But though Hairun starved the wild beasts, he did not act in like manner towards himself. On the contrary, he deemed it a fitting occasion to feast his friends, and accordingly invited Magog, his dame, the two other giants, Xit, Ribald, and the pantler and his spouse, to take their evening meal with him. The invitation was gladly accepted; and about the hour of a modern dinner, the guests repaired to the bearward’s lodgings, which were situated in the basement chamber of the Lions’ Tower. Of this structure, nothing but an arched embrasure once overlooking the lesser moat, and another subterranean room, likewise boasting four deep arched recesses, but constantly flooded with water, now remain. A modern dwelling-house, tenanted by the former keeper of the menagerie in the fortress, occupies the site of the ancient fabric.
Aware of the appetites of his friends, and being no despicable trencherman himself Hairun had provided accordingly. The principal dish was a wild boar, a present to the bearward from Sir Henry Bedingfeld, which having been previously soaked for a fortnight in a mixture of vinegar, salt, bruised garlic, and juniper-berries, was roasted whole under the personal superintendence of Peter Trusbut, who predicted it would prove delicious eating — and the result proved him no false prophet. On the appearance of this magnificent dish, which succeeded the first course of buttered stockfish and mutton pottage, a murmur of delight pervaded the company. The eyes of the giants glistened, their mouths watered, and they grasped their knives and forks like men preparing for a combat to the utterance Magog had seated himself as far from his wife as possible. But she was too much engrossed by the assiduous attention of Ribald to take any particular notice of him.
Peter Trusbut, as usual, officiated as carver. And the manner in which he distributed slices of the savory and juicy meat, which, owing to the preparation it had undergone, had a tenderness and mellowness wholly indescribable, with modicums of the delicate fat, elicited the host’s warmest approbation. The giants spoke not a word; and even the ladies could only express their delight by interjections. Reserving certain delicate morsels for himself, Peter Trusbut, with a zeal worthy of the cause in which he was engaged, continued to ply his knife so unremittingly, that no one’s plate was for a moment empty, and yet with all this employment he did not entirely forget himself. Hairun was in ecstasies; and while the giants were still actively engaged, he placed before them enormous goblets filled with bragget, a drink composed of strong ale sweetened with honey, spiced and flavored with herbs. At the first pause, the gigantic brethren drained their cups, and they were promptly replenished by the hospitable bearward. By this time the greater part of the boar had disappeared. Its well-flavored back and fattened flanks were gone, and the hams and head alone remained. Seeing that the other guests were satisfied, the pantler, with some little labor, hewed off the two legs, and giving one to each of the unmarried giants, assigned the head to Magog.
“Mauger himself never did his office with greater dexterity than you have displayed in decapitating that wild boar, Master Pantler,” observed Magog, smiling, as he received the welcome gift.
“You are not going to eat all that, you insatiable cormorant?” cried his dame, from the other end of the table.
“Indeed, but I am, sweetheart,” replied Magog, commencing operations on the cheek; “wherefore not?”
“Wherefore not?” screamed Dame Placida, “because you’ll die of an apoplexy, and I shall be a second time a widow.”
“No matter,” replied the giant, “I’m weary of life, and cannot end it more comfortably. I’ll eat in spite of her,” he added half aloud.
This last remark, in spite of Ribald’s interference, might have called forth some practical rejoinder on the part of his wife, had not her attention and that of the rest of the company been drawn at the moment towards Xit. Amongst other animals allowed to range about the bearward’s house was a small mischievous ape. This creature had seated itself behind Xit’s chair, where it made the most grotesque grimaces in imitation of the mannikin. The guests were at first too much occupied to take any notice of its proceedings, and Xit, wholly unconscious of its presence, pursued his repast in tranquillity. The more substantial viands disposed of, he helped himself to some roasted chestnuts, and was greedily munching them, when the monkey stretched its arm over his shoulder, and snatched a handful.
Astonished and alarmed at the occurrence, Xit turned to regard the intruder. But when he perceived the ape’s grinning face close to his own, and heard the shouts and laughter of the assemblage, his fear changed to anger, and he immediately attempted to regain what had been pilfered from him. But the monkey was not inclined to part with his spoil, and a struggle of a very comical kind ensued. Xit seized the monkey’s paws, and tried to get back the chestnuts, while the latter, gibbering and grinning horribly, laid hold of the mannikin’s shock head of hair, and after lugging him tremendously, tore up a large lock by the roots. Enraged by the pain, Xit tried to draw his sword, but finding it impossible, he grasped the beast by both ears, and despite its struggling, squealing, and attempts to bite, succeeded in keeping it at bay.
What might have been the result of the conflict it is impossible to say. But just as Xit’s strength was failing, Hairun flew to his assistance, and partly by threats, partly by the application of a switch to its back, drove the monkey into a corner. Xit was highly complimented for his courage, and though he occasionally rubbed his head, these encomiums entirely reconciled him to the loss of his hair. Magog, who cherished some little resentment for his former tricks, laughed immoderately at the incident, and said, “My beard is already grown again, but it will be a long time before thy rough poll regains its accustomed appearance. Ha! ha!”
In this way the meal was concluded, and it was followed by a plentiful supply of ale, hydromel, bragget, and wine. Nor did Peter Trusbut forget to slip the stone bottle of distilled water into Magog’s hand, recommending him on no account to let Xit taste it — a suggestion scrupulously observed by the giant. His guests having passed, a merry hour over their cups, Hairun proposed to conduct them over the menagerie, that they might see what condition the animals were in.
The proposal was eagerly accepted, and providing torches, the bearward led them into a small court communicating by a low arched door with the menagerie. It was then as now (for the modern erection, which is still standing though wholly unused, followed the arrangement of the ancient structure, and indeed retains some of the old stone arches), a wide semicircular fabric, in which were contrived, at distances of a few feet apart, a number of arched cages, divided into two or more compartments, and secured by strong iron bars.
A high embattled wall of the same form as the inner structure faced on the west a small moat, now filled up, which flowed round these outworks from the b
ase of the Middle Tower to a fortification, now also removed, called from its situation the Lions’ Gate, where it joined the larger moat.
Opposite the dens stood a wide semicircular gallery, defended by a low stone parapet, and approached by a flight of steps from the back. It was appropriated exclusively to the royal use.
The idea of maintaining a menagerie within the Tower as an appendage to their state, was in all probability derived by our monarchs, as has been previously intimated, from the circumstance of the Emperor Frederick having presented Henry the Third with three leopards, in allusion to his coat-of-arms, which animals were afterwards carefully kept within the fortress. Two orders from this sovereign to the sheriffs of London, in reference to a white bear, which formed part of his live-stock, are preserved, the first, dated 1253 directing that fourpence a day (a considerable sum for the period) be allowed for its sustenance, and the second, issued in the following year, commanding “that for the keeper of our white bear, lately sent us from Norway, and which is in our Tower of London, ye cause to be had one muzzle and one iron chain, to hold that bear without the water; and one long and strong cord to hold the same bear when fishing in the river of Thames.” Other mandates relating to an elephant appear in the same reign, in one of which it is directed, “that ye cause without delay to be built at our Tower of London one house of forty feet long, and twenty feet deep, for our elephant; providing that it be so made and so strong, that when need be, it may be fit and necessary for other uses. And the cost shall be computed at the Exchequer.” A fourth order appoints that the animal and his keeper shall be found with such necessaries “as they shall reasonably require.” The royal menagerie was greatly increased by Edward the Third, who added to it, amongst other animals, a lion and lioness, a leopard, and two wild cats; and in the reign of Henry the Sixth the following provisions were made for the keeper: “We of our special grace have granted to our beloved servant, Robert Mansfield, esquire, marshal of our hall, the office of keeper of the lions, with a certain place which hath been appointed anciently within our said Tower for them; to have and to occupy the same, by himself or by his sufficient deputy, for the term of his life, with the wages of sixpence per day for himself, and with the wages of sixpence per day for the maintenance of every lion or leopard now being in his custody, or that shall be in his custody hereafter.” From this it will appear that no slight importance was attached to the office, which was continued until recent times, when the removal of the menagerie rendered it wholly unnecessary.
Dazzled by the lights, and infuriated with hunger, the savage denizens of the cages set up a most terrific roaring as the party entered the flagged space in front of them. Hairun, who was armed with a stout staff, laid about him in right earnest, and soon produced comparative tranquillity. Still, the din was almost deafening. The animals were numerous, and fine specimens of their kind. There were lions in all postures, — couchant, dormant, passant, and guardant; tigers, leopards, hyænas, jackals, lynxes, and bears. Among the latter, an old brown bear, presented to Henry the Eighth by the Emperor Maximilian, and known by the name of the imperial donor, particularly attracted their attention, from its curious tricks. At last, after much solicitation from Dames Placida and Potentia, the bearward opened the door of the stage, and old Max issued forth. At first, he was all gentleness, sat upon his hind-legs, and received the apples and biscuits given him like a lapdog, when all at once, his master having stepped aside to quell a sudden disturbance which had arisen in one of the adjoining cages, he made a dart at Dame Placida, who was standing near him, and devouring the fruit and cakes she held in her hand at a mouthful, would have given her a formidable hug, if she had not saved herself by running into his cage, the door of which stood open. Here she would certainly have been caught, if her husband had not rushed to the entrance. Max warily eyed his new opponent, and uttered a menacing growl, but seemed to decline the attack. Dame Placida filled the cage with her shrieks, and alarmed by the cries, all the wild animals renewed their howling. Hairun would have flown to Magog’s assistance, but the latter called to him in a voice of thunder to desist.
“I will have no interference,” he roared, “old Max and I understand each other perfectly.”
As if he comprehended what was said, the bear replied by a hoarse growl, and displayed his enormous fangs in a formidable manner. Dame Placida renewed her cries, and besought Ribald to come to her assistance.
“Stay where you are,” thundered Magog, “I will settle this matter in my own way.”
“Help! for mercy’s sake, help!” shrieked Dame Placida—” never mind him! — help! good Hairun — dear Ribald — help! or I shall be torn in pieces.”
Thus exhorted, Ribald and Hairun would have obeyed But they were prevented by Og and Gog, who began to see through their brother’s design.
“Leave him alone,” they cried, laughing loudly. “He is about to give his dame a lesson.”
“Is that all?” replied Hairun. “Then he shall have no interruption from me.”
“Barbarian!” cried Dame Placida, appealing to her husband. “Do you mean that I should be devoured! Oh! if ever I do get out, you shall bitterly repent your cruel conduct.”
“You never shall get out, unless you promise to amend your own conduct,” rejoined Magog.
“I will die sooner than make any such promise,” replied Placida.
“Very well, then,” rejoined Magog, “I shall give free passage to Max.”
And he slightly moved his person, while the animal uttered another growl. The giants laughed loudly, and encouraged their brother to proceed.
“Make her promise, or let Max take his course,” they shouted.
“Fear it not,” answered Magog.
“Monster!” shrieked Dame Placida, “you cannot mean this — help! help!”
But no one stirred. And above the roaring of the animals and the angry growling of Max, which Magog had provoked with a sly kick or two, was heard the loud laughter of the gigantic brethren.
“I give you two minutes to consider,” said Magog. “If you do not resolve to amend in that time, I leave you to your fate.”
And he again goaded Max into a further exhibition of fury. Dame Placida became seriously alarmed, and her proud spirit began to give way.
“I promise,” she uttered faintly.
“Speak up!” bellowed Magog. “I can’t hear you for the noise.”
“I promise,” replied Placida, in a loud and peevish voice. “That won’t do,” rejoined her husband. “Speak as you used to do before I married you, and let the others hear you.”
“Yes — yes,” cried Og, drawing near with the rest. “We must all hear it, that we may be witnesses hereafter. You promise to amend your conduct, and let our brother live peaceably?”
“I do — I do,” replied Placida, in a penitential tone.
“Enough,” replied Magog. And putting out his arm behind to his wife he covered her retreat, and then suddenly turning upon Max, kicked him into the cage, and fastened the door.
Much laughter among the male portion of the company ensued. But Dame Potentia looked rather grave, and privately intimated to her husband her desire, or rather command, that he should go home. As Peter Trusbut took his departure, he whispered to Hairun, “If ever you think of marrying, I advise you to take good care of old Max. I wish I could borrow him for a day or two.”
“You shall have him, and welcome,” returned the bearward laughing.
“Thank you — thank you,” answered the pantler dejectedly. “Mine is a hopeless case.”
Dame Placida appeared so much subdued, that at last Magog took compassion upon her, and led her away, observing to the bearward, “For my sake bestow a plentiful supper on Max. He has done me a good turn, and I would fain requite it.”
The rest of the party speedily followed their example, and as Xit took his leave, he remarked to his host, “Nothing but Magog’s desire to terrify his dame prevented me from attacking Max. I am certain I could master him.”
“Say you so?” replied Hairun; “then you may have an opportunity of displaying your prowess before the Queen to-morrow.”
“I will certainly avail myself of it,” replied Xit. “Give him a good supper, and he will be in better condition for the fight.”
Early on the following day Mary arrived at the Tower. She came by water, and was received at the landing-place by Sir Henry Bedingfeld, who conducted her with much ceremony to the palace, where a sumptuous banquet was prepared, at which the knight assisted as chief sewer, presenting each dish to the Queen on his bended knee, and placing a silver ewer filled with rose-water, and a napkin, before her between the courses. Mary looked grave and thoughtful, nor could the liveliest sallies of De Noailles, who was one of the guests, call a smile to her lips. Renard also was present, and looked more gloomy than usual. The banquet ended, Sir Henry Bedingfeld approached, and laid a parchment before the Queen.
“What is this, sir?” she demanded.
“The warrant for the burning of Edward Underhill, the miscreant who attempted your Highness’s life,” replied Bedingfeld.
“How! — burned! and I had pardoned him,” exclaimed Mary.
“He has been delivered over by the Council to the ecclesiastical authorities, and such is the sentence pronounced against him,” returned the knight.
Mary sighed, and attached her signature to the scroll.
“The hour of execution, and the place?” demanded Bedingfeld.
“To-morrow at midnight, on the Tower Green,” replied Mary.
Soon after this, it being intimated to the Queen that all was in readiness at the Lions’ Tower, she arose and proceeded thither, attended by a large retinue of nobles and dames. On the way a momentary interruption occurred, and Simon Renard, who walked a few paces behind her, stepped forward, and whispered in her ear, “I beseech your Highness to remain to-night in the Tower. I have somewhat of importance to communicate to you, which can be more safely revealed here than elsewhere.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 149
