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CARDINAL POLE;
CR,
THE DAYS OF PHILIP AND MARY.
CARDINAL POLE;
OR,
THE DAYS OF PHILIP AND MARY.
JVn Historical Ktomance.
BY
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH,
AUTHOR OF
U CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER," "LORD MAYOR OF LONDON,"
"THE TOWER OF LONDON," " WINDSOR CASTLE," ETC.
NEW EDITION.
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & BOWDEN, LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C..
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
CARDINAL POLE.
BOOK I.
PHILIP OF SPAIN
CHAPTER I.
HOW A MARRIAGE WAS AGREED UPON BETWEEN MARV
QUEEN1 OF ENGLAND, AND DON PHILIP, PRINCE OF SPAIN.
sooner was Mary, eldest daughter of Heniy
IseSi^Pl VIII., securely seated on the throne left vacant
by the premature death of her brother, Edward
VI., than the Emperor Charles V., already related
to her through his aunt, Katherine of Aragon, determined
to bring about a marriage between the Queen of England
and his son Philip. By the accomplishment of this project,
which had been conceived by the Emperor during Edward's
last illness, the preponderance obtained in Europe by the
House of Austria would be largely increased, and Charles's
dream of universal dominion might eventually be realised.
Philip, who was then a widower—his wife, Dona Maria,
Princess of Portugal, having died in 1545, in giving birth
to a son, the unfortunate Don Carlos—readily acquiesced
in his father's scheme, as he fully recognised the vast im¬
portance of the match, and Mary alone had to be con¬
sulted. But little apprehension could be entertained of her
refusal. All the advantages were on the Prince's side,
9
Cardinal Pole.
Eleven years younger than the Queen, who was tnen thiny-
eight, Philip was not merely in the very flower of manhood,
but extremely handsome, and-as heir to a mighty monarchy,
unquestionably the greatest match in Europe. No princess,
however exalted, on whom he deigned to smile, would
refuse him her hand.
But there were difficulties in the way of the projected
alliance, only to be overcome by prudential management.
For many reasons the match was certain to be obnoxious to
the English nation, which would not unnaturally be ap¬
prehensive of being brought under a foreign yoke. Neither
was the Queen altogether her own mistress. Governed by
her council—especially by the Lord Chancellor, Gardiner—
she could not act in contradiction to their decisions; and
some of her ministers would infallibly be hostile to the
alliance. However, the Emperor did not despair of silencing
the objectors. Neither treasure nor pains should be spared
to effect his darling scheme.
The moment, however, for entering upon public negotia¬
tions of the marriage had not yet arrived. The realm was
still agitated by Northumberland's abortive attempt to seize
the crown for his daughter-in-law, the unfortunate Lady
Jane Grey; religious dissensions prevailed, rendering the
meditated re-establishment of the old worship extremely
hazardous; while the violent opposition certain to be ex¬
perienced from the whole Protestant party, might in¬
timidate the Queen and deter her from following her own
inclinations.
Proceeding with the caution required by the circumstances,
the Emperor enjoined his ambassador at the English court,
Simon Renard, a man of great subtlety, in whom he had
entire confidence, to sound the Queen warily as to the
mariiage, but not to propose it to her formally until assured
of her assent. Acting upon these instructions, Renard soon
discovered that Mary's affections were fixed on her young
kinsman, Courtenay, Earl of Devonshire, who had been long
held captive in the Tower during the reign of Edward, and
whom she herself had liberated on her accession. The wily
ambassador instantly set to work to undo this knot, and by
his machinations succeeded in convincing the Queen that
the indiscreet and fickle young Earl was wholly uudeserving
How a Marriage was Agreed Upon. 3
of her regard, as he had become enthralled by the superior
fascinations of her sister Elizabeth. Courtenay was therefore
quickly discarded.
But another obstacle arose, which Renard had not foreseen.
Ashamed of the weakness she had just exhibited, the Queen
began seriously to think "of uniting herself with Cardinal
Pole, at that time attainted with treason by an act passed in
the reign of Henry VIII., and banished from the realm.
Regarding the Cardinal, she said, with feelings akin to
veneration, and owing him reparation for the many and
grievous injuries he had endured from her father, she would
make him amends by bestowing upon him her hand. As he
was only a cardinal deacon, a dispensation for his marriage
with her could be easily procured from the Pope. She
would implore his Holiness to grant her request, and to
send Pole as legantine ambassador to England, when the
nuptials might be solemnised. The union was sure to meet
with the approval of the Holy See, which would perceive in
it an earnest of the complete return of the realm to obedience
to the Church. Renard did not attempt to dissuade the
Queen from her design, feeling his efforts would then only
be thrown away, and might serve to confirm her in her
purpose, but contented himself with acquainting the Emperor
with her Majesty's design, suggesting that Pole should be
detained until after the marriage which they sought to bring
about should have taken place.
The hint was not lost upon Charles. At the hazard of
incurring the displeasure of the Sovereign Pontiff, Julius III.,
he determined to prevent the Cardinal from passing into
England.
No man of his time possessed higher and nobler qualities
than the illustrious Reginald Pole. Sanctity of manners,
erudition, wisdom, eloquence, combined to render him one of
the most shining lights of the age. Devout without bigotry,
tolerant, strictly conscientious, and pure-minded, he was
utterly free from debasing passions. Guile and hypocrisy
formed no part of his character. Self-denying, abstinent,
and laborious, he was ever generous and charitable.
Descended from the royal house of York, his mother being
Margaret, Countess of Salisbury daughter of the Duke of
Clarence, brother to Edward IV., Pole attached no undue
4
Cardinal Pole.
importance to this adventitious circumstance, but maintained
an almost apostolic meekness of deportment. At the ad
vanced period of life he had attained at the period of out
history, his looks were in the highest degree venerable and
impressive, offeiing a complete index to his character. A
master of the Latin language, which he spoke and wrote
with facility and classical elegance, he had delighted in
earlier years in the Greek poets and philosophers, but of
late had confined his studies wholly to theology. At one
time he had enjoyed the favour of Henry VIII., who was
fully alive to his great merits, but he incurred the displeasure
of the tyrant by the bold opinions he delivered as to the
injustice of Katherine of Aragon's divorce and the King's
marriage with Anne Boleyn. This opposition to his will
was never forgiven by the implacable monarch, and unable
to get Pole, who had taken refuge in Italy, into his power,
he deprived him of his benefice and possessions, declared him
guilty of high treason, laid a price on his head, and sought
to procure his assassination. At last, unable to accomplish
his fell purpose, Henry wreaked his vengeance on the
Cardinal's mother, the venerable Countess of Salisbury—
the last of the whole blood of the royal line of Plantagenet
—on his brother Henry Pole, Lord Montague, Sir Edward
Nevil, Sir Nicholas Carew, and other of his friends, all of
whom were attainted of high treason, and brought to the
block. The slaughter of the aged and unoffending Countess,
who was only put to death because she was Pole's mother,
is perhaps the deepest stain on Henry's character. These
wholesale murders deeply afflicted Pole, and cast a gloom
over the rest of his dajs; but he did not cry out for
vengeance upon the perpetrator of the foul crimes, knowing
that Heaven would requite him in due season. That the
snares spread by the tyrant had failed to catch him—that
the daggers aimed at his breast had been turned aside—
convinced him he had work to do for which he was
miraculously preserved. So he resigned himself to the
heavy calamity that had befallen him, but though there was
no show of grief on his countenance, the deep-seated wound
in his heart never healed. Raised to the Purple by
Paul III., on the death of that Pontiff, in 1549 (five years
before the date of our history), the eminent and v'rtuous
How a Marriage was Agreed Upon.
5
Cardinal appeared the most fitting person in the conclave to
assume the tiara, and, in spite of the intrigues against him,
he was elected to the Pontifical throne; but when the news
was brought him at a late hour, he modestly bade the
messengers wait till the morrow, and his answer being
construed into a refusal, another election took place, when
the choice fell upon Cardinal del Monte, who took the title
of Julius III.
This occurrence caused a little disappointment to Pole.
He retired to the Benedictine convent of Maguzano, on the
margin of the Lago di Garda, where he was visited by
Commendone, a secret envoy from the Pope to England,
and made acquainted by this discreet messenger with the
Queen's gracious intentions towards him. But with
characteristic humility he declined them, alleging that,
apart from any other considerations, his age and infirmities
forbade him to think of marriage. Her majesty, however,
he added, might count upon his zealous assistance in the
great work she had before her, and the rest of his life
should be devoted to her service.
Appointed legate from the Holy See to the Queen of
England, the Emperor, and Henri II., King of France,
with full powers and credentials, Pole set forth on his
mission, but by the Emperor's order he was stayed at
Dillinghen on the Danube. After some delay, he was
suffered to proceed as far as B ussels, where he received
a letter from Mary, telling him that matters were not yet
ripe for his advent, and that his appearance in England
might lead to a religious war. The Emperor also peremp¬
torily enjoined him to remain where he was, but assigned
no reason for the mandate.
Anxious to obtain some explanation, Pole besought an
interview with Charles, which, at last, was reluctantly
accorded. When the Bishop of Arras brought him woid
that his Imperial Majesty would receive him, alleging some
excuse for the delay, Pole replied, "Truly, I find it moie
easy to obtain access to Heaven in behalf of the Emperor,
thm to have access to the Emperor himself, for whom I
daily pray." The Caidinal gained nothing by the inter¬
view. ar.d could not even learn the cause of his detention.
Charles feigned anger, and taxing Pole with unnecessary
6
Cardinal Pole.
impatience, reiterated his orders to him not to leave
Brussels.
Having secured Pole, who he fancied might interfere
with his plans if suffered to go into England, the Emperor
wrote to the Queen, expressing his entire approval of her
rejection of Courtenay, and hypocritically regretting that
the Cardinal's extraordinary indifference to worldly honours
rendered him insensible to the great dignity she designed
for him, concluded by offering her his son.
The proposal was well timed, Mary being in the mood to
receive it. Sue did not waste much time in consideration,
but sent for Renard, who was fully prepared for the
summons, and saw at once by the Queen's looks that his
point was gained. She entered upon the business in a
very straightforward manner, told him that, having always
regarded the Emperor as a father, since his Majesty had
graciously deigned to choose a husband for her, she should
not feel at liberty to reject the proposal, even if it were not
altogether agreeable to her. So far, however from that
being the case, no one could please her better than the
Prince of Spain. She, therefore, charged his excellency to
acquaint the Emperor that she was ready in all things to
obey him, and thanked him for his goodness. Thereupon,
she dismissed Renard, who hastened to communicate the
joyful intelligence to his imperial master.
But though the Queen had been thus won, much yet
remained to be accomplished, and all Renard's skill was
required to bring the affair on which he was engaged to a
triumphant issue.
Informed of the proposal of marriage which their royal
mistress had received from the Prince of Spain, the council,
with the exception of the old Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of
Arundel, and Lord Paget, arrayed themselves against it;
and Gardiner, who had supported Courtenay, earnestly
remonstrated with Mary, showing her that the alliance
would be distasteful to the cpuntry generally, would alien :te
many of her well-disposed subjects, and infallibly involve
her in a war with France. Finding it, however, vain to
reason with her, or oppose her will —for she was as firm of
purpose as her royal sire—the Chancellor desisted, and
being really solicitous for the welfare and safety of the
How a Marriage was Agreed Upon.
7
realm, proceeded to frame such a marriage-treaty as should
ensure the government from all danger of Spanish inter¬
ference, and maintain inviolate the rights and liberties of
the people.
So much obloquy having been heaped upon the memory
of this great prelate and statesman, it is right that his
conduct in this important transaction, and the care taken
by him to guard the country from foreign intervention,
should be clearly understood. That Bishop Gardiner was
subsequently led into acts of unjustifiable severity towards
the adherents of the new doctrines, and became one of
the chief instruments in the terrible persecution of the
Protestant martyrs, cannot be denied. But it should be
borne in mind, that he himself had suffered much for his
religious opinions, and the harshness and injustice with
which he had been treated in the late reign, chiefly at the
instigation of his enemy, Cranmer, the sequestration of his
revenues, and long imprisonment in the Tower, had not
tended to soften his heart. Neither side when in power
showed much pity for its opponents. But whatever
judgment may be formed of Gardiner's acts towards the
Protestant party, and his desire to extirpate heresy and
schism by fire and blood, it must be conceded that he was
one of the ablest statesmen of the day, and that Mary was
singularly fortunate in choosing him for her chancellor and
prime minister. He speedily replenished an exhausted
treasury, repealed obnoxious taxes, and conducted the
administration of the kingdom with so much zeal and
ability, that, making himself both feared and respected, he
obtained the greatest influence at home and abroad. The
best proof of his capacities is to be found in the confusion
that reigned after his death, and the impossibility on the
moment of finding an adequate successor. Even Cardinal
Pole, who was by no means favourably disposed towards
hiin, declared that, as a minister, his loss was irreparable.
All-powerful as he was in the government, and high as he
stood in the Queen's favour, Gardiner was not free from
jealousy and distrust, and Pole's appointment as legate from
the Holy See to England filled him with uneasiness lest he
should be superseded on the Cardinal's arrival. Like the
Emperor, he did not give that lowly-minded man entire
8
Cardinal Pole.
credit for disinterestedness and disdain of worldly honours.
Persuading his royal mistress that the legate's presence in
the kingdom at a juncture when nothing was settled,^ would
be fraught with infinite peril to herself and to the Church,
Gardiner induced her to write to Pole to delay his coming
to a more convenient season; and her letter furnished the
Emperor with a plausible pretext for continuing to detain
Pole at Brussels.
Obviously it was Charles's interest to win over Gardiner,
who, if so minded, might unquestionably mar the marriage-
project, even though it had gone thus far, .and Renard was,
therefore, instructed to spare no pains, and to hesitate at
no promises calculated to propitiate the Chancellor. By
the wily arts of the imperial ambassador, a certain under¬
standing was arrived at with Gardiner, who thenceforward
withdrew his opposiuon, and warmly promoted the match ;
satisfied he could do so without sacrificing the interests of
the country. The concurrence of others was procured by
promises of pensions and gifts, and Charles V. remitted the
vast sum of four hundred thousand crowns of the sun to his
ambassador for this purpose.
Matters, therefore, being in good train, an extraordinary
embassy, consisting of the Counts D'Egmont and Lalain,
the Lord of Courribres, and the Sieur de Nigry, were
despatched by the Emperor to the English Court, to
demand formally the Queen's hand in marriage. In
anticipation of their arrival, a treaty was prepared by
Gardiner, its terms having been already discussed with
Renard.
The chief stipulations of this treaty were, that the govern¬
ment of the realm should remain, as heretofore, absolutely
end entirely with the Queen, so that, although Philip would
have the name of King, he would nave no regal authority
whatever, and no power to dispose of lands, offices,
revenues, and benefices. Spaniards were to be strictly
excluded from the government, and from all court offices.
The Queen could not be taken out of her kingdom save at
her own desire. A jointure of sixty thousand pounds a
year, secured on lands in Spain and the Netherlands, was
to be settled on her Majesty by Philip. If there should be
no issue, and Philip should survive his consort, he engaged
How a Marriage was Agreed Upon.
9
to make no claim to the succession. The crown was to
descend as provided by the laws of the country. A
perpetual league was agreed upon between England and
Spain, and the league already subsisting between the former
country and France was not to be disturbed.
These conditions, insisted upon by Gardiner, and sub¬
mitted to by the imperial ambassador, were, it must be
owned, sufficiently advantageous to England. Count
D'Egmont and bis5 companions returned with the treaty
to the Emperor, who was well enough content with it,
being determined to obtain the throne of England for his
son at any price.
So far all had gone tolerably smoothly, but a storm was
brewing, and soon afterwards burst forth, threatening to
dash to pieces this well-planned fabric.
Amongst the powers dissatisfied with the projected match,
the most adverse to it was France. Henri II., the reigning
monarch of that country, and the Emperor's inveterate foe,
had already secured the youthful Queen of Scotland, Mary
Stuart, for his eldest son; but the union between Philip and
the Queen of England would be more than a counterpoise
to his own anticipated aggrandisement. At all hazards,
Henri was determined to thwart the alliance.
He therefore secretly instructed his ambassador at the
English court, Antoine de Noailles, whose genius for
intrgue eminently qualified him for the task, to stir up a
revolt among the discontented nobles, the object of which
should be to depose Mary, and place the Princess Elizabeth
on the throne. De Noailles was authorised to assure all
such as entered into the plan, that France and Scotland
would lend them aid. By this adroit intriguer's machina¬
tions, aided by those of the Venetian ambassador, an ex¬
tensive conspiracy was soon formed to oppose Philip's
landing, to marry Courtenay to the Princess Elizabeth, and
proclaim them King and Queen of England. Already
indisposed to the match, the people were easily set violently
against it. Every imputation that could be cast upon
Philip and on the Spanish nation, was employed by the
conspirators to excite the popular animosity. An army of
imperialists, it was asserted, was about to invade the
English shores and enslave the people. The terrible
io Cardinal Pole.
Inquisition would be introduced into the country, and
atrocities worse than those committed by Torquemada,
the first inquisitor-general, who burnt eight thousand, eight
hundred heretics and Jews, would be perpetrated. By such
representations as these, aided by the undisguised hostility
of the Protestant party, the nation became greatly di turbed,
and an insurrection seemed imminent.
The Duke of Suffolk, father of Lady Jane Grey, with his
brothers, the Lords John and Thomas Grey, entered into
the plot. Courtenay, dazzled by the prospect of a crown
and the hope of wedding Elizabeth, engaged to put himself
at the head of the rebels, but, as the hour approached, he
shrunk from the perilous enterprise, and confessed the
design to Gardiner. Thus betrayed, the conspirators were
obliged to precipitate their plans, which were not intended
to have been put into execution till the arrival of Philip.
A rising was attempted at Exeter by Sir Peter Carew, but
met with little support, and was quickly suppressed by the
Earl of Bedford. Several of the conspirators were appre¬
hended, and Carew fled to France. The Duke of Suffolk
and his brothers were equally unfortunate, and after a futile
attempt to make a stand in Leicestershire, were arrested and
lodged in the Tower.
A far more successful attempt was made by Sir Thomas
Wyat in Kent. Speedily rallying a large force round his
standard, he marched towards London, and defeated the
veteran Duke of Norfolk, who was sent to oppose him.
The rebellion had now assumed a formidable aspect. Wyat
was in Southwark, at the head of fifteen thousand men,
menacing the metropolis, in which he expected to find an
immense number of supporters.
Undismayed by the danger, the Queen repaired to Guild¬
hall, addressed the Lord Mayor and citizens in language so
stirring and energetic, that they promised to defend her to
the last; and when Wyat, designing to take the city by
assault, was prevented by the Tower batteries from crossing
London Bridge, but subsequently effected a passage higher
up the river, and so approached the capital from the west,
his partisans became alarmed at the vigorous preparations
made for their reception, and began to desert him. An
engagement took place at Charing Cross, which resulted in
How a Marriage 7vas Agreed Upon. 11
the deLat of the insurgents, and though Wyat gallantly
fought his way with a few followers to Ludgate, none rose
to join him, and he was compelled to retreat to Temple
Bar, where he surrendered to Sir Maurice Berkeley, by
whom he was taken to the Tower.
By this rebellion, in which she had no share, the ill-fated
Lady Jane Grey was sacrificed with her husband. Even
Elizabeth was placed in great jeopardy. Both she and
Courtenay were sent to the Tower, the dungeons of which
were crowded with those implicated in the conspiracy. The
Emperor counselled severe measures, representing to the
Queen, through his ambassador, that she would never be
sate while those who could be put forward by the disaffected
as claimants of the crown were permitted to live. But
Mary, though thus urged by Charles, and by the imperial
faction in the council, was reluctant to put her sister to
death, and Gardiner encouraged her feelings of clemency,
as well towards Elizabeth as Courtenay. Neither of them,
therefore, though their complicity in the plot was in¬
dubitable, were brought to trial, but Elizabeth, after a brief
confinement, was sent under a strong guard, and in charge
of Sir Henry Bedingfield, to Woodstock, and Courtenay
was taken to Fotheringay Castle. The Duke of Suffolk,
with his brothers, paid the penalty of their treasonable acts
with their lives, dying nnpitied. But Wyat's fate excited
much commiseration, his daring and gallantry having won
him the sympathy even of his opponents. Many rebels of
lesser note were hanged in different parts of the country,
but multitudes received pardon on expressing contrition for
their offence.
In this manner was the insurrection crushed. Its con¬
triver, De Noailles, remained unmolested, though Renard
denounced him to the council, declaring that he h d
forfeited his privilege as an ambassador by fomenting
rebellion. But the Queen did not desire war with France,
which would have certainly followed the plotting minister's
arrest. Emboldened by this apparent immunity from
personal risk, and utterly regardless of the calamities he
might bring on others, De Noailles continued his secret
intrigues as actively as ever, encouraging faction, and
hoping to the last to defeat the allian e.
12 Cardinal Pole.
The rebellion, however, was serviceable to Mary. It
confirmed her authority, and enabled her to perform many
acts which she had not hitherto ventured upon Above all,
it elicited undoubted manifestations of loyalty from the
great body of the people, and though the dislike to the
Spanish match could not be extinguished, the Queen's
emphatic declaration that regard for her husband should
never interfere with her duties to her subjects, was held a
sufficient guarantee for the security of the country.
The negotiations in regard to the marriage, so rudely
interrupted by the outbreak, were now renewed, and Count
D'Egmont and the other ambassadors returned to the
English court, with the treaty duly ratified and signed by
the Emperor. Introduced by the Lord High Admiral and
the Earl of Pembroke to the royal oratory, they there found
her Majesty surrounded by the lords of the council. After
an address from the Queen, delivered with a dignity and
feeling that powerfully moved the auditors, she exchanged
the ratification of the treaty with the Count D'Egmont, who
now acted as Philip's proxy. No better representative of
the proud Prince of Spain could have been chosen than
D'Egmont, himself one of the first lords of the Low Coun¬
tries, and as distinguished for graces of person as he was
for military genius and prowess in the field.
Kneeling at the altar beside the Queen, D'Egmont
espoused her on the part of the Prince; and at the close of
the ceremonial, which was performed by Gardiner, the
Count placed on her Majesty's finger a diamond ring of
great value, sent to her by the Emperor.
His mission completed, Count D'Egmont repaired to
Spain to confer with Philip, who was then at Valladolid.
Gardiner's next step was to have an act confirming the
marriage-treaty passed by both Houses of Parliament, and
this was accomplished without delay. Lords and Commons
were equally satisfied with the provisions of the treaty, and
unanimously agreed to it, assuring the Queen that the Prince
of Spain would be heartily welcomed on his arrival by all
her dutiful subjects.
All being now arranged, the Earl of Bedford, lord privy-
seal, and Lord Fitzwaters, with other noblemen and gentle¬
men, were sent to Spain to conduct Philip to England,
How a Marriage was Agreed Upon. \ 3
Landing at Corunna, the ambassadors proceeded to Santiago,
then the capital of Galicia, where they waited for the Piince,
who was journeying towards them, with a large train of
attendants, by easy stages from Valladolid. During their
stay at Santiago, the ambassadors were sumptuously enter¬
tained by the Marquis de Sara, and by others of the Spanish
nobility.
On Philip's arrival at Santiago, high mass having been
performed in the ancient cathedral, containing the shrine of
St. James of Compostella—the patron saint of Spain—the
Prince, in the presence of a large assemblage of grandees,
dignitaries of the Church, and other important officials,
received the treaty of marriage from the Earl of Bedford,
ratified it, and solemnly vowed to abide by its conditions.
After a day or two devoted to feasting and pastime,
Philip set out for Corunna, and on the 13th July, 1554, all
being ready for his departure, he embarked for England in
the " Santissima Trinidada," the finest vessel in the Spanish
navy. He was escorted by a hundred and fifty ships, well
provided with men and ordnance, and had with him many
of the chief nobiliiy of Spain.
During all this time, De Noailles continued his intrigues,
vainly endeavouring to excite a fresh revolt, and to his
agency may be traced an imposture, which created an extra¬
ordinary sensation in London, and might—if it had not
been speedily detected—have led to dangerous popular
tumults.
A man and his wife, occupying an old tenement in the
heart of the city, forming part of a despoiled religious
establishment, declared that from a stone wall adjoining
their habitation an unearthly voice was heard to issue, pro¬
claiming many strange and terrible things. Ere long, as
may be supposed, a curious crowd collected within the court,
and the assemblage was gratified by hearing the spirit
denounce the approaching marriage of the Queen, which it
declared would be full of bale and mischief to the realm.
Some of the bystanders called out, " God save Queen Mary !"
whereupon the spirit was silent. When they mentioned the
Prince of Spain, a deep groan was the response; but when
Elizabeth was named, the voice loudly replied, " So be it!"
Furthermore, on the question being propounded, " What is
2
j £ Cardinal Pole.
the mass ? " it discreetly answered, " Idolatry; with many
other utterances to the same purpose.
A report of this wondrous circumstance quickly spread
throughout the city, and on the following day, upwards of
seventeen thousand persons assembled in the neighbourhood
of the structure whence the mysterious voice proceeded.
Such as were able to get near the wall heard many treason¬
able speeches against the Queen, and fresh denunciations of
her marriage, which they repeated to those further off, so
that the sayings of the spirit, were circulated amongst the
immense crowd. Much excitement being caused and tumults
apprehended, the persons belonging to the house were
arrested, and strict search being made, a girl, named
Elizabeth Crofts, was discovered, artfully hidden in a hole
contrived in the thickness of the wall, whence she had
managed to speak through a crevice, with the help of a
small trumpet. The impostor was very leniently dealt with,
being only made to do public penance for the offence at
Saint Paul's.
Another incident occurred about the same time, which,
though ridiculous in itself, is worthy of note, as showing
that aversion to the Spanish match pervaded all classes, and
was even shared by the young. Some three hundred boys,
armed with clubs and staves, assembled in Finsbury Fields,
and got up a mock fight, which they styled " The Queen
against Wyat." Though intended as a sport, the conflict
was carried on with so much good will, that several were
wounded on either side, and the boy who represented Philip
of Spain, being taken prisoner by the opposite party, was
hanged to a tree, and only cut down just in time to save
his life.
Calculating on the unconquerable antipathy to the match
manifested in so many ways, De Noailles pursued his
schemes, persuaded that, when Philip set foot on the
English shores, the people by whom he was so much
detested would rise against him, and massacre him and his
attendants.
Meanwhile, Lord Clinton, the Lord High Admiral, who
himself had no special liking for the Spaniards, or for the
Spanish match, though he was full of loyalty towards the
Queen, was cruising about the Channel, with eight-an4-
How a Marriage was Agreed Upon, 15
twenty of the tallest ships in the English navy, to protect
the Prince, in case any attempt should be made by the
French to attack him on his way, it being reported that
four Gascon regiments had been ordered to Rouen, to
attempt a descent upon the Isle of Wight and Portsmouth.
Lord Clinton was accompanied by the Count de la Chapelle,
the Vice-Admiral of the Low Countries, with some fifteen
ships, which, however, the rough Englishman did not rate
very highly, but called them in derision " mussel-shells."
• As the time drew nigh when the Prince's arrival might
be expected, Mary exhibited an impatience foreign to her
character, but by no means unnatural under the circum¬
stances. Sumptuous presents had been provided for her
intended husband by her order, and preparations on a mag¬
nificent scale were made for the marriage ceremonial, which
it was arranged should take place at Winchester. All the
principal nobility were bidden to the solemnity, and the
chief officers of the royal household, and, indeed, all con¬
nected with the court, had parts assigned them in the grand
reception to be given to the Prince, and in the celebration
of the nuptials.
Many, therefore, shared in the Queen's anxiety for Philip's
safe and speedy arrival. Up to this time the breezes had
been propitious, but contrary winds might arise, and delay
the royal bridegroom on his voyage. Some, indeed, prayed
that the vessel that bore him might founder, and would
have exulted in such a catastrophe, and deemed it a special
interference of Providence.
Their prayers were unheard. Tidings were brought by
the Marquis de las Naves, the Prince's avant-courier, who
landed at Plymouth, to the effect that his royal master
might be daily looked for, and this welcome intelligence
was immediately communicated to the Queen, and served to
allay her anxiety.
Escorted by a strong guard, and attended by a sumptuous
retinue, she forthwith proceeded to Guildford, where the
Marquis de las Naves was presented to her by Renard, and
gave her most satisfactory accounts of the Prince. Next
day she continued her journey, and, on reaching Winchester,
the loyal inhabitants of that fine old city welcomed her with
very demonstration of joy. Well cleased by her reception
i6
Cardinal Pole.
she took up her abode at the Bishop's palace, which had
been prepared for her by Gardiner.
At the same time, De Noailles, accompanied by some
trusty agents, whom he required for a dark scheme he had
hatched, journeyed secretly to Southampton, where the
Prince meant to disembark.
CHAPTER II.
HOW THE SPANISH FLEET ENTERED THE SOLENT SEA.
ARLY on the morning of the 19th of July, 1554-,
the long-looked-for Spanish fleet, conveying the
royal bridegroom to our shores, was descried from
the loftiest hill of the Isle of Wight, and presented
a most magnificent spectacle as it neared that lovely island.
Consisting, as we have intimated, of a hundred and fifty
sail—a third of the number being vessels of large size—the
fleet formed a wide half-moon, in the midst of which rode
the stately ship bearing Philip and the principal nobles
of his suite. The " Santissima Trinidada" rose like a
towered castle from the water. From the lofty crenellated
turret at the stern floated a broad banner, embroidered in
gold, with the arms of Castile and Aragon; its masts, and
the turret at the forecastle, corresponding with that at the
stern, were gaudily painted; and the sides elaborately carved
and covered with devices, were so richly 'burnished, that the
waves shone with their glow. Armed with the heaviest
guns then in use, this splendid vessel had on board, besides
her crews and the Prince's suite, three hundred fully equipped
arquebusiers.
Other ships there were scarcely inferior to the " Santissima
Trinidada" in size and splendour, displaying banners and
streamers, and richly painted and decorated according to
the Spanish fashion, and all well provided with men and
ordnance.
Never before had such a superb fleet ploughed those
waters ; and when, at a later hour in the day, the Lord
i8
Cardinal Pole.
High Admiral caught sight of it, he was sore angered, and
internally vowed to lower the Spaniard's pride.
A soft westerly breeze filling the sails, impelled the ships
gently on their way, though the surface of the sea was but
little agitated. Having risen with the dawn, Philip was
now on deck with the Duke of Alva, enjoying the ravishing
beauty of the morning, and gazing at the land he was
approaching. He could not help being struck by the bold
outline and precipitous cliffs of the island in his immediate
vicinity, and noted with wonder the tall sharp-pointed rocks,
detached from these cliffs, that sprang like pinnacles from
the sea.
Passing the Needles, the fleet entered the Solent Sea.
On a far-projecting causeway on the left was Hurst Castle, a
fortress erected by Henry VI11., and on the right loomed
Yarmouth, with its castle. Salutes were fired from both
forts. The scenery of the coast now possessed great beauty.
On the mainland, noble woods, forming part of the New
Forest, at that time of great extent, and full of deer, grew
down to the very margin of the lake-like sea; occasional
creeks and openings exhibiting sylvan scenes of extraordi¬
nary loveliness, and affording glimpses of ancient towns or
sequestered habitations. On the other hand, the verdant
slopes and groves of the island formed a delicious picture
wholly different from that presented by the bold cliffs on its
southern coast. Here all was softness and beauty, and to
eyes accustomed to the arid and sunburnt shores of Spain,
such verdure had an inexpressible charm.
For some time Philip remained wrapped in contemplation
of the enchanting scenery of the island, unable to withdraw
his eyes from it. At last he exclaimed, "And this is Eng¬
land ! the land I have so longed to behold. How deliciously
green is yonder island, and what a contrast it offers to our
own coasts ! And yon noble woods on the left, which they
say are those of the New Forest, where William Rufus
hunted and was slain ! What magnificent timber 1 We
have nothing like those oaks."
" It may be not, your Highness," replied Alva; " but I
prefer our olives and vines and chestnut-groves to those
woods, and our bare brown mountains to those green slopes.
If the sun scorches our herbage and burns our soil to brick-
How the Spanish Fleet Entered the Solent Sea.
'9
dust, it makes abundant compensation. We have oil and
wine and a thousand luxuries that these English lack, to say
nothing of our fiery men and dark-eyed women."
" Your excellency is a true Spaniard," replied the Prince ;
" but you forget that as soon as I set foot on these shores I
shall become an Englishman."
" Heaven forfend ! " exclaimed Alva; then checking him¬
self, he added, " I crave your Highness's pardon. Inasmuch
as the country will belong to you, you may be right to call
yourself an Englishman."
" But I shall be King of England only in name," said
Philip. "As you know, I am debarred by the marriage-
treaty from any share in the government, neither can I
appoint you, nor any of my nobles, to a post."
" Out on the treaty!" cried Alva. " Your Highness, I
trust, will little regard its terms. Once wedded to the Queen
of England, the country will be under your control. This
the Emperor well knew, or he would have spurned the con¬
ditions proposed to him by the wily Gardiner. Bind you as
they may, the council cannot hold you fast, and ere long you
will have supreme sway. In two years' time England will
be as much a province of Spain as the Netherlands is now.
Then you will reap abundantly the harvest you are sowing.
Moreover, by that time the crown of Spain and the imperial
diadem may grace your brow."
" Why do you think so, Alva? " demanded Philip, quickly.
" My father suffers much from gout; but gout, physicians
tell me, keeps off all other ailments, and those afflicted with
it live long in consequence. When he last wrote to me, the
Emperor reported himself in good case."
" Saints keep him so !" cried the Duke. "Yet, as I have
just said, ere two years are over, your Highness will surely
be King of Spain and Emperor of Germany."
" What means this prediction ? " inquired Philip looking
inquiringly at him.
" It means that the Emperor your father, tired with
the cares of government, designs to surrender his kingdoms
to you."
" Has he said aught of his intent to you, Alva ?—or is it
mere surmise on your part?" demanded the Prince, unable
to disguise the interest he took in the question.
20
Cardinal Pole.
" Your Highness will excuse me if I decline to state how
I obtained the information," rejoined the Duke ; " but 1 will
stake my life on its correctness."
Philip said nothing more, but remained for some time
with his hand upon his lips, absorbed in thought. The flush
that overspread his cheeks showed he was much excited.
Alva kept his keen eye fixed upon him, and seemed to read
what was passing in his breast. After a while, Philip broke
the silence.
" It may be as you say," he remarked ; " yet I do not think
my father will part lightly with his crown. In a moment of
weariness he may talk of abdicating in my favour—but
when the fit is over, the design will pass away with it.
How would he spend his days if not employed by state
affairs ? "
" In retirement and holy meditation—in preparation for
eternity. Such is his Majesty's intent."
"If it be so it is a praiseworthy resolution; and it
is to be hoped that Heaven may keep him in it. How¬
ever, all is uncertain—the firmest man may change his
mind."
" Your Highness says right. Therefore, it will be well to
secure a crown in case of accident. Neither do I despair of
your doing so. The English nation, they say, hate us
Spaniards. What matter ? They cannot hate us worse than
we hate them. They fear our yoke. Yet us give them
reason for their fears by ruling them so severely that they
shall not dare to move hand or foot, save at our pleasure.
With such a people nothing but hard and sanguinary
measures will do. Their late King, Henry VIII., knew
that well, and his subjects obeyed him, crouching at his feet
like beaten hounds. But to impose our yoke upon them, we
must go beyond the despot Henry. We must pour forth
the blood of the English nobles like water, seize upon their
possessions, and assume their titles. Do this, extirpate
heresy, establish the Inquisition, and your Highness need
fear no rebellion."
Alva's eyes blazed as he gave this counsel, and his counte¬
nance assumed an expression so terrible that even Pnilip
regarded him with awe.
" The time is not yet come for acting thus," observed the
How the Spanish Fleet Entered the Solent Sea. 21
Prince. " I must first try to ingratiate myself with the
people, and win over the council and the nobles by gifts and
promises. 'If those fail, I may have recourse to other
means "
" There, to my mind, your Highness is wrong," rejoined
Alva. " Begin as you mean to go on. You cannot make
yourself beloved by this perfidious nation, but you may easily
make yourself dreaded. Hesitate not to shed blood—the
best blood. Strike boldly, and at the highest. If you have
any misgivings, let me do the work for you, and it shall be
done effectually. I shall not object to be grand justiciary of
the realm."
And again his features wore the terrible look we have just
noticed.
" It is too soon to talk of this," said Philip. " We will
speak of it hereafter."
" It may then be too late," rejoined Alva, in a sombre
tone. " Once again, I counsel your Highness not to delay.
As soon as you are fairly wedded, throw off the mask."
" And be driven disgracefully from the kingdom," cried
Philip. " No ; I shall adopt a safer course. A time may
come—and that at no distant date—when I may profit by
your counsels, and ask your aid."
And he turned to watch the numerous white-sailed little
barques steering towards him from Portsmouth.
CHAPTER III.
OF THE AFFRONT OFFERED TO THE SPANIARDS BY THE LORD
HIGH ADMIRAL ; AND OF THE PRINCE'S ARRIVAL AT
SOUTHAMPTON.
pgsipilHARLES V. has been described as more of a
rEiSr Fleming than a Spaniard, and his son Philip as
SjsgjjP more of a Spaniard than a Fleming. But the
Prince bore a strong resemblance to his sire,
though he was not so tall as the Emperor, and more slightly
and elegantly formed than that martial monarch. Appa¬
rently, Philip must have looked like a Scotsman, since he
was compared by a Highlander, John Elder, "the Red¬
shank," who saw him on his entrance into London, to
"John Hume, my Lord of Jedward's kinsman." The Red¬
shank seems to have been greatly struck by the royal
Spaniard's personal appearance and deportment, for he says,
" his pace is princely, and gait so straight and upright as he
loses no inch of height;" adding, " he is so well-propor¬
tioned of body, arm, and leg, as nature cannot work a more
perfect pattern."
But we have Philip actually brought before us as he lived
and moved at the period in question in the portraits of
Titian and Sir Antonio More. There we see his slight and
singularly '^gant figure, and admire his striking costume.
There we ma r peruse his remarkable lineaments, every trait
of which haa been preserved by the great painters with
extraordinary fidelity. Philip's face was a perfect oval, and
all the features good, except the mouth, the lower lip of
Of the Affront Offered to the Spaniards.
n
which was too full, and projected beyond the upper—a
defect inherited by the Prince from his father, who was con¬
siderably under-jawed. Philip's complexion was fair, of
almost feminine delicacy and clearness, his eyes large and
blue, and shaded by thick brows meeting over the nose.
His hair, worn short, according to the Spanish mode, was of
a golden yellow—a circumstance which, no doubt, caused
the Redshank to liken him to "my Lord of Jedward's kins¬
man ;"—and his pointed beard of the same hue. His fore¬
head was lofty, and white as marble, and his nose long,
straight, and perfectly proportioned. In regard to his attire,
he was extremely particular, affecting dark colours, as they
best suited him; and he had the good taste to dispense
with embroidery and ornament. On the present occasion
he had in no wise departed from his rule. Black velvet
haut-de-chausses, black taffetas hose, velvet buskins, doublet
of black satin, all fitting to perfection, constituted his habili¬
ments. Over all, he wore a short black damask mantle
furred with sable. His neck was encircled by the collar of
the Golden Fleece, and on his head sat a black velvet cap,
having a small chain of gold as its sole ornament.
This costume, chosen with great judgment, was admirably
calculated to display the graces of his person, and set off
the extreme fairness of his complexion. Moreover, the
Prince's demeanour was marked by extraordinary loftiness,
and an ineffable air of the highest breeding pervaded his
every look and gesture.
Philip was only nineteen when he was first married.
Dona Maria of Portugal, the Princess to whom he was then
united, died in giving birth to a son, the half-crazed and
savage-natured Don Carlos, whose fate is involved in mys¬
tery, though it is supposed he was poisoned by his father's
orders. It will be seen, as we proceed, how Philip treated
his second consort; but we may mention that to neither of
those who succeeded her—he was twice again married—did
he manifest much affection. To his third wife, the young
and beautiful Elizabeth de Valois, eldest daughter of Henri
II. and Catherine de Medicis, he was unaccountably in¬
different, repaying her tenderness and devotion by constant
neglect and infidelities. At all times, he seems to have
preferred any other female society to that of the one
24
Cardinal Pole.
entitled to his regard. His fourth wife, Anne of Austria,
was but little better treated than her predecessors. Philip
long survived her, and would have niarried again if he
could have found among the royal families of Europe an
alliance sufficiently tempting. The sole being he entirely
loved was the Infanta Isabella, his daughter by his third
wife. She served him as his secretary, during his retire¬
ment in the Escurial in his latter days, and when dying, he
commended her to his son and successor in these terms:
" Philip, I charge you to have always the greatest care
of the Infanta, your sister. She has been the light of my
eyes."
At the period under consideration, the darker qualities
inherent in Philip's nature had not become developed. He
grew more impassive, sterner, and severer, as he gained
power, and advanced in years. He was a profound dissem¬
bler, and his designs were inscrutable. None knew when
they had forfeited his favour. He caressed those he
meant to destroy; whence it was said that there was no
difference between the King's smile and the knife. His
self-restraint offered a striking contrast to the fiery im¬
petuosity of his father. His policy was subtle, perfidious,
Machiavellian. He had not Charles's sagacity, nor Charles's
towering ambition, but he had more craft and hypocrisy
than the Emperor, equal love of power, and equal capacity
for rule. His industry was astonishing, and when his
mighty monarchy devolved upon him, comprehending Spain,
Flanders, Burgundy, the Two Sicilies, the Indies, and the
New World, he passed many hours of each day, and often
of each night, in reading petitions, annotating upon memo¬
rials, writing dispatches, and other toils of the cabinet.
No sovereign ever wrote so much as Philip. Everything
was submitted to his inspection. In hatred implacable, in
severity unrelenting, fickle in friendship—if, indeed, he
could form a friendship—he was equally inconstant in love
matters, so that no syren could long hold him in her thral'.
His affairs of gallantry, like all the rest of his proceedings,
were shrouded in mystery. To none did he give his full
confidence, and not even his confessor was allowed to peer
into the inmost recesses of his breast. More inflexible than
his father, if he had once formed a resolution, whether for
Of the Affront Offered to the Spaniards. 25
good or ill, it was unalterable. But he was slow in coming
to a decision. In religion he was bigoted, and firmly
believed he was serving the cause of the Romish Church by
the rigour he displayed towards heretics. He declared he
would rather put to death a hundred thousand people than
the new doctrines should take root in his dominions.
Throughout his reign the terrible tribunal of the Inquisition
was constantly in action. Such was the detestation felt for
him in the Low Countries and in England, that he was
called the "Demon of the South while his Spanish sub¬
jects spoke of him, under their breath, as the "Father of
Dissimulations." Despite, however, his perfidy, his bigotry,
and his severity, he was a great monaich, and raised the
power of Spain to its highest point. After him its splendour
began to decline.
In his latter years, Philip led the life of a religious
recluse, shutting himself up almost entirely in the Escurial,
and performing devotional exercises, vigils, fastings, and
penances, with as much zeal as a brother of some severe
order. Yet, notwithstanding this austere life, he continued
to the last to conduct the affairs of state from his close'.
His end was a grand and solemn scene, of which full details
have been left us.
After receiving extreme unction, Philip said to his son,
" I have sent for you that you may know what death is."
He then caused his coffin, which had already been prepared,
to be brought into the chamber where he lay, and the
crown to be placed on a death's head on a table beside him.
Then taking from a coffer a priceless jewel, he said to the
Infanta, "Isabella Eugenia Clara, my daughter, this jewel
was given me by the Queen, your mother. It is my parting
gift to you." He next gave a paper to his son, saying,
"You will see, from this, how you ought to govern your
kingdom." A blood-stained scourge was then brought him,
and taking it in his hand, he said, " This blood is mine, yet
it is not mine own, but that of my father, who used the
discipline. I mention this, that the relic may be the more
valued." After another paroxysm, he again received extreme
unction, and feeling his end approach, he asked for a cruci¬
fix, which the Emperor held in his hands when he breathed
his last, and which he also desired to hold when dying. In
26
Cardinal Pole.
another hour he became speechless, and so continued to the
end, his dying gaze being fixed on a taper of Our Lady of
Montserrat, burning on the high altar of the church, which
was visible through the open door.
We have stood in the little chamber in the church of the
Escurial in which Philip died, and have looked from it at
the altar whereon burnt the sacred flame that attracted h:s
last regards.
Philip's suit, as we have already intimated, comprised
several nobles of the highest importance, who had been
ordered to attend upon him by the Emperor. Besides the
Duke of Alva, there was the scarcely less important Duke
de Medina Celi, Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, Prince of Eboli,
the Admiral of Castile, who was in command of the fleet
the Marquis de Pescara, the Marquis del Valle, the Marquis
D'Aguillara, the Conde de Feria, the Conde Olivares, the
Conde de Saldana, the Count D'Egmont, and several others
equally distinguished. Each of these haughty hidalgos had
a train of attendants with him.
With the Prince, also, was the Alcalde of Galicia, the
Bishop of Cuenga, Father Alfonso de Castro, and several
other priests.
Moreover, he had a great painter in his train, Sir Antonio
More, who had been previously sent into England to take
the Queen's portrait (which may still be seen in the gallery
at Madrid), and had now the honour of accompanying the
Prince on his voyage.
Two other important personages had preceded Philip to
England—namely, the Marquis de las Naves, previously
referred to, and Don Juan Figueroa, Regent of the Council
of Aragon, a nobleman much in the Emperor's confidence,
and to whom an important part had been assigned in the
approaching ceremonial.
Shortly after his discourse with the Duke of Alva which we
have reported, Philip withdrew to his state cabin to perform
his orisons, and listen to a discourse from the Bishop of
CuenQa. On his reappearance, he found most of his nobles
assembled on deck, making, as they were all superbly
attired, a very gallant show. Only three or four of their
number removed their plumed and jewelled caps on the
Prince's approach. The rest being grandees of Spain, and
Of the Affront Offered to the Spaniards. 27
entitled to remain covered in the presence of royalty, asserted
their privilege. Foremost in the group were the Duke of
Alva, the Duke of Medina Celi, Ruy Gomez de Silva, and
the valiant Marquis de Pescara—one of the great captains
of the age. All these had the cross of Santiago on their
mantles. Some of the assemblage were Knights of Cala-
trava, others Knights of St. Lazarus, or of St John of
Jerusalem, and all wore their orders. Numbering about
fifteen, they presented a remarkable array of noble-looking
figures, all more or less characterised by pride of look and
haughtiness of deportment. It would have been easy to
discern at a glance that they belonged to the most vain¬
glorious people then existing—a people, however, as valiant
as they were vain-glorious.
As we cannot describe these haughty personages in detail,
we shall select one or two from the group. The most
striking among them was undoubtedly the Duke of Alva,
whose remarkable sternness of look arrested attention, and
acted like a spell on the beholder. There was a fatal ex¬
pression in Alva's regards that seemed to forbode the
atrocities he subsequently committed in the Low Countries.
His gaze was fierce and menacing, and the expression of his
countenance truculent and bloodthirsty. His complexion was
swarthy, and his short-clipped hair and pointed beard were
jet-black. His figure was lofty, well proportioned, and
strongly built, and his manner excessively arrogant and
imperious. His attire was of deep-red velvet and damask.
His mantle was embroidered with the Cross of Santiago,
and round his neck he wore the collar of the Golden
Fleece.
Full as noble-looking as Alva, and far less arrogant, was
the Count D'Egmont, whose tall and symmetrical figure was
arrayed in a doublet of crimson damask. His hose were of
black taffetas, and his boots of bronzed chamois. His black
silk mantle was passmented with gold, and his velvet hat
was adorned with a tall panache of black and white
feathers. Like Alva, he wore the order of the Golden
Fleece.
Next to D'Egmont stood Sir Antonio More, for whom the
Count had a great friendship. The renowned painter was a
rpan of very goodly appearance, and richly dressed, though
Cardinal Pole.
not with the magnificence that characterised the hidalgos
around him. A doublet of black satin, paned with yellow,
with hose to match, constituted his attire j his hair and
beard being trimmed in the Spanish fashion.
Such was the assemblage which met the Prince, as he
came forth for the second time that morning. Returning
their salutations with the dignity and solemnity of manner
habitual to him, he seated himself on a throne-like chair,
covered with purple velvet, which had been set for him on
the raised deck.
By this time the fleet had passed the Solent Sea, and was
off Cowes. The extreme beauty of the Isle of Wight, as
seen from this point, might have excited Philip's admiration,
had not his attention been drawn to the English and Flemish
fleets, which could now be seen advancing to meet him. On
came the two armaments, proudly and defiantly, as if about
to give him battle, or oppose his progress. When they got
within a mile of the Prince, the English ships were ordered
to heave to, and soon became stationary; but the Flemish
squadron continued to advance until it met the Spaniards,
when it wore round and came on with them.
As yet no salute had been fired by the Lord High Admiral.
" I do not understand such matters," said the Duke of
Alva, approaching the Prince; " but it seems to me that
the English Admiral gives your Highness but a cold
reception."
Philip made no reply, but, after a moment, observed,
" Those are fine ships."
" They are so," replied Alva; " but their commander
should be taught to show due respect to his sovereign."
Just then an incident occurred which caused the utmost
astonishment, not unmixed with indignation, throughout the
Spanish fleet. A shot was fired by the Lord High Admiral
across the bows of the Spanish ship nearest him. Philip
was made instantly aware of the occurrence, and for a
moment exhibited unwonted emotion. His pale cheek
flushed, and he sprang from his seat, seeming about to give
an angry order, but he presently became calmer. Not so the
grandees around him. They were furious; and the Duke
of Alva counselled the Prince immediately to fire upon the
insolent offender.
Of the Affront Offered to the Spaniards.
"I am as eager to resent the affront as the Duke," said
Count D'Egmont; " but first let an explanation be
demanded."
"Make the inquiry with our cannon," said Alva, fiercely;
adding, with a scornful look at D'Egmont, " timid counsels
sm ick of treason."
Regarding the Duke with a glance as disdainful as his
own, D'Egmont said, " My loyalty to the Emperor has been
often approved. His Highness will be better served by pru¬
dence than by rashness. There must be some mistake."
"There can be no mistake, and no explanation ought to
be accepted," cried Alva, yet more fiercely. " The affront
is a stain upon the honour of our country, and can only be
avenged by the destruction of that insolent fleet. Count
D'Egmont is not a Spaniard, and therefore does not feel
it."
"I should regard the matter differently, if I could believe
that insult was intended," rejoined D'Egmont. " But I
cannot think so."
" Here comes the explanation," said Philip, as the
Admiral of Castile approached. " How now, my lord?"
he added to him. " What means this interruption ? For
what reason was that shot fired ? "
"Because our topsails were not lowered in deference to
the English navy in these narrow seas," replied the Admiral.
" It is the custom to exact this homage to the flag, and Lord
Clinton will not abate a jot of his demands. I am come to
ascertain your Highness's pleasure."
" Pour a broadside into the insolent fellow," said Alva.
" That is the only answer to return consistent with your
Highness's dignity."
" It is not for me to offer counsel," said D'Egmont; " but
it is better, methinks, to submit to this affront, which, after
all, may not be intended as such, than to hazard the loss of
a prize that is so nearly gained."
Philip looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, in
an authoritative tone, " Let the topsails be lowered—in this
ship—and throughout the fleet. Since the demand is war¬
ranted, we ought to comply with it."
The Admiral instantly gave the requisite orders to the
officers near him, and ere another minute the topsails were
3
3°
Cardinal Pole.
lowered, amid the murmurs of the Spanish grandees,
whose glowing cheeks and flashing eyes proclaimed their
wrath.
" I did not think this affront would have been endured,"
cried Alva.
"Nor I," cried the Marquis de Pescara, and some others.
"Be patient, my lords—be patient," observed Philip, sig¬
nificantly. " Our turn will come anon."
In another minute all the vessels in the Spanish fleet had
followed the example of the "Santissima Trinidada."
This was no sooner done than a loud salute was fired
from all the guns in the English navy.
Before the smoke had rolled away, the Spanish fleet
replied by a deafening roar of artillery. Lusty cheers were
then given by the sailors thronging the ropes and cross-bars
of the English ships, and amid the beating of drums and
the shriller music of the fife, a large boat was lowered from
the Lord High Admiral's ship, in which Lord Clinton,
attended by several officers of distinction, was rowed
towards ihe "Santissima Trinidada."
On coming on board, the Lord High Admiral was cere¬
moniously received by Count D'Egmont, who acted as the
Prince's major-domo, and, after a brief interchange of com¬
pliments, on the Admiral's request to be presented to his
Highness, he was ushered through two lines of bronze-
visaged and splendidly-equipped harquebuzeros to the bulk¬
head, where Philip was seated, with his nobles drawn up on
either side. By all the latter, Clinton was regarded haughtily
and menacingly, but, apparently heedless of their displeasure,
he made a profound reverence to the Prince, who received
him with a graciousness that offered a marked contrast to
the defiant looks of his entourage.
" In the Queen's name, I bid your Highness welcome to
her dominions," said the Admiral; " and I trust I shall be
excused if I have appeared uncourteous in the discharge of
my duty, which is to maintain her Majesty's sovereignty in
these seas."
"No need of apologies, my lord," replied Philip. "The
fault was ours, not yours. We ought to have recollected
that we are now in English waters. How fares her
Majesty ? "
Of the Affront Offered to the Spaniards.
3i
" Right well," said the Admiral, " and only anxious for
your Highness's safe arrival."
" Is she at Southampton ? " pursued Philip.
" No, my lord," rejoined the Admiral. " Her Grace came
these two days past to Winchester, where she will await
your Highness's coming. I had tidings of her so late as
yester-morn, brought by my nephew, who is now with me."
" Is this your nephew, my lord ? " inquired Philip, glancing
at a tall, well-proportioned young man, standing behind the
Admiral.
The blooming complexion, clear blue eyes, brown waving
locks, and features of this very handsome young man, pro¬
claimed his Saxon origin.
" Ay, my lord, this is my nephew, Osbert Clinton," replied
the Admiral, eyeing the youth with a pride which the good
looks and gallant bearing of the latter might perhaps justify.
"He is fresh from her Majesty's presence, as I have just
declared to your Highness. Stand forward, Osbert, and
tell the Prince all thou knowest."
On this, the young man advanced, and bowing gracefully
to Philip, gave him particulars of the Queen's journey from
London, of her stay at Guildford, of her meeting with the
Marquis de las Naves, and of her arrival at Winchester—to
all of which the Prince listened with apparent interest.
" What office do you fill at court, young Sir, for I conclude
you have some post there ? " demanded Philip, when young
Clinton had done.
"I am merely one of her Majesty's gentlemen," replied
Osbert.
" I would willingly have made a seaman of him," in* er-
posed the Admiral, " and but that he dislikes the service,
he might now be in command of one of yon gallant ships.
Sorry am I to say that he prefers a court life."
" He is in the right," said Philip. " Unless I am mis¬
taken, he has qualities which will be better displayed in that
field than in the one your lordship would have chosen for
him—qualities which, if properly employed, must lead to
his distinction."
" Your Highness judges me far too favourably," said
Osbert, bowing profoundly.
'•Not a whu," rejoined Philip; "and to prove my con-
Cardinal Pole.
fidence in vou, I will attach you—if you list—to my own
person."
" My nephew cannot quit the Queen's service without
her Majesty's consent," said the Admiral, in a tone which,
though deferential, showed his dislike of the proposition.
" That is always implied," said Philip. " But supposing
her Majesty agreeable, what says the young man to the
arrangement?"
"J am entirely at your Highness's commands," replied
Osbert, overwhelmed with gratitude.
"And ready to become a Spaniard, and forswear your
country, if need be, I make no doubt," observed the
Admiral, gruffly.
"I shall violate no duty to the Queen by serving her
consort," said his nephew; " and England and Spain will
be so closely linked together by this most propitious union,
that they will become as one land, wherein there will be no
divided service or interests."
"That time is not yet arrived, and never will arrive,"
muttered the Admiral.
"You are doubtless anxious to return to your ship, my
lord," said Philip. " I will no longer detain you."
"I thank your Highness," replied the Admiral. "We
will make all haste we can, but there is little winds
and I fear it will be somewhat late ere we can reach
Southampton."
" It matters not," said Philip. " I shall not disembark
till to-morrow,"
"Your Highness will exercise a wise discretion in the
delay, as a better reception can be given you," returned the
Admiral. " I humbly take my leave. Come, nephew."
" It is my pleasure that your nephew should remain with
me, my lord," said Philip.
" But I am about to despatch him in a swift galley to her
Majesty," remonstrated the Admiral.
" You must find a fresh messenger, my lord," said Philip.
" I have other business for him. However, I would place
no constraint upon the young man. He can depart with
your lordship if he is so minded."
" Nay, I desire nothing so much as to remain with your
Highness," cried Osbert, eagerly.
The Affront Offered to the Spaniards.
33
" The Prince was right in saying he was born a courtier,"
muttered the Admiral. " I can do nothing with him."
Making another obeisance, he then quitted the Prince's
presence, and, being formally conducted by D'Egmont to
the head of the vessel's stairs, re-entered the boat, and was
rowed back to his ship, in no very good humour.
On reaching it, he immediately issued orders to his fleet
to make all way to Southampton, and the noble vessels were
soon bending in that direction. The Spanish and Flemish
fleets followed in the same track. But so slight was the
breeze, that some time elapsed before they passed Calshot
Castle and entered Southampton Water.
As the Admiral had predicted, evening was at hand ere
the fleets had cleared the broad and beautiful estuary, at
the northern end of which stood the ancient and then
highly picturesque town of Southampton. The grey walls
circling the town, the spires of the churches, and the castle
on the hill, were glowing in the last rays of the setting
sun.
Crowds could be seen gathered upon the quays, and upon
every point of observation. A loud salvo was fired from
the castle batteries, and from the ordnance placed on the
walls and on the gates. Except the " Santissima Trinidada,"
the Lord High Admiral's ship, and that commanded by the
Vice-Admiral of the Netherlands, all the other vessels now
cast anchor. The three large vessels got as near the port
as they could, and then came likewise to an anchor, the
ship containing the Prince occupying the foremost position.
These movements excited great interest amongst the
spectators, whose shouts were loud and continuous.
Intimation having been given to the authorities of the
town that the Prince's disembarkation would not take place
till next day, his Highness needing repose after his long
voyage, no one went on board the royal ship. The cere¬
monial of the reception, and all public rejoicings and
festivities connected with it, were postponed to the morrow;
but it was not until it grew dusk, and they had in some
measure satiated their curiosity by gazing at the superb
vessel which had brought the illustrious stranger to their
port, that the crowd on the quays began to disperse and
return to their own dwellings.
3*
Cardinal Pole.
It was at this hour that Philip called Osbert Clinton to
his state cabin, and, dismissing his attendants, said to the
young man, as soon as they were gone,— ^
" I intend to go ashore, incognito, to-night, and pass an
hour in Southampton. I would judge with ray own eyes ot
the people I shall have to govern. You shall go with me—
I think I can trust myself with you."
" I will guard your Highness with my life," said Osbert,
resolutely. " But I cannot conceal from ,you that it is a
hazardous step you are about to take."
" Hazardous or not, I am resolved upon it," said Philip.
" I like a nocturnal adventure, and the opportunity for one
now offers, under circumstances that heighten its zest. My
nobles would infallibly oppose my design, and therefore
must know nothing of it. One person alone can be trusted,
the Count D'Egmont, and he will lend me aid. I must
about it at once, for it grows late."
"Your Highness will be in time, for this will be a night
of revel and rejoicing in the town," said Osbert. " Pray
Heaven no ill may come of the adventure ! "
D'Egmont was then summoned, and on his appearance
the Prince disclosed his plan to him. The Count strongly
opposed it, representing its danger, as Osbert had done, but
in the end he was obliged to yield.
"For an hour you and I will change parts," pursued
Philip to D'Egmont. " You shall be the Prince, and I the
Count. The Count will remain here, and the Prince will go
ashore with this young Englishman as if sent on some
special errand. None will be the wiser—not even Alva or
Ruy Gomez. Go, order a boat to be got ready instantly.
Make some change in your attire. Put on the long dark
mantle I have seen you wear at night, and a black cap with¬
out a plume. Speak to the attendants as you pass, and tell
them you are going ashore."
"It shall be done," replied the Count, departing.
While he was gone, Philip retired into an inner chamber
and made some change in his own apparel. Just as he had
completed his preparations, D'Egmont returned, habited as
the Prince had directed. Philip took the Count's mantle,
and wrapping himself in it, said, so as to be heard by the
attendants, " See the Count D'Egmont and the English
The Affront Offered to the Spaniards. 35
caballero to the boat, and let watch be kept for their return.
Till then I would not be disturbed."
Having uttered these words, he muffled up his features
and went forth, followed by Osbert. The ushers took him
for the person he represented, and attended him to the
stairs.
In this manner the Prince and his companion got into the
boat without stoppage of any kind, and were rowed to a
landing-place at the quay near the South-gate of the town.
CHAPTER IV.
SOUTHAMPTON IN 1554-
IRDED round by high embattled walls, flanked with
numerous towers, all in good repair, and well
ordnanced, old Southampton had a proud and
defiant look, especially when viewed from the
water. Within the walls, situated on an elevated point on
the north-west, stood the castle, now totally destroyed, the
donjon of which, erected at the time of the Conquest, if not
before, commanded with its guns all the approaches to the
harbour, as well as the country to the north. This strongly
fortified town possessed no less than eight gates, besides
posterns. It was defended on the north and east by a moat
of extraordinary width and depth, crossed by drawbridges
connected with the gates, and on the south and west by the
sea, which washed the foot of its walls; and it contained
many large and important mansions, amongst which may be
noted the antique palace of Canute, besides several fine
churches, hospitals, religious establishments, conduits, and
great storehouses, together with a long and goodly street,
described by old Leland, in his Itinerary, "as one of the
fairest streets that is in any town of all England."
From the summit of the castle magnificent views were
obtained of the lovely Isle of Wight in the distance ; of the
vast woody region known as the New Forest; of the broad
estuary spread out like a lake before it, almost always
thronged with craft, and sometimes, as now, filled with
larger vessels ; of the ruthlessly-despoiled but still beauteous
abbey of Netlej', embosomed in its groves; of the course of
Southampton in 1554.
37
the Itchen, 011 the one side, and of the Test on the other ;
or, looking inland towards the north of a marshy tract, caused
by the overflowing waters of the Itchen; of more marshes
on the low ground further on, then more forest scenery, with
here and then a village and an ancient castellated mansion,
until the prospect was terminated by Saint Catherine's and
Saint Giles's hills near Winchester.
Situated at the point of a piece of high land lying between
the confluence of the two rivers just mentioned, namely, the
Itchen and the Test, old Southampton was completely insu¬
lated by the deep ditch connecting these streams on the
north, and continued along the east side of the walls. With¬
out the walls, on the east, lay an extensive suburb, occupying
the site of a still older town, which had been sacked and in
a great part burnt by French and Genoese pirates in the
time of Edward III.—a disaster that caused the second town
to be as strongly fortified as we have described it.
And now let us examine the gates, the noblest of which,
the Bar-gate, happily still exists. Built at different epochs,
the two semicircular towers composing the north frontage
being added to the central arch, which dates back at least as
far as the Conquest, this stately structure, which formed the
sole entrance to the town from the north, surpassed all the
other gates in size and grandeur. Even now, crowded as it
is with habitations, and standing in the midst of a busy
throughfare, it is very imposing. Its massive towers,
reverent with age, and carrying back the mind of the be¬
holder to a remote period, are strongly machiolated, and
retain much of their pristine character, but the once beau¬
tiful pointed archway between them has been disfigured by
enlargement. Anciently, there was a double moat on the
north of this gate, crossed by a stone bridge and a draw¬
bridge. On the parapets of the first of these bridges the
lordly sitting lions now guarding t ie archway were set.
We may complete our description of the Bar-gate by men¬
tioning that it contains the Guildhall of the town, or Domus
Civica, as old Leland terms it. Underneath, below the level
of the moat, there was formerly a dungeon.
It may be questioned whether the good folk of South¬
ampton are half so proud of their noble gate as of two
extiacrdinary paintings hanging on the right and left of the
3«
Cardinal Pole.
central arch, which represent the renowed Sir Bevis, the
legendary hero of the town, and the giant Ascapart, who,
according to tradition, being conquered by the doughty
Danish knight, became his squire. We do not quarrel with
these paintings, or with their position, but why should not
pictorial representations be likewise given of the peerless
Princess Josyan, of whom Sir Bevis was enamoured, and of
his marvellous charger, Arundel ? The pictures, we venture
to suggest, might serve to screen the grievous disfigurements
on the south side of the Bar-gate.
The Water-gate and the South-gate, both of which faced
the harbour, though inferior in size and grandeur of appear¬
ance to the Bar-gate, were very strongly built, machiolated,
provided with double portcullises, and flanked by towers.
The other five gates were nearly similar in character; the
most important being the East and West-gates.
High, and of great solidity, the walls were further
strengthened on the south and west sides by huge buttresses,
as may still be seen in the picturesque remains left in these
parts of the modern town. The parapets were embrasured,
and had bastions at the angle of the walls. Towers were
also built for the protection of the floo 1-gates required to
admit the sea to the trenches.
All the fortifications, as we have said, were in good condi¬
tion, having been repaired and strengthened by Henry VIII.,
who was a frequent visitor to the town, and, still more re¬
cently, in the reign of Edward VI. The batteries were fur¬
nished with fresh artillery by the former monarch, and a
lar?e piece of ordnance, graven with his name and title of
" Fidei Defensor," is still preserved.
Separated from the town by the broad deep moat which
was traversed in this quarter by a couple of large draw¬
bridges, the quay extended along the shore to some distance
on the east, and was laid out in wharves, and provided with
cranes and other machines for landing or embarking cargoes.
The harbour was marked out by huge piles driven into the
banks, like those which may be seen in the shallow lagunes
of Venice. Ordinarily the quay was a very busy scene, but
its busiest and blithest time was on the arrival of the Flam
ders galleys, which came twice or thrice a year, laden with
rich freights. Then all the wealthy merchants of South-
Southampton hi 1554.
39
hnmpton, with their clerks and serving-men, and even with
their wives and daughters, repaired to the platform eager
to inspect the goods and rare articles brought by the fleet.
Inhabited by a body of merchants who traded largely
with Venice and the East, and almost rivalled the merchant?
of London in wealth, Southampton gave abundant evidence
in its buildings of power and prosperity. In English-street,
now known as the High-street, dwelt the chief merchants of
the place, and though their habitations were not marble
palaces, like those of the Venetians with whom they traded,
nor stately structures, like those of the Flemings, who
brought rich cargoes to their port, they were substantial
timber houses, with high roofs, picturesque gables, and bay-
windows. Not only did these houses possess large entrance-
halls, and spacious chambers panelled with black oak, hung
with costly arras, and otherwise luxuriously furnished,
according to the taste of their wealthy owners, but they
boasted, in many cases, large, dry, well-arched vaults, stored
with casks of good Bordeaux, Xerez, Malaga, Alicant,
Malvoisie, and Gascoigne wines. Some of these famous
old cellars yet exist. Let us hope they are as well stocked
as of yore.
Most of the houses in English-street were remarkable
for the elaborate carvings adorning their woodwork, while
the handsome porches were embellished with shields and
escutcheons charged with armorial bearings. In all cases
the upper stories projected beyond the lower, so as to over¬
hang the footways. It is satisfactory to add that the
Southampton merchants of that day were noted for the
liberality of their dealings, as well as for their princely
hospitality to strangers.
About midway in English-street stood Holyrood Church,
an antique pile, of which we shall have occasion to speak
anon; and contiguous to the South-gate, which then formed
one of the outlets to the harbour, was the Domus Dei, or
God's House, an ancient hospital, in the chapel of which,
now used as a place of worship by French Protestants,
were buried the three lords, Cambridge, Scrope, and Grey,
beheaded for conspiring against Henry V., as that warlike
prince was about to embark for France to win the glorious
battle of Agincourt. And while on this theme, let us not
4°
Cat dinal Pcle.
forget that it was likewise from Southampton that the
victors of Cressy sailed.
Such was Southampton in the middle of the sixteenth
century. It was during the reign of Henry VIII. that its
power and importance as a seaport culminated. At the
period of which we treat it had begun to decline, though the
vast wealth previously acquired by its merchants helped for
a while to sustain it. But its trade continued sensibly to
diminish in Elizabeth's time, while its rival, Portsmouth,
grew in consequence. However, a great future was in store
for Southampton. The present century has witnessed its
revival and restoration to far more than its mediaeval pros¬
perity. With its secure harbour and noble docks, wherein
ride the superb steamers that connect it with the East and
West Indies, and indeed with the whole world, few ports in
the kingdom can now lie with that of fair Southampton.
CHAPTER V
HOW TIIE PRINCE OF SPAIN OBTAINED A SIGHT OF SIR BEVIS OF
SOUTHAMPTON AND HIS HORSE ARUNDEL, OF THE GIANT
ASCAPART, THE PRINCESS JOSYAN, KING CANUTE, AND
ANOTHER NOTABLE PERSONAGE.
r^^ssIIE platform on which the Prince of Spain and
y°unS Clinton stood, after leaving the boat, was
entirely deserted, the vast concourse, recently
assembled there, having returned, as already stated,
to the town. Here and there a sentinel, in steel cap and
breastplate, and armed with a halberd, strode to and fro
along the solitary quay. One of these sentinels challenged
the Prince and his companion on their landing, but a word
from Osbert caused the man to retire.
As Philip first set foot on English ground a thrill of ex¬
ultation ran through his breast, but he allowed no outward
manifestation of the feeling to escape him; but after a
momentary halt, signified his desire to Osbert to enter the
town.
The night was dark, but clear and perfectly calm. Be
hind, on the smooth sea, which reflected the stars shinine
brilliantly above, and the lights of the large lanterns hang
ing at the poops of the vessels, lay the " Santissima Trin -
dada," with her scarcely less colossal companions beside ner,
looming like leviathans in the darkness. Here all seemed
buried in repose, for no sound arose from the mighty ships,
or from the squadron in their rear. But in front there was
a strong light proceeding from a blazing barrel of pitch set
on the top of the Water-gate, the flames of which, rising to
42
Cardinal Pole.
a great height, illumined the battlements and keep of the
castle, as well as the steeples of the churches and the roofs
of the loftier buildings, casting a ruddy glare on the moat
beneath, and making the adjacent walls and towers look
perfectly black. Moreover, a loud hum, with other sounds
arising from the interior of the town, showed that its inhabi¬
tants were still astir.
Traversing a drawbridge, near which another sentinel was
stationed, Osbert and his royal companion speedily reached
the Water-gate. Three or four halberdiers were standing
beneath the archway, and advanced to question them, but
satisfied with young Clinton's explanation, one of them struck
his pole against the massive door, whereupon a wicket was
opened, and the pair entered the town.
They were now at the foot of English-street, with the
principal features of which the reader is familiar. Active
preparations of various kinds were here being made for the
anticipated ceremonial of the morrow. Men were employed
in decorating scaffolds erected near the gate, and other arti¬
ficers were occupied in adorning the fronts of the houses.
Though the hour was late, owing to the bustle of preparation,
and the numerous strangers within the town, few of the in¬
habitants of this quarter had retired to rest. Festivities
seemed to be going on in most of the houses. Lights
streamed from the open casements, while joyous shouts,
laughter, and strains of music resounded from within.
AH was strange to Philip—the quaint and picturesque
architecture of the habitations, the manners, and to some
extent the very dresses of the people. But though he was
amused, by the novelty of the scene, the rudeness, noisy talk,
boisterous merriment, and quarrels of the common folk, were
by no means to his taste. Naturally, his own arrival in the
harbour and expected disembarkation on the morrow formed
the universal topics of discourse, and he heard remarks upon
himself and his nation, such as he had not hitherto conceived
that any one would venture to utter. Little did the heedless
talkers imagine that the haughty-looking stranger, with his
face closely muffled in his mantle, who passed them in the
street, or lingered for a moment beneath a porch to watch
their proceedings, was the Prince of Spain. Well was it.
indeed, for Philip that he was not recognised, since there
How the Prince saw some Notable Personages. 43
were some discontented folk abroad that night who might
not have held his royal person sacred.
Philip took no notice of his opprobrious discourse to his
conductor, who would fain have shut his ears to it, but he
said within himself, " I begin to understand these people.
They are insolent, audacious, and rebellious. Alva was right.
They must be ruled With an iron hand."
As he walked along, the Prince glanced through the open
windows into the dining-chambers of some of the larger
houses, and seeing the tables covered with flasks and flagons,
and surrounded by guests, whose condition proclaimed that
they had been drinking deeply, he inquired of Osbert whether
his countrymen usually committed such excesses ?
" They are somewhat prone to conviviality, I must admit,"
replied the young man. " But joy at your Highness's safe
arrival has doubtless made them carouse longer than their
wont to-night. Besides, there are many strangers in the
town, and the hospitality of the Southampton merchants
knows no limit."
Whether this explanation was entirely satisfactory to the
Prince may be doubted, but he made no further remark.
By this time, Philip and his conductor had arrived within
a short distance of Holyrood Church. An arch had here
been thrown across the street, which some young women
were decorating with flowers and ribbons; while a knot of
apprentices, in jerkins of grey or russet serge and flat caps,
were superintending their operations, and holding torches
for them.
All at once a great shouting was heard in the upper part
of the street, whereupon the maidens suspended their task,
and called out gleefully to the youths that Sir Bevis and
Ascapart were coming. At this intimation the apprentices
drew back, and with some others of the townsfolk who
were assembled there, ranged themselves on either side of
the arch.
Presently the clamour increased, showing that the knight
of Southampton and his gigantic squire must be close at
hand, and in order to get out of the way of the crowd, the
Prince and his companion withdrew into a porch, whence
they could see what was going on without molestation.
Scarcely had they thus ensconced themseves, when a
44
Cardinal Pole.
tumultuous throng burst through the arch. These were
followed by a troop of Moors—for such they seemed, from
their white garments, turbans adorned with the crescent,
and blackened features. The foremost of these Paynims
bore torches, but three of them, who marched in the rear,
had golden fetters on their wrists, and crowns on their heads.
After these captive monarchs rode their conqueror, bestrid¬
ing his mighty war-horse, Arundel. Sir Bevis, who was of
gigantic proportions, was equipped in an enormous steel
corslet, with greaves to match, and had on his head a white-
plumed helm, the visor of which being raised, disclosed a
broad, bluff, bearded visage. Arundel was of extraordinary
size and strength, as he had need to be with such a rider, and
had a tufted chamfron on his head, with housings of red velvet.
On the right and left of Sir Bevis strode two personages,
whose frames were as gigantic as his own. One of these,
clad in a tunic of chain armour, which fully developed his
prodigious amplitude of chest, wore a conical helmet sur¬
mounted by a crown, and having a great nasal in front,
which gave peculiar effect to his burly features. This was
the Anglo-Danish King, Canute. His majesty bore on his
hip a tremendous sword, the scabbard of which was inscribed
with mystic characters, and carried in his hand a spear that
would have suited Goliath. His shield was oval in form,
with a spiked boss in the centre.
Loftier by half a head than the royal Dane was the giant
Ascapart, who marched on the other side of the valorous
knight of Southampton. Ascapart's leathern doublet was
studded with knobs of brass ; a gorget of the same metal
encircled a throat thick as that of a bull; his brawny legs
were swathed with bands of various colours; and on his
shoulde-s, which were even broader than those of Canute or
of his master Sir Bevis, he carried a ponderous club, which
it would have puzzled an ordinary man to lift. At his back
hung a dragon's head, no doubt that of the terrific monster
si i in by Sir Bevis. Despite his attire and formidable club,
there was nothing savage in Ascapart's aspect. On the con¬
trary, his large face had a very good-humoured expression ;
and the same may be asserted both of Sir Bevis and Canute.
It was evident from the strong family likeness distinguishing
them that the three giants must be brothers. °
How the Prince saw some Notable Personages. 45
As if to contrast with their extraordinary stature, these
Anakim were followed by a dwarf, whose appearance was
hailed with universal merriment by the spectators. A
doublet and cloak of silk and velvet of the brightest hues,
with a cap surmounted by a parti-coloured plume of ostrich
feathers, formed the attire of this remarkable mannikin. A
rapier, appropriate to his size, was girt to his thigh, and a
dagger, tiny as a bodkin, hung from his girdle. He rode
a piebald horse, and behind him on a pillion sat a plump
little dame, representing the Princess Josyan, whose trans-
cendant beauty had bewitched Sir Bevis, and softened the
adamantine heart of the ferocious Ascapart. It can scarcely
be affirmed that the Princess's charms were calculated to
produce such effects on men in general, but there was doubt¬
less a sorcery about her, which operated more potently on
certain subjects than on others. To ordinary eyes she
appeared a fat little woman, neither very young nor very
tempting, with a merry black eye and a comical expression
of countenance. Princess Josyan's gown was of green
velvet, and her embroidered cap had long lappets covering
the ears. In her hand she carried a fan made of peacock's
feathers.
In Sir Bevis and his companions Osbert Clinton at once
recognised (as perhaps some of our readers may have done)
three well-known gigantic warders of the Tower, yclept Og,
Gog, and Magog, who, on account of their prodigious stature,
were constantly employed in state pageants and ceremonials,
while in the consequential looking pigmy riding behind them
he did not fail to detect the Queen's favourite dwarf, Xit,
who of late, having received the honour of knighthood from
her Majesty, had assumed the title of Sir Narcissus le Grand.
The plump little occupant of the pillion, Osbert felt sure
must be Lady le Grand, formerly Jane the Fool, whom the
Queen had been graciously pleased to bestow in marriage
upon Xit. While young Clinton was detailing these circum¬
stances to the Prince, an incident occurred that brought a
smile to Philip's grave countenance.
As Og, the representative of Sir Bevis, was passing
through the arch, which his plumed helmet well-nigh
touched, he perceived a very comely damsel looking down
from a ladder on vhich she was standing, and la.ughing at
4
46
Cardinal Pole.
him. Without more ado, he raised himself in his stirrups,
and putting his arm round her neck, gave her a sounding
salute. Indignant at this proceeding, the damsel requited
him with a buffet on the cheek, but in so doing she lost her
balance, and would have fallen if the giant had not caught
her, and placed her behind him on the broad back of Arun¬
del, which done, he secured his prize by passing his belt
round her waist.
Great was the amusement of the bystanders at this occur¬
rence, and several of them clapped their hands and called
out, " The Princess Josyan !—the Princess Josyan ! " One
young gallant, however, did not share the general mirth,
but, shouting to Sir Bevis to set the damsel down, made an
effort to release her. But he was thwarted in his purpose
by Magog, or rather, we should say, by the terrible Asca-
part, who, seizing him by the jerkin, notwithstanding his
struggles, handed him to Sir Bevis, and by the latter he was
instantly transferred to the highest step of the ladder which
the damsel had just quitted. Satisfied with what he had
done, Sir Bevis rode on, carrying away with him his fair
captive, amid the plaudits and laughter of the spectators.
Highly incensed at the treatment he had experienced, the
youth was preparing to descend, when he perceived Xit
beneath him, and stung to fury by the derisive laughter and
gestures of the dwarf, who was mightily entertained by what
had taken place, he pulled off his thick flat cap, and threw
it with such force, and so true an aim, that hitting Xit on
the head, it nearly knocked him off his horse.
Greatly ruffled by the indignity thus offered him, Xit, as
soon as he recovered his equilibrium, drew his sword, and
shrieking out to the apprentice that he should pay for his
insolence with his life, bade him come down instantly. But
the youth did not care to comply, but joined in the laughter
of the spectators, all of whom were prodigiously entertained
by the enraged dwarfs cries and gesticulations. At last,
Xit, who was preparing to scale the ladder and attack his
foe, yielded to the solicitations of Lady le Grand, and rode
on, delivering this parting menace : " We shall meet again,
thou craven flat-cap, when I shall not fail to avenge the
insult offered me."
He then quickened his pace, for the laughter and jests of
How tke Prince saw some Notable Personages. 47
the bystanders displeased him, and speedily overtook the
cavalcade. On coming up with it, he found that the damsel,
who was universally saluted as the Princess Josyan, still
maintained her position behind SirBevis,and, indeed, seemed
perfectly reconciled to it, as she was now chatting in a very
amicable manner with her captor. Perhaps her vanity was
a little excited by the effect she evidently produced upon the
lookers-on. This may account for the proffer she voluntarily
made to Sir Bevis, to enact the Princess Josyan on the
morrow — a proffer which the courteous knight readily
accepted, provided the matter could be accommodated with
Lady le Grand, who had a prior claim to the part.
Great was the tribulation of the luckless apprentice who
had thus lost his sweetheart. From his elevated position he
watched her progress down the street, and could perceive
that she manifested no disposition to dismount. But he
soon lost sight of her, since, before reaching the bottom of
English-street, Sir Bevis and his cortege turned off on the
right in the direction of the West-gate.
CHAPTER VI.
WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MASTER RODOMONT BITTERN AND
THE PRINCE.
S soon as the street was clear, Osbert inquired
whether his Highness would proceed as far as
the Bar-gate, but Philip having now seen enough,
declined, and they began to retrace their steps.
The tipplers in the houses were still at their cups. Some of
them, it is true, had staggered to the windows on hearing
Sir Bevis and his cortege pass, but by this time they had got
back to the bottle. However, a party of half-inebriate
guests issued from a large house so suddenly, that the Prince
and Osbert had no time to get out of their way, but were
instantly surrounded
" Ah ! who have we here ? " cried one of these roysterers,
struck by Philip's haughty air. " By the life of the Emperor
Charles V., a Spanish grandee ! Perchance, one of the
Prince's suite."
"You are right, Sir," interposed Osbert; "this noble
cavalier is but newly-arrived at Southampton with his High¬
ness the Prince of Spain, and, having come ashore on busi¬
ness, is now returning to his ship."
" How does the noble cavalier himself?" demanded
the other.
"Call me Don Philip—that will suffice," said the Prince,
haughtily.
" Bezo las manos, Senor Don Felipe," rejoined the other,
taking off his cap. " Your lordship is riaht welcome to
What Passed Between Bittern and the Prince. 49
Southampton. Suffer me to introduce myself to you as
Master Rodomont Bittern, a caballero y hombre de honor,
who will be proud to do your lordship a service. These are
my friends, Nick Simnel and Jack Holiday—both caballeros
like myself, and courageous and haughty as bulls. Be known
to Don Philip, senores. If your lordship will permit us, we
will escort you to the quay."
" Ay, and go on board with his lordship, an he likes oui
company," cried Simnel. " We are in the humour for an
adventure."
" I am ready for aught, save the couch," said Jack Holi¬
day. " Don Philip will find us jolly cocks, that I promise
him."
"Why should not Don Philip, if he be not pressed, enter
worthy Master Tyrrell's house, and ciush a flask of Bour-
deaux ? " said another of the party. " He shall be welcome,
I will answer for it."
" Ah, that he shall, good Master Huttoft," cried the host,
who was standing in his doorway, and heard what was
passing. " He shall have the best my cellar can produce.
I pray you, noble Sir, come in."
" Enter by all means," said Rodomont to the Prince.
"Master Tyrrell is well worth knowing. He is the richest
merchant we have—richer than the Italian merchants Nico-
lini and Guidotti, who dwell near St. John's. Master
Tyrrell is a descendant of the famous brothers Gervase and
Protasius, who founded the hospital of God's House. His
daughter, Constance, is surnamed the Pearl of Southampton.
A ravishing creature, I vow. You will lose your heart the
instant you behold her. Your Andalusian beauties are
nothing to her."
" What do you know of Andalusian beauties, Sir ? " said
Philip.
" By the mass ! a good deal," rejoined Rodomont, signifi¬
cantly ; " as your lordship will guess, when I tell you I have
been at Seville. That is how I knew you for a grandee. I
could not be deceived. Enter, I pray you, and make Master
Tyrrell's acquaintance. You will find his daughter as I have
described her—the fairest creature you ever clapped eyes on.
Not, however, that you will see her to-night, for she is at hei
devotions. She is as pious as Saint Elizabeth. Had I the
go Cardinal Pole.
choice, I would take Constance Tyrrell in preference to out
Queen, whom the Prince, your master, has come hither to
marry—ha ! ha ! "
And the laughter in which he indulged was echoed by his
companions.
"Heaven grant that the Prince may not have raised his
expectations too high on the score of his consort's beauty, or
he is like enough to be disappointed," pursued Rodomont.
" Hath your lordship ever beheld her Majesty ?"
" How could I, Sir ? " replied Philip, " since I have never
set foot in England before this hour. But 1 have seen her
portrait by Sir Antonio More."
" Sir Antonio is a court painter, and has doubtless flattered
her," said Rodomont. "By my beard ! she is as-thin as a
whipping-post, and as sour as verjuice."
This sally was followed by a shout of laughter from the
party.
" Let me impress upon you the necessity of a little caution,
Master Bittern," said Osbert. " You seem to forget that
Don Philip is attached to his Highness's person."
" But he is not going to marry the Queen, therefore the
question of her good or ill looks can have no interest to him,"
laughed Rodomont. " After all, tastes differ, and the Prince
may think her Majesty charming, though I do not."
" Are you allowed to talk thus freely of great personages
in England, Sir ? " demanded Philip, sternly.
" For the present we are, Senor Don Felipe, but there's no
saying what we may come to, now the Prince, your master,
is about to take us in hand, and teach us manners. Ere
long, we shall have a padlock placed upon our mouths, I
make no doubt. They say we are to have the Inquisition,
and an Auto-da-fd once a month to purge us of heresy, and
bring back the stray lambs to the fold. What with the
Prince, your master, and Cardinal Pole, who is shortly ex¬
pected, we are likely to have a pleasant time of it. Familiars
of the Holy Office will become too familiar with us, and after
a few months passed in secret cells, with red-hot pincers and
the rack for recreation, we shall be burnt alive in the
market-places, shrouded from head to foot in a san benito, as
I have myself seen done in your delightful city of Seville."
" You are trying to frighten us by these horrid descriptions
What Passed Between Bittern and the Pri?ice. 51
of red-hot pincers and the rack, Rodomont," said Simnel.
" But it won't do. Such things wili never come to pass in
England."
" Be not too sure of that, Nick," rejoined Bittern. "You
yourself may march at the head of a procession of penitents
to Smithfield before the year is out."
" May be I shall," rejoined Simnel; " but if I am burned
at the stake, you will bear me company. However, I refuse
to believe that the Prince of Spain has any such fell designs
as you calumniously attribute to him. Don Philip will give
us an assurance to the contrary. Doubtless he is in his
Highness's confidence. I pray your lordship to contradict
him. Give him the lie direct."
"Set your mind at ease, Sir," rejoined Philip. "The
Prince is a good Catholic, but that you need not be told. But
even his abhorrence of heresy will not induce him to inter¬
fere with the religious affairs of this realm, which belong, of
right, to the Queen and the Church. You need not fear the
establishment of the Inquisition."
As the words were uttered, a passer-by, who had lingered
to hear what was going forward, exclaimed, " 'Tis he ! " and
then, hurrying on his way, speedily disappeared.
The exclamation troubled Philip, and he felt the necessity
of instant departure.
"I am sorry I cannot longer continue this discourse,
gentlemen," he said, " neither can I accept Master Tyrrell's
hospitality. I bid you all good-night."
And bowing to the party with a dignity that strongly
impressed them, and prevented them from attempting to
accompany him, he walked away with Osbert.
"My mind misgives me," said Rodomont, looking after
him. " Did I not feel sure the Prince must be on board the
' Santissima Trinidada,' I should think this haughty hidalgo
was he. What an air he has ! "
"A princely air, indeed !" exclaimed Simnel.
"Who was it cried "Tis-he?"' demanded Bittern.
" Nay, I know not," returned Jack Holiday. " Whoever
the fellow might be, he went away quickly."
" From the glimpse I caught of him, he looked like the
French Ambassador," observed Huttoft " His Excellency is
in Southampton. I saw him this morning."
S*
Cardinal 1'oie.
"The French Ambassador!" exclaimed Rodomont. "Nay,
then, my suspicions are well founded. Gentlemen, we have
been conversing with the Prince of Spain."
Expressions of incredulity arose from the whole party.
" If it be the Prince of Spain, I would not give much foi
your ears, Rodomont," said Simnel, laughing. " Bethink
you how disrespectfully you spoke of the Queen."
" I but affirmed the truth in saying she was not a beauty,"
rejoined Bittern.
"Ay, but the truth must not be spoken when hei
Majesty's looks are in question," observed Simnel. "You
are in for it, friend Rodomont."
"Bah! I am not afraid," cried Bittern, "The Prince
will be of my opinion when he beholds his royal consort.
Mark what I say. There is not a gallant in the Two
Castiles fonder of a pretty woman than Don Philip—a
pretty woman, d'ye heed? How then will he reconcile
himself to one so much the reverse of beautiful as the
Queen? But we must watch over his Highness's safety. The
French Ambassador is the Prince's worst enemy, and
capable of doing him a mischief. Good-night, worthy
Master Tyrrell. We will have another merry bout to
morrow. Come along, gentlemen—but caution !—caution '
—The Prince must not perceive that he is followed."
With this, they all marched down the street.
CHAPTER VII.
THE DEVOTEE IN THE CHAPEL OF THE DOMUS DEI
NSTEAD of proceeding to the Water-gate, near
which a noisy throng was still assembled, Philip
and his conductor turned off on the left, with the
intention of making their exit from the town by
the South-gate.
Passing through a Gothic archway, they entered a narrow
sombre street, or alley, with old monastic looking buildings
on either side. In this street stood, and still stands, the
Domus Dei, or God's House, a hospital founded in the reign
of Henry III. by two brothers, Gervase and Protasius, mer¬
chants of Southampton, and dedicated by them to Saint
Julian, the patron of travellers. Connected with this hos*
pital, ancient even at the period of our history, was a
beautiful little chapel, where, as we have already mentioned,
the three conspiring lords were buried after their decapita¬
tion.
Vespers were being celebrated within the sacred pile as
Philip and his conductor passed it: perceiving which, the
Prince determined to go in and perform his devotions.
Accordingly, they entered the little edifice.
Dimly lighted by the tapers burning at the altar, its mas¬
sive round pillars, semicircular arches, small windows, and
deeply-recessed doorway could only be imperfectly seen.
Within the chancel, the arch of which was of great beauty,
three black marble flags told where the traitororous nobles
54
Cardinal Pole.
were laid. Here, also side by side, were recumbent statues
of the founders of the fane, sculptured in alabaster.
Except the officiating priest and his assistants, there were
only two female devotees in the chapel, both of whom were
kneeling before the altar.
Philip took a place near them. For some minutes he was
so absorbed in his devotions that he did not notice the person
beside him, further than remarking that she was young;
but as he raised his eyes, he caught sight of a face that at
once riveted his attention. Never had he beheld features so
exquisitely beautiful, or so sweet in expression. No nun
could have a holier or purer look. A tender melancholy
pervaded this angelic countenance, adding an inexpressible
charm to it. The face was seen by the Prince in profile, but
the attitude served to display the classic regularity of the
lineaments, the noble brow, white as murble, the delicately-
chiselled nose, the short upper lip, and rounded chin. The
complexion of the lovely devotee was of dazzling fairness,
which lent additional effect to her resplendent black eyes,
her finely-pencilled brows and dusky and luxuriant tresses.
Her figure was slender, and its perfect symmetry was defined
by her black taffetas dress. From her girdle hung a silver
rosary. A small ruff encircled her swan-like throat, and a
velvet hood fastened to a coverchief lay at the back of her
head.
Totally unconscious of the effect produced by her charms,
she pursued her devotions, and it was only towards the close
•of the service, that she became aware of the Prince's
propinquity, and of the ardent gaze he fixed upon her. The
discovery gave her evident annoyance. Whispering to her
attendant, she arose hastily, with the design of quitting the
chapel. She could not avoid Osbert, who was leaning
against a pillar directly in her way. Young Clinton had
been as much struck by her beauty as the Prince, and with
looks betokening the extent of his admiration, he bowed to
her respectfully as she passed. Coldly returning the salute,
and drawing the hood over her head, she went forth, followed
by her attendant.
Philip did not move till the fair devotee had quitted the
chapel. He then arose, and with undisturbed gravity of
deportment left the building. As he issued into the street,
The Devotee in the Chapel of the Domus Dei.
55
which we have stated was dark and narrow, the two females
could nowhere be discerned. Yet, feeling confident they
must have proceeded towards the main street, he speeded in
that direction. Osbert went with him, but was not sorry to
find, on reaching the archway opening into English Street,
that nothing was to be seen of them.
" Whither can she have gone ? " cried Philip, in a tone of
fierce disappointment; and then, without waiting for an
answer, he added, " But perhaps you know her."
Osbert replied in the negative.
" I did not believe the world contained such a paragon,"
cried Philip. " But to lose her would be intolerable. Stay!
the priest can tell us who she is. Let us go back and
question him."
" Such a step would excite the holy man's suspicions, and
infallibly seal his lips," replied Osbert, "To-morrow I will
obtain information for your Highness."
" But I must be satisfied to-night," cried Philip. " I can¬
not rest till I feel sure I shall behold her again."
" She appears to have made a great impression upon your
Highness," observed Osbert, in a tone that slightly evinced
his dissatisfaction.
" More than I like to confess," rejoined the Prince. " I
am not accustomed to be thwarted. I must find out who
she is, and that without delay."
" I see not how your desire can be gratified," said Osbert.
" We have lost all traces of her for the moment."
" You seem reluctant to do my bidding, Sir," said Philip.
"Are you smitten with her yourself? Take heed ! I will
endure no rival."
" Far be it from me to dream of rivalry with your High¬
ness," rejoined Osbert. " I am ready to execute any orders
you may deign to give me, but I cannot blind myself to the
risk of continuing this quest."
" You are too young to talk of risk, Sir," said Philip.
" Difficulties and dangers only add zest to an affair of this
kind."
" That would be quite true, were I alone concerned in it,"
rejoined Osbert. "But it is risk to your Highness, and not
to myself that I dread. You would not care to have it
known that you have privily visited Southampton to-night.
56
Cardinal Pole.
Yet it may become so, without due caution. Even now
methinks, we are watched. Cast your eyes across the street,
and beneath the gate of yonder convent of Grey Friars you
Will perceive the party of tipsy revellers from whom we have
but just escaped. Unless I am mistaken, they are playing
the spy upon us."
" By Heaven you are right!" cried Philip, looking in the
direction indicated, and remarking the group beneath the
convent gate. " If we go on, we shall have those fellows at
our heels, or they will join us, which will be worse."
"Not a doubt of it," replied Osbert. "And to speak
truth, 1 am not without uneasiness on another score. That
sudden exclamation of a passer-by would seem to indicate
that you were recognised—perhaps by an enemy. If I may
be so bold, I would counsel your instant return to the ship."
" And leave this adventure unfinished!" exclaimed
Philip. " It goes against my inclination. 'Tis not the
custom with us Spaniards to halt on the threshold of a love
affair. But I yield to the prudence of your suggestion."
" Heaven be thanked!" mentally ejaculated Osbert.
" He shall never behold her again, if I can help it."
On this, they once more tracked the dark and narrow
street. In another moment they were near the little chapel,
and Osbert would have hurried on, but the Prince paused to
consider the locality. Possibly the damsel might be still
thereabouts, or she might have entered the hospital which
adjoined the chapel, and indeed was connected with it. A
lateral passage led to a small quadrangular court, and down
this passage Philip went, hoping to make some discovery.
Nor was he this time destined to disappointment. On gain¬
ing the court, he found that the fair object of his search was
advancing towards him with her attendant. She had evi¬
dently just left the hospital, as the door was being closed at
the moment by an ancient porter, carrying a lamp.
"At last I have found you, Madam !" exclaimed the
Prince, springing towards her. "I have looked for you
everywhere in vain. But I thought fortune would not
present such a treasure to my view, only to rob me of it
instantly."
"Let me pass, I entreat you, Sir," cried the terrified
maiden.
The Devotee in the Chapel of the Domus Dei.
57
"Not till I have told you of the passion which your
charms have inspired in my breast," pursued Philip, detain¬
ing her. " You must—you shall hear me."
"Not another word," cried the damsel, haughtily; "I
command you to let me go. You will repent this rudeness.
Know you whom you thus insult ? "
" Pray Heaven she do not tell him who she is !" said
Osbert, internally.
"I know you for the fairest creature I have ever beheld,"
said Philip, "and if I offend you by my speech, blame me
not for it, but rather blame your own charms, which compel
me to give utterance to my feelings. Did I but know your
name, I would at once release you."
" Then learn to your confusion, forward Sir," interposed
the old attendant, " that my young lady is Mistress Constance,
daughter of Master Tyrrell, the rich merchant of English
Street, whom you must know by repute."
" What! the Pearl of Southampton !" exclaimed the
Prince. " By my faith, the title is well bestowed. She does
not belie her reputation."
"Ay, the Pearl of Southampton," cried the old woman.
'And a pearl she is, above all price, I can tell you, and not
to be meddled with by profane gallants like you, when she
is engaged on works of charity."
" What goodly work has your fair mistress been employed
in ? " inquired Philip.
" In ministering to the sick within this hospital," replied
the old woman. " But she is always occupied in good works,
and hath no time for idle vanities. You would do well to
follow her example. When the Prince of Spain arrived in
the harbour this evening, and all the town flocked to the
quay to welcome him, what did my pious darling do but hie
to yon little chapel to return thanks to Heaven for giving
him a safe voyage."
"Indeed !" exclaimed Philip. "The Prince ought to be
much beholden to her. I thank you in his name, Madam,"
he added to Constance.
" You are a Spaniard, then, Sir ? " said Constance, for the
first time raising her eyes towards him.
" One of his Highness's suite," replied Philip. " I am sure
it will delight the Prince that one so fair should take an
5»
Cardinal Pole.
interest in him. I trust you will again remember him in
your prayers."
" I have prayed for him," said Constance—" prayed that
having arrived here in safety, he may escape all danger
from the disaffected—prayed that his marriage with our
Queen may be fraught with happiness to both of them, and
conduce to the welfare of the realm, and the benefit of
religion."
" I rejoice to hear such sentiments fall from your lips. I
have heard few like them since I landed. You wish well to
the Prince of Spain ? "
" I wish well to him because he is to be the Queen's hus¬
band, and she has no more loyal subject than myself. I
could not wish him better than to be the chosen spouse of
so excellent a Princess."
" He might be better pleased, Madam, if her Majesty
resembled you," observed Philip.
" The Prince cannot be of your opinion, Sir," returned
Constance, " for I hear he is singularly devout. He will
require no other graces in her Majesty save those of her
mind and heart."
"You have been rightly informed as to the Prince's zeal
in religious matters, Madam," said Philip. " He is as
sbict as you appear to be; but he is by no means in¬
different to beauty, and I am certain he could not behold
you unmoved."
"You do him wrong, Sir," said Constance. "The Queen
must now exclusively occupy his heart. A thought of any
other would be sinful, and a pious prince would never
indulge such a thought."
"A very pertinent remark. I trust he may profit by it,"
muttered Osbert.
" The sin being involuntary, would lie lightly on his con¬
science," observed Philip. "But I must prevail on the
Prince to mention your name to the Queen. She ought to
be made acquainted with your merits, and might, possibly,
find some place for you near her royal person."
" I pray you, Sir, do not. I have no desire to emerge from
my present obscurity. But for my father, I should embrace
the life of a cloister. That is my real vocation."
"It must not be. Madam !" exclaimed Osbert, unable to
The Devotee in the Chapel of the Domus Dei. 59
restrain himself. "You would do a wrong to society to
deprive it of its chief ornament."
"You see, Madam, that this gentleman is as much opposed
to the step as I myself should be," observed Philip. "You
must not quit a world you are so well calculated to adorn.
No, no ; you must be one of her Majesty's attendants—you
must grace a court."
" I grace a court!" exclaimed Constance. " I am not fit
for it. But you are mocking me, Sir."
" By Saint Iago I am not! " cried Philip. " I was never
more serious in my life. I will prove to you I am in
earnest "
" Nay, I desire no such proof, Sir," interrupted Constance,
alarmed by his impassioned tone. "I must go. Do not
detain me. I have stayed too long already discoursing with
a stranger."
" It will be your own fault if I continue a stranger to you,
sweet Constance," said Philip. " Rather than you should
doubt my sincerity, 1 will declare myself."
"Hold!" exclaimed Osbert. "Pardon me," he added to
the Prince ; " I feel it my duty to interpose."
" It would avail me nothing to know your name and
quality, Sir," said Constance. "Henceforth we must be
entire strangers to each other."
" Not so !—not so! sweet Constance!" cried the Prince.
"Will you not suffer me to attend you to your home?"
' I am too well known to need an escort," she rejoined.
"Nay, I am peremptory," she added, seeing the Prince
meant to accompany her. "You will not, I am sure, dis¬
oblige me. Come, Dorcas. Fare you well, Sir."
"Adieu, sweet Constance !" exclaimed the Prince; adding,
as she disappeared with her attendant, "notwithstanding
your interdiction, we shall meet again."
CHAPTER VIII.
OF THE MURTHEROUS ATTACK MADE UPON THE PRINCE IN
THE COURT OF THE HOSPITAL.
&f? ONSIDERING that I have been little more than
an hour in England, I have employed my time
not unprofitably," remarked the Prince, gaily.
" If your Highness was in search of an adven¬
ture, you have certainly been lucky in meeting with one,"
observed Osbert. " But I presume you are now content,
and disposed to go on board."
" Presently," replied Philip. " But I must pause for a
moment to think over the interview—to recall her words,
and the music of her voice. She has cast a spell upon
me."
" So it would seem," muttered Osbert. " Hah! she is
here again !" he exclaimed, as Constance and her attendant
suddenly re-entered the court.
"Returned so soon!" exclaimed Philip, springing joyfully
towards the damsel. Then remarking her agitation, he
added, "But what has happened? Have you come to
claim our escort ? "
" I am come to warn you," she replied, trembling. "Your
life is in danger."
" The danger is welcome, since it procures me the happi¬
ness of seeing you again," said the Prince.
"Oh! trifle not thus," she rejoined. "'Tis no imaginary
peril. Listen to me, I beseech you. There are some evil-
minded men in the street, whose des'gn, I am certain, is to
Of the Murtherous Attack upon the Prince. 6x
set upon you as you come forth. They have weapons in
their hands, and their talk left me no doubt as to their
sanguinary purpose."
"But why should they lie in wait for me?" rejoined
Philip, carelessly. " However, be that as it may, I am
infinitely obliged to them for proving to me that you are
really interested in my safety."
" How could I fail to be, when I learnt from some words
that fell from these miscreants, what I might have conjec¬
tured before, that you are no less exalted a personage than
the Prince of Spa:n ? "
" In what way did the villains obtain the information ? "
cried Philip. "It must be mere guess-work on their part.
But make yourself easy, sweet Constance. They will not
dare to assault me; or, if they do, I shall know how to
defend myself. Besides, I am not alone. This gentleman,
Master Osbert Clinton, I make no doubt, is a tolerable
swordsman, and will help me to give a good account of the
rogues."
"Your Highness may depend on me," said Osbert.
"But you must not place yourself in this jeopardy. The
street is dark and lonely, and favourable to a murtherous
attempt of this kind. Already, more than one foul deed
has been perpetrated within it."
" The wretches are lying in ambush ready to attack you
unawares," said Constance. " I saw them extinguish the
only lamp in the street, and then retire behind a buttress in
the wall."
" By Holy Mary! my young mistress speaks the truth,"
said old Dorcas, her teeth chattering with fright. " I
counted the villains. There are six of them."
"Then they will be three to two,' rejoined the Prince,
lightly. • We can manage that odds, eh, Master Clinton ? "
"Your Highness must not thus expose yourself," said
Constance. " It will be impossible to escape them. I pray
you to be ruled by me, and enter the hospital till a guard
be procured."
" I am well content to do so, if you will tarry with me,"
answered Philip. "But who will bring the guard?"
" Be that task mine," cried Osbert. " As soon as your
Highness is in safety, I will fly to procure assistance."
5
62
Cardinal Pole.
"Nay, you must not go, Sir," said Constance. <<rIhc
peril will be as great to you as to the Prince himself. You
will only throw away your life in the attempt. I wiil
summon the watch. I shall run no risk."
" She will, at least, pity me if I fall—I will go ! " mentally
ejaculated Osbert.
" I will procure your Highness instant admittance to the
hospital," said Constance, " and then "
" Nay, you must bear me company, or I will not enter,"
interrupted Philip.
Osbert waited till they had nearly reached the door of the
hospital, and then, drawing his sword, rushed down the
passage leading to the street.
" Ah ! rash young man !" exclaimed Constance, in accents
of pity which might have gratified Osbert if he could have
heard them. " He is rushing to certain destruction."
Scarcely were the words uttered, when the clashing of
steel was heard without, accompanied by other sounds,
proving that a desperate conflict was going on.
" I must leave you, Constance, and fly to his assistance,"
cried the Prince, plucking his rapier from its sheath.
"No," she rejoined, holding him. "Your life is too pre¬
cious to be thus sacrificed—too precious to the Queen."
" I will strike down these assassins in her name," rejoined
Philip. "I am proof against their blades. The son of
Charles V. is not destined to perish thus obscurely."
"'Twere far better you sought an asylum here; but, if go
you will, may Heaven and all good saints guard you !"
And as she relinquished her hold of him, and sought to
enter the hospital, she found the door was fastened.
Perceiving this, old Dorcas knocked against it, calling out
lustily, " Within! I say, within!" But there being no
answer to the summons, she added despairingly, " Deaf old
Absalom, the porter, must have gone to bed. What will
become of us ? "
Meanwhile, the Prince had quickly divested himself of
his cloak, and, wrapping part of it round his ueft arm, leaving
the other half hanging down, he flew to the passage, rapier
in hand. On reaching it, he found it occupied by Osbert
and his assailants. The young man was defending himself
like a lion against his opponents, one of whom he had
Of the Murther oils Attack upon (he Prince. 6.3
already disabled, but he was compelled to retreat; his
position being such, that for the moment the Prince could
render him no assistance. But the foremost of the assassin
band caught sight of Philip, and shouting out to his com¬
rades,—
" There stands the accursed Spanish Prince who would
enslave us ! We have him now—we have him !" Where¬
upon, incited by the words, they attacked Osbert so furiously
that they drove him down the passage.
" Ah ! why do I find your Highness here ? " cried young
Clinton, despairingly, as the Prince joined him, and he^ed
him to keep off his assailants.
"You hear what he says, comrades," cried the leader of
the band, a formidable-looking ruffian in a buff jerkin and
steel cap, who looked like a disbanded soldier. " I was
not mistaken, you see. 'Tis the Prince in person. 'Tis the
bloodthirsty tyrant who would rob us of our liberties, and
place us under a foreign yoke; who would force us by fagot
and fire and other severities, conceived in hell, to return to
the Romish idolatries we have abjured. But he has been
delivered into our hands ere the wicked devices of his heart
can be accomplished. It is Heaven's will that he should
die, and in putting him to death we shall earn the gratitude
of our country."
"Besides the hundred rose-nobles each that we are to
have for the deed," cried one of his comrades.
"I would do the deed for nothing," shouted another of
the band, " for it will redound to our credit. So have at
him!"
" Harkye, young Sir," cried the leader of the band, ad¬
dressing Osbert. "We do not desire your life—nay, we
would willingly spare you. Our sole object is to crush this
spawn of hell. Retire, and leave him to our justice."
" Think you I will stand tamely by and see you execute
your ruthless purpose?" cried young Clinton. "No; I
will defend the Prince to my last gasp."
"Your blood be upon your own head, then," rejoined the
ruffian. "Upon them, comrades ! Strike, and spare not."
"Thou, at least, will never be executioner," cried the
Prince.
And as the ruffian made a desperate lunge at him, he
64
Cardinal Pole.
dexterously caught his sword in the hanging part of his
cloak, and returning with a full thrust, transfixed his antago¬
nist with his rapier.
" This comes of Spanish practices," groaned the wretch,
as he fell to the ground. " Had he fought like an English¬
man, without the cloak, I had killed him. Revenge me,
comrades," he added, with his last breath.
" I have done thee too much honour in killing thee, vile
caitiff," cried Philip, spurning the body with his foot.
The death of the leader caused a momentary pause in the
assault. But determined to make sure of their prey, three
of the ruffians now attaclaed the Prince, leaving the fourth
engaged with Osbert. But for his activity and address it
might now have fared ill with Philip. His cloak saved him
from many a deadly thrust aimed at his breast, and dis¬
tracted his assailants. Strange to say, he was entirely un¬
touched, though all three of his opponents had felt the point
of his weapon. He tried to separate them, but without suc¬
cess. They were too wary to be caught by the stratagem.
In this way, he was driven back towards the door of the
hospital, before which stood Constance and old Dorcas,
unable to gain admittance, and filling the court with cries
for help. Presently at this juncture, and as if to afford him
a means of retreat, the door of the hospital was thrown open
by old Absalom, the porter, who held a lamp in his hand,
and was shaking with terror. While stepping nimbly back¬
wards in the hope of passing through the docrway, Philip
encountered some obstacle, and fell, thus lying at the mercy
of his opponents.
In another moment all had been over with him, if Con¬
stance had not heroically thrown herself before him, and the
ruffians, having some touch of manhood in their breasts, for¬
bore to strike. With terrible oaths, however, they ordered
her to stand aside, but, with unshaken resolution, she main¬
tained her place, and they were preparing to execute their
fell purpose in spite of her, when a loud clatter in the pas¬
sage leading to the street warned them that succour was at
hand, and made them pause. The next moment Rodomont
Bittern and his friends, shouting and flourishing their swords,
and accompanied by two or three torch-bearers, rushed into
the court.
Of the Murthcrous Attack upon the Prince. 65
" A Rodomont to the rescue !" roared Bittern. " Where
is Don Philip ? Heaven be praised, we are not too late ! "
he exclaimed, perceiving the Prince, who by this time had
regained his feet. " Down with your swords, villains ! " he
added to the ruffians. " Down with them instantly, or we
will hack you to minced-meat."
"Know you whom you aid?" cried one of the men,
regarding him fiercely. "It is the Prince of Spain—the
arch-foe of England. But for this foolish damsel we had
already destroyed him ! "
"Soh! you unblushingly confess your villany?" rejoined
Rodomont. " A precious rascal, truly ! "
" Ay, and I should have exulted in the deed, if I had
accomplished it," retorted the man. "A day will come
when you will regret this interference. Think not to detain
me."
" Stay him ! kill him ! suffer him not to escape ! " shouted
Rodomont to his companions.
But, in spite of the many weapons directed against him,
the man fought his way desperately towards the passage,
and was close upon it, when a cut on the head staggered
him, and he was captured and disarmed. He was followed
by his two comrades, both of whom were more successful
than himself, and effected a retreat. The ruffian who had
been engaged with Osbert likewise escaped, having broken
away amid the confusion caused by the arrival of Rodomont
and his party. Some pursuit was made after the miscreants,
but it was ineffectual.
No sooner was Philip freed from his assailants, than he
turned to express his gratitude to Constance.
" I owe my life to you," he said ; " nay, more, you have
risked your own life to preserve mine. How can I requite
you ? "
"By forgetting that you have ever beheld me," she
replied.
" That were impossible," he rejoined. " Ask something
that I can perform."
" I desire nothing," she returned; " and, indeed, I do not
merit vour gratitude. It is the hand of Heaven that has
guarded your Highness, not mine—guarded you for the
Queen, to whom your safety is dearer than her own life, and
66
Cardmal Pole.
who might not have survived your loss. I must now retire
for a short space, to compose myself ere I reiurn home.
Once more, I implore you to forget me. Farewell for
ever!"
And without another word, and in spite of Philip's
appealing looks, she entered the hospital with Dorcas.
" It would be well if I could forget her," thought Philip,
as Constance disappeared ; " but that is beyond my power.
I could not tear her from my heart without a pang greater
than I could endure. Yet it would be a crime to trouble
the peace of one so pure and holy-minded. No matter! I
should be wretched without her. Come what will, we must
ineel again."
CHAPTER IX.
derrick carver.
ROM these thoughts he was recalled to what was
going od by Rodomont, who called out, " Here
is one of the murtherous villains who attacked
your Highness. Will it please you to question
him ? "
Philip turned at the words, and by the light of the
torches which were held towards him, was enabled to
examine the captive. The man, whose hands were tied
behind his back by a belt, was of middle height, and rather
powerful frame, arid seemed to be decently attired; but his
garments were sullied with blood, which flowed from several
bodily wounds, as well as from a deep gash across the
temple. His head was uncovered, and his matted black
locks were dabbled in gore. His features, which were
strongly marked, and remarkably stern in expression, were
of a ghastly hue; but notwithstanding the smarting of his
wounds and evident faintness from loss of blood, his looks
were resolute and his black eyes blazed fiercely. He did
not quail in the least before the searching and terrible glance
fixed upon him by the Prince.
" Do any of you know this man ?" demanded Philip,
after regarding him stedfastly for a short space.
" By the body of Saint Alphonso, which reposes at
Zamora! I should blush to avow myself acquainted with
the felon hound," rejoined Rodomont. " But luckily I have
never seen him before; and everyone else appears to be in
the same predicament. How art thou called, fellow ?
68
Cardinal Pole.
Speak out, or the thumb-screw shall force the truth from
thee."
"Torture would not make me speak," replied the man,
firmly. "But I have no desire to conceal my name. It
will profit you little to know it. I am called Derrick
Carver, and I am of Brightelmslone, in Sussex."
" Derrick, thou art most appropriately named Carver,"
rejoined Rodomont; " but instead of carving his Highness,
as was thine atrocious design, thou shalt thyself be carved
by the knife of the executioner."
"By whom wert thou instigated to this attempt ?" de¬
manded Philip. " Some greater hand than thine own is
manifest in the design."
"A far greater hand," rejoined Derrick Carver. "The
hand of Heaven is manifest in it.''
" Deceive not thyself, insensate villain," rejoined Rodo
mont. " 'Tis the Prince of Darkness who hath inspired
the black design. He has deserted thee, as he deserts all
his servants."
" I am no bond slave of Satan, but a faithful servant of
the Most High," said Carver. " It was Heaven's wish that
I should fail; but though my sword has been turned aside
there are others left that shall find the tyrant out."
"There is clearly some conspiracy on foot," said Osbert,
who by this time had joined the Prince. " I have my own
suspicions at its author, which I will presently communicate
to your Highness. But that these are hired assassins is
certain. By their own showing, they were to have a
hundred rose-nobles each for the deed."
"Said I not right that Beelzebub was at the bottom of
it?" cried Rodomont. " A hundred rose-nobles ! Is that
the sum for which thou hast bartered thy soul, thou
damnable Derrick ? Wert thou to be paid in French coin—
ha! Carver?"
"Your suspicions tend the same way as mine own, I
perceive, Sir," observed Osbert.
" Mine tend towards the French An/>assador, M. de
Noailles," rejoined Rodomont. " I speak it openly. I'll
be sworn this attempt is his excellency's contrivance."
"Like enough," said Philip. "But the truth must be
wrung from that villa n's lips."
Derrick Carver.
69
" Nothing can be extorted from me, seeing I have nothing
to confess," rejoined Derrick Carver, boldly. " I cannot
answer for the motives that actuated those engaged with
me, but my own were righteous in intent. I meant to free
the Protestant Church from its deadliest enemy, and my
country from subjection to Spain. I have failed; but, I say
again, others will not fail, for there are many to take my
place. The blood of the saints will not be shed in vain,
but will cry out incessantly for vengeance."
" Peace, blasphemer !" exclaimed Rodomont, " or we
will have thy tongue plucked forth."
" Hear me out, and then deal with me as you list," said
Derrick Carver. " I am no hired assassin. Scarce half an
hour ago I was lamenting the perilous condition of the
Church and the realm, when I heard that the enemy of both
was in Southampton, almost unattended. Those who told
me this designed to slay him, and I unhesitatingly joined
them, without fee or promise of reward, being moved
thereto, as I deemed, by a divine impulse. That is all I
have to say."
" Let him be kept in some place of security till he can be
further interrogated," said the Prince. " And let the clothes
of the villain who fell by my hand be searched to see
whether there are any papers about him that may lead to
the discovery of his employer."
" It shall be done," replied Rodomont. " As to this
Derrick Carver, he shall be clapped in the dungeon below
the Bar-gate, the strongest prison in Southampton, and if we
have to put him to the question, ordinary and extraordinary,
we will have the truth from him. But your Highness may
take my word for it, 'tis a French design."
" 1 thank you for your zeal, good Master Bittern," said
Philip, " and in consideration of the services you have
rendered me, I am content to overlook the freedom of
speech in which you indulged a little while since. But I
must enjoin you to be more careful in future."
" I shall not fail," replied Rodomont, bowing respectfully.
" My excuse is, that I knew not whom I was addressing.
Your Highness may ever count on my loyalty and devotion,"
he added, placing his hand upon his heart.
At this juncture the priest, wLo had officiated in the little
7°
Cardinal Pole.
chapel of the Domus Dei during Philip's visit to it, entered
the court with his assistants, and after inclining h.mself
reverently before the Prince, proceeded to congratulate him
on his miraculous preservation.
Replying in suitable terms, Philip declared he was so
fully convinced of Heaven's interposition in his behalf, that
he desired at once to offer up thanks for his providential
deliverance, and prayed the holy father to accompany him
to the chapel for that purpose.
The priest readily assented, and led the way to the sacred
edifice, into which, after a brief delay, Philip, with Osbert
and the rest of the assemblage, including even Derrick
Carver, were admitted.
Again the tapers were lighted at the altar, and again the
Prince knelt down before it; but this time there was no
fair devotee beside him to distract his thoughts, and his
prayers were full of fervour and gratitude.
It was a strange and solemn scene, and impressed even
Rodomont and his companions, whom recent events had
served to sober.
The demeanour of Derrick Carver was stern and unmoved;
but when the priest uttered a heartfelt prayer for the
Prince's deliverance, he could not repress a groan. As
Osbert looked round at this moment, he fancied he could
discern, within the deep recess of the doorway, the figure
of Constance Tyrrell. If it were so, however, she had
vanished before the others quitted the chapel.
His devotions over, Philip arose, and in taking leave of
the priest, promised the holy man an offering to Saint
Julian, the patron saint of the chapel. He then bowed to
the others, and declining further attendance, passed forth
with Osbert, and proceeding to the quay, entered the boat
which was waiting for him, and returned to the "Santissima
Trinidada."
At the same time Derrick Carver was conveyed by Rodo¬
mont and the others to the Bar-gate, and locked up in one
of the gloomiest cells of its subterranean dungeon.
CHAPTER X.
THE MEETING AT THE GUILDHALL.
O suspicion whatever had been entertained of the
Prince's absence from the ship. He was supposed
to be alone in the state-cabin, where, as we know,
the Count D'Egmont had been left as his repre¬
sentative, and, after the strict orders given to that effect,
the Count remained entirely undisturbed. As time wore on,
and midnight drew near, D'Egmont began to feel uneasy, and
it was a relief to him when, shortly afterwards, the Prince
appeared with Osbert.
" I fear you must be fatigued with waiting for me, Count,"
said Philip, as soon as the usher had retired. "I have
stayed longer on shore than I intended."
"I trust your Highness has been amused," observed
D'Egmont, assisting the Prince to take off his mantle.
"Heavens ! what do I see?" he exclaimed. "The cloak is
cut in pieces."
" Not unlikely," replied Philip, laughing. " It has
warded off more than one deadly thrust. Your cloak has
done me good service, Count. Without it, Queen Mary
might have wanted a husband, and the Emperor an heir to
his dominions."
" Your Highness has acted rashly and unwisely in thus
exposing yourself," cried D'Egmont. " Recollect how much
hangs upon your life. The destinies of the world would be
changed if aught befel you. The saints have guarded you
^t this moment of peril, and will continue to guard you,
72
Cardinal Pole.
but it is tempting Heaven to jeopardise your safety unne¬
cessarily."
" You assume that I have acted rashly, D'Egmont," re¬
joined Philip, "but I did not provoke the conflict. Set
upon by assassins, I was compelled to defend my life.
Thanks to your cloak and to my own right hand, I have
come off without a scratch."
" I do not presume to ask for particulars," said the Count.
" But I trust ycu have not been recognised. If so, your
secret visit to the town will be known to all within it to¬
morrow, and will assuredly be reported to the Queen."
" I have thought of that," rejoined the Prince. " Pre¬
cautions must be taken lest any idle tale be told her
Majesty. No tidings of the occurrence can reach her to¬
night, and at daybreak you shall convey a letter to her,
wherein I will inform her that I landed privily with the
design of hastening to Winchester to throw myself at her
feet, when my purpose was prevented by this untoward
circumstance. Osbert Clinton shall accompany you. Hav¬
ing been with me at the time of the attack, he will be able
to answer any questions the Queen may put to him relative
to it"
"Your Highness will be pleased to give me my lesson
previously," remarked Osbert. " I presume I must say
nothing of Constance Tyrrell ? "
" Nothing but what will recommend her to the Queen,"
rejoined Philip. " Her Majesty will be pleased to learn that
the damsel preserved my life by stepping between me and
the weapons of the assassins."
" And did she so ? " inquired D'Egmont.
"Ay, in good sooth," returned Philip; "and it was worth
the risk I ran to be so protected. Constance Tyrrell is the
fairest creature my eyes ever lighted on. Her charms have
completely enthralled me."
" Then let me counsel your Highness to shake off the
fascination as speedily as possible," said D'Egmont, gravely.
" It was an unlucky chance that threw the temptress in your
way at this juncture."
"Lucky or not, I shall not relinquish her," rejoined
Philip. "Were you to preach to me as energetically as
Father de Castro, you would produce pq effect, so you may
The Meeting at the Guildhall.
73
spare your breath. And now to prepare the letter to the
Queen."
So saying, he withdrew into an inner chamber, from which
he presently emerged with the letter, sealed with a broad
seal, and tied with a silken thread.
" This for her Majesty's own hands,'' he observed, with a
smile, while delivering it to D'Egmont. '• Be it your
business to obtain an audience before any messenger from
Southampton can reach her. All will then go well. As
you serve me discreetly," he added, significantly to Osbert,
" so shall you prosper."
With this he dismissed them, and summoning his groom
of the chamber, prepared to retire to rest.
In obedience to the Prince's commands, Count D'Egmont,
accompanied by Osbert and a small train of attendants,
went ashore at an early hour in the morning, and as soon as
horses could be procured, started for Winchester.
A glorious day dawned upon Southampton. A morning
gun, fired from the batteries of the castle, awoke the slum¬
bering town into sudden animation, while another gun from
the English admiral's ship had a similar effect upon the
crews of the combined fleets studding the smooth waters.
Men could be seen on the decks, or amidst the rigging,
actively employed in decorating the vessels with banners
and streamers. Hundreds of boats came ashore to obtain
fresh meat, bread, fruit, vegetables, and milk; and the
quays, which were speedily thronged, became a perfect
Babel. Horses and mules, bearing heavy panniers, laden
with provisions, crossed the drawbridges, and were soon
sent back for fresh stores, the supply being far from equal to
the demand.
In the town all was bustle and excitement. The church
bells began to peal joyously, and the streets were soon
thronged w th townsfolk, clad in holiday attire. But there
was considerable misgiving amongst those who were aware
of the occurrence of the previous night. At an early
hour the mayor and aldermen repaired to the Guildhall,
which, as we have previously mentioned, occupied the
interior of the Bar-gate, and here they found the Earl of
Arundel, Lord Steward of the Queen's Household, the
Maiquis of Winchester, Lord High Treasurer, and other
74
Cardinal Pole.
noblemen, who had met to investigate the attempt upon the
Prince's; life, and to consider the measures necessary to be
adopted to ensure his Highness's safety on his disembark¬
ation.
Nothing, it appeared on inquiry, had been found upon
Derrick Carver; but on the body of the man slain by
Philip, a letter, written in the French language, was dis¬
covered, which, though very cautiously worded, bore evident
reference to the dark transaction. The plan, no doubt, had
been precipitated by the recognition of the Prince during
his secret visit to the town. Diligent, but hitherto fruitless,
search had been made for the four other ruffians engaged in
the attack. These daring miscreants being yet at large, it
was possible some further attempt might be made, and no
precaution, said the Earl of Arundel, who presided over the
meeting, must be neglected to ensure the Prince's safety.
The guard must be doubled, and persons of assured loyalty
must be placed near his person, while the slightest attempt
at outbreak or commotion must be instantly repressed.
" It would have been a lasting disgrace to the country,"
continued the Earl, " if the Prince whom our Queen has
chosen as her spouse, and whom we are all bound to love,
honour, and defend, had been basely assassinated on setting
foot on our shores, and we may be thankful that we have
been spared that foul reproach—thankful, also, that the
design was not conceived by an Englishman. But for the
present, for reasons which will be apparent to you all, a veil
must be thrown over the mysterious occurrence. Out of
these walls none of you will speak of it. The preservation
of public tranquility necessitates this caution. Some
rumours of the attempt may be bruited abroad, but it will
be best to discredit them. Doubtless the Prince desires to
keep his nocturnal visit to the town secret. Nothing, there¬
fore, must be publicly said of it. This you will carefully
observe. Bear in mind, also, that you will have many
Spaniards in your town to-day. They are a fiery nation,
easily roused to anger, and if this unlucky affair be talked
about, they may resent it, and quarrels and bloodshed will
ensue. It is the Queen's desire that all who come with her
destined consort be cordially welcomed. As loyal subjects
I ana sure you will cany out her wishes." '
The Meeting at the Guildhall.
75
The mayor and the town authorities having promised
compliance with his lordship's instructions, the meeting
broke up.
Before leaving the Bar-gate, however, the Earl of Arundel
desired to see the prisoner. Accordingly, he was conducted
by the mayor to the subterranean dungeon, where, in a dark
and noisome cell, the floor of which was humid with the
drippings from the stone walls, they found the miserable
wretch stretched upon a few trusses of straw. His wounds
had been bound up, but little beyond had been done for his
comfort. Pained by the light of the lamp flashed upon him
by the officer in attendance on the visitors, he tried to turn
aside his head, but ineffectually.
" Raise him, that I may look at him," said the Earl of
Arundel to the officer.
The execution of the order gave the poor wretch so much
pain that he could not repress a groan. But though he was
suffering excruciating agony, his courage did not desert him,
and his answers to the interrogations put to him showed
unfaltering resolution. Threats of torture could wring
nothing from him, and he sternly refused to betray his
accomplices.
" I gave no orders to have his wounds dressed," said the
mayor. " By whom hath he been tended, Piers ? "
" By Master Malwood, the chirurgeon," replied the
officer.
" I thank him not for his care," said the prisoner. " Had
he let me be, I had ere this escaped man's malice."
" He speaks the truth, an please your worship," observed
Piers. " Master Malwood declared, that if left to himself,
the poor wretch would die before the morning."
" But who sent for Master Malwood, answer me that,
Sirrah ? " demanded the mayor.
"Nay, I am not to blame, your worship," rejoined Piers,
humbly. " The chirurgeon was sent by Mistress Constance
Tyrrell, at her proper charge."
" This is the second ill turn she hath done me," said
Derrick Carver. " But for her, the idolatrous tyrant had
not escaped me, and now she preserves me for a lingering
death."
" Thou art like the wild beast, who would tear the hand
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put forth to succour him,:' cried the mayor, in disgust.
"Will it please your good lordship to question him
further ? "
"Not now," returned the Earl of Arundel. "Who is
this Mistress Constance Tyrrell of whom he has just
spoken ? "
"The daughter of one of our wealthiest merchants"
replied the mayor. "A very pious damsel, and eve»
engaged in acts of charity."
"Is she a heretic?" demanded the Earl.
" Not so, my lord; she is a most zealous Catholic, and it
is most like she will enter a nunnery," replied the mayor.
" Accursed be she, then !" cried Derrick Carver. " Had
I known this, I would have resisted the chirurgeon."
" Let us hence, my good lord," cried the mayor. " If he
continues these blasphemies, we shall have the walls fall
upon us and crush us."
"Before your worship goes, I would fain know whether I
may admit Mistress Constance Tyrrell to the prisoner," said
Piers. "She hath asked to see him, but I would not grant
the request till I had your worship's sanction."
" Let her not come near me," cried Derrick Carver.
" Her presence will trouble me."
" For that very reason she shall have admittance to thee,"
rejoined the mayor. "She hath helped to cure thy body—
may she now help to save thy soul!"
"I need not her aid," rejoined Derrick Carver. "She
hath more need of my teaching than I have of hers."
" If I thought thou wouldst taint her with thy heresies, 1
would keep her from thee," said the mayor. " But I have
no such fear. Admit her when she will, Piers,"
And he quitted the cell with the EatL
CHAPTER XI.
of philip's public disembarkation at Southampton.
EFORE noon the preparations for the Prince's
reception were complete. All the houses in
High-street had been hung with carpets and costly
stuffs, and otherwise decorated. From the
Water-gate to the porch of Holyrood Church, where high
mass was to be performed for the Prince, the street was kept
clear by archers and arquebusiers fully equipped, and
drawn up on either side, their steel caps and breastplates
glittering in the brilliant sunshine.
By-and-by a grand cavalcade of richly-apparelled nobles,
well mounted, and followed by long trains of esquires and
pages wearing their liveries, rode towards the quay. Notice¬
able amongst these were the Earls of Shrewsbury, Derby,
and Sussex, but the personage who attracted most attention
was the Duke of Norfolk.
This venerable peer, whose long confinement in the
Tower, commencing at the latter part of the reign of Henry
VIII., and extending throughout that of his son, Edward
VI., had neither broken his spirit nor impaired his bodily
vigour, rode a high-spirited charger, which he managed with
all the address and grace of a youthful cavalier. Norfolk's
attire was of almost regal magnificence, being of purple
velvet, edged with miniver, and richly embroidered, and his
charger was trapped in cloth of gold, of red and yellow
sheen. Behind him rode eighteen pages, each mounted on
a handsome courser, and each clad in cloth of gold.
6
78
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After the Duke of Norfolk and his attendants had ridden
by, six mounted trumpeters, with the royal badge on their
scarlet surcoats, came on, and made the welkin ring with
the din of their silver clarions. After the trumpeters walked
a troop of lacqueys, sumptuously attired in silk and velvet.
Then came other nobles and gentlemen of the train, all
superbly mounted, and vying with each other in the
splendour of their apparel, and the number of their pages
and esquires.
Next came a band of minstrels playing upon tambours
and rebecs. Then more lacqueys in the royal liveries, and
after them Sir Edward Hastings, Master of the Horse, who
was followed by two grooms leading a Spanish jennet,
caparisoned in cloth of silver, the bridal, poitral, and saddle
being studded with silver roses. This beautiful animal had
been sent by the Queen for her intended consort.
Next came Sir Robert Rochester, Comptroller, and after
him rode the Marquis of Winchester and the Earl of
Arundel. Each of these noblemen was magnificently
attired, and followed by a long train of attendants. Then
came a mounted guard, preceding the town authorities, who
marched two abreast, this part of the procession being
closed by the mayor on horseback.
Passing through the Water-gate, on the summit of which
the royal standard now floated, the whole of the splendid
cavalcade crossed the drawbridge, and proceeded to that
part of the quay where it was intended the disembarkation
should take place. A vast concourse had here assembled,
but a wide space near the water was kept clear by the
guard, and within this the procession drew up.
It was now high tide, and close to the strand lay the
Queen's barge, gorgeously decorated, and having a broad
banner embroidered with the arms of England on the
stern.
The Earl of Arundel with the Duke of Norfolk, the
Marquis of Winchester, and the principal nobles, having
dismounted, entered this barque, and were immediately rowed
by two banks of oarsmen to the Prince's ship. In front of
the royal barge stood six trumpeters. Four other gilded
barges followed. The course of these gorgeous barques was
watched with momently-increasing interest by the thousands
Of Philip's Public Disembarkation at Southampton. 79
of spectators on the quays, on the town walls, and on other
points of observation.
With her decks crowded with arquebusiers in their full
accoutrements, and banners floating from her turrets, the
"Santissima Trinidada" made a most gallant show, exciting
the wonder and admiration of all who gazed upon her.
Her companions on the right and left were likewise
splendidly decorated, and, indeed, every vessel within sight
fluttered with banners and streamers.
As the royal barge approached the Prince's ship, loud
fanfares were sounded by the trumpeters, and immediately
several officials in rich habiliments, and bearing white
wands, appeared at the head of the stairs. On gaining
the deck, the Earl of Arundel and the other nobles were
conducted with the utmost ceremony to Philip, whom they
found surrounded by the Dukes of Alva and Medina Celi,
Don Ruy Gomez, and the rest of the grandees composing
the Prince's suite.
On this occasion Philip had laid aside his customary
black habiliments, and wore a doublet and hose of crimson
silk, with a robe of cloth of gold. His boots were decked
with golden strings, and bordered with pearls. All the
grandees forming his entourage were dressed with extra¬
ordinary magnificence, and made a most splendid display.
Philip received the English nobles with the greatest
courtesy, and being informed that the Earl of Arundel was
the bearer to him, from her Majesty, of the insignia of the
most noble Order of the Garter, he immediately bowed l'A
head, and while the collar was passed over his neck by the
Earl, the Duke of Norfolk buckled on the garter. When
this ceremony had been performed, and an interchange of
lormal salutations had taken place between the English
nobles and the Spanish grandees, the Prince was conducted
to the royal barge, the English nobles entering it with him.
The Spanish grandees, with various officials, gentlemen, and
pages, in attendance upon the Prince, went ashore in th^
other boats.
On the part of the quay reserved for the disembarkation,
a rich Turkey carpet had been laid, and upon this stood
four henchmen in parti-coloured attire of crimson velvet and
yellow silk, sustaining an embroidered canopy of red
8o
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damask, fringed with golden thread. The pages, esquires,
and other officials having first landed, the royal barge was
brought close to the strand, and a railed plank, covered
with striped cloth, being laid upon it, offered an easy
passage to the Prince, whose deportment as he slowly
traversed it, was singularly haughty and majestic.
On the instant that Philip stepped ashore a royal salute
was fired from the castle batteries, the roar being prolonged
by every gun in the English fleet. At the same time
vociferous acclamations arose from the spectators.
" Heaven save your Highness !—welcome to England !"
exclaimed a voice from amidst a group near the canopy.
The voice sounded familiar to Philip, and glancing in the
direction of the speaker, he recognised Rodomont Bittern,
who, with his friends, had managed to obtain a position
with the mayor and the town authorities. Rodomont's
exclamation, uttered in a loud voice, and with unmis¬
takable heartiness, found many an echo. Pleased by the
cordiality of the welcome, Philip bowed graciously around,
and in so doing addressed a slight smile of recognition to
Rodomont.
A brief pause now ensued, but as soon as the grandees
had landed, and ranged themselves behind him, Philip
drew his sword, holding it aloft till he got beneath the
canopy, when ne again stood still, and returned the blade
to the scabbard. This action surprised all the lookers-on,
and gave rise to many comments.
"By Saint Jude ! a strange proceeding !" observed Jack
Holiday to his companions. " Are we to understand that
the Prince intends to rule England with the sword ? "
" By the mass ! it looks like it," rejoined Simnel.
"Tut! you are wrong in your surmise," cried Rodomont.
" His Highness draws the sword in the defence of our
country. That I take to be the meaning of the act."
Attended by the aldermen, the mayor now advanced
towards the Prince, and reverentially presented him with
the keys of the town, laid upon a velvet cushion.
Philip did not take the keys, but graciously bidding the
mayor arise, said in clear and distinct accents, " I thank
you, Sir, and I thank all those with you for this welcome.
You know what has brought me here. I come not in
Of Phili/s Public Disembarkation at Southampton. 81
search of men or treasure, having sufficient of both in the
country I have left. As the chosen husband of your wise
and virtuous Queen, I come to dwell among you, not as a
foreigner, but as a native Englishman. To you, my good
lords," he added to the English nobles, who were ranged
on either side of the canopy, " I am much beholden for
the assurances of loyalty and devotion which you have
already proffered me, and I here publicly declare that you,
and all her Majesty's faithful subjects, shall ever find me
anxious to promote the welfare of the kingdom, to observe
its laws, conform to its customs, and defend it against all
enemies."
Then, turning to the Spanish grandees, who were stand¬
ing behind him, he said, " My lords, you all, I am well
assured, share the gratification I experience at the very
friendly reception that has been given me. Hitherto, you
have been strangers to the people of England, but this
must be so no longer. Spaniards and Englishmen must
henceforth be brethren, bound together by ties of strictest
amity. It shall be my aim to encourage and maintain a
good understanding between the two nations, and, seconded
by you, and by these noble English lords, I cannot fail in
my design."
"We are ready to obey your Highness in all things,"
said the Duke of Alva, with a haughty inclination of his
head, while the other grandees made similar professions.
" He may talk till he is tired," muttered the Lord
Admiral. " There will be no cordial understanding
between us."
This opinion was shared by several others. Indeed, the
English nobles were deterred by the arrogance of the
Spanish grandees from making advances towards them.
"It is my wish to observe all good old English customs,"
pursued the Prince. " If I unintentionally neglect any of
them, I hope to be made aware of the omission. I would
fain drink a health to all present."
" A cup of wine for his Highness !" cried the Earl of
Arundel.
" Nay, my good lord, let me have a flagon of English
ale," said the Prince. "I should prefer your national
beverage."
82
Cardinal Pole.
" As your Highness pleases," rejoined Arundel, bowing,
" A flagon of ale on the instant."
The Prince's choice caused considerable merriment, and
warmed many a heart towards him.
" A cup of ale !" exclaimed Simnel. " This is carrying
complaisance to the highest point."
" His Highness is resolved to become an Englishman,
that I can plainly perceive," observed Rodomont, "and
takes what he conceives to be the shortest way to his object.
Heaven bless him ! he is a most gracious Prince."
At this juncture, a silver flagon, filled with ale, was
brought on a salver, and presented by the Earl of Arundel
to the Prince, who, taking the cup, b wed graciously
around.
" His Highness drinks to you all, good Sirs ! " cried the
Earl of Arundel, in a loud voice.
"To all, of whatever degree !" said the Prince, raising the
goblet to his lips.
Most opportunely, at the moment, another discharge was
fired from' the castle guns, followed by a loud flourish of
trumpets and drums. From the shouts that were also
raised, it was evident that the Prince was rising rapidly in
popular favour.
" How does your Highness like the beverage ? " inquired
the Earl of Arundel, as he took back the goblet.
" It will improve upon acquaintance, I make no doubt,"
replied Philip. " At present, I find it somewhat too
potent."
" A strong head is needed to stand it," observed the Lord
Admiral, with an ill-disguised sneer.
After this, Philip remained for some little time beneath
the canopy, conversing with the English nobles, and
evidently striving to propitiate them, and he appeared to be
successful in his efforts. He showed himself extremely easy
of access, and amongst other persons presented to him was
Rodomont Bittern.
" This is not the first time we have met, Sir," observed
Philip, to the surprise of most who heard him.
" Since your Highness deigns to recollect the circumstance,
be assured I shall never forget it," replied Rodomont.
" Nay, you have rendered me a great service," said the
Of Philip's Public Disembarkation at Southampton. 83
Prince, " and it shall not pass unrequited. Is Master Tyrrell
here?"
" Ay, your Highness," replied Rodomont. " He is yonder,
with the town-council."
" Let him come forward. I would speak with him," said
Philip.
Accordingly, the worthy merchant, much to his dismay,
was brought before the Prince. He was so confused that
he would have neglected the necessary obeisance, if he had
not been prompted by Rodomont, who, indeed, half forced
him to incline his person.
" I am glad to see you again, good Master Tyrrell," said
Philip, smiling, " and have to thank you for your hospitable
intentions towards me last night."
"Your Highness will forgive me. I knew not whom I
was addressing," stammered Tyrrell. " It is true that I
subsequently learnt from my daughter "
" That she had rendered me a most signal service, which
I trust adequately to requite," interrupted the Prince. " No
more of that now, Sir. But rest assured that her Majesty will
not be less grateful than myself to fair Mistress Constance."
" I am not quite so sure of that," thought Rodomont.
With further assurances of his consideration, the Prince
then dismissed Master Tyrrell, who retired with Rodomont,
both being charmed with his Highness's affability.
Though the foregoing conversation was not altogether
intelligible to the Spanish grandees, it caused them great
surprise, and even disquietude.
" As I live, his Highness seems to know these people,"
observed Alva to the Duke of Medina Celi. " Where can
he have met them ? "
" I am as much in the dark as yourself," replied the other.
" But, in my opinion, he must have gone ashore secretly last
night."
" By my faith ! you are right," rejoined Alva, bending his
heavy brows. " Some idle affair of gallantry, I'll be sworn.
He is ever engaged in such adventures. I must inquire into
the matter, and take him to task for his imprudence."
The English nobles, who were somewhat better ac¬
quainted than the Spaniards with the Prince's proceedings,
laughed amongst themselves at what was passing.
S4
Cardinal Pole.
Influenced by their royal master's deportment, the Spanish
grandees showed a disposition to relax from their stiffness
and hauteur, and ere long engaged in friendly discourse with
the English nobles, though their manner still continued
grave and formal.
Meantime, another boat had come ashore, bringing the
Bishop of Cuenqa, and Father Alfonso de Castro, the Prince's
confessor. On landing, these ecclesiastics immediately knelt
down and recited a prayer, and as he arose, the bishop pro¬
nounced a solemn benediction on the assemblage.
Several other boats followed, filled with Spanish arque-
busiers, who, being very fine-looking men and splendidly
accoutred, excited much curiosity as they ranged themselves
on the platform. The object of this guard was made speedily
apparent by the arrival of some thirty large coffers, each
enveloped in a cover bearing the Prince's escutcheon. These
coffers, supposed to contain gold in bullion, were subsequently
conveyed to the castle under the guard of the arquebusiers.
Many speculations were indulged in as to how this treasure
was to be employed—the general impression being, that it
would be used in bribing certain of the council and of the
nobility.
As soon as the treasure was landed, the Prince mounted
his jennet, the Master of the Horse holding the stir up, and
the cortege returned to the town. Richly-caparisoned
chargers were brought for the Spanish grandees who rode
behind the Prince, while the English nobles preceded him.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW THE PRINCE HEARD HIGH MASS IN HOLYROOD CHURCH;
AND HOW HE ONCE MORE BEHELD SIR BEVIS AND HIS
COMPANIONS.
MID the thunder of cannon, the ringing of bells,
the beating of drums, the braying of trumpets, the
clash of cymbals, the waving of scarves and ker¬
chiefs, accompanied by joyous acclamations,
Philip entered Southampton by the Water-gate.
Bending lowly in return for the clamorous welcome given
him by the occupants of the gallery adjoining the gate, the
Prince continued to bow gracefully right and left as he rode
slowly up the street. Philip was never seen to greater ad¬
vantage than on hor^e-back, and his stately figure now com¬
manded universal admiration. As he went on, he descried
many a comely damsel at the windows, but she he most
desired to behold was not visible.
Passing through the triumphal arch reared across the
streets, which, now that it was completed, had a charming
effect, he dismounted at the Gothic porch of Holyrood
Church, near which the English nobles were ranged to re¬
ceive him.
Internally, the church presented an imposing appearance,
being richly decorated for the occasion. The aisles were
densely crowded, but the broad nave was kept clear, and
along it a crimson cloth was stretched. The pillars we e
also covered with embroidered cloths, and ornamented with
paintings. Superb vessels of gold and silver, chalices, reli-
86
Cardinal Pole.
quiries and pixes, decked the altar, above which stood an
image of the Virgin, then but newly set up. Large tapers
burnt on either side. Priests and deacons in their stoles,
with white-robed choristers and incense-bearers, filled the
chantry.
As Philip, preceded by the Bishop of Cuenga and Father
de Castro, and followed by a splendid train of English and
Spanish nobles, marched along the nave, the priests ad¬
vanced to meet him, while the air was filled with fragrance.
At the same time the roof resounded with jubilant sympho¬
nies. A large velvet cushion had been placed on the right
of the altar for the Prince, and on this he knelt down, while
the English and Spanish nobles grouped themselves on
either side. Mass was then solemnised, the Bishop of
Cuenga and Father de Castro officiating with the English
priests.
On issuing from the church, Philip was greeted with loud
acclamations from the crowd, which he graciously acknow
ledged. Mounting his jennet, and attended by a gallant
train, consisting of the English and Spanish nobles, he pro¬
ceeded along High Street towards the Bar-gate, where he
was told by the Earl of Arundel that a pageant awaited
him.
The same manifestations of popular satisfaction that had
hitherto attended him continued during this part of his
course, and no untoward incident occurred to mar the general
harmony.
On approaching the Bar-gate, Philip perceived beneath its
archwav the gigantic Sir Bevis of Southampton, armed as
he had appeared on the previous night, and seated on his
mighty charger Arundel. Royal Canute was stationed on
the right of the puissant champion, and savage Ascapart on
the left. Behind were the Moorish kings.
Thus placed, the gigantic figures had a very picturesque
effect, and harmonised well with the ancient structure. A
trumpet being sounded, a fancifully-attired dwarf issued from
a postern in one of the flanking towers, and strutted towards
the Prince.
"Who art thou, and what is thy business?" demanded
Philip, as the dwarf made him a very ceremonious obeisance.
" My name may perchance have reached your Highness's
Hov) the Prince heard High Mass in Holy rood. 8?
ears," replied the mannikin, proudly. " I am called Sir
Narcissus le Grand, and am one—perchance not the least
distinguished—of her Majesty's attendants."
" I am aware that her Majesty has a dwarf to divert her,"
replied the Prince, laughing. " But I fancied the diminutive
valet's name differed from thine."
"There is no other dwarf but myself in her Majesty's
household," returned the mannikin. " Before I received the
honour of knighthood, I was called Xit, and I am still
occasionally so designated by those who are on familiar
terms with me."
"That name has brevity to recommend it, and therefore
suits thee better than the other," observed the Prince.
" Nay, an your Highness thinks so, I am ready to resume
the appellation. Xit is a name of which I have no reason to
be ashamed, seeing I have ever borne it with honour. Per¬
chance your Highness designs some distinction for me. The
Cross of Santiago, or the Toison d'Or, would not be il'
bestowed."
" By Saint Anthony ! a modest proposition ! " exclaimed
Philip. " I marvel thou dost not ask to be made a grandee
of the first class."
" That is indeed my ambitiom,"replied Xit. "I shall then
be privileged to remain covered in your Highness's presence,
like the proud lords I see yonder. But, though dazzled by
the thought I must not forget the business in hand, which
is to acquaint your Highness that the Knight of South¬
ampton, the redoubted Sir Bevis, with his slave Ascapart,
and the regal Canute, all of whom you behold under yon
archway, welcome you to England, and shout with me ' God
save Prince Philip !' "
" God save Prince Philip!" vociferated the three giants
in concert.
"Thanks for the welcome," replied Philip. "Your pageant
is good, but it lacks its chief character. Where is the Prin¬
cess Josyan ?—she should be with Sir Bevis."
" Highness," said Xit, somewhat embarrassed, " there are
two princesses, and since they cannot agree as to which shall
take precedence, it was deemed best that neither should
appear. They are within the Bar-gate. If you desire it,
they can be summoned."
88
Cardinal Pole.
" Bring forth the youngest and fairest of them," rejoined
Philip.
Xit bowed, and hastened to execute the Prince's command.
In another instant he reappeared, leading by the hand a
comely young damsel, attired in a kirtle of green velvet, and
having a glittering caul on her head, in whom Philip was at
no loss to recognise the captive made by Sir Bevis on the
previous night. A bright blush suffused her cheeks, serving
to heighten the effect of her charms, but otherwise she did
not seem much abashed, but tripped gaily with her little
conductor towards the Prince.
"Highness," said Xit, as he presented her, "in this damsel,
ordinarily known as Lilias Ringwood, you behold the Prin¬
cess Josyan."
Scarcely were the words uttered, than a lattice, immedi¬
ately above the central arch of the Bar-gate, was thrown
open, and an angry female face appeared.
" 'Tis false ! " screamed Lady le Grand, for she it was—
" 'tis false, I say ! I am the real Princess Josyan, and no
one shall usurp the part. I am shut up here under lock and
key, or I would soon strip that vile hussy of her attire,
which belongs of right to me. Doff it at once, minion."
"Retire on the instant, I command you, Madam," screamed .
Xit, shaking his hand furiously at her.
" I shall obey no orders of thine, thou contemptible little
monster," rejoined Lady le Grand, in a shrill voice. " Let
me out, or it shall be worse for thee. How dare you put
another woman in my place ? Lilias Ringwood shall not
enact the part assigned to me."
" Marry, but she shall," rejoined Xit. " His Highness
desired that the youngest and fairest of the two claimants
should be brought forth. Thou art neither so young nor so
lovely as Lilias, and art consequently superseded. Retire,
I say."
Before Lady le Grand could make any further rejoinder,
Philip interposed.
" But what says Sir Bevis himself?" he demanded.
"Since he is chiefly concerned in the matter, the choice of
a princess ought to rest with him. Methinks he cannot
hesitate."
"Assuredly not, your Highness." rejoined the gigantic
How the Prince heard High Mass in Holy rood. 89
warrior, inclining his head. " I am right glad of the
exchange."
" Then take fair Lilias to him," said Philip. " Remember
the fate of the strong man of Israel," he added to S r Bevis,
" and be not subdued like him. Otherwise, thou mayst have
reason to repent thy choice."
" No Delilah shall enslave me, your Highness," rejoined
the giant, as the damsel was placed behind him by
Ascapart.
"That remains to be seen," laughed Lilias, as she settled
herself on the pillion.
Mortified by the success of her young rival, Lady le Grand
retreated from the window, amid the jeers and laughter of
the beholders, all of whom were mightily entertained by the
incident.
No sooner was this important point settled, than Sir Bevis
rode forth from the archway w.th the fair Lilias behind him,
her countenance radiant with triumph. Bending in knightly
fashion to the Prince, the gigantic warrior bade his com¬
panions attend him, and struct into a street on the right.
Calling for his piebald steed, Xit followed the procession,
without troubling himself further about Lady le Grand.
CHAPTER XIJ I.
'1HE ABBESS OF SAINT MARY.
HILIP next proceeded to the castle, in the principa.
court of which he found his arquebusiers drawn
up. Long before this, the treasure had been
locked up in one of the strongest chambers of the
donjon. Not being familiar with a Norman castle, the
Prince examined the ancient fortress with much interest, and,
ascending to the summit of the keep, enjoyed the magnifi¬
cent view commanded from it.
His inspection of the castle completed, Philip was con¬
ducted to a public place in the centre of the town, which
derived its name of Saint Michael's Place, from a venerable
and beautiful church standing in the midst of it. Facing the
east end of this reverend pile was the habitation designed
for his temporary abode.
In Saint Michael's Place, as elsewhere, a large crowd had
congregated, who cheered the Prince lustily on his appear¬
ance, and did not seem inclined to disperse even when he
had dismounted and entered his lodgings.
The quaint architecture of the habitation, the bay-windows
filled with painted glass, the low-raftered roofs, the walls
panelled with oak darkened by age, the numerous small
apartments, the stiff cumbrous furniture—all so different from
the vast gilded saloons and open courts suited to another
cl me, with which he was familiar—were far from displeasing
to Philip, and when the Earl of Arundel apologised for the
scant accommodation of the place, the Prince courteously
The Abbess of Saint Mary.
9i
assured him that the house was very much to his taste.
" What sufficed for your great monarch, Henry VIII.," he
said, " may well suffice for me."
Pleading fatigue, he then retired to a private chamber,
and was not disturbed until the return of the Count
D'Egmont and Osbert Clinton from Winchester, when they
were immediately admitted to his presence.
D'Egmont brought a letter from the Queen, which he de¬
livered to the Prince, but, without manifesting any impatience
lo ascertain its contents, Philip laid it on the table beside
vhich he was seated, and proceeded to question the Count
as to his visit.
"Pass by all other matters," he said, "and come to the
point. What did her Majesty think of my nocturnal
adventure ? Was she satisfied with the explanation offered
her ? "
"Not entirely, I fear, your Highness," replied D'Egmont,
"though she said little to warrant such a conclusion."
"You were careful not to alarm her?" said Philip, turn¬
ing to Osbert.
"She pressed me very shrewdly," replied the young man,
" but I trust I succeeded in allaying her suspicions, which
were evidently aroused by the description I was obliged to
give of your fair deliverer, Constance Tyrrell. Her Majesty
inherits something of the disposition of her august sire, and
is inclined to jealousy."
"That does not augur well for my future comfort.
Jealousy in a wife is intolerable," replied Philip. "Let us
see what is said in her letter," he added, opening it.
"There is nothing here but congratulations on my safe
arrival, and deep concern at the attack upon my person.
Not a word as to my intended visit to Winchester. Appa¬
rently, her Majesty does not attach much credence to that
part of the story."
"She is not easily imposed upon," observed D'Egmont.
" It must be admitted that your Highness has given her just
cause for suspicion. She will not believe that eagerness to
behold her induced you to quit the ship privily at night.
Her penetration pointed to a different motive, and all she
heard seemed to confirm her doub's. At one moment she
had resolved to come over to Southampton, but fortunate')'
92
Cardinal Pole.
she relinquished that design. Mischief might else have been
made by the opponents to the marriage."
" Pshaw! I have no fears on that score," said Philip.
" But I am glad she did not come. She might have inter¬
fered with my plans."
At this moment an usher entered, stating that Mistress
Constance Tyrrell was without, and besought an audience of
the Prince.
" By Saint Iago! this is better than I expected," cried
Philip, overjoyed. "Is she alone ?"
"No, your Highness," replied the usher. "The lady
abbess of St. Mary, Winchester, is with her."
" I would the lady abbess were in her nunnery, or any¬
where but here !" exclaimed Philip, in a tone of pique.
"Admit them."
On this the usher withdrew, and the next moment Con
stance entered the room, accompanied by a religious dame
of very stately deportment. The abbess of Saint Mary was
attired in a long black gown, the ample folds of which swept
the ground. The sleeves of her robe were loose, and over
her shoulders was spread a sable mantle, with a hood
attached to it. A barbe of plaited linen covered the lower
part of her face, and, with the close-drawn hood, effectually
concealed her features. On the entrance of the two ladies,
D'Egmont and Osbert retired.
Stepping quickly towards Constance, Philip took her hand,
preventing her from making the lowly obeisance she con¬
templated. After greeting her very courteously, he turned
to the abbess, and saluting her respectfully, said,—
" Holy mother, to what am I indebted for this visit ? Can
I serve you in aught ? "
" For myself I seek nothing, Prince," replied the abbess,
in a voice that vibrated through Philip's breast, occasioning
him an uneasy feeling. " I am a messenger from the Queen
to this young maiden. Her Majesty, having been informed
that, under Heaven, the chief instrument of your preserva¬
tion from a great peril was Mistress Constance Tyrrell, who
heroically shielded you from the weapons of assassins, has
sent me to bring the damsel to Winchester. This is my
mission, which I was enjoined to execute without delay; but
I have consented to defer my departur.- for a short space.
The Abbess of Saint Mary.
93
as Mistress Constance hath a request to prefer to your
Highness."
" I thank you for your consideration, holy mother'," replied
Philip. " The fair Constance can ask nothing of me that I
will not readily grant."
"Make no rash promises, Prince," remarked the abbess.
" First hear her request."
"I pray you speak, then, fair mistress," said Philip, in an
encouraging tone to Constance. "You need not apprehend
a refusal."
" The boon is greater than I ought to ask," said Constance,
trembling. "Yet I must summon courage to make it. In
a word, then, your Highness, I would solicit pardon for the
miserable wretch who dared to raise his sacrilegious hand
against your royal person."
" Pardon for that miscreant!" exclaimed the abbess.
" Impossible !"
" For myself I would willingly grant your request," replied
Philip, in a troubled tone, "but I have not the power. The
Queen alone can pardon this offender against her laws. You
must appeal to her."
" But your Highness will second me," observed Constance.
"A word from you, and it will be done."
" Be not too sure of that," said the abbess, sternly. "The
Queen is compassionate, but just. To pardon a wretch
like this would be fraught with evil consequences. It may
not be."
'1 he force and decision with which these words were pro¬
nounced struck the Prince, and he looked hard at the abbess.
But her features were wholly undistinguishable.
" The lady abbess is right," he said, after a pause. " I
fear the appeal to the Queen will be in vain. Yet say to her
that, if possible, I would have the man spared."
" The man is a heretic, as I understand," remarked the
abbess. " If he will abjure his errors, and discover his
accomplices, mercy may, perchance, be shown him—not
otherwise."
" I fear, then, he must die," replied Constance. " He is
obstinate in his opinions."
"Then he deserves to perish," rejoined the abbess, "and
you are wrong in seeking to save him."
7
94
Cardinal Pole.
" My hope is to make him profitable to the Catholic
Church," said Constance. " If he be put to death now, he
will be deemed a martyr by those of his own faith. In time
I may bring about his recantation."
"'Twere a good act, if you could accomplish it, fair Con¬
stance," observed Philip; "but I fear you deal with im¬
practicable material. But how comes it you take so much
interest in this Derrick Carver, for such, if I recollect aright,
is the caitiff's name ? "
" I know not whence my compassion for him springs," she
replied. " But I have visited him in his cell, and fancy I
can discern something of good in him."
" Be not deceived, damsel," said the abbess. " There can
be no good in one capable of the crime u hich this man hath
attempted. But if you are in earnest as to his conversion, I
promise you you shall have an opportunity of attempting
the work. I have interest enough with the Queen for that."
" I am glad to hear you say so, holy mother," observed
the Prince. "And I shall rejoice if the fair Constance
succeeds in her attempt. But be this as it may, I do not
feel relieved from the weight of obligation I am under to
her. When you present her to the Queen, say I shall be
well pleased if her Majesty can place her among her gentle¬
women."
"I will do more," rejoined the abbess. "I will use all
the influence I possess with her Majesty to see the damsel
well bestowed in marriage."
" Not if I can prevent it," thought Philip.
A suspicion in regard to the abbess, which the Prince had
begun to entertain, being confirmed, he begged a word with
her in private, and on her ready assent, led her into the deep
recess of a bay-window.
Entirely changing his manner towards her, he then said,
" I know not how to account for it, holy mother, but while
talking to you I could almost imagine myself engaged in
converse with her Majesty."
"A strange supposition," observed the abbess, in a
blander tone than before.
"It is the highest compliment I could pay you," pursued
Philip. "That you shoidd resemble so admirable a sovereign
is the best proof of your merit."
The Abbess of Saint Mary.
95
" I am much flattered by your Highness's good opinion,"
returned the abbess, still more blandly; " but how can you
tell that I am like the Queen, since you have never beheld
her Majesty?"
" I can perfectly judge by the many descriptions given
me of her," said the Prince. " In disposition I am sure
you are exactly like her. Remove your hood, I pray
you, that I may see whether the resemblance extends to
feature."
" I cannot comply with your Highness's request, as I have
a vow which prohibits me from disclosing my countenance
to any of your sex," she replied; " but I will own that I
am like the Queen."
" I was quite sure of it," said Philip. " Permit me for a
moment to address you as her Majesty."
" 'Tis a strange whim," replied the abbess, complacently,
"and I ought not to consent to it. But your Highness is
singularly persuasive. I am not without curiosity to know
what you would say to the Queen."
"What I have to say may sound like the language
of passion, and may not suit your ears," rejoined
Philip.
"But, as the Queen, I may listen to it," she rejoined,
with something of tenderness in her tones.
" Then I would throw myself at your feet, as I do now,"
cried Philip, kneeling as he spoke. " I would press your
hand to my lips, and assure you of my unalterable love and
fidelity. I would tell you how I have burned with impa¬
tience to behold you—how I have counted the hours of my
'ong voyage, and have rejoiced as each day brought me
aearer to you. In the strongest terms I could employ I
would express my sense of the honour you have conferred
upon me in choosing me for your husband, and I would
endeavour to convince you that it will be the chief business
of my life to increase your felicity and to ex'end your power,
'lot a cloud shall overshadow your future existence if I
can drive it away—but all shall be serenity and sunshine.
This is what I would say to the Queen," he added,
rising.
"Your language is so impassioned, Prince," she returned,
•' «hat I am almost as much moved as her Majesty could be
96
Cardinal Pole.
by your wo:ds. For the moment, I will suppose myself the
Queen "
" It is so understood," interrupted Philip.
"I fear you feign this passion, Prince," she continued.
" To love one unknown, unseen, with the ardour you pro¬
fess, is impossible, and yet I ought not to say so, for though
I have never beheld you till now, your image has long
occupied my breast. I hope you may not be disappointed
in me. It shall be my anxious study to win your affection
by entire devotion and submission to your will, and I trust,
with Heaven's grace, to succeed."
"Doubt it not," replied the Prince, fervently. "You are
sole mistress of my heart, and will ever maintain paramount
sway over it."
" I am foolish to ask it," she said, "yet I would fain have
your assurance that it is not my crown that has enticed you
hither ? "
"Rest easy on that score," rejoined the Prince. "You
yourself are the magnet that has attracted me. You would
have been as much prized without your kingdom as with it."
" I cannot believe you; yet the assurance is so sweet, that
I will yield to the delusion," she rejoined. " But I must
listen to these honeyed words no longer. Once more I
must become the abbess."
"To others, but not to me," rejoined Philip.
On this, they left the recess, and returned to where Con¬
stance was standing.
" What shall be done for this damsel?" said Philip. "It
pains me that I cannot grant her request."
" Her request is most unreasonable. Still, she has a great
claim upon you," replied the abbess. " I make no promise,
but order the prisoner to be brought here for examination,
and I will consider what can be done."
Thanking her with a smile, Philip instantly summoned
Osbert Clinton, and bade him bring Derrick Carver before
him with all possible dispatch. He likewise ordered the
immediate attendance of the Bishop of Cuenga and Father
de Castro.
With a profound obeisance, Osbert departed on his
mission.
While this was passing, the abbess proceeded to the table,
The Abbess of Saint Mary,
97
on which writing materials were placed, and wrote a few
words on a sheet of paper, which she folded up, and, de¬
livering it to the Prince, observed, in a significant tone,
"You may need this anon. Not a word," she added, with
a gesture of caution.
After glancing at the paper, Philip placed it within his
doublet.
CHAPTER XIV.
FATHER ALFONSO DE CASTRO.
HORTLY afterwards, the usher announced the
Bishop of Cuenga and Father Alfonso de Castro.
No fitting opportunity having hitherto occurred of
describing these two personages, we will now say
a few words respecting them. The Bishop of Cuenga was
a perfect courtier, polished in manner, witty, sarcastic, and
a bon vivant. His features were handsome, and his looks
intelligent, but wily. Kis attire was as elegant as his
position as an ecclesiastic permitted. His person was tall,
well formed, his complexion olive, his eyes dark and
intelligent.
A far more striking personage than the bishop was Father
Alfonso de Castro. He possessed one of those austere
countenances in which the old Spanish painters delighted.
In age he was about sixty, and his long life seemed to have
been spent in practices of penance and devotion. A few
scattered locks, marked by the tonsure, clothed his reverend
head. His figure, once tall and erect, was now bent, and
his gait feeble and slow. His complexion was sickly, and
his eyes deep sunken, but still full of lustre.
Father de Castro was a profound theologian, and .had
written much against heresy, menacing the professors of the
new doctrines with such severe punishments, that he had not
unjustly acquired the title of "Hceresio-mastrix acerrimus
A grave salutation passed between the Bishop of Cuenga
and the abbess, but, when the Prince presented his con¬
fessor to her, she said,-—
Father Alfonso de Castro.
99
"I am already acquainted with Father de Castro through
his writings. I have perused his learned commentary on
the Twelve Minor Prophets, and his homilies on the Psalms.
I have also read his three books on the Just Punishment of
Heresy, and I entirely agree with him. But the work that
has afforded me the deepest gratification is his masterly
treatise on the Validity of the Marriage between Henry
VIII. and Katherine of Aragon. That treatise has been the
Queen their daughter's constant companion, and has solaced
her during many an hour of affliction."
" I grieve to hear that so excellent a Princess has endured
so much," replied Father de Castro; " but it was the con¬
sciousness that truth and justice were on her side, and not
my poor production, that sustained her during her trials.
Yet I must rejoice that I have been able to pour balm into
her soul. However, her sorrows are now over, and she will
reap the reward of her long suffering and patience. Heaven's
blessing will descend upon her head and upon her people.
She will be happy in her marriage, and from her loins
princes shall spring, who shall govern this realm wisely and
well, and maintain it in the true faith."
" Heaven grant it may be so !" exclaimed the abbess, fer¬
vently. "As the old religion has been restored by the
Queen, her most earnest desire is that it should be so firmly
established that no fears need be entertained of a relapse
into schism."
" Having read my treatise on the Punishment of Heretics,
holy mother, you know the measures I recommend," replied
Father de Castro. "To prevent the further spreading of
this pestilence, it must be thoroughly rooted out."
" That will be a work of much time and difficulty, Father,"
replied the abbess, with a sigh. " But I do not despair of
its full accomplishment."
" An Auto-da-Fe, such as we have in Spain, of frequent
occurrence, would soon sweep off the tainted," observed the
Bishop of CuenQa. " I trust to see the Holy Inquisition
established in this country."
" That can never be, my lord," replied the abbess.
"Wherefore not, good sister?" demanded the bishop.
" Because Englishmen would never submit to it," rejoined
the abbe: " Such an attempt would cause a rebellion
IOO
Cardinal Pole.
which nothing could put down. On this point, Romanists
and Protestants would unite. The throne would not be
secure, and in the confusion heresy might again become
triumphant. Heaven avert such a contingency ? But there
is nothing to apprehend. The Queen will never yield to
such counsels."
"You appear to be in Her Majesty's confidence, holy
mother," observed the bishop, drily.
" I am so far in her confidence, my lord," replied the
abbess, " that I know her to be decidedly adverse to the
Inquisition, and that she will never authorise its introduction
in her kingdom."
"Possibly the Prince her husband may incline her to
different views," remarked the bishop.
" No, my lord," replied the abbess ; " the Queen is not
accustomed to change her mind, and will never act contrary
to her judgment."
The bishop looked surprised at the vivacity of the abbess,
but Philip hastened to interpose, and said, "The lady abbess
is right, my lord. I shall never seek to influence her Ma¬
jesty's opinions in aught that concerns her kingdom. That
I have sworn—and by my oath I shall abide."
" Unless his Holiness shall grant you absolution," muttered
the bishop.
Philip then briefly explained to the bishop and to his con¬
fessor why he had sent for them, and had just made an end,
when Count D'Egmont entered, and said that M. de Noailles
was without, and besought a moment's audience of his
Highness.
" What! the perfidious assassin ! how dares he approach
me ? But he shall rue his temerity," cried Philip, placing
his hand on his sword. Then instantly becoming calm, he
added, " but he could not have come more opportunely
for my purpose. Admit him, D'Egmont. Once within this
chamber, he is my prisoner. Place a guard at the door, and
let him not go forth without my order."
"No harm must be done him," said the abbess, in a low,
deep voice.
" I have not sent for him," rejoined Philip. " If he rushes
to his own destruction it is not my fault."
'Ot was madness in him to come here at all," said
Father Alfonso de Castro.
101
D'Egmont. "The Duke of Alva, who has heard of the
attempt, and suspects De Noailles of its contrivance, is in
the ante-chamber."
" I am glad to hear it," replied Philip. " The Duke will
know how to act," he added, with a significant glance at
D'Egmont.
" If any injury be done the ambassador, there will be
war with France," observed the abbess, in the same low,
deep tone as before.
" No harm shall befal him, if he be not proved guilty of
this foul plot," rejoined Philip. " But, if it be his con¬
trivance, he shall not escape the punishment he merits.
Admit him, Count."
CHAPTER XV.
THE FRENCH AMBASSADOR.
EGMONT withdrew, and almost instantly rs
appeared with the French ambassador.
M. de Noailles made a very gallant appear¬
ance, being splendidly attired in white and silver.
He removed his plumed and jewelled cap as he entered the
room, and advanced with a very smiling and confident air
towards Philip. While he was being presented to the
Prince by the Count D'Egmont, the Duke of Alva entered
the room. At the same time, two Spanish halberdiers
stationed themselves near the door.
Philip received the ambassador with freezing politeness.
" Considering the relations unfortunately subsisting be¬
tween my father, the Emperor, and the King, your master,
I scarcely expected this visit from your excellency," he said.
" I do not appear before your Highness in my quality of
ambassador, but as a simple gentleman," replied De Noailles.
" I could not hear of the felon attack made upon you last
night without desiring to offer my congratulations on your
escape; but I might have hesitated to do so if rumour, with
its customary malice, had not sought to fix the contrivance
of the dark deed on me."
" No one who knows your excellency could for a moment
suspect you of planning such an affair," rejoined Philip.
"You would never strike a dishonourable and cowardly
blow. Others may suspect you—I do not."
The French Ambassador. 103
" He does not suspect him, because he is sure of his
guilt," muttered Alva.
"Having received this most gratifying assurance fiom
your Highness, I will retire," said De Noailles, slightly
alarmed, " entreating you to believe that though placed by
circumstances in an inimical position, I rejoice in your
auspicious arrival in this country, and trust that Heaven
may guard you from all ill, and shed its blessings upon you
and her Majesty."
" Perfidious villain ! I marvel that lies of such magnitude
choke him not," exclaimed the Duke of Alva, involuntarily
clutching his poniard.
" I thank your excellency for your good wishes, which I
am convinced are as sincere as your vehement denial of all
complicity in this black affair," rejoined Philip. " But 1
must detain you a few minutes longer. You have come
most cl propos. I am about to interrogate one of my
assailants, and shall be glad that you should be present
during the examination."
"The villain, as I have heard, is confined in the dungeon
of the Bar-gate," replied De Noailles. " I will attend
there whenever your Highness may desire."
" He is uneasy, and would fain get away," muttered Alva,
who was watching the ambassador narrowly.
" I shall not need to give you that trouble," remarked
Philip. " The examination will take place here."
"In this chamber," exclaimed De Noailles, startled. "1
thought the man was desperately wounded and like to die."
"It is true he is badly hurt, but he hath life enough in
him to speak, as your excellency will find. He will be here
anon," observed Philip.
" But the scene will be disagreeable to me," cried the
ambassador. " I must crave your permission to withdraw."
And without waiting for consent, he turned to depart; but
D'Egmont and Alva planted themselves in his way.
" A prisoner," he ejaculated, in consternation,
"Ay, a prisoner at his Highness's pleasure," rejoined
Alva.
" I protest against such violation of my privilege," cried
De Noailles, with mingled terror and anger.
" You can claim no privilege," rejoined the D"ke, sternly.
Cardinal Pole.
"You stated expressly that you came here as a private
gentleman, and not as an ambassador. Back Sir, at your
peril."
Seeing there was no possibility of escape, De Noailles
tried to assume a bold and unconcerned demeanour; but his
nerves sustained another and yet severer shock as the door
was thrown open, and a litter, the curtains of which were
closely drawn, was borne into the room, under the conduct
of Osbert Clinton. In attendance upon the wounded man
was Malwood, the chirurgeon.
Behind the litter came Rodomont Bittern, and the four
bearers were Rodomont's friends, who had voluntarily under¬
taken the office, in order to be present at the examination.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE EXAMINATION.
FTER consulting the Prince by a look, Osbert
caused the litter to be set down in the middle of
the chamber. As the curtains were drawn aside
by Rodomont, and the livid features of Derrick
Carver were fully revealed to view, Philip narrowly watched
the effect of the ghastly spectacle on De Noailles ; but he
stood the ordeal firmly.
" Raise thyself, Carver," cried Rodomont to the prisoner.
" Where am I ? " groaned the wretched man.
" In the presence of the Prince of Spain," rejoined
Rodomont. " Art thou prepared to answer his interroga¬
tions ? "
" I am too feeble to talk," replied Derrick Carver, sinking
backwards.
" I have a potent elixir with me which will restore his
natural forces," said Malwood.
" Give me the phial. I will administer the dose," cried
Rodomont, pouring a few drops down the prisoner's throat.
"Enough!—enough!" exclaimed Malwood, staying his
hand.
" By the girdle of Saint Francis ! it acts like magic," cried
Rodomont. " The colour is coming to his cheeks, and his
eyes look brighter."
" His pulse begins to beat firmly," said Malwood. " He
is now able to answer any question your Highness may
desire to put to him," he added to the Prince.
io6
Cardinal Pole.
At a sign from Philip, Father de Castro here approached
the litter.
" Who art thou?" demanded Derrick Carver, slightly
raising himself, and regarding the priest sternly.
" I am the confessor of the Prince of Spain," replied the
other; "and lost as thou now art, steeped in sin, it will
gladden me to reconcile thee to Heaven. Dire as is thine
offence, and justly as it calls for condign punishment, I will
strive to intercede for thee with his Highness, provided thou
w.lt make clean thy breast and recant thine errors."
" Think not to move me," replied Derrick Carver. " I
have the stuff in me of which martyrs are made, as you will
find. If I be doomed to a death of torture, Heaven will
give me constancy to bear it. I grieve not for myself, but
for my fellow countrymen, who have much bitter persecution
to endure."
" Pity is wasted on him, Father," said Rodomont.
"No, my son," rejoined De Castro. "Our Church is
never without commiseration for the most hardened sinner,
who may be received into its bosom even at the last hour."
" You prate of pity, yet would enforce obedience to your
doctrines by torture and burnings," said Derrick Carver.
" If I mistake not, you are the ruthless Father de Castro,
who hath written and preached on the punishment of
heretics, and hath been the means of consigning many true
believers in the Gospel to the flames."
" I am he you suppose, unhappy man," replied De Castro.
" I am a physicion to those who are sick of soul. If the
only remedy for their disease be fire, ought I to hesitate to
prescribe it ? "
" Then treat me as thou hast treated others, merciless
priest," rejoined Derrick Carver. "Thou wilt see what will
ensue. Cast abroad my ashes to the winds, and they will
cause a tempest which will crush thee and the Prince thy
master."
"Hold thy peace, thou crazy fellow! Thou ravest," cried
Rodomont.
"Not at thy bidding, base hireling of Spain," rejoined
Derrick Carver. " I hold thee in utter contempt. I am an
Englishman, and will bend to no foreign yoke—a Protestant,
and will never abandon my faith. I give my life for my
The Examination.
country and ray religion. Wilt thou give thy dog's life for
eiiher ? "
" My patriotism and religious zeal do not lead me to turn
assassin, Carver," rejoined Rodomont. "Neither doth it
become thee, who hath sold thyself for French gold, to talk
of subserviency. I am a loyal subject to the Queen, and a
foe to traitors, of whom thou, Derrick, art the vilest."
"Thou accusesi me falsely," rejoined Carver. "No French
gold has ever touched my hand."
" Answer the question I am about to put," said the
Prince, approaching; "and beware! for thy life depends
upon thy truthfulness. It is useless to deny that thou wert
hired for this deed. Name thy employer, and I will obtain
thy pardon from the Queen. I promise it on my royal
word."
" You will not credit what I say," rejoined Carver. "Why,
therefore, should I speak ? "
" Look round this assembly," pursued Philip, " and say
whether anyone within it is known to thee."
"I see none but Spanish nobles and priests," rejoined
Carver, in accents of contempt.
"Look again, Derrick," said Rodomont. "They are i.ot
all Spaniards. There is a Frenchman among them."
" It may be," replied the wounded man. " What is that
to me ? "
" Much," replied Rodomont.
" I pray your excellency to approach the litter," said
Philip to the French ambassador.
"Readily," replied De Noailles, advancing. "Have you
ever beheld me before ?" he said to the prisoner.
" Equivocate not, but answer plainly, Derrick," said
Rodomont. "Have you ever beheld his excellency
before?"
" I have," replied the prisoner. " I saw him last night,
in a house near the West-gate."
" You are mistaken, Sirrah; you cannot have seen me 1 "
cried De Noailles.
" Truth only will avail you," sa'd the Prince to the
prisoner. "What passed between you and his excellency ? "
" Not a word—not a look. I do not think he even noticed
me," rejoined Carver.
Cardinal Pole.
" But there were others with you whom he did notice ? "
said the Prince. " Trifle not with me. It imports me to
know who they were, and what occurred."
" The villain's statement respecting me is utterly false,"
cried De Noailles. " I did not stir from my lodgings last
night."
" Your excellency must needs be in error there," remarked
Rodomont, " since you were seen and recognised in the
High Street, about half an hour before this murtherous
attack took p'ace, thus allowing ample time for its concoc¬
tion. Moreover, this letter found on the body of the ruffian
slain by the Prince, may serve to prove your share in the
dark transaction."
" I deny the charge altogether," cried De Noailles. "'Tis
a device of my enemies. When the matter is regularly
investigated, and before a competent tribunal, I can easily
clear myself.'
"Justice shall be done you, Sir, of that you need not
doubt," said Philip, sternly. " As to you, fellow," he added
to the prisoner, "little as you deserve it, you shall have a
pardon. But understand. You owe life and freedom to
Mistress Constance Tyrrell—not to me."
"Are no conditions annexed to the pardon?" inquired
Derrick Carver.
" None ; it is unconditional," replied the Prince. " Here
is her Majesty's order," he added, giving Rodomont the
paper, signed by the abbess. " Are you content ? " he added
to Constance, who had approached at the moment.
" I am," she replied, with a look of unutterable gratitude.
" With your Highness's permission," said Rodomont,
" the prisoner shall be taken to the hospital of the Domus
Dei where he can remain till his wounds be healed, and if
there be a spark of gratitude in his bieast, the residue
of his life will be devoted to extolling your Highness's
clemency."
" I trust he may become a good Catholic through your
instrumentality," said the Prince to Constance. "Take him
away," he added to Rodomont.
Upon this Rodomont directed the bearers to remove the
litter, and making a profound obeisance to the Prince, he
followed it out of the room.
The Examination.
" My part in this strange performance is now over. I
presume," observed De Noailles to the Prince.
" Your excellency is at liberty to depart," rejoined Philip,
coldly. "Attend him," he added, glancing at Alva and
D'Egmont.
The look was so significant that it did not escape the
ambassador, and caused him to pause.
" No treachery, 1 trust, is intended?" he said. "Your
Highness will bear in mind that my person is sacred."
"So is mine," rejoined Philip, sternly. "Yet that cir¬
cumstance did not save me from attack."
"Your Highness would not insinuate "
" X insinuate nothing," said Philip. " Go, Sir, Heaven go
with you!"
Seriously alarmed, the ambassador did not dare to stir a
step. The terrible looks of the Duke of Alva froze the
blood in his veins. While he stood irresolute, the lady
abbess went up to him, and said, " I will go with you."
" It seems, then, that I am really in danger," stammered
De Noailles.
" Without me you will never quit this place alive," replied
the abbess.
And signing to Constance to follow her, she left the room
with the ambassador, the Duke of Alva and the Count
D'Egmont having gone out before them.
As De Noailles and the two ladies entered the ante¬
chamber, they found it full of armed men, while both the
Duke and D'Egmont had drawn their swords.
" Pass on, holy mother, and take your charge with you,"
said Alva to the abbess and Constance. "We must have a
word with his excellency."
" I will not affect to misunderstand your purpose, my
lord Duke," said the abbess, "but it must not be. I for¬
bid it."
"You, holy mother ! "
" Yes, I, the Queen !" she rejoined.
" The Queen !" exclaimed Alva, sheathing his sword.
"Nay, then, we must needs obey. Your excellency will
excuse this momentary interruption. Pray pass on."
As may be supposed, the ambassador was not slow to
avail himself of the peimission.
8
BOOK II.
THE ROYAL NUPTIALS.
CHAPTER L
OLD WINCHESTER FROM SAINT CATHERINE'S HILL.
NOW you the fair hill, crowned by a clump of
trees, with a zone around its waist, and a carpet
of smooth turf spread out upon its banks, arising
from the well-wooded and well-watered meads in
the immediate vicinity of the ancient city of Winchester ?
If you are a Wykehamist, you know it well. Graven on
the brow of the hill is a labyrinth, or maze, the work of a
poor student, who, being debarred from the delights of
home during the holiday season, occupied his weary hours
in this strange task, while his heart-sickness found relief in
a ditty, still sung by his successors at Wykeham's famous
school. The legend goes on to relate that the hapless
youth, who thus carved a memorial on the hill, pined away
and died beneath one of the trees on its summit. If so,
his gentle spirit must still haunt the spot! Lower down, an
entrenchment, deeply cut in the chalk, and attributed to
the Dane, encompasses the hill. The base of the mount is
washed by the silver Itchen—a stream dear to old Izaak
Walton, whose remains have rested, ever since his " ninety
Old Winchester from Saint Catherine's Hill. in
years and more" were told, in the adjacent cathedral.
Other hills there are hard by—as Saint Giles's, whereon the
greatest fair in England was annually held from the period
of the Conquest to the reign of Henry VI. ; and Saint
Mary Magdalene's, on which the Empress Maud and the
valorous prelate Henry de Blois, brother of King Stephen,
met to treat—but neither of these eminences are comparable
in beauty of form, or in charm of situation, to fair Saint
Catherine's Hill.
If you are a Wykehamist, we repeat, you well know
Saint Catherine's Hill. Oft, in happy, bygone days—far too
soon flown—have you wended, with a joyous band of your
schoolfellows, across the meadows and by the brink of the
meandering Itchen towards your favourite hill. Oft, in
summer-tide, have you plunged into the deep pool hard by
the mill—oft have you thrown the line upon the glassy
water and dragged forth the speckled trout—oft have you
lingered on the rustic bridge and watched the light skiff,
rowed by a comrade, shoot swiftly under it—oft have you
joined the merry groups seated on the banks at the foot of
the hill, or started in the mimic chase with the fleetest
runners of the crew—oft have you climbed the steep sides
of the eminence, have tracked its circling trench, threaded
the intricacies of its maze, or, reclining beneath the shade of
its tree, enjoyed the glorious prospect of the ancient city
commanded from the point. Oft thence have you gazed
upon the turrets and crocketed pinnacles of the venerable
pile, erected by your benefactor, the revered William of
Wykeham. Deep is the debt you owe him. Nobler seat of
learning there cannot be than Winchester College; second
only in architectural beauty to regal Eton. Well-nigh five
hundred years has your famous school endured. May it last
five hundred more !
Beautiful, most beautiful, is, now-a-days, the view from
Saint Catherine's Hill; but in the middle of the 16th cen¬
tury, when we must now regard it, it was infinitely more so.
From this height, the fine old city, skirted on the south by
lordly trees, was beheld in its highest perfection. Thronged
with convents, colleges, hospitals, churches, and other build¬
ings of ancient date, and great beauty of architecture, and
boasting one of the grandest cathedrals in the kingdom,
ita
Cardinal Pole.
Winchester had then a grave, monastic air—something of
which it yet retains, despite the many and grievous changes
it has undergone. True, its religious communities and
charitable establishments had been suppressed by Henry
VIII., and their revenues seized upon, but the spoiler had
spared the edifices. Most of these monasteries and con¬
vents were restored by Mary, and the long exiled monks
and nuns had just got back to their old abodes.
The aspect of Winchester, however, at the epoch in
question, was martial, as well as monastic. Besides well-
fortified walls, flanked by numerous towers, and defended
by bastions, the city possessed two large castles, one of
which, built by William the Conqueror, occupied a com¬
manding position on the south-west, and covered a vast
area with its works and outworks. This fine old Norman
castle, eventually demolished by Cromwell, was besieged
and taken by the Dauphin of France in the reign of John,
but it held out gallantly against Simon de Montfort and the
barons in the days of Henry III. In Mary's time it was
in good repair, and well supplied with ordnance and men.
Wolvesey Castle, as the other fortress was called, stood
in the lower part of the city, to the south-east of the
cathedral. Though less advantageously situated than the
upper strong-hold, it rivalled it in magnitude. The two
giants tried their strength in the time of the warlike Henry
de Blois, but were too well matched for any decided result
to ensue. Wolvesey Castle was built by the valiant prelate
we have just mentioned on the site of the old Saxon
palace wherein Egbert, Alfred, Edgar, and Canute had
dwelt, and derived its name from the tribute of wolves'
heads exacted from the Welsh princes by Edgar, and paid
at the palace gates. Soon after the completion of Wolvesey
by De Blois, it was attacked by the Empress Maud, who
had possession of the upper fortress, and was invested at
the same time by the Earl of Gloucester, and David, King
of Scotland, but it held out against all its assailants.
During this conflict the city suffered much from the con¬
tending parties, but especially from the adherents of
Stephen. Fire-balls thrown from Wolvesey Castle caused a
tremendous conflagration, whereby the Abbey of Saint
Mary, the royal palace, the suburb of Hyde, with its superb
Old Winchester from Saint Catherine"s Hill. 113
monastery of Saint Grimbald, commenced by Alfred the
Great, and a multitude of churches were destroyed. Dis¬
mantled by Henry II., who dreaded its strength, Wolvesey
was restored and refortified at a later period, and afforded
shelter from the barons to the half-brothers of Henry III.
During all this time, and for upwards of another century,
Wolvesey was occupied by bishops, who belonging to the
church militant, kept it in a good state of defence. Later
on, it became less of a fortress, and more of an episcopal
palace, and such it was at the period of our history, for
though none of its fortifications were destroyed, and its
walls, towers, and donjon were still standing, the buildings
were devoted to pacific purposes. Great trees were allowed
to grow up in its courts, and fair gardens were laid out
beneath its walls. The principal apartments were in the
keep, and here Mary was now lodged, while her large
retinue found ample accommodation in the. numerous
towers and out-buildings. Gardiner had fitted up the
palace splendidly for his royal mistress's reception.
During her stay at Wolvesey, unbounded hospitality reigned
there; and never at any time—not even in 1522, when
Henry VIII. feasted the Emperor Charles V. in its halls—
had greater profusion been displayed within the castle. Of
this vast and stately pile, demolished by Cromwell, some
picturesque ruins, o'ergrown with ivy, are still left, attesting
its former extent and grandeur.
Wolvesey Castle was connected by a subterranean passage
with the cathedral, so that communication could be kept up
with that edifice during a seige. Opposite the gate-tower
was the noble entrance to Wykeham's College. Near at
hand was another college, founded by John de Pontissara,
and still nearer, the hospital called " La Carite," apper¬
taining to the cathedral. Tall trees sheltered these edifices,
and added to their beauty. Indeed, this part of the city
was so densely planted with timber, that it looked like a
grove.
The most striking object in old Winchester, as in the
existing city, was the cathedral. This ancient and splendid
structure demands a far more lengthened description than
we are able to afford it. The scene of many highly im¬
portant events, it has been the place of coronation of our
Cardinal Pole.
earlier kings, and their mausoleum. Egbert, Edmund the
son of Alfred the Great, Edred, Canute, and Hardicanute,
found here a sepulchre. Alfred's honoured remains,
temporarily deposited within the cathedial, were afterwards
removed to the adjacent abbey of Hyde, which he com¬
menced, but did not live to complete. Here, amongst
other holy personages, Saint Swithun, Bishop of Winchester
in the ninth century, the patron saint of the city and the
cathedral, found a grave. Here, also, lie the bones of
many an illustrious prelate—Bishops Walkelin, Edyngton,
and Wykeham; Bishops de Blois and Waynflete, Cardinal
Beaufort, Prior Silkstede, Bishop Fox, and Gardiner him¬
self, of whom our story treats. Built at different epochs,
Winchester Cathedral offers examples of various styles of
architecture, which, though dissimilar, produce a magnificent
whole. Upon its site stood a more ancient church, reared
by the Saxon king, Kenewalch, which was partially pulled
down in the nth century, when the present edifice was
commenced by Bishop Walkelin, who preserved such
portions of the original fabric as suited his design. The
greater part of the east end of the existing structure,
including the massive central tower, is Walkelin's work;
and that tower, though somewhat heavy, is a noble
specimen of Norman architecture. Considerable altera¬
tions were next made, towards the close of the 12th
century, by Bishop Godfrey de Lucy, who rebuilt the Lady
Chapel. About 1350, a new nave was commenced by
Bishop Edyngton, and the work was continued by the
illustrious William of Wykeham, and after him by Cardinal
Beaufort, and brought to a completion by Bishop Wayn¬
flete. The vast and lofty columns on either side of the
nave, each pillar being about twelve feet in diameter,
produce a grand effect, and the coup d'ceil of the interior
from the great western portal is superb beyond description.
The transepts, wherein may still be seen the huge round
pillars and vast circular arches, piled one upon another to
the roof — the original work of Walkelin — constitute,
perhaps, the most interesting part of the edifice.
Brief allusion can only be made to the marvels of the
choir; to its elaborately carved stalls with their misereres,
canopies, pinnacles, and other ornaments; to the magnificent
Old Winchester from Saint Catherine's Hill. 115
carved screen behind the altar-piece; to the glories of the
great east and west windows; to the superb chantries of
Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop Waynflete, and Bishop Fox, all
of extraordinary beauty and richness. On the south side of
the nave, and exhibiting infinite richness of ornament and
extreme delicacy of carving, is the mortuary chapel of
William of Wykeham, in which may be seen a recumbent
marble statue of that venerated personage, his head
supported by angels, and three kneeling figures at his feet.
In the north aisle, near the presbytery, is the mortuary
chapel of Bishop Gardiner. In the Silkstede Chapel, in the
south transept, will be found the lowly grave of gentle
Izaak Walton.
And now a word in regard to the city itself. The early
history of Venta, Caer Gwent, or the White City, as Win¬
chester was originally called, is lost in obscurity, but the
remote antiquity of the place is unquestionable. The Celt,
the Roman, the Saxon, the Dane, and the Norman, have
successively occupied the spot. Whether good King Arthur
held his court in the White City, and banqueted his peer¬
less knights at the Round Table, still preserved in the
castle hall, may be doubted. But it is certain that, as the
residence of our great Saxon kings, and the seat of their
government, Winchester was the most important city in the
island. In the days of Cerdic it was the capital of the
West Saxons, and, on the dissolution of the Heptarchy, it
became the metropolis of England. The most illustrious
name connected with Winchester is that of Alfred the
Great. Compelled to abandon the city for a while to the
Danes, this great monarch and lawgiver retook it, restored
it to its pristine splendour, and dwelt within it to his latest
day. Canute also had his palace in Winchester, and died
there. From Egbert to Edward the Confessor—a period
of two hundred and forty years—all our old Saxon kings
were crowned within the cathedral, and most of them found
graves in its vaults. William the Conqueror loved Win¬
chester, and strengthened it by the proud castle on the hill.
William Rufus was buried in the cathedral, and the saints
deposited there, resenting the intrusion of so impious a
monarch upon their resting-place, caused the great tower to
fall down. During the usurpation of Stephen, Winchester
1x6 Cardinal Vole,
became, as we have shown, the scene of dire conflicts
between the Empress Maud and Bishop de Blois. Henry
III., surnamed of Winchester, was born within the city;
and so was Arthur, eldest son of Henry VII., but the latter
died too young to do credit to his birth-place. Edward I.
held divers parliaments in the city, and partially restored
its consequence. Great feasting occurred in Wolves-y
Castle, with jousting and triumphs, when the Empeior
Charles V., as we have previously related, was for a week
the guest of Henry VIII. Of the crushing effect produced
upon the city by the Reformation we have already spoken.
It was now just recovering from the blow. Modern Win¬
chester comes not within our scope. But the city is; till
beautiful, still picturesque. Though reft of more than half
of its olden attractions, it still boasts its grand cathedral, its
famous college, and its exquisite and unique hospital of
Saint Croix. Retaining these, the city of Egbert, of Alfred,
and Canute, must ever be one of the most interesting in the
kingdom.
CHAPTER II.
saint Catherine's chapel.
T the period of our history the finishing-point to the
beauty of Saint Catherine's Hill was given by an
exquisite Gothic chapel placed upon its summit.
Erected in the 13th century, this little temple was
much resorted to by the devout on account of the reliques
it contained of Saints Birinus, Swithun, and Ethelwold.
Within in might also be seen a ploughshare which, while red
hot, had been trodden upon without injury by the beautiful
Queen Emma, mother of Edward the Confessor. Constant
pilgrimages were made to the shrine, and on the festival of
Saint Catherine, to whom the chapel was dedicated, a long
procession of religious personages of both sexes, headed by
the Bishop of Winchester, and accompanied by an immense
concourse, came forth from the city and ascended the hill,
when the Bishop and those with him entering the chapel,
placed rich gifts upon the altar. At such times, the spec¬
tacle of the vast assemblage kneeling around the little
fane, or raising the choral hymn to heaven, must have been
highly impressive. Formerly, Saint Catherine's Chapel had
been well endowed, but its revenues were appropriated by
Wolsey to his " twins of learning," Ipswich and Oxford.
From this time, until the return to the old wor.-hip under
Mary, the place was completely neglected. Restored by
Gardiner, an aged priest, Father Jerome, who had officiated
within it in former days, was appointed to its caie. At the
n8
Cardinal Pole.
same time its precious reliques were brought back. Luckily,
during the season of its desecration, it had sustained no
material injury—its extraordinary reputation for sanctity
having probably saved it—and it was now nearly as beautiful
as ever. As least, its custodian, good Father Jerome,
thought so.
In the olden time, it had been customary with devotees,
after early immersion in the clear waters of the Itchen, to
repair to Saint Catherine's Chapel, hear matins, and perform
other devotional exercises. This practice, healthful alike to
body and soul, was now revived. Welcome to Father
Jerome were all who came there to pray.
At an early hour on the morning of the third day after
the Prince of Spain's public entry into Southampton, a re¬
markably handsome young gallant—tall, graceful in figure
and deportment, and very becomingly attired in a doublet of
green velvet, slashed with white silk, and wearing a small
velvet beret of the some colour, adorned with a white plume,
on his head—issued from the south gate of Winchester, and
passing through the grove of stately elms, colonised by
rooks, then environing this side of the ancient city, struck
across the charming valley watered by the Itchen.
The morning was lovely enough to have tempted the
veriest sluggard to quit his couch, and our handsome young
galliard seemed fully alive to its beauties. The sun had but
just o'ertopped sweet Saint Catherine's Hill. The grass was
heavy with dew, and a thin haze hung in some parts of the
valley, but this quickly disappeared. All nature looked
bright and smiling. The warblers of the grove carolled
blithely, the larks soared aloft rejoicingly, and a cloud of
clamorous rooks, quitting the tall trees near the city, winged
their way towards the marsh lands further south. Scared
by the young man's approach, the stately heron started from
the river in which he was fishing, while other aquatic fowl
dived beneath the green water-weeds and disappeared.
At no time are we so susceptible to Nature's beauties as
at early morn. Our senses of delight are quicker then than
at any other season, and invigorated by the freshness of the
atmosphere, we find something to charm in every object we
behold. So it was with the young gallant in question. He
was familiar with the scene around him, yet he discovered
Saint Catherine's Chapel\
119
beauties in it of which he had been hitherto unconscious.
His eye ranged along the valley through which strayed the
winding Itchen, pleased with all it encountered, until his
gaze settled on the secluded hospital of Saint Croix.
Never before, it seemed to him, had the ancient edifice
looked so lovely, so sequestered, as it did now. Though par¬
tially screened by trees, enough was visible to evidence its
size and architectural beauty—the lofty gateway, the roofs
of the quadrangular courts, and the square tower ot the
reverend church. A slight mist, enveloping but not hiding
the outline of the pile, gave it a dreamlike character.
The hospital of Saint Croix was even then more than
three hundred years old, having been erected in 1136 by
Bishop Henry de Blois, of whom previous mention has been
made. It was subsequently enlarged by Cardinal Beaufort,
and is still, we are happy to say, in an admirable state of
preservation. Here the hospitality of monkish times is still
practised on a small scale. Like many other similar insti¬
tutions in Winchester and elsewhere, Saint Croix was de¬
prived of its rents and revenues by Henry VIII., but suffi¬
cient was fortunately saved from the spoiler's grasp to pre¬
serve it from utter extinction. New life was communicated
to the decaying old hospital by Mary, and it was the thought
of its unexpected revival that gave it special interest in the
eyes of the young man who now gazed upon it. Contrasting
its present condition with the past, he rejoiced that a fabric
so lovely, and designed for such benevolent purposes, should
have escaped destruction.
After indulging in these reflections for a brief space, he
walked on, bestowing a glance as he crossed the wooden
bridge over the Itchen at the trout shooting through the
clear stream. He had now reached the foot of Saint
Catherine's Hill, whither, apparently, he was bound, and
disdaining to take the easy but circuitous path conducting
to the little chapel, he speeded up the steepest part of
the acclivity, across the Danish entrenchment, and did not
halt for a moment till he gained the summit of the hill. He
then turned to enjoy the splendid prospect commanded from
the spot of the ancient city and its environs, which we have
already endeavoured to bring before the reader.
While he was thus occupied, the door of the little chapel
120
Cardinal Pole.
was opened by a priest of venerable and benevolent aspect,
who steppe 1 towards him, bade him a kindly good morrow,
and bestowed a benison upon him.
" What brings Master Osbert Clinton to Saint Catherine's
Hill so early?' inquired the old priest.
" Nothing more than to hear matins in your chapel,
good Father Jerome," replied Osbert. "I trust I am in
time."
" You are in ample time, my son," replied the old priest,
smiling. " Matins have not yet been said, and will not com¬
mence for half an hour. Except myself, you are the first
on Saint Catherine's Hill this blessed morning. Indeed, 1
marvel to see you here so soon. That a young gallant like
Master Osbert Clinton, engaged in all the gaieties of court,
should have come to this little chapel to pray at so early an
hour, argues a strength of devotion for which, I own, I
scarcely give hirn credit."
" I will not attempt to deceive you, good father," returned
Osbert. " It is not merely the desire to pray within your
chapel that has brought me here, but the hope of meeting a
fair maiden "
" Dare you make such an avowal to me, young Sir ? " in¬
terrupted Father Jerome, in a tone of stern rebuke.
" Nay Father, be not angry with me," said Osbert. " You
will pardon me, I am sure, when you know my motive. My
object is to caution the damsel, and this is the only oppor¬
tunity I may have of doing so."
" Methinks I know the damsel you allude to, my son,"
returned Father Jerome. " Mistress Constance Tyrrell, is it
not ? She was here yesterday, and after performing her
devotions, poured forth the secrets of her heart to me, and
besought my counsel."
" You are aware, then, of the perilous position in which
she is placed, and of the necessity of extricating her from it
without delay ? "
" I know she is beloved by some exalted personage, and
that she is full of apprehension "
" Well may she be so, holy Father," said Osbert. " I dare
not tell you by whom she is beloved. Suffice it, that her
position at court is fraught with peril. But it shall be my
business to guard her."
Saint Catherine's Chapel,
121
''You love her, then, my son?" observed Father Jerome.
" Passionately," replied Osbert. " But I have not yet
ventured to tell her of my love."
"You are encouraging a hopeless passion, my son, and I
beseech you to check it while you can. But what tidings do
you bring of the Prince of Spain ? When comes he from
Southampton ? "
" This very day," returned Osbert. " I am to form part
of the train which will escort his Highness hither. We shall
set forth at noon, at which hour the Prince, with a large
cavalcade, will leave Southampton, so we shall meet him
midway."
" I am told he is a well-favoured Prince, but haughty and
reserved of manner," remarked Father Jerome.
"I have not found him so," replied Osbert. "Tome
he has been singularly condescending, and, indeed, he is
gracious to all."
"I am right glad to hear it. That speaks well for him.
Long and earnestly have I prayed that our good Queen's
union may be happy. Much does our holy Church owe her.
Look down upon that city, my son. Regard those monas¬
teries, convents, and hospitals. They have all been restored
by her. Once more within yon noble cathedral mass is cele¬
brated, and all the rites of the Romish Church performed.
To Queen Mary we owe this blessed change. By her Saint
C'pix has likewise been restored, and it is to her benign in¬
fluence that this little chapel has been again opened for
worship—that the reliques of the saints have been brought
back to it—and that I, myself, am enabled to officiate within
it. By Queen Mary heresy and schism have been over¬
thrown, and our holy Church delivered from bondage. May
Heaven long preserve her! She is our hope and strength—
our pillar and defence."
" I cry 'Amen' to that prayer with all my heart," said
Osbert. " Heaven grant the Prince may prove a good hus¬
band to her !"
" You speak as if you doubted it, my son," rejoined Father
Jerome. " But I cannot tarry for further converse. I must
leave you now. The hour for matins is at hand. After
prayers, if you have aught further to say to me, I shall be at
your service."
122
Cardinal Pole.
With this, he re-entered the chapel, and presently a bell
began to ring. Many persons, chiefly country-folk, obeyed
the summons, coming from different parts of the valley,
and entered the chapel, the door of which now stood
open.
Osbert, however, did not enter with them, as he had
caught sight of two female devotees slowly ascending the
hill, in whom he recognised Constance Tyrrell and her old
attendant, Dorcas. He waited till they gained the brow of
the eminence, and then advancing towards the damsel,
respectfully saluted her. Her appearance surprised and
distressed him. She looked sad and pale, and traces of
recent tears were on her cheeks. Scarcely returning his
salutation, she entered the chapel, followed by old Dorcas,
who appeared to be as full of affliction as her young mis¬
tress. Osbert went in after them, and knelt down by the
side of Constance at the altar. But she did not once look
towards him, and, indeed, seemed wholly unconscious of his
presence.
At the close of the service, Osbert quitted the chapel with
the country-folk, and waited outside, thinking Constance
would soon come forth. But he was doomed to disappoint¬
ment. More than an hour elapsed, and she did not appear.
At the expiration of that time the chapel door was opened
by Father Jerome, who looked very grave. Addressing
Osbert, the old priest said, " Do not tarry here longer, my
son. Mistress Constance Tyrrell has much to say to me,
and seeks my ghostly counsel."
"But I will wait for her, good Father," cried Osbert. "I
care not how long I stay. I must speak with her."
" Impossible ! my son," replied Father Jerome. " I enjoin
you to depart. Constance does not desire to see you. Stifle
the unfortunate passion you have conceived for her. It can
never be requited."
" In Heaven's name what has happened, good Father ?
Tell me, I adjure you ?" cried Osbert.
"Question me not, but go!" said Father Jerome, authori¬
tatively. " Constance will not come forth while you remain
here. I myself will accompany her to Winchester."
"But will you tell me nothing more ? Will you not give
me a hope ? " ejaculated Osbert, despairingly.
Saint Catherine's Chapel.
123
The old priest shook his head, and, with a compassionate
glance at him, closed the door, and bolted it inside.
Osbert was half inclined to force an entrance into the
chapel, but feeling the impropriety of such a proceeding, he
tore himself away, and rushed wildly down the hill, scarcely
knowing whither he went.
CHAPTER III.
HOW THE PRINCE OF SPAIN
TO WINCHESTER ; HOW HE
CATHEDRAL, AND VISITED
WOLVESEY CASTLE.
RODE FROM SOUTHAMPTON
HEARD HIGH MASS AT THE
THE QUEEN PRIVATELY AT
PI I LIP prolonged his stay at Southampton from
Friday, the 20th of July, 1554. the day on which
he made his public entry into the town, till the
following Monday. Before leaving, he dismissed
his fleet, which set sail for Cadiz, under the command of the
Admiral of Castile. The Flemish squadron also departed
at the same time. Nothing was allowed to transpire publicly
in regard to the Queen's secret visit to Southampton. After
protecting the French ambassador from the Prince's ven¬
geance, in the manner previously related, Mary returned to
Winchester, taking Constance Tyrrell with her. Next day,
the Count D'Egmont, attended by Osbert Clinton, brought
her Majesty a set of diamonds, of inestimable value, as a
present from Philip. Somewhat later in the same day, the
noble Spanish dames, the Duchess of Medina Celi, the
Marchionesses Pescara, de Farria, and del Valle, the
Countesses Olivaros, de Saldana, and de Modica, with
several other gentlewomen, who had accompanied their
consorts to be present at the approaching solemnity, arrived
at Wolvesey Castle in magnificent chariots and litters pro¬
vided for them by the Queen.
Meantime, Southampton continued in a fever of excite¬
ment, nothing being thought of in the town but revelry and
How the Prince Rode to Winchester.
1*5
rejoicing. On Sunday, Philip heard mass in Saint Michael's
Church, and rode forth afterwards with his train to Netley
Abbey, then in possession of the Marquis of Winchester,
Lord High Treasurer, to whom it had been granted on the
dissolution of the monasteries, and after being sumptuously
entertained by his noble host, he returned, in the cool of a
most delicious evening, by water to Southampton.
About noon on Monday, the 22nd, the Prince quitted
Southampton, attended by a magnificent escort, comprising,
in addition to his own suite, the Duke of Norfolk, the
Marquis of Winchester, the Earls of Arundel, Derby,
Worcester, Bedford, Rutland, Pembroke, and Surrey; with
the Lords Clinton, Cobham, Darcie, Matravers, Talbot, and
many others, numbering, with their gentlemen and esquires,
upwards of two thousand horse. Never before had such a
vast and splendid cavalcade passed through the Bar-gate.
Stationed at the gate were Sir Bevis, with the Princess
Josyan seated behind him on the broad back of Arundel,
Ascapart, Canute, and Xit—the latter mounted on his little
piebald horse—and when the royal cortege had passed by,
these personages followed it at a short distance. Hundreds
of persons on foot accompanied the cavalcade, which pro¬
ceeded at a slow pace, half way to Winchester, when it
encountered another large company of noblemen and gentle¬
men sent to meet it by the Queen. Amongst these were
the Count D'Egmont and Osbert Clinton. Swelled by this
addition, the cavalcade, which had now assumed the pro¬
portions of an army, pursued its course towards Winchester,
the trees by which the valley of the Itchen was shaded
affording protection from the scorching sunbeams. Ere
long Philip came upon the hospital of Saint Croix, the
secluded beauty of which might have attracted more of his
attention had not Winchester itself, at the same moment,
burst upon his view. Cries of admiration broke from the
Spaniards as they caught sight of the ancient and pictur¬
esque city.
From Saint Croix to the South-gate the road was lined
on either side by well-dressed "spectators of both sexes, who
cheered the Prince loudly as he rode by on his Andalusian
barb. A roar of artillery from the castle batteries announced
bis entrance into the city to the Queen.
9
i^6
Cardinal Pole.
Philip was now close to the cathedral, which rose before
him in all its majesty. Passing through a gateway, he
reached the great western entrance, in the wide place in
front of which some fifteen hundred horsemen were now
drawn up, forming a most imposing spectacle.
Beneath the central portico, with its noble arch supported
by clustered columns, and its tabernacles containing statues
of the saints Peter and Paul, stood Gardiner, in his full pon¬
tificals, mitre, stole, chasuble, rochet, alb, and amice. His
crosier was borne by a priest, who stood behind him.
Beetle-browed, swarthy of complexion, hook-nosed, and
harsh of feature, Gardiner notwithstanding his forbidding
looks and stern, searching glances, which seemed to read
the hearts of those he looked upon, and inspired more dread
than love, had a countenance replete with intelligence, while
his imperious looks and manner, untamed by reverse of
fortune, showed the confidence he felt in his own mental
powers and resources. With Gardiner were Bonner, Bishop
of London, Tonstal, Bishop of Durham, Day, Bishop of
Chichester, Thirlby, Bishop of Ely, Heath, Bishop of Wor¬
cester, and other prelates, all in mitres and copes. Behind
the bishops were the clergy belonging to the cathedral in
their vestments.
As Philip dismounted before the porch, and bent the
knee to Gardiner, who advanced to meet him, the bishop
spread his arms over him, pronouncing a solemn benediction
upon his head.
After bowing with profound respect to the other prelates,
all of whom reverently returned his salutation, the Prince
entered the cathedral and proceeded towards the choir,
Gardiner and the other bishops leading the way. Ere many
minutes, the nave was half filled by the nobles and gentle¬
men composing Philip's retinue. The furthest stall on the
right of the choir was assigned to the Prince by Gardiner.
Every other stall had a noble occupant; the one next to
Philip being tenanted by the Duke of Norfolk.
High mass was then celebrated, Gardiner and the bishops
officiating at the altar. After Te P>eum had been solemnly
sung, Philip retired into the sacristy adjoining the Silkstede
Chapel with Gardiner, where a brief, but very kindly, con¬
ference took place between them. To the Prince's inquiries
How the Pritice Rode to Winchester.
127
as to when he might be permitted to see the Queen, Gardiner
replied, that the public presentation could not, according to
court etiquette, take place till the morrow, but that he
would engage to procure his Highness a private interview
with her Majesty that evening.
On quitting the cathedral, the Prince was ceremoniously
conducted by the Earl of Arundel to the deanery, which
had been prepared for his reception. Here a grand banquet
was subsequently served, at which the Lord Chancellor and
all the principal English and Spanish nobles sat down.
In the evening, while Philip was alone, the Earl of
Arundel and the Grand Chamberlain, Sir John Gage, were
introduced, and informed him that they were enjoined by
her Majesty to conduct him to her presence. Expressing
the liveliest satisfaction, the Prince said he was ready to
accompany them at once, and, immediately arising, he went
forth with them into the deanery garden, whence, by a pri¬
vate way, he was brought to a postern in the walls of
Wolvesey Castle. Of this postern Sir John Gage possessed
the key, and the door being unlocked, gave them admittance
to the gardens of the castle.
After tracking a long arcade of formally clipped yew-
trees, they came upon a wide glass-plot, soft as velvet to the
foot, laid out in front of the keep-tower, wherein, as we have
already stated, were the Queen's apartments. Close to this
charming lawn were parterres, embellished with knots of
flowers, in the taste of the period. At the farther end stood
the stately donjon reared by stout Henry de Blois, between
which and the grass-plot lay a broad terrace-walk. This
scene, beautiful at all times, was now rendered doubly beau¬
tiful by the light of a full summer moon hanging right above
the keep, and flooding the place with radiance.
As the Prince and his attendants entered this fairy region,
three persons were walking upon the grass-plot. These
were the Queen, Gardiner, and one of her Majesty's ladies—
the latter, however, being at some distance from the other
two.
"There is her Majesty," observed the Lord Chamberlain.
"Shall I announce your Highness?"
Receiving Philip's prompt assent, Sir John Gage advanced
towards Mary, and after an instant's consultation with her,
128
Cardinal Pole.
Philip was formally presented—the Lord Chamberlain with¬
drawing as soon as he had performed his office. Gardiner
also retired with the lady in attendance, and the royal pair
were left alone together. Mary was very richly attired, and,
viewed by this witching light, really looked attractive.
Some excuse may therefore be found for the impassioned
admiration which Philip expressed on beholding her fea¬
tures, now for the first time revealed to his gaze.
Mary was small of stature, with beautiful hands and feet.
Her person was well made, but too thin, and her carriage,
though majestic, was exceedingly stiff, and lacked the grace
which ease alone can impart. In her younger days she had
been accounted good-looking, but she could scarcely be
considered so now. Her eyes were large and grev, and her
glances keen and steady. Her face was round, her tresses
inclining to red, if they did not even actually attain that
hue, and the nose too flat and large. Her lips, too, were
thin and compressed. Altogether, there was a hardness and
severity about her face that destroyed its pleasing character,
while premature wrinkles about the eyes and brow gave her
age-
If Mary did not inherit the beauty either of her father or
mother, she had many of the qualities by which both were
characterised. She had the courage, firmness, and obstinacy
of Henry VIII., and she had all the virtues belonging to the
unfortunate Katherine of Aragon. Her conduct under the
tiials to which she was exposed was most exemplary, and
even her enemies could find no fault with it. Firmly
attached to the principles of the Catholic religion, in which
she had been brought up, she never wavered for a moment
in her adherence to her faith, but would have suffered
martyrdom rather than renounce it. When commanded by
the council under Edward VI., to desist from the perform¬
ance of mass, she still continued to celebrate it in private.
Mary spoke well in public, and possessed a voice so
sonorous that she could be distinctly heard by a large
assemblage. Her stirring address to the citizens at Guild¬
hall gave the coup de grace to Wyat's formidable rebellion.
She also possessed many accomplishments, playing so well
upon the lute and spinet as to astonish and delight professed
musicians by her skill She also greatly excelled in em-
Ifow the Prince Rode to Winchester. iaq
broidery, and in other female work. Her intellectual accom¬
plishments were of a high order, though they did not excite
so much astonishment in those days of learned ladies as
they would in our own. She spoke French and Spanish
perfectly, and read Italian with ease, though she did not
speak it. She was also mistress of Latin. At the request
of Catherine Parr, she translated into English Erasmus's
Paraphrase of the Gospel of St. John. Since her accession
to the throne, all her time, except the hours of devotion,
had been given to affairs of state. She arose at daybreak,
performed her religious duties, heard mass, and thencefor¬
ward devoted herself to public business, being easy of access
to all who desired to approach her. Bigoted Mary was,
intolerant and severe towards those who differed with her
on points of faith; but she had many redeeming qualities,
which should have saved her from the obloquy to which she
has been subjected.
Such was Mary when she met her affianced husband on
that lovely moonlight night in the garden of Wolvesey
Castle—a night ever after cherished in her memory as the
happiest of her existence. Blissful, indeed, were her feelings
as she paced to and fro upon that soft sward with her royal
lover, listening to the vows he breathed in low and pas¬
sionate tones, and believing all he said. Philip felt his
power, and exercised it. From that moment to the latest
of her existence, she fondly loved him. Ingrate that he
was, he but poorly requited her affection.
We shall not record the words he uttered. Idle words
were they, such as feigned passion has ever at command,
but they produced the effect designed. Suspicious as Mary
was by nature, she had no suspicion now. She persuaded
herself that Heaven had rewarded her at last for all her
sufferings by bestowing upon her a fond and faithful spouse.
Two hours elapsed before their moonlight walk was over—
two happy, happy hours to the Queen. Then she re-entered
the keep, while Philip, attended by the Earl of Arundel and
Sir John Gage, returned to the deanery.
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE PUBLIC MEETING BETWEEN THE ROYAL PAIR.
having been arranged that the public irieeting
between the royal pair should take place on the
following day, six richly carved and gilt chariots,
covered with cloth of gold, drawn by horses
trapped in white velvet embroidered with silver lions, and
ridden by pages of honour attired in the royal liveries, were
sent to convey the Prince and his suite to Wolvesey Castle.
Attendant upon the chariots were a number of henchmen,
likewise habited in the royal liveries, and mounted on richly-
caparisoned horses, and besides these there was a guard of
two hundred arquebusiers, fully equipped.
Precisely at noon Philip came forth from the deanery,
attended by all his grandees, gorgeously attired, and glitter¬
ing with jewels, and entered the chariot appointed for him.
Tne Dukes of Alva and Medina Celi had places beside him.
Preceded by mounted trumpeters and kettle-drums, making
a loud bruit, the train moved towards Wolvesey Castle, the
Prince being everywhere greeted by acclamations from those
who witnessed his progress. At the noble gateway of Wyke-
ham's College were stationed the warden and fellows in their
gowns, and ranged by the side of the walls in files two deep
stood the scholars, who shouted lustily and waved their caps
as the Prince passed by. The young Wykehamists were
still vociferating as the chariot containing the Prince passed
beneath the arched gate-tower then forming the main
entrance to Wolvesey Castle. At this gate, above which
Of the Meeting Between the Royal Pair. 131
floated the royal standard, stood Og, Gog, and Magog,
towering by the head and shoulders above the other hal
berdiers. The giants had now resumed their ordinary garb
of yeomen of the guard, but were instantly recognised by
tne Prince.
Before the principal entrance of the keep stood a vast
number of gentlemen, esquires, and pages, all splendidly
apparelled, and, as Philip's chariot drew up, Sir John Gage,
Grand Chamberlain, with Sir Henry Jerningham, Vice-
Chamberlain, bearing their wands of office, came forth to
assist his Highness to alight. The entrance-hall was filled
with noble personages, amongst whom were the Lord Chan¬
cellor, the Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of Arundel and Derby,
Sir Edward Hastings, Master of the Horse, the Earl of
Bedford, Lord Privy Seal, the Lord Paget and Sir William
Petre, both Secretaries of State, with many others. Bowing
graciously as he passed through this splendid throng, the
Prince was conducted by Gardiner to the great hall, where
he found the Queen surrounded by a bevy of lovely dames.
Mingled with the English ladies and contrasting strongly
with them, from their rich Southern complexion, dark eyes
and jet-black tresses, were the noble Spanish dames, making
altogether a most dazzling group. At the further end of
the hall, which was hung with costly arras, and otherwise
gorgeously decorated, was a cloth of estate, embroidered
with the arms of England and Spain. Under it were two
velvet fauteuils.
On perceiving the Queen, Philip flew towards her, and,
without tarrying for a formal presentation by Sir John Gage,
embraced her, kissing her lovingly, to the amusement of all
the ladies around, and then, taking her hand, led her towards
the canopy at the further end of the hall, no one presuming
to follow them. As the royal pair seated themselves on the
fauteuils, and entered into tender converse, many a curious
eye was directed towards them. However, they heeded not
observation, but seemed entirely engrossed by each other.
Thus they continued discoursing for more than an hour.
The Queen then rose, and the Prince rising likewise, Sir
John Gage and Sir Henry Jerningham marshalled them into
an adjoining chamber, where a grand banquet was laid out.
Here they both sat down at the high table, and were waited
*3*
Cardinal Pole.
upon by Gardinei, the rest of the company occupying the
lower tables. Near the royal pair stood a cupboard filled
with splendid salvers, flagons, and other vessels of gold and
silver. In the course of the banquet, a goblet of wine
being filled for the Queen by Gardiner, she drank from
it to Philip ; after which, the Prince pledged her in return
from the same loving cap. At the close of the banquet, the
Queen and Prince, attended by all the company, adjourned
to the grass plot, where they walked for some time, enjoying
the cool air. A concert in the great ball, at which many
skilful musicians and singers assisted, brought the evening
to an end. Attended by his grandees, Philip then returned
to the deanery.
No meeting took place between the royal pair next day,
the Queen being occupied in preparations for the marriage
ceremonial, which was appointed for the morrow.
Philip passed his time in visiting several places in and
about the city. At Wykeham's College, whither he first
repaired, he was received by the warden and fellows, and
shown over the ancient structure, appearing to be much
struck by the great hall, the beautiful chapel, the cloisters,
and the refectory. In the hall the whole of the students
were assembled, and a Latin address was recited to him by
the senior scholar. On his departure, the Prince ordered the
contents of a well filled purse to be distributed amongst the
youths, and the walls of the old quadrangle resounded with
the joyous shouts of the recipients of the gift.
Accompanied by the Bishop of Cuenga and Father de
Castro, Philip next visited " La Caritd," with several other
religious establishments and hospitals, and left large presents
behind him. This done, at the head of a brilliant retinue,
consisting of the chief English and Spanish nobles, he rode
up to William the Conqueror's Castle, and examined it
throughout, mounting to the top of the donjon, whence he
beheld Southampton, and the Isle of Wight in the far dis¬
tance. In the great hall of the fortress he was shown King
Arthur's Round Table, at which his august sire, the
Emperor Charles V., had sat when he was the guest of
Henry VIIL
" I was honoured with a seat at the Round Table on that
ever-memorable occasion, your Highness," observed the ol<j|
Oj the Meeting Between the Royal Pair. 133
Duke of Norfolk. " Seldom hath such a party assembled—
not perhaps since the days of good King Arthur himself.
Both your royal father and my late gracious master—whose
soul God preserve!—played the boon companion, and bandied
so many merry jests, that we could scarce contain ourselves
for laughter. And yet they were nowise displeased, for state
was banished from the Round Table, no one being able to
say who sat above the other. On yonder wall, I mind me,
was inscribed this distich in letters of gold:
' Carolus, Henricus vivant; defensor uterque,
Henricus fidei, Carolus ecclesise.' "
"You describe an enviable banquet, my lord Duke,"
replied Philip; " and I marvel not it lives in your memory.
But you shall sit again at that board, and as my guest; and
though I cannot hope to rival my father, or your late royal
master, as a boon companion, I will put no constraint upon
your mirth."
The Duke of Norfolk bowed his thanks, and they quitted
the hall. From the castle, Philip rode with his train to the
Hospital of Saint Croix, with the beautiful and secluded
situation of which he had been much struck as he approached
Winchester. Passing through the ancient gateway, he dis¬
mounted in the court, where were drawn up the brotherhood
in their long dark gowns, adorned with a silver cross—vest¬
ments and badges still retained by the fraternity. After
examining the Hundred Men's Hall, and noting the statue of
Cardinal Beaufort in a niche in the upper part of the cha
ber, Philip proceeded to the venerable church, where he h ard
mass. Well pleased with his visit, he caused a piece of gold
to be given to each of the brethren.
On quitting Saint Croix, the Prince did not return at
once to Winchester, but crossing the valley, and fording the
Ttchen at a place pointed out to him by Osbert Clinton,
who acted as his guide, he rode up Saint Catherin e's Hill.
Good Father Jerome, who had watched the train a. cending
the mount, advanced to meet him. Courteously saluting
the old priest, Philip put several questions to him re specting
the chapel.
" Will it please your Highness to aiight and > iew the
reliques?" said Father Jerome.
134
Cardinal Pole.
Readily assenting, Philip dismounted, Osbert holding his
bridle the while.
The Prince then entered the chapel with Father Jerome,
leaving all his suite outside to contemplate the magnificent
prospect of the city. His first act was to prostrate himself
before the altar, and in this pious posture he remained for
several minutes, fervently occupied in prayer.
" Apparently he is devout," thought Father Jerome, as he
stood behind him, with his hands meekly folded upon his
breast. "And yet unholy passions rule his heart."
When Philip had concluded his devotions, Father Jerome
unlocked a casket, and exhibited the various saintly reliques
it contained, which the Prince regarded with due reverence.
The old priest next displayed the wonderful ploughshare
which had proved harmless to Queen Emma, and related the
legend connected with it. While looking about the chapel,
Philip noticed upon the credence-table near the altar a little
tablet of gold, with an agate on either side, garnished with
rubies, and having a large pearl pendant.
" How came this trinket here, father ? " he inquired, fixing
a stedfast look on the old priest. " It was my gift to a
damsel who preserved my life."
" I know it, Highness," replied Father Jerome. " But the
maiden felt she could not keep the tablet, and hath left it as
an offering to Saint Catherine's shrine. In my humble mind
she has done well."
"Has she confessed to you, father?" demanded
Philip.
" I am not bound to answer that question, even to your
Highness," replied Father Jerome. "Nevertheless, I will
answer it. She has confessed."
" Then you know all ? "
"All, Highness. And I pity her from my soul."
"And you blame me?"
" I said not so, Highness," replied the priest, somewhat
evasively.
"Where is she?" asked Philip, after a pause, and in tones
of deep emotion.
"Highness," replied Father Jerome, "she has returned
to Southampton, where she is about to bury her woes in a
convent. I applaud her determination,"
Of the Meeting Between the Royal Pair. 135
" Father, this step must be prevented," rejoined Philip.
" She must not take the vows."
" I do not think she will yield to any persuasions to the
contrary," replied Father Jerome. "Her resolution is
taken."
" Make the attempt—I command you," cried Philip, im¬
periously. " See her without delay. Use all the arguments
you can employ. If you succeed, count on my gratitude."
"Your Highness shall be obeyed, although I confess I
like not the task," said Father Jerome, bowing his reverend
head.
" And as an earnest of my good will, take this purse, and
employ its contents as you list."
" I take it, only to bestow its contents on the poor," said
the priest, as Philip quitted the chapel.
Philip then mounted his jennet, and rode down the hill
with his train. The changed expression of his countenance
did not escape notice, but no one ventured to remark upon
it. Under the guidance of Osbert Clinton, the prince made
his way along the banks of the Itchen, to the old stone
bridge, said to be the work of St. Swithun, and crossing it,
re-entered the city by the eastern gate, and proceeded to
the deanery, halting by the way to examine the ancient City
Cross.
While Philip was making the various visits we have
described, most of the inhabitants had opportunities of
beholding him, and all were favourably impressed by his
youth, his handsome person, his proud yet affable deport¬
ment, and, above all, by the grace and skill with which he
managed his fiery Andalusian barb.
That evening, the Prince had a long conference with
Simon Renard, the Spanish ambassador, and Don Juan de
Figueroa, Regent of the Council of Aragon, a nobleman
much in the Emperor's confidence, and who had been sent
to England, charged with a most important mission, which
he had hitherto kept secret, but which he now proceeded to
disclose to the Prince. The revelation then made seemed
to yield Philip extraordinary satisfaction.
CHAPTER V.
HOW THE ROYAL NUPTIALS WERE CELEBRATED IN
WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.
P^grgAINT JAMES'S DAY had been appointed for the
marriage, that saint being the patron of Spain.
Brighter or more beautiful morning never rose on
Winchester than on this auspicious day. Magni¬
ficent preparations had been made for the event. Two
triumphal arches spanned the High-street, and all the houses
were hung with cloths of gold and silver, velvet and arras,
while minstrels were everywhere engaged. The pinnacles
of the graceful Cross, which belongs to the time of Henry
VI., and still adorns the city, were hung with garlands of
flowers, and the statue of Saint Lawrence, placed under its
exquisite canopied niche, was garnished with beads, chains,
and other articles of goldsmith's work. The conduits ran
with white and red wines. All the poor were publicly
feasted; and at night great bon-fires were lighted on the
adjacent hills.
The city was fuller of strangers than it had ever been
known. Not only were the hostels crowded to overflowing,
but the religious houses and colleges were thronged with
guests. At an early hour of the day thousands of persons,
who had travelled all night, began to arrive from various
quarters—from Southampton, from Bishop's Waltham, from
Alresford, from Stockbridge, from Romsey, and even from
Salisbury—in short, from every place within a circuit of
How the Royal Nuptials w:re Celebrated. 137
twenty miles. These new comers found scant accomoda¬
tion, but booths were erected on Saint Giles's Hill, and on
Saint Mary Magdalene's Hill, as during fair-time, to which
they resoited.
Loud reports of ordnance were continually heard from
the batteries of the castle, and the bells of all the churches
pealed joyfully. As the hour appointed for the ceremony
approached, a grand procession began to enter the cathedral.
First came the mayor and aldermen of Winchester, in
scarlet gowns, followed by the officers of the city, apparelled
in velvet and silk, carrying long staves. Then, after a short
pause, came thirty gentlemen belonging to the Spanish
ambassadors, clad in doublets of yellow velvet striped with
red. These were followed by Simon Renard and Don Juan
de Figueroa, both sumptuously apparelled. Then came a
numerous body of sergeants and officers of arms, and after
them gentlemen, esquires, and knights, all richly attired,
and ranged according to their degrees. On reaching the
steps leading to the choir, all these passed into the north
transept, which, ere long, was complete y filled. Then came
another long train of gentlemen and esquires belonging to
various noblemen, all in rich liveries of divers colours, and
making a splendid show. Then came the Duke of Norfolk,
the Earls of Arundel, Sussex, Huntingdon, Shrewsbury,
Pembroke, and Derby, in their robes of estate of crimson
velvet furred with ermine, and powdered according to their
degrees. All such as were Knights of the Garter wore the
collar and the lesser badge of the order. These were
followed by the lords of the council in robes of scarlet.
After them came the choir of the cathedral, solemnly singing
as they passed along; then the clergy, in their copes and
gowns; then came the incense bearers, with great silver
thuribles, censing the way. Then followed the Bishops of
London, Durham, Ely, Lincoln, Chichester, and other
prelates, in copes and mitres. After them came two priests,
each bearing a large silver cross, followed by another priest
with a crosier. Next came Gardiner himself, in his full
pontificals.
Before proceeding, let us cast an eye around the interior
of the cathedral, and note the extraordinary splendour of
its decorations. The mighty pillars lining each side of the
138
Cardinal Port.
b oad nave were covered to the height of twelve feet with
crimson velvet, entwined with golden wreaths, while the
intercolumniations were filled up with arras and rich hang¬
ings. Every pillar was further decked with flags and
pennons. The aisles and transepts were likewise adorned
with hangings, and the Lady Chapel, wherein the marriage
ceremony was about to be solemnised, was hung with cloth
of gold. Along the nave, as far as the choir, was stretched
a cloth of ray, with rails on either side. Over the high altar
was reared an immense silver cross, and the altar itself
glittered with silver and gems. From an early hour in the
morning, all portions of the cathedral allotted to the public
were thronged to excess. Some thousands were present on
the occasion. The precincts of the sacred pile were equally
crowded, and the wide area in front of the grand western
portal presented a dense mass of human beings.
At ten o'clock the royal bridegroom left the deanery,
attended by the whole of his grandees, whose gorgeous
habiliments glittered with priceless jewels. Cloth of ray
had been laid down from the deanery to the great western
entrance of the cathedral, and on this Philip and his nobles
walked. Their path was further protected by rails, outside
of which archers and halberdiers were stationed.
Philip's bridal attire was magnificent, and attracted
universal admiration. His doublet and hose were of white
satin, richly embroidered with gold, and over all he wore a
gorgeous mantle of cloth of gold, presented to him by the
Queen, and thickly covered with pearls and precious stones.
His white velvet cap was studded with diamonds, rubies, and
emeralds. Over his shoulders he wore the collar of the
Garter, while the lesser badge of the order encircled his
knee. Splendid, however, as was his attire, it hardly out¬
shone the habiliments of his grandees, all of whom wore the
collar of the Golden Fleece, or the insignia of some other
order.
As Philip entered the cathedral with his train, trumpets
were loudly sounded, and the martial bruit continue 1 as he
advanced along the nave. Midway he was met by the Earl
of Arundel and other nobles, and ceremoniously conducted
to a traverse, prepared for him in the south transept, where
he awaited the Queen's arrival.
How the Royal Nuptials were Celebrated. 139
This was not long delayed. A peal of artillery, accom¬
panied by reiterated shouts, announced that her Majesty had
reached the precincts of the cathedral. Already, indeed, the
foremost of her immediate attendants were passing through
the grand portal. First came Garter King at Arms in his
gorgeous tabard, followed by the other heralds, and attended
by a band of trumpeters, with their silver clarions at their
lips. Then came the Grand Chamberlain, Sir John Gage,
his lofty figure seen to great advantage in a scarlet robe
open before, and edged with ermine. Sir John Gage had the
collar of the Garter round his neck, and carried his wand of
office in his hand. He was accompanied by the Vice-
Chamberlain, Sir Henry Jerningham, likewise in his robes
of office, and bearing a white wand. Then followed a long
train of pages attired in liveries of white and blue satin,
which had a charming effect. Then followed the three
gigantic yeomen of the guard, in scarlet, with the royal
badge embroidered at the front and back of their doublets.
Fresh acclamations from without, continued by the crowd
within the cathedral, proclaimed the entrance of the Queen.
Mary walked beneath a canopy of cloth of gold, the gilt
staves of which were borne by four knights, chosen for the
purpose from their goodly presence, attired in crimson satin,
with points of blue and red on their sleeves.
The Queen was arrayed in a gown of white cloth of tissue,
the stomacher of which was encrusted with diamonds and
precious stones, and her mantle of crimson velvet, bordered
with ermine, and embroidered with gold, was borne by six
noble dames, all magnificently attired. Her hair was un¬
bound, as was then the custom of brides—and a beautiful
custom it was—and on her head she wore a coif, encircled
with gold, and studded with orient pearls and gems. Mary
marched with a firm step along the nave, and really pre¬
sented a very majestic appearance. She was followed by a
long train of ladies, whose sweeping velvet mantles, furred
and embroidered, were borne by pages in rich liveries.
As the Queen advanced along the body of the cathedral,
Philip, who had been apprised of her coming, and, indeed,
could not be unaware of it from the braying of trumpets and
shouting, came from the traverse with his retinue, and met
her just as she reached the steps of the choir. Saluting her
140
Cardinal P. It.
with a warm demonstration of affection that savoured little
of ceremony, he took her hand, and they ascended the step?
together, Sir John Gage and the Vice-Chamberlain preceding
them.
At this moment Gardiner and the other prelates came
forth from the choir, and while the royal pair were standing
there with the Bishop of Winchester, in full view of the
immense assemblage, Don Juan de Figueroa, attended by
Simon Renard, came towards them, and, bending the knee to
Philip, presented a scroll to him.
"What means this, your excellency?" demanded the
Prince, with a well-feigned look of astonishment.
"It means, your Highness," replied Figueroa, as he arose,
"that your august sire, the Emperor, deeming it beneath the
d gnity of so high and mighty a sovereign as the Queen of
England to wed with one of rank inferior to her own, has by
this act resigned to your Highness the crown of Naples and
Sicily, with the Duchy of Milan, and divers other seats and
signories. From this moment, Sire, you are King of Naples,
and as such her Majesty's equal."
"A right noble and gracious act, and worthy of my
great father ! " exclaimed Philip. " Does not your Majesty
think so?"
" Nobly done, indeed, Sire!" cried Mary. "I joy that you
are King of Naples, but you could not be dearer to me than
as Prince of Spain."
" The Emperor's great and generous act must be made
known to the entire assemblage," said Gardiner.
" Be that task mine," rejoined Simon Renard.
Whereupon silence being called by sound of trumpet, the
Spanish ambassador advanced towards the edge of the steps,
and in a loud voice, distinctly heard by the thousands con¬
gregated within the nave, announced what the Emperor had
done for his son.
Tremendous acclamations followed, and the roof resounded
with cries of " Long live the Emperor ! Long live the King
of Naples!"
No sooner had Simon Renard retired than Garter King at
Arms advanced with a couple of trumpeters and proclaimed
the styles and titles of the two sovereigns in the following
formula:—
How the Royal Nuptials were Celebrated. 141
il Philip and Mary, by the grace of God, King and Queen
of England, France, Naples. Jerusalem, and Ireland; De¬
fenders of the Faith; Princes of Spain and Sicily; Arch¬
dukes of Austria ; Dukes of Milan, Burgundy, and Brabant;
Counts of Hagsburg, Flanders, and Tyrol."
This proclamation being made, the trumpets were sounded,
and the acclamations of the assemblage were renewed.
Preceded by Gardiner and the other prelates, cere¬
moniously marshalled by the Grand Chamberlain and Vice-
Chamberlain, and attended by the principal nobles, English
and Spanish, forming an assemblage of unrivalled splendour,
the royal pair—now equals in dignity—marched hand in
hand to the beautiful Lady Chapel built by Bishop Godfrey
de Lucy, where the marriage was solemnised by Gardiner,
assisted by the other prelates, the royal bride being given
away in the name of the realm by the Marquis of Winchester
and the Earls of Pembroke and Derby.
In all respects the ceremony was admirably performed.
The prelates gathered round the richly-decked altar, the
royal couple kneeling before it on velvet faldstools, the grand
assemblage of English and Spanish nobles grouped around,
the proud dames of both nations filling the galleries on either
side of the chapel—all constituted a superb picture.
The solemnity ended, the royal couple returned to the
choir, where a cloth of estate had been prepared for them,
beneath which they sat while Te Deurn was solemnly sung.
Here the picture was even grander than that exhibited in
the Lady Chapel, because it comprehended so much more of
the cathedral. Fortunately, it could be seen by the vast
crowd in the nave.
All being concluded, the royal couple quitted the sacred
edifice, walking hand in hand beneath the canopy. Before
them marched the Earls of Pembroke and Derby, each
bearing a sword of state.
In this manner, amid the thunder of artillery, the sounding
of trumpets, and the shouts of the crowd, they returned to
Wolvesey Castle, where a grand banquet was given, followed
by a state ball.
10
CHAPTER VI.
how philip, with four-and-twenty noble guests,
dined at Arthur's round table in Winchester
castle ; and how the feast ended.
HE royal couple sojourned at Wolvesey Castle for
a week, and during that time a series of grand
entertainments were given to all the nobility who
had attended the marriage ceremony. Pageants
were exhibited in the city, and in the pleasant meads
beyond the South-gate sports and pastimes of various kinds
took place—to wit, archery, horse-races, foot-races, throwing
of heavy weights, wrestling, rowing and swimming matches
in the Itchen, bear-baiting, badger-baiting, bull-running, cock-
fighting, duck-hunting in the river, and other diversions, in
which our ancestors delighted. These sports, many of
which were novel to them, afforded much amusement to
Philip and the Spanish nobles.
Mindful of his promise to the Duke of Norfolk to feast
his grace at Arthur's Round Table in Winchester Castle,
Philip appointed the day before his departure for the
banquet. Twenty four guests were invited, half of whom
were English nobles, and the other half Spanish grandees.
In the midst of the great hall of the castle, which was
more than a hundred and fifty feet long, and with a lofty
roof of open rafters, richly sculptured, was placed
" the pride of warlike years,
Old Arthur's board—"
How Philip Dined at Arthur's Round Table. 143
in other words, the famous Round table, at whick King
Arthur and his illustrious knights had often feasted.
Framed by Uter Pendragon, Arthur's royal sire, who
flourished early in the 6th century, or more than twelve
hundred years ago, this wondrous table was given by him to
King Leodegraunce of Camelyard, who held it in high
esteem. When Leodegraunce bestowed his fair daughter,
the lovely but erring Guenever, upon Arthur, he sent him at
the same time, as the richest present he could bestow, the
royal table, causing it to be conveyed by a hundred knights.
Enchanted with the gift, Arthur forthwith instituted the
order of the Round Table (the earliest military order of
knighthood), and had the places appointed for himself and
his twenty-four knights blessed by the Archbishop of Can¬
terbury. So runs the legend. But by whomsoever fashioned,
the Round Table was at least remarkable for antiquity in
the time of Henry VIII., who had it fresh painted for use at
the banquet given by him to the Emperor Charles V. It
still exists, as we have already intimated, and is constructed
of stout oaken planks, painted in parti-coloured rays, on the
borders of which
" Some British pen has sketched the names renowned,
In marks obscure, of Arthur's deathless peers."
Obscure as are the characters, the names of Sir Tristram,
Sir Launcelot, Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, Sir Gawaine, Sir
Ector, Sir Bors, and other peerless knights, may be read
upon this scroll of fame. In Cromwell's time the Round
Table narrowly escaped destruction from the parliamentary
soldiers, who never lost an opportunity of committing sacri¬
lege of some kind. They set it up as a target, and per¬
forated it with bullets. In the centre of the board is the
Tudor rose, and the sovereign's place is indicated by a full-
length portrait of Henry VIII., seated under a canopy with
an ermine mantle over his shoulders, and holding the orb
and sword.
The great hall in which the Round Table was set was
hung with ancient and somewhat faded arras, representing
in one place the interview of the twelve Roman knights
with Arthur, and in another the renowned British king
receiving his sword Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake.
144
Cardinal Pole.
Five-and-twenty suits of armour of colossal size were
placed on stands against the walls, while the intervals were
filled with trophies composed of shields, spears, swords,
battle-axes, maces, and other weapons. The cushion of
each chair was embroidered in letters of gold with the name
of its occupant. A curiously carved oak chair, in which
bluff King Hal had sat was assigned to Philip. On his
right sat the Lord Chancellor, and on the left the Duke of
No-folk. The place next to Gardiner was allotted to the
Duke of Alva, while Norfolk's neighbour was the Duke of
Medina Celi. In this wise were the twenty-four guests
disposed—English and Spanish nobles alternately.
No diaper covered the capacious board. But it was loaded
with salvers, dishes, goblets, and plates of gold and silver.
Sideboards, also, glittering with plate and drinking vessels,
were ranged around the hall. A multitude of pages, esquires,
and gentlemen were in attendance. The banquet consisted
of five courses, and comprised calvered salmon, stewed
lampries, slices of sturgeon, a porpoise in armour, soused
pike and bream, trout from the Itchen—pronounced delicious
—roast cygnets, a roast heron, wild-boar pie, a roast haunch
of venison, a roast kid, ruffs, dotterels, bitterns, and many
other good thmgs. No restraint was placed upon his guests
by the King, who, by his easy and jovial deportment, seemed
to invite familiarity. The Spanish grandees declared they
had never before seen their royal master so full of mirth,
and the Duke of Norfolk vowed that he equalled the Emperor
in good fellowship. Certes, his Majesty jested as much, and
laughed as hearti y as the rest of the company. So infectious
was the merriment, that even the stern features of the Duke
of Alva relaxed into a smile.
At the close of the repast, and as soon as the chargers
and other dishes had been removed, an immense silver bowl,
covered by a lid, was placed upon the table by the three
gigantic yeomen of the guard, Og, Gog, and M gog—a task
not accomplished without some difficulty — amidst the
laughter of the guests, who eyed the stupendous vessel with
astonishment.
"If that bowl be filled with hippocras, Sire," exclaimed
the Duke of Norfolk, "there must be enough liquor within
it to drown us all, or to float a man-of-war."
How Philip Dined at Arthurs Round Table. 145
Before any reply could be made, the attention of the
company was attracted by a ringing sound proceeding from
the vessel.
All the guests looked towards their royal host as if for
explanation.
" I know not what it means," said the King, who ap¬
peared as much surprised as the rest. " Take off the lid,
and let us see."
The order was obeyed by Og, whose countenance wore a
broad grin, and as he raised the cover, the cause of the
strange sounds became manifest. In the midst of a sea of
hippocras floated a silver boat, in which was seated Xit, in
the guise of the Enchanter Merlin, and holding in his hand
a silver ladle, with which he had struck the sides of the bowl,
to intimate his presence. Raising himself carefully, so as
not to upset the frail barque in which he was placed, the
dwarf bowed as gracefully as circumstances would permit, to
Philip, and said, "Doubtless your Majesty is surprised to
see me here, but I trust I shall not incur your sovereign dis¬
pleasure when I say that my desire to be present at your
banquet led me to adopt this expedient to gain admittance.
Besides, I may be useful," he added, flourishing the ladle.
" Thou art welcome, thou sprightly imp," replied Philip,
laughing. " Keep our goblets filled, that is all we require
from thee."
"Gramercy, Sire, I will endeavour to perform the office of
butler to your entire satisfaction," replied Xit, filling the cup
extended to him by the King.
After all the guests had been served with great expedition
and skill, Philip said to the dwarf, " Now, birrah, a toast."
"I am greatly honoured by the command, Sire," replied
Xit. " My toast, I am well assured, will be drunk with
enthusiasm, both by your Majesty and your illustrious
guests. I will give your royal consort, and our most gra¬
cious mistress, the Queen. May Heaven shed its choicest
blessings upon her! "
" Well said, thou merry knave ! " cried Philip. " No toast
could be more agreeable to us. My lords, we will dedicate
this cup to the Queen."
The toast was rapturously drunk by the assemblage, but
just as the goblets were emptied an unexpected incident
146
Cardinal Pole.
occurred. In the excitement of the moment, and while
waving the ladle, Xit lost his balance, and plunged head¬
foremost into the vinous flood beneath him. As he emerged
the next moment, his half-drowned appearance caused shouts
of laughter from the company, which were echoed by all the
pages, esquires, and other attendants.
"Marry, thou hast had a bath such as few men have
enjoyed," observed Philip, laughing.
" I would rather it had been water, Sire," spluttered Xit.
"I shall never enjoy the flavour of hippocras again. I pray
you let me be taken hence."
"There is no hurry," cried the Duke of Norfolk, laughing
immoderately. "We cannot let thee go yet. Make the
most of thy position, and quaff thy fill. The wine is spoiled
for all but thee."
"Were I to quaff more than I have already done, I should
become a sorry spectacle, your grace, and might offend this
noble company," observed Xit. " I have no desire to die
the death of the Duke of Clarence."
"Take him hence," said Philip, who thought the jest had
lasted long enough ; " but let him not out of the bowl till
its contents be emptied."
On this, the three giants, lifting the mighty bowl from the
table, conveyed it to another part of the hall, where they
set it down. The King's commands were scrupulously
obeyed. Notwithstanding Xit's piteous entreaties to be set
free, he was detained a prisoner till the whole of the
hipprcras had been drunk. To ibis end the giants lent
their best assistance, but before it could be fully ac¬
complished, the King and his noble guests had departed.
So ended the banquet at Arthur's Round Table.
Next day Philip and Mary, attended by their whole
court, and by the Spanish grandees, quitted Winchester,
and proceeded by easy stages to Windsor.
CHAPTER VII.
OF PHILIPS PUBLIC ENTRY INTO LONDON,
HE court had not been long at Windsor Castle, ere
most of the Spanish grandees who had accom¬
panied Philip, finding that owing to the terms of
the marriage-treaty, which were strictly enforced
by Gardiner and the council, no posts could be given them
in the government, quitted England in disgust. As the
Duke of Alva took leave of the King, he observed, " I am
loth to leave your Majesty with this people, but as you
have no present need of my services, while I may be of use
to the Emperor, I deem it best to go."
" Have no fears for me, my lord Duke," replied Philip.
"I am perfectly secure. I have paid a heavy price for the
support of the English nobles—but I think I can count
upon it."
" Do not trust them, Sire. The English nobles are
treacherous as corrupt, and will fall off when most needed.
Had your Majesty but listened to me, and pursued the bold
course I suggested, you might now be King of England—
not in name, merely, but in reality. It is not yet too late.
Say the word and I remain."
"No; you must go, Alva. I grieve to part with you, as
with my other nobles, but your presence here is prejudicia1
to my plans."
" I see not how that can be, Sire. You yield too much
to English prejudices. Pardon me for saying so, but you
148
Cardinal Pole.
ought to be lord and master in your own house, and not
subject to your wife—albeit she is a Queen."
" Why so I am, Alva," replied the King, smiling. '' Her
Majesty refuses me nothing."
" Except the matrimonial crown, Sire," said the Duke,
bluntly. " She will not give you that. Neither will she
place the supreme power of government in your hands, nor
cause you to be dec'ared presumptive heir to the crown."
" She dare not do so, Alva," observed Philip, coldly.
" I know not that," said the Duke. " For such a result
all should be dared."
" Her Majesty will accede to my wishes in due time,"
said the King. " Should there be an heir to the throne, all
difficulties will be removed."
"Ay, if there should—but the event may never occur,"
cried Alva, impatiently. "Again I say, why wait? With
such a prize within your grasp, why hesitate to seize it?
Oh ! that your Majesty would leave the work to me."
" I could not tru t you," said the King. " You would
ruin all by precipitancy. My plan is slow, but sure. Fare¬
well, my lord Duke. The saints give you a good journey
to Brussels. Commend me in all love and duty to the
Emperor, and say that in due time I trust he will have a
grandson."
" Would I could add that heresy were completely extir¬
pated from the realm, and the papal supremacy re-estab¬
lished," observed Alva.
" That will follow immediately on the arrival of Cardinal
Pole," said Philip. " Most of the English nobles and men
of wealth, as you know, have shared in the monstrous
spoliation of the Church that occurred during the two
previous reigns, and these persons will never acknowledge
the supreme authority of the Pontiff, unless their ill-gotten
possessions are secured to them. Until this point be
conceded by his Holiness, the Lord Chancellor assures me
it will be futile and even dangerous to propose the measure.
Mauriquez has been dispatched to Rome to argue the
matter with the Pope, and, till the question be decided,
Cardinal Pole must be detained at Brussels. This you will
explain to the Emperor."
"Humph!" exclaimed Alva. "I half hope the Pope
Of Philips Public Entry into London. 149
may refuse your Majesty's request, and then you will be
compelled to have recourse to me to force these robbers
to disgorge their plunder. 'Tis a dreadful wrong to the
Church."
"I feel the injustice as keenly as you can do, Alva,"
rejoined the King; ''but since the grievance cannot be re¬
dressed, it must be borne in patience."
" Well, we must hope for better days, when these plun¬
derers will meet their deserts on the scaffold and the
gibbet," said Alva. " I now take my leave of your
Majesty." So saying, he depaited.
That any assumption of regal power on the part of
Philip would be resisted, was shown by a slight incident
which occurred shortly afterwards. On the King's instal¬
lation as a Knight of the Garter, in order to give greater
importance to the proceeding, the royal arms of England
were taken down in St. George's Chapel by the chief
herald, at the instance of Simon Renard, and the arms qf
Castile and Aragon set up in their stead. But as soon as
the change was discovered by the Earl of Arundel and Sir
John Gage, they sharply reprimanded the herald, and, at
the risk of offending Philip, caused the Spanish arms to be
forthwi h taken down and those of England restored.
Philip had many secret enemies, but none so active or so
dangerous as the French ambassador. Notwithstanding
the ill success of his previous plot, and the narrow escape
he had run, De Noailles continued his intrigues among the
factious and discontented. As Mary could not refuse to
receive him at court without embroiling herself with France,
he had opportunities of carrying out a design which he had
conceived, of occasioning a rupture between the King and
Queen. Aware of Philip's infidelities, and of the Queen's
jealousy of disposition, he did not despair of accomplishing
this project. By means of spies, who were well paid foi
the service, he kept a strict watch over the King's proceed¬
ings, hoping to make some discovery that might serve his
purpose.
From a cause which we shall proceed to explain, Philip
began to lose the popularity he had acquired on his first
arrival. Though he continued extremely affable and con¬
descending to the English nobles—far more so than he was
Icirdinal Pole.
to those of his own nation—and though he made them
large gifts, in the hope of securing their friendship, he
never could overcome their distrust, which was kept alive
by the subtle practices of the French ambassador. More¬
over, Spanish usages began to prevail at court, and these
were highly distasteful to the English. Greater etiquette
and formality were observed. The doors were not thrown
open as they used to be, and those who desired an audience
of their Majesties, even on matters of urgency, were
detained long in the ante-chambers. So that although the
King did not meddle with the government—at all events
not directly—it was soon felt that the court was absolutely
under his control. None but those high in his favour were
admitted to him without much form and ceremony, which
was especially irksome to the older English nobles, who
had enjoyed easy access to the sovereign in the reign of
Henry VIII. And there was every appearance that this
strictness would increase rather than diminish.
Philip's public entry into London was not made until the
latter end of August. Preparatory to the ceremony, the
royal pair removed to Richmond Palace, where they stayed
for two or three days, and then proceeded by water in a
state barge, attended by all their retinue in other barges, to
the Bishop of Winchester's palace at Southwark. They
were received with great ceremony by Gardiner, and passed
the night under his roof.
Next day, accompanied by a numerous and magnificent
cortege, comprising all the chief officers of the court, together
with many of the nobility, the royal pair passed over
London Bridge into the City. The Queen, whose splendid
attire of cloth of gold blazed with jewels of inestimable
value, sat in a gilt chariot, drawn by six horses in housings
of white satin, embroidered with gold, ridden by pages of
honour in crimson satin. Her Majesty was accompanied by
three of her principal ladies. Mounted on his fiery Anda-
lusian barb, which was trapped with black taffetas, guarded
with silver lace, Philip appeared to great advantage in his
black velvet doublet, short mantle bordered with pearls, and
berret with black and white plumes. He was attended by
fifty horsemen in trappings of crimson velvet, with the
arms of Spain embroidered on them in gold, with edges of
Oj Philifts Public Entry into London. \ 51
silk and gold, and fringe of the same. Besides these, theri
were fifty pages in liveries of carnation satin, passmented
with silver and black lace, and black silk caps, adorned
with carnation and black plumes. A troop of halberdiers
in full equipments formed the vanguard of the royal pro¬
cession, and another brought up the rear. In front of the
cortege rode a large band of musicians, consisting of trumpets,
clarions, kettle-drums, and other martial instruments. These
musicians were accoutred in scarlet mandillions, guarded
with gold, and had the royal badge on the front and at the
back. The pennons of the trumpets and clarions were
likewise embroidered with the royal arms, and all the horses
were caparisoned in scarlet satin, guarded with gold lace.
As the procession passed over London Bridge, a loud peal
of ordnance burst from the Tower batteries, and was con¬
tinued by the guns of all the ships moored off the wharves.
At the gate then defending the entrance to the City from
the bridge, the three gigantic yeomen of the guard were
stationed, who reverently salu ed the King and Queen as
they passed by, and at the conduit of Gracechurch Street,
which had been newly decorated for the occasion, was a
large painting representing the nine Worthies. Noticeable
amongst these august personages was Henry VIII., who was
portrayed in armour. The idea of the artist had been to
depict the great Defender of the Faith in the act of pre¬
senting the Bible to his son and successor, Edward VI., the
sacred volume being inscribed in large characters Verbum
Dei; but the device gave great offence to Gardiner, who
ordered the limner, on pain of losing his ears, to obliterate
this part of the picture, which he' accomplished more
effectually than tastefully, by brushing out the King's right
hand.
In Cheapside there was another large picture, representing
the " Five Philips "—namely, Philip of Macedon, Philip the
Emperor, Philip the Bold, Philip the Good, and Philip,
Prince of Spain and King of England.
Many pageants were exhibited to the King and Queen on
their way through the City. All the houses were decorated
with cloth of gold and silver, arras and velvet, while
thousands flocked forth to welcome the Queen and her royal
consort. Owing to the frequent stoppages, the progress of
It 2
Cardinal Pole.
the cortege was slow, and it did not reach Whitehall for some
hours.
Philip was by no means satisfied with the reception he
had met with. The populace had cheered him but slightly ;
and murmurs against Spain, and allusions to the Inquisition,
occasionally reached his ears. Moreover, he remarked
that many persons regarded him with ill-concealed looks of
aversion.
" These citizens do not like me," he thought. " Ere long,
they shall be taught to fear me."
Soon after this, a gloom was thrown over the court by
the death of the Duke of Norfolk. The Queen went into
mourning for the venerable nobleman, to whom she was
sincerely attached, and all festivities were suspended.
Their Majesties removed to Hampton Court, where Philip
environed himself more and more in Spanish form and
etiquette. Difficult of access before, he was now almost
un approachable.
CHAPTER VIII.
SHOWING HOW CONSTANCE TYRRELL EMBRACED THF
REFORMED FAITH.
E will now see what had befallen Constance Tyrrell.
When Father Jerome, in obedience to Philip's in¬
junctions, went over to Southampton to see her,
he found her in the Hospital of the Domus Dei,
in attendance upon Derrick Carver. So far from attempting
to dissuade her from entering a convent, and devoting her
life to Heaven, the good priest urged her strongly to carry
out her design, but, to his great affliction, he found that a
sudden and most unexpected change had come over her.
The eainest exhortations addressed to her by the enthusiastic
Derrick Carver had already produced a sensible impression,
and she seemed more than half dispose d to secede from the
Church of Rome, and embrace the Reformed Faith. In
vain Father Jerome remonstrated with her, and urged her to
fly from the mischievous influence to which she was exposed.
Failing in his endeavours, he repaired to Master T\rrell, and
informed him of his daughter's danger; but the old merchant
treated the matter with indifference, and the worthy priest
departed with a sad heart.
Sorely perplexed how to act for the best, Father Jerome,
after much hesitation and delay, caused a communication to
be made to the Queen, through her confessor, of the lament¬
able change that had taken place in Constance's religious
opinions.
Mary manifested great surprise and displeasure at the
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intelligence, and directed that Constance should be brought
to Hampton Court, where her Majesty was then sojourning,
in order that she might confer with the unhappy maiden in
person, and see how far the mischief had proceeded, and
what could be done for its cure.
Constance accordingly was summoned from Southampton,
and had several private interviews with the Queen, who soon
discovered that Derrick Carver had succeeded in effecting
her conversion. By the advice of her Majesty's confessor,
who felt sure he could bring back the stray lamb to the
fold, Constance was detained for a time within the
palace.
No mention having been made of this proceeding to
Philip, it was only by accident that he became aware that
Constance was an inmate of the palace. On making the
discovery, he went, wholly unattended, to the apartments
wherein he had ascertained she was lodged. On entering
the ante-chamber, he found old Dorcas, who appeared
terrified at the sight of him, and who, without stopping to be
questioned, exclaimed that her young mistress was unable to
see his Majesty.
"But I must see her," rejoined Philip, authoritatively.
" Go in at once, mistress, and tell her lam here."
Seeing from the King's manner that remonstrance would
be useless, the old woman complied, and drawing aside a
piece of tapestry, entered the inner room. In another
moment she returned, and prayed his Majesty to step in.
Passing through the tapestry, Philip entered the room,
where he found Constance alone. She was attired in black,
and looked pale as death, and was evidently greatly agitated.
She made the King a profound reverence, but did not raise
her eyes towards him.
"So you have been here for some days, I find," cried
Philip, "and have allowed me to remain in ignorance of
your presence, though you know how anxious I have been
to behold you again. I began to fear I had lost you for
ever, and that you had really carried your threat into execu¬
tion, and buried your charms in a convent."
"A great change has come over me, Sire," rejoined Con¬
stance. " I have wholly abandoned that intention."
" I rejoice to hear it," cried the King. " I dispatched
Hgw Constance Embraced the Reformed Faith. 1^5
Father Jerome to you, and I suppose his arguments pre¬
vailed ? "
"No, Sire," rejoined Constance. "I have been turned
aside from my purpose by better arguments than any Father
Jerome could employ."
" Nay, 1 care not who dissuaded you," replied Philip, " J
am content with the resolution you have taken. I have
been wretched—most wretched, since we parted, Con¬
stance."
"Your Majesty cannot have been half so wretched as I
have been," she rejoined. "However, I have in some
degree recovered my peace of mind, and I beseech you not
to plunge me into misery again."
" I must tell you how passionately I adore you," exclaimed
the King. " The love which you kindled in my breast when
I first beheld you burns fiercer than ever, and cannot be
extinguished. By my hopes of Paradise, fair Constance, I
love you—only you."
" Cease, Sire, cease ! " cried Constance. " I cannot listen
to you—I must not."
" But you must—you shall listen to me," cried Philip,
still more passionately. " You shall hear how constantly I
have thought of you. Your image has been ever before ire.
I have tried to stifle my love, but without success. It has
mastered me, as it masters me now. Behold me at your
feet, sweet Constance!" he added, prostrating himself
before her; " not the King—but your suppliant—your
slave !"
" Rise, Sire, I intreat you, from this unworthy posture,"
cried Constance. " Think of your duty to the Queen—all
your love should be given to her."
" Such love as I bear for you, sweet Constance, I cannot
give to her Majesty," rejoined Philip, "for as I have just
declared, you have sole possession of my heart. You need
fear no rival in the Queen."
" Oh ! hush, Sire—hush ! " exclaimed Constance, with the
utmost alarm. "You are overheard ! ha !—her Majesty ! "
"The Queen here!" exclaimed Philip, springing to his
feet.
And turning, he perceived that the Queen was pushing
aside the hangings, and about to enter the room. Close be-
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nind her Majesty, whose looks proclaimed the depth of bar
indignation, came Sir John Gage. For a moment, Phil p
seemed embarrassed, but he quickly recovered himself.
Mary regarded her faithless consort with flashing eyes, but
repressed the bitter reproaches that rose to her lips, though
her heart swelled almost to bursting, and the veins on her
brow distended with rage.
It was an awful moment, and Sir John Gage looked
greatly troubled. The silence was broken by Constance, who
flung herself at the Queen's feet, exclaiming :
" Do not judge me harshly, gracious Madam. Do not
suppose that I have failed in duty to your Majesty. Do not
deem that I have been a consenting party to this meeting.
On my soul I have not. The King will confirm my asser¬
tion. Speak, Sire, speak ! "
Unable to resist this appeal, Philip said, "Itis the truth,
Madam. I alone am to blame."
'*'You bear, gracious Madam," cried Constance, "his
Majesty acquits me. Mv sole crime is, that I have unhap¬
pily attracted his attention."
" And that is crime enough, minion," said Mary, regarding
her fiercely. " You shall expiate the offence with your life. I
will show you no mercy. Call in the guard, Sir John," she
added to Gage.
"Take heed how you obey that order, Sir John," inter¬
posed Philip. " I am equal in authority here, and I forbid
you. Your Majesty will do well to pause," he added, with
stern significance, to the Queen, "ere a breach be made be¬
tween us that cannot be closed."
" Oh ! do not let me be the cause of misunderstanding
between yourself and the King your consort, gracious
Madam," cried Constance. " I am not worth it. If my life
will restore the peace I have unhappily disturbed, take it. I
will lay it down freely."
"It will be best to let her go, Madam," observed Sir John
Gage in a low tone.
There was a pause, during which it was evident that Maiy
was struggling hard with her feelings. Constance, who still
remained in a kneeling posture, watched her countenance
with the keenest anxiety. Folding his arms on his breast,
Philio looked on coldly. Mary at length spoke.
How Constance Embraced the Reformed Faith. 157
" You have said truly, minion," she observed. " You are
not worth a quarrel between the King and myself. His
Majesty has sought to screen you, by taking all blame upon
himself, but I am not to be deceived. If nothing more, you
have been indiscreet."
" Indiscretion is a very venial fault," rejoined Philip.
"But even that cannot justly be laid to this damsel's charge.
Since her presence annoys you, let her leave the palace and
return to her family."
"She shall leave the palace, and that without delay," re¬
joined Mary. " But she will be more secure in some reli¬
gious house than with her family."
" I pray you let me return to my father," implored Con¬
stance, who had risen to her feet. " I will die rather than
give you further cause of anxiety. But, as your Majesty is
aware, I have quitted the Church of Rome."
"A heretic !" exclaimed Philip, aghast at the unexpected
declaration. "To what is this sad change attributable?
When I first beheid you, you were zealous and devout."
" I am zealous and devout still, I trust, Sire," rejoined
Constance. " But my eyes have been opened, and 1 reject
as idolatrous and superstitious the worship which I formerly
practised."
"I lament to hear it," replied Philip, with a look of pious
horror. My confessor, Father Alfonso, shall take you in
hand. He will convince you of your errors."
" Nothing will shake me," said Constance. " My belief
is fixed. I would rather endure martyrdom than peril my
salvation."
" Your firmness may be put to the test," observed the
Queen severely. " Your Majesty, methinks," she added to
Philip, " will scarcely attempt to defend her now."
" I am horror-stricken ! " exclaimed the King. " I could
not have believed in so sudden and sad a defection. Who
is the author of this evil work? To whose baneful counst.1
have you listened ? Is it from the would-be assassin, Der¬
rick Carver, that you have imbibed these pernicious
opinions?"
" I have heard the truth from his lips, Sire," returned
Constance.
" I guessed as much," said Philip ; " and it is from this
it
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polluted source that you expect the water of life to flow. I
did not believe you capable of such weakness. I can no
longer oppose her Majesty's design of placing you in some
religious house, where discipline and good counsel may bring
you back to the faith from which you have sweived."
" If mild measures prove ineffectual, others must be
adopted," observed Mary.
" Do with me as you will," said Constance, resignedly.
" I am in your Majesty's hands, and am prepared to seal
my faith with my blood."
"Were anything wanting to convince me of the necessity
of utterly extirpating heresy from the realm, 1 should now
be satisfied," remarked Mary. "An example shall be made-
of this mischievous Derrick Carver. He shall be delivered
over to the religious tribunals, to be dealt with acco ding to
his deserts. Prepare for immediate departure," she added
to Constance. " I myself will give instructions respecting
you."
Constance bowed submissively.
By this time the Queen's anger towards her consort had
somewhat subsided, and she said to him in a somewhat kind¬
lier tone, " Your Majesty can have no further business here.
I will pray you to accompany me."
Phiiip bowed. As he quitted the chamber with the
Queen, he cast a parting glance at Constance, who remained
in the same humble attitude, with her eyes fixed upon the
ground.
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHAT MANNER CONSTANCE FLED FROM HAMPTON COUR1
PALACE.
unhappy girl was still alone in the chamber,
S^sal having scarcely moved since the departure of the
royal pair, when the fold of tapestry that masked
the doorway was drawn quickly aside, and Osbert
Clinton stood before her, pale and agitated.
"I have come to save you," he cried, abruptly. "I know
what has occurred. The Queen designs to send you to a
convent."
"True," she rejoined, sadly. "Her Majesty may deal
with me as she thinks fit. But all efforts to compel me to
return to the faith I have abjured will prove ineffectual."
"But this is not the real danger by which you are
threatened," he continued. " The King will not permit her
Majesty's intentions to be carried out, and has ordered me
to convey you away privately to a secure retreat, where
there will be no risk of discovery by his jealous consort.
You will escape the convent, but only to encounter a worse
fate."
" I will die rather than submit," she cried, despairingly.
"Pity me, kind Heaven ! pity me ! "
"Hear me, Constance," he cried. "The avowal lam
about to make is wrung from me by the circumstances in
which you are placed. I love you to desperation, and would
plunge my sword in Philip's heart rather than you should
fall a sacrifice to him. Dismis; all doubts, and trust yourself
with me. I will lay down my life for you."
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Cardinal Pole.
"If I consent, whither would you take me?" she de>
manded. " But no ! I cannot—dare not fly with you."
"You wrong me by these suspicions, Constance," he cried,
half reproachfully. " Loving you as I do, could I do aught
to injure you ? "
" But the King himself professes to love me
" He loves you not — his vows are false," interrupted
Osbert, bitterly. "Shun him as you would shame and dis¬
honour. If you have any love for him, tear it from your
breast—no matter what the pang !—it can only lead to guilt
and remorse."
" I have no love for him now," she rejoined ; " and if for
a moment I yielded credence to his vows and passionate
declarations, I have expiated the offence by tears and contri¬
tion. My constant prayer has been never to behold him
more."
" All further peril may be averted if you will confide in
me. Give me a husband's right to defend you, and not all
the world shall tear you from me. You cannot return to
your father. He would not dare to give you shelter. And
to enable me to watch over and protect you without damage
to your fair fame, we must be bound together by sacred
ties."
" Speak of this hereafter," she rejoined. "You have con¬
vinced me of your sincerity, and I will trust you. Take me
hence—whither I care not—so I am freed from the King."
" Come then," rejoined Osbert. "No one will stay us.
I have an order from the King, which will prevent all
hindrance."
" But you will endanger yourself by the step you are
about to take," she said, hesitating.
" Heed not that," he rejoined. " I am prepared fur the
worst. Come !"
They were about to quit the chamber, when they were
stopped by old Dorcas, to whom her mistress hastily ex¬
plained the necessity of flight.
" I can help you in this extremity," exclaimed the old
woman. " I will show you a ready means of leaving the
palace without traversing the corridor. While lifting the
hangings against yon wall, I discovered a secret door open¬
ing upon a starcase, which I had the curiosity to examine,
How Constance Fled from Hampton Court. 161
and found it led through a small postern to the garden. I
meant to tell you of my discovery."
" You could not have reserved it for a better moment."
said Osbert. " Adopt this plan, it will be safest," he added
to Constance.
"Heaven be praised!" she exclaimed. "I can now
escape without imperilling you !"
"Think not of me," he rejoined. "Pass through the
secret door at once, but do not enter the garden till night,
when i will meet you in the yew-tree alley. Meanwhile, I
will make preparations for your conveyance to a place
of safety. Delay not, I beseech you. Each moment is
precious."
Thus urged, Constance snatched up a mantle and a few
other articles, and declared she was ready to depart; where¬
upon Osbert drew back the hangings, while old Dorcas
touched the spring of the secret door, which was artfully
contrived in the oak panels. Casting a grateful look at her
preserver, Constance disappeared with her old attendant.
Another minute and it would have been too late. Scarcely
had the tapestry fallen to its place, when sounds proclaimed
that several persons had entered the ante-chamber, and the
next moment Sir John Gage presented himself, accompanied
by Father Alfonso. They both looked surprised on finding
Osbert alone.
"You are too late, Sir John!" cried the young man,
forcing a laugh. " The bird has flown."
" Flown ! not out of the window, I presume ; though I see
not how she can otherwise have escaped," rejoined Gage.
" She cannot have passed through the corridor, or we must
have met her. Where can she be ? "
"Nay, I can give you no information, Sir John," rejoined
Osbert. " On my arrival here a few moments ago, I found
the room vacant, that is all I know."
" She appears to have taken her old attendant with her,"
said Gage. " However, we shall easily discover her hiding-
place. She cannot have quitted the palace."
"Stay! is there no closet in the room?" said Father
Alfonso, peering round. " Ha! here is one—but it is
empty," he added, on opening it.
" We must seek her elsewhere," observed G age. " I shall
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not be sorry if she has got away altogether," he added in a
low tone to Osbert, as they quitted the room, followed by
Father Alfonso. " But what will her Majesty say to it? "
" Rather, what will the King say," rejoined Osbert. "He
will be furious."
" It may be his contrivance," remarked Gage. " I suspect
you know more about the matter than you choose to tell,
and could find the damsel if you thought proper."
All search for the fugitives proved fruitless The secret
staircase was not detected.
When Constance's disappearance was reported to the
Queen, her Majesty was greatly irritated, and her suspicions
fell upon the King. Philip was equally angry, and equally
at fault, attributing Constance's evaTon to the Queen's
agency, and believing that her Majesty had had recourse to
this stratagem to baffle his designs.
Not until after midnight, and when all was still within
the palace, did Osbert Clinton venture into the garden.
Fortunately the night was dark and cloudy. On hearing
his footsteps, Constance and her attendant came from out
the alley in which they were hidden, and followed him noise¬
lessly along various grassy paths to a gate opening upon the
park.
In a few moments more the party had reached the banks
of the Thames, when Osbert gave a signal. Immediately
the plash of oars was heard on the other side of the river,
and a wherry, rowed by two men, could be descried through
the gloom, pulling towards them.
Constance and her old attendant were quickly placed
within the boat by Osbert, and this was no sooner accom¬
plished, than the boatman, without a moment's delay, pushed
off, and dashed swiftly down the stream.
Osbert listened till the sound of the oars could no longer
be heard, and then returned with a light heart to the palace,
entering it as secretly as he had come forth.
As Osbert had foreseen, messengers were dispatched by
the Queen to Southampton, to ascertain whether Constance
had sought refuge with her father. If so, she was instantly
to be brought back. After three days' absence, the messen¬
gers returned, bringing with them Master Tyrrell. He
could give no account of his daughter, but pledged himself
How Constance Fled from Hampton Court. 163
to deliver her up at once to the Queen in case she might
reappear. On this understanding he was immediately
released.
Another circumstance which occurred at this juncture con¬
tributed to heighten the Queen's displeasure. She had
instructed the messengers sent to Southampton to arrest
Derrick Carver; but on the very day before their arrival,
the enthusiast, who by this time had recovered from his
wounds, had quitted the hospital of the Domus Dei, and, it
was thought, had passed over to France, as a vessel had
just sailed thither from the port. In whatever way it was
accomplished, Carver's escape was a source of vexation to
the Queen.
CHAPTER X.
WHERE CONSTANCE FOUND A PLACE OF REFUGE.
N old habitation situated on the banks of the rivet
between the gardens of Durham-place and the
Savoy Hospital, then recently restored by Mary,
served Constance as an asylum. Thither she had
been brought, after remaining a few days in a little hostel
near Richmond.
The house had been long uninhabited, and was in a very
dilapidated state. At the back there was a tolerably ex-
sensive garden, facing the river, and containing several fine
trees, but, like the house to which it appertained, it was
much neglected. Three or four back rooms, looking upon
the garden, had been hastily furnished; but no change was
made in the front of the habitation, for fear of exciting
suspicion. Luckily, the garden was not overlooked, being
bounded on the west by the high walls of Durham-place.
Though shut out from the world, Constance was far from
finding her present mode of existence wearisome. Her
time was fully employed either in her devotions, in reading,
or in some feminine occupation. She never ventured forth
except into the garden, and only took exercise there at
night.
Of necessity, Oobert's visits were rare, and stealthily paid.
As the safest course, he approached the house by water,
landed in a wherry at the stairs of Durham-place, and then
scaled the garden wall. These short and stolen visits, which
were always paid at night, could not be otherwise than
agreeable to Constance, and she looked forward to his
Where Constance Found a Place of Refuge. 165
coming with interest; and if, as sometimes chanced, he did
not appear at the usual hour, she retired sadly.
Under such circumstances, it will not appear surprising
that the gratitude felt by the damsel for her preserver
should ripen into a warmer feeling. After the first ardent
declaration of his passion made to her, Osbert refrained for
a while from renewing his suit; but at length, emboldened
by the evident change in her manner, he ventured again,
with as much impassioned earnestness as before, to pour
forth his protestations of affection, coupled with entreaties
to her consent to a speedy union.
To these oft-repeated solicitations she at last replied that
she would not attempt to disguise her feelings, but would
frankly own that he was now absolute master of her heart,
yet still there was a serious obstacle to their marriage.
" An obstacle ? " exclaimed Osbert. " Of what nature ?
Can it not be overcome? Speak ! speak ! "
" Herein, then, it lies," she rejoined. " Our creeds are
different. I have abjured the errors and idolatries of
Rome, while you still cling to them."
" Granted," replied Osbert; "but this need be no hindrance
to our union. I shall not quarrel with you on account of
your religion. Who knows," he added lightly, "but that in
due time you may convert me ? "
" Heaven grant me power to do so !" she exclaimed,
fervently. " Oh ! that I could withdraw you from the paths
of error, and bring you to those of truth. But much as I
love you—much as I owe you —till you are converted, I
never can be yours. I have scruples of conscience which
cannot be overcome. I should not be happy if I felt there
was a barrier between us which neither could pass. Better
far we should never come together than be hereafter es¬
tranged. I could not respect you—could not love you with
my whole heart, if you continued a papist."
" But I have said I may possibly be converted," said Osbert.
" Your conversion must take place before our marriage,"
rejoined Constance. " On that condition alone will I con¬
sent."
" Well, then, commence the good work," he said. "I
promise to be a patient listener, and will strive to profit by
your exhortations.'
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Cardinal Pole.
Gladly she obeyed, and proceeded to employ the argu¬
ments which had proved so prevailing in her own case, and
with every prospect of success, her influence over her hearer
being unbounded.
But though this difficulty was overcome, another arose.
Constance declared that her father's sanction to her mar¬
riage was indispensable. In vain Osbert remonstrated.
She remained firm, and finding she could not be moved, he
at last set out for Southampton, to see Master Tyrrell on the
subject.
The old merchant was indisposed to listen to him. He
was deeply offended with his daughter. He bewailed her
apostacy, and declared he would neither receive her under
his roof, nor hold any intercourse with her, so long as she
entertained heretical opinions. If she returned, he should
deliver her to the Queen, in fulfilment of his pledge. As a
staunch Romanist, he could not conscientiously support a
heretic, even though she wc e his own flesh and blood. Let
Constance recant the religious opinions she had so impru¬
dently adopted, and he would receive her with open arms.
Till such time, she must not come near him. He concluded
his tirade by refusing consent to the marriage.
Deeply disappointed at his want of success, Osbert re¬
turned to London. On seeking Constance's place of shelter,
he found to his surprise, that there was a guest in the
house. This was Derrick Carver, who it will be remem¬
bered, disappeared from Southampton just before the order
for his arrest arrived, and had escaped, as was supposed, to
France. Instead of flying his country, however, Carver
had proceeded along the coast to his native place, Brightelm-
stone, where he remained for a short time, but, fearing
discovery, he removed to Lewes, and thence to London.
Being nearly destitute, he had endured great hardship,
and was driven almost to extremity, when he accidentally
met old Dorcas, who was purchasing provisions, and follow¬
ing her, made himself known, as soon as he could do so
with safety. Touched by his miserable condition, the kind-
hearted old dame took him home with her. He was joyfully
received by Constance, and offered an asylum, which he
gratefully accepted.
Such a guest, it will be easily conceived, was by no mean9
Where Constance Found a Place of Rtftige. 167
agreeable to Osbert, and he would gladly have got rid of
him, had it been possible. Carver's presence introduced a
new element of danger by increasing the chances of dis¬
covery, while his society had a very perceptible effect upon
Constance's spirits and manner. Before his arrival, she
had quite regained her serenity. But the sternness and
austerity of the religious fanatic had cast a gloom over her,
which could not be dispelled. The greater part of her time
was passed in prayer, in the perusal of godly books, or in
listening to Carver's exhortations.
Osbert was obliged to in'orm her that he had failed in
obtaining her father's consent, but he earnestly besought
her to fulfil her promise, and make him happy by becoming
his bride.
Before assenting, she consulted Derrick Carver, who
at once decided that under such circumstances the
marriage could not take place. She must perforce wait.
The enthusiast's aim seemed fo be to alienate her thoughts
from things of this world, and wean her, as he said, from
all carnal affections. No wonder Osbert regarded him with
dislike.
But the unhappy lover had another and more serious
cause of disquietude. He had trusted that distractions of
various kinds would efface Constance's image from the
King's breast. But he was deceived. Though constantly
engaged in some little affair of gallantry, concerning which
he made no secret to Osbert, Philip often spoke of her, and
in terms showing that his passion was unabated. Osbert's
jealous rage at these confidences well-nigh caused him to
betray himself, and his anger was not lessened when the
King expressed his firm conviction that Constance must
sooner or later fall into his power. Though Osbert deemed
such a mischance improbable, the apprehension of it filled
him with uneasiness.
One day Philip, who treated him with great familiarity,
jestingly remarked :—
"So you have got some secret love affair on hand, I hear,
and nightly visit your inamorata."
"Who can have told your Majesty this absurd story? "
rejoined Osbert, trying to hide his confusion by a
laugh.
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Cardinal Pole.
" No matter how I learnt it," said Philip. "Your manner
convinces me it is true. But why should you be ashamed
to c >nfess the affair? Most of the young court gallants
plume themselves upon their successes, and talk openly of
them."
" I am not one of those senseless boaders," observed
Cbbert, gravely.
"Now, by my faith, you take the matter so seriously, that
I am satisfied there is more in it than I supposed," cried the
King. " My curiosity is piqued. I must know who has
thus enslaved you. Does she belong to the city or the
court ? "
"Your Majesty will pardon me, but I cannot answer
these questions."
" As you please, Sir. I will press you no further. But
take care. I shall find out the lady. Nothing escapes me,
as you well know. Had you told me who she is, I should
have been satisfied, but since you attempt concealment, look
to yourself—-ha ! ha ! "
Though Philip laughed while saying this, there was a
half-menace in his tone that increased Osbert's alarm.
Apprehensive that his movements might be watched,
Osbert refrained that night from his customary visit to
Constance, but embarking as usual, instead of proceeding
to Durham-place, crossed to the other side of the river.
That he had acted wisely, was proved by the fact of another
boat following him; and it soon became evident that he
was watched. Next night he acted with like caution, but
nothing occurred to excite his suspicions.
On the following night, therefore, he ventured to repair
to Constance's hiding-place. But, instead of proceeding
thither by water, he took a circuitous route, so as to mislead
those who watched him, if any such there were.
Constance, who had been extremely uneasy at his un¬
wonted absence, was yet more alarmed when she learned
the cause of it; but he succeeded in allaying her fears, by
telling her he would speedily find her another and yet more
secure asylum, where she would be free from all risk of
molestation.
" Methinks you magnify the peril," observed Derrick
Carver. " Howbeit, if Mistress Constance elects to quit this
Where Constance fyttnd a Place of Refuge. 169
house, and seek another place of refuge, I will go with her.
You may trust her to my care."
" I am content to do so," replied Osbert. " The danger
is greater than you seem to imagine. After what has
occurred, I do not think she can tarry longer in London ;
but by tc-morrow night I will have arranged some
definite plan, and, meantime, you must prepare for
departure."
" I am ready at any moment," cried Constance. "Now—
if you deem it expedient."
" Nay, there is no such haste," rejoined Osbert. "By
flying without due preparation, you would incur yet
greater risk. Two days hence you shall be in perfect
safety."
" Alas ! " exclaimed Constance, " my mind misgives me,
and I fear some dire calamity is in store for me."
" If it be so, you must bear it with fortitude," said
Derrick Carver. " It has been my earnest endeavour to
strengthen you for such an hour, and I trust my efforts
have not been in vain, but that you may be equal to what¬
ever trial you are subjected. Nay, even should ycu be
called upon to attest your devotion to the Gospel by
enduring fieiy torments, I am assured your courage will
not forsake you, but that you will earn a crown of mar¬
tyrdom."
" Heaven, in its mercy, grant ihe may be spared any such
terrib'e trial! " exclaimed Osbert, shuddering.
"Rather than deny my faith, and return to that which I
have abjured, I will suffer death in any shape," said
Constance, " even accompanied by the most cruel tor¬
ments."
"Your words fill me with joy, daughter," rejoined Carver,
"and prove that my teaching has not been thrown away.
Thus prepared, you need have no fear."
"I am resigned to whatever may happen," said Con¬
stance.
" Self-preservation is as much a duty as any other," said
Osbert, " and ought not to be neglected. Though prepared
for the worst, you must not expose yourself to needless
risk."
" I have said I am ready to depart whenever you may
170
Cardinal Pole.
enjoin me to do so," replied Constance, " and will go where¬
soever you may direct."
" I neither oppose her going, nor counsel her tarrying
here," said Derrick Carver. "Act as we may, Heaven's
designs will be fulfilled."
After some further discourse to the like effect, Osbert
took leave, promising to return at the same hour on the
following night
CHAPTER XI.
how Constance's retreat was discovered.
IfcSOHE wext day passed as usual with Constance. At
Efflii night she was alone in the room, the windows of
\mM\ which have been described as opening upon the
garden, and anxiously expecting Osbert's coming.
She was seated at a small table, perusing by the light 01 a
single taper, which dimly illuminated the large but scantily-
furnished apartment, one of the controversial tracts of the
day, and essaying, but in vain, to fix her thoughts on what
she read. Ever and anon she arose, and, going to the
window, looked forth. The night was profoundly dark, and
nothing was disoernible except the trees skirting the lawn.
" He is later than usual," she thought, as time went on.
''Will he not come?"
Scarcely had she asked herself the question, when she
distinctly heard footsteps without, and, concluding it must
be Osbert, she passed through the window, and flew to
meet him. She could just descry a figure wrapped in a
mantle, advancing towards her from beneath a tree.
In another moment this person, whom she took to be her
lover, reached her, and seized her hand. Startled by the
proceeding, she involuntarily exclaimed, " Is it you ? "
"Yes, 'tis I—Osbert," rejoined the other, under his
breath.
" I had almost given you up," she returned. " I feared
something had occurred to prevent your coming."
The person she addressed made no reply. He had
Cardinal Pole.
recognised her voice and mentally ejaculated, " Can it be
possible that it is Constance Tyrrell! "
"You do not answer," she said, after a pause, "and your
manner seems strange—very strange."
"'Tis she, by all the saints !" muttered the other. "Let
us go in!" he added, drawing her through the open window
into the room.
No sooner were they within the influence of the light
than the countenance of him she most dreaded on earth
was revealed to Constance.
"The King ! " she exclaimed, in accents of affright.
"Ay, the King," rejoined Philip, regarding her with fierce
exultation. " So, I have found you at last, and where I
looked for you least. Little did I deem you were the
beauty secluded with such jealous care by Osbert Clinton.
Little did I expect, when I took the trouble to ascertain
who he kept concealed, that I should be so richly rewarded.
Never for a moment did I suppose that he would dare to
rob me of my chief treasure. But he shall pay dearly for
his audacity and treachery."
" Be not unjust towards him, Sire," rejoined Constance.
" In Osbert's place, you would have acted as he has acted.
He loved me, and seeing the peril in which I stood, did not
hesitate to deliver me."
"And you have not proved ungrateful for the service,"
retorted Philip, bitterly. "You have requited his devo¬
tion. The love refused to me has been bestowed freely on
him.
" Osbert's love for me was not dishonourable, Sire," she
rep'ied, "and in requiting it I committed no crime. I
could not return your Majesty's love without guilt. By this
time the passion I was unhappy enough to inspire you with
must have subsided, and you will view my conduct less
harshly."
"You are mistaken, Madam," rejoined Philip, sternly.
" I have never ceased to love you. I cannot regard you
with indifference—even though you deserve that I should
do so. You are necessary to my happiness. You must—
you shall be mine."
"Never!" exclaimtSjl.Constance, energetically.
"Hear rue," pursued the King; "you are now whol'y in
How Constance's Retreat was Discovered. 173
my power. Having found you, be assured I shall not part
with you again. I am willing to excuse your conduct—to
pardon your lover's disobedience and deceit—nay, more, to
continue my favour towards him—but this consideration on
my part must be met by complaisance on yours."
"I reject the proposal without a moment's hesitation,
Sire," cried Constance, with scorn.
"Then mark what I have to say further," rejoined Philip.
"I repeat, you are wholly in my power. Nothing can de¬
liver you. On your decision hangs your lover's life. You—
you will cause his immediate arrest—his imprisonment,
torture—ay, torture—and death."
" Oh, say not so, Sire ! " she cried, all her firmness desert¬
ing her. " What has he done to deserve such barbarous
treatment ? "
"He has dared to disobey me," rejoined Philip. "He
has stepped between me and the object of my desires.
But for your sake I am content to forego revenge—nay,
to heap greater favours on his head. Will you cast him
into a dungeon ? Will you doom him to torture and
death ? "
" I cannot save him by the sacrifice you propose, Sire,"
she rejoined, in tones of anguish. "Neither would he con¬
sent to be so saved."
"You have avouched the truth, Constance," exclaimed
Osbert, springing through the open window, and placing
himself between her and the King. " A thousand deathj
rather than such a sacrifice."
"My clemency, I find, is thrown away," said Philip,
haughtily. "Yet I will give you a few minutes for reflec¬
tion. Perhaps your resolution may change." And he
moved towards the window.
" It is needless, Sire," rejoined Osbert. " Our determina¬
tion is taken."
"Then prepare to part for ever," said Philip, sternly.
"As to you^ audacious and insensate tiaitor, you shall learn
whose anger you have braved. It will be small alleviation,
methinks, to your imprisonment to know that your mistress
is in my power."
"Fear not the threat, Osbert," said Constance. "I will
never yield to him."
12
174
Cardinal Pol"
"1 do not ask your consent," rejoined Philip, derisively.
"You are caught in a net from which there is no escape."
"Sooner than this shall be, my sword shall free the
country from a tyrant," cried Osbert, plucking his rapier
from its sheath.
" Ha! do you dare to raise your hand against me,
traitor?" exclaimed Philip, stepping towards him, while
Constance flung her arms about her lover, so as to prevent
any movement on his part.
" Let him go," continued the King, after a pause, during
which he sternly regarded the pair. " He wants the courage
to play the assassin."
"You are right, Sire," rejoined Osbert. "Draw, and
defend your life."
" Peace, madman !" cried Philip, disdainfully. "Think
you I will deign to cross swords with you ? "
" Heaven grant me patience, I am driven to the verge of
frenzy!" ejaculated Osbert, distractedly.
"At last you are beginning to comprehend your true
position," observed Philip, in a taunting tone, " and per¬
ceive that you are utterly without help."
" Not utterly," cried a deep voice. And Derrick Carver
strode into the room. " Heaven will not desert them in
their need. Thou hast uttered threats against them which
thou wilt never live to execute. Thou has ventured into
this dwelling, but wilt never return from it. My hand
failed me when I first struck at thee, but it will not fail
me now."
"Make the attempt, then, if thou think'st so, assassin !"
ciied Philip, keeping his eye steadily upon him.
" Hold !" exclaimed Osbert. " His life is sacred."
"Not in my eyes," rejoined Carver. "It were a crime
to my country and to my religion to spare their deadliest
foe. He shall die by my hand."
" I say it must not be," cried Osbert. "No harm must
be done him. Persist, and I come to his defence."
"Fool! you destroy yourself, and her who should be
dearer to you than life, by this mistimed weakness," rejoined
Derrick Carver. " Leave him to me."
"Again I say, forbear?" cried Osbert.
" I owe you no obedience, and will show none," retorted
How Constance1 s Retreat was Discovered. 175
Carver, fiercely. " Have at thy heart, tyrant!" he ex¬
claimed, drawing his swcrd.
But ere he could make the meditated attack, Philip placed
a silver whistle to his lips, and sounding it, Rodomont Bit¬
tern, with his sword drawn in his hand, and followed by half
a dozen halberdiers, entered through the window. The
party instantly fell upon Derrick Carver, and, after a brief
struggle, disarmed him.
"By Saint Thomas!" exclaimed Rodomont, regarding
the enthusiast with surprise, "this is the murtherous villain
whom we caught at Southampton. I cannot be mistaken in
his ill-favoured visage."
"I will not deny myself," rejoined the other. "I am
Derrick Carver. Heaven has permitted thee to thwart my
righteous purpose for the second time."
" A plain proof that thy purpose is damnable, and that
Heaven is against thee, thou bloodthirsty villain," rejoined
Rodomont. "What is your Majesty's pleasure concerning
him ? " he asked of the King.
"Take him to the Tower," said Philip.
"It shall be done, Sire. Have you any further com¬
mands ?"
" Ay," replied Philip. " An hour ago I would not have
believed that Osbert Clinton would raise his hand against
me, but he has done so, and his life is forfeit. Take him
cuso with you."
" Here is my sword, Sir," said Osbert, delivering it to
Rodomont. " I am ready to attend you."
Seating himself at the table, on which writing materials
were placed, Philip took a paper from his doublet and pro¬
ceeded to sign it. Just as he was about to consign the
warrant to Rodomont, Constance, who had appeared trans¬
fixed with terror, rushed forward and threw herself at his feet.
" Have mercy on him, Sire !" she cried. " Full well I
know what will be his fate if sent to the Tower. Oh spare
him ! spare him ! "
" I cannot listen to your entreaties," rejoined Philip,
coldly. " He has been guilty of high treason, and must
pay the penalty of his offence."
" Do not intercede for me, Constance," said Osbert. " It
is useless; he has no pity in his nature."
176
Cardinal Pole.
" I have none for those who deceive me," rejoined Philip,
sternly. " Take him hence, Sir," he added to Rodomont.
'• Here is your warrant."
" Oh no ! let him not go thus !" shrieked Constance,
starling to her feet, and falling into her lover's arms, " You
will not separate us, Sire ? "
"Wherefore not?" demanded Philip. "Is he your hus¬
band ? "
"Ay, in the eyes of Heaven. I am affianced to him,"
she replied.
" Even were you wedded to him you could not accompany
him," rejoined the King. " But no marriage will ever take
place between you. Bid him a lasting farewell. You will
meet no more on earth."
" No more ! You cannot mean it, Sire. Oh, unsay those
terrible words !" shrieked Constance.
Philip remained inflexible.
" Calm yourself, Constance," said Osbert. "I heed not
what may happen to myself. My sole distress is in leaving
you."
" Fear nothing on my account," she rejoined, in a low
tone. " Heaven will protect me. Yet I will make one last
effort to save you. Oh, Sire," she added, approaching the
King, " as you are great and powerful, be generous and
merciful. Forgive him. He will offend no more. I am
the cause of his disobedience. When I am gone he will bft
faithful as ever."
" On one condition I will spare him," said Philip, in a
low tone.
" I dare not ask your Majesty what that condition is?"
rejoined Constance, trembling.
"You may easily guess it," returned Philip. "Be
mine."
" Then all hope is over," sighed Constance. " I will die
rather than assent."
"So you think now," muttered Philip ; "but I will find
means to shake your stubbornness. Take hence the
prisoners," he added aloud to Rodomont.
" I am equally guilty—if guilt there be," cried Constance,
with a loud voice. " I take all present to witness that I
utterly reject the doctrines of the Romish Churc.., and hold
How Constances Retreat was Discovered. 177
its ceremonies to be vain, superfluous, superstitious, and
abominable."
■' Be silent, imprudent girl," cried Philip.
"Be not afraid to speak out, daughter," cried Derrick
Carver. " Truly you have profited by my exhortations."
" I will never forsake my opinions," cried Constance,
firmly, " but will maintain them at any tribunal before
which I may be brought. After this declaration and
confession, your Majesty must send me with the other
prisoners."
" You have indeed put it out of my power to befriend
you," rejoined Philip, angrily. " Since you ask to be
brought before a religious tribunal, you shall have your
wish."
" I have succeeded in my design," whispered Constance
to Osbert. " I shall not be separated from you. Your
Majesty has conferred a boon upon me by this decision,"
she added to the King, " and I humbly thank you for it.
Now, Sir," to Rodomont, "you can take me to the Tower
with my friends."
"Is such your Majesty's pleasure?" demanded Rodo¬
mont.
" No," replied Philip. " Let her be conveyed to some
place of imprisonment, but not to the Tower."
"An please your Majesty, there is the Lollards' Tower at
Lambeth Palace, where heretics are oft confined," observed
Rodomont. "No better prison lodgings can be found than
the cells therein.®
" Are the cells strong and secure ?" demanded the
King.
" Marry, as strong and secure as the dungeons of the
Tower, Sire," replied Rodomont.
" I have heard of those prison chambers in the Lollaids'
Tower," rejoined Philip, " but did not bethink me of them at
£ie moment. Take Mistress Constance Tyrrell forthwith to
Lambeth Palace, and see her safely bestowed—safely, I say,
but with all comfort and convenience that the prison will
admit of—d'ye heed ? Take Derrick Carver also thither,
and let him be securely lodged. The ecclesiastical court
shall deal with him. No intercourse whatever must be
allowed between the prisoners."
178
Cardinal Po.e.
" Your injunctions shall be strictly obeyed, Sire," replied
Rodomont.
" I have changed my mind in regard to Osbert Clinton,"
pursued Philip. " In consideration of the important
services he has heretofore rendered me, I am disposed
to overlook the grave offence he has committed. He is
pardoned."
There was a brief pause, but no word of gratitude escaped
Osbert.
" Do you not hear, Sir ? " said Rodomont, as he gave
back the sword to Osbert. " Have you no thanks for the
grace vouchsafed you by his Majesty ? "
"The grace is unsolicited by me, and claims no thanks,"
rejoined Osbert, almost fiercely.
" Leave him alone," said Philip; " his mind is disordered.
When the fit has passed, and he is become calm, he will
think differently. Away at once to Lambeth Palace with
the prisoners."
" Constance !" exclaimed Osbert, rushing towards her.
" Farewell for ever !" she rejoined. " Do not grieve for
me. Now I know you are free, I can bear any sufferings
that may be inflicted upon me."
" My freedom shall be employed for your preservation,"
he whispered. " I will accomplish your liberation, or perish
in the attempt."
" I forbid it," she returned. " Henceforward I shall strive
to shake off all earthly ties, and fix my thoughts entirely
upon Heaven. Farewell for ever !"
With this she disengaged herself from him, and passed
forth from the room with Derrick Carver, attended by the
guard, and followed by Rodomont. Two armed attendants,
stationed near the window, remained with the King.
"A word before I go," said Philip, approaching Osbert,
and speaking in a tone so low and deep as to be inaudible
by the attendants. " On peril of your life, I charge you to
hold no further intercourse of any kind with Constance.
Look upon her as dead—for dead she is to you. Return to
your duty, and I will think no more of what has just
occurred."
So saying, he quitted the room with his attendants, leaving
Osbert overwhelmed bv desmir
How Constatice's Retreat was Discovered. 179
While Philip returned in his barque to Whitehall Palace, a
barge conveyed the two prisoners to Lambeth Palace.
On arriving there, they were detained for a short time in
the guard-room of the ancient gateway, and as soon as all
had been made ready, they were lodged in the prison cham
bers assigned them in the Lollards' Tower.
?£nt) of tfje ~econb $3oofe.
BOOK III.
LAMBETH PALACE.
CHAPTER I.
HOW CARDINAL POLE ARRIVED IN ENGLAND, AND KOW HE
WAS WELCOMED BY THE KING AND QUEEN.
|K^*^|HE court returned to Whitehall in November,
111 111 Parliament being about to meet in the middle of
IP?.vO month.
1 One morning, as the royal pair were walki' g
together in the west gallery overlooking the garden, the Lord
Chancellor presented himself with a despatch in his hand.
It was easy to perceive, from the joyous expression of his
countenance, that he brought good tidings.
" Welcome, my good lord," said Mary. 111 see you have
satisfactory intelligence to communicate. Have you heard
from Rome ? "
" I have just received this transcript of the decree which
has been sent to Cardinal Pole by the Pope," replied Gar¬
diner, " in which his Holiness, after due deliberation, has
agreed to extend the privileges of the Legate, so as to enable
him to act on all occasions with the same plentitude of power
as the Pope himself. In regard to church revenues and
goods, his Holiness fully recognises the great difficulty of
the question, feeling it to be the main obstacle to the nation's
How Cardinal Pole Arrived iti England. i8i
recognition of the Papal supremacy, and he therefore invests
his Eminence with the most ample power to agree and com¬
pound with the present owners ; to assure to them their
possessions, on whatever title they may hold them ; and to
exempt them from any duty of restitution."
"This is glad news indeed!" exclaimed the Queen.
"Parliament meets in a few days. Your first business must
be to repeal the attainder of the Cardinal, who will then be
free to return to his own country, and aid us with his coun¬
sels. Hasten his arrival, I pray you, my lord, by all means
in your power. I shall not feel perfectly happy till I behold
him!"
" There shall not be a moment's needless delay, rely
upon it, gracious Madam," replied Gardiner. " The repeal
of the attainder may be considered as alieady accomplished,
since no opposition will now be made to the measure.
Meantime, an escort shall be immediately despatched to
Brussels to bring over his Eminence with all honour to this
country."
Having nothing more to lay before their Majesties, he
then bowed and withdrew.
Parliament was opened by the King and Queen in person,
a sword cf state and a cap of maintenance being borne be¬
fore each of them as they went in state to the House of
Lords. Everything proceeded as satisfactorily as had been
anticipated by Gardiner. The first bill brought before the
Lords was that for reversing Pole's attainder, which, being
quickly passed, was sent down to the Commons, and read
thrice in one day ; after which it received the royal assent,
the impression of the great seal being taken off in gold.
Meantime, in confident anticipation of this event, a
brilliant escort, comprising I >rd Paget, Sir Edward Hastings,
Sir William Cecil, and forty gentlemen of good birth, had
been despatched to Brussels, to bring back the illustrious
exile to his own country. As soon as intimation was re¬
ceived by Pole that he was free to return, he took leave of
the Emperor, and set out with his escort for England.
Among the Cardinal's suite was one of whom some account
may be necessary. Years ago, while studying at the cele
brated university of Padua, Pole contracted a friendship with
Ludovico Priuli. a voune Venetian noble, distinguished foi
182
Cardinal Pole.
his personal accomplishments, refined manners, and love ol
learning. From this date the two friends became insepar¬
able. Possessed of an ample fortune, Priuli, from his posi¬
tion, might have filled the highest offices in the Venetian
Republic, but he preferred sharing Pole's labours, and
proved a most valuable coadjutor to him. Chosen as suc¬
cessor to the Bishop of Brescia by Pope Julius III., Priuli
declined to exercise his functions, and even refused the
purple rather than quit his friend. He had remained with
Pole during his retirement at the convent of Maguzano, had
attended him to Brussels and to Paris, whither the Cardinal
went to negotiate terms of peace between Spain and France,
and of course accompanied him to England. Besides the
Lord Priuli, Pole was attended by his secretary, Floribello,
an excellent scholar, together with the Signori Stella and
Rollo, both men of learning and piety, though somewhat
advanced in years.
Owing to the infirm state of his health, the Cardinal was
unable to proceed far without resting, and after a week's
slow travel he reached Calais (then, it need scarcely be
said, in possession of England, though soon afterwards
lost), where he was received by the governor with a
distinction rarely shown to any other than a crowned
head.
Pole attended high mass at the cathedral, and the popu¬
lace clad in holiday attire, flocked thither to receive his
blessing. One circumstance occurred which was regarded
as a most favourable omen. For more than a week strong
adverse winds had prevailed in the Channel, but a favour¬
able change suddenly took place, promising a swift and
pleasant passage to the Cardinal.
A royal vessel awaited him, in which he embarked with
his train, and escorted by six men-of-war, well armed, and
under the command of the Lord High Admiral, he sailed
on a bright sunny day for England, and, impelled by a
fresh wind, arrived in a few hours at Dover.
A royal salute was fired from the guns of the castle as
the Cardinal landed, and he was received by his nephew,
Lord Montague, son of his elder brother, who had been
put to death by Henry VIII. With Lord Montague were
several other noblemen and gentlemen, amongst whom
How Cardinal Pole Arrived in England, 183
were the mayor and the town authorities, and besides these
there was a vast miscellaneous concourse.
No sooner did the Cardinal set foot on the mole, closely
followed by his other nephew, Sir Edward Hastings, and
Lord Priuli, than the whole assemblage prostrated them¬
selves before him. Spreading his arms over them, Pole
gave them his solemn benediction. All eyes were fixed on
the venerable and majestic figure before them—all ears
were strained to catch his words. The noble cast of the
Cardinal's countenance, proclaiming his royal descent—his
reverend air, increased by the long grey beard that
descended to his waist—the benignity and sweetness of his
looks—the stateliness of his deportment—all produced an
indescribable effect on the spectators. Lofty of stature,
and spare of person—the result of frequent fastings—Pole,
notwithstanding the ailments under which he laboured,
carried himself erect, and ever maintained a most dignified
deportment. To complete the picture we desire to
present, it may be necessary to say that his garments were
those proper to his eminent ecclesiastical rank, namely, a
scarlet soutane, rochet, and short purple mantle. His silk
gloves and hose were scarlet in hue, and from his broad
red hat depended on either side long cords, terminating
in tassels of two knots each. These garments became
him well, and heightened the imposing effect of his
presence.
Behind him stood his friend, Lord Priuli, who was nearly
of his own age, though he looked full ten years younger,
and appeared scarcely past the prime of life. The noble
Venetian had a countenance which Titian would have
delighted to paint, so handsome was it, so grave and full of
thought. Priuli was attired in black taffetas, over which he
wore a long silk gown of the same colour, and had a black
skull-cap on his head.
Signor Floribello, Pole's secretary, was a Roman, and
had a massive and antique cast of countenance, which
might have become one of his predecessors of the Augustan
age. He had a grave, scholar-like aspect, and was attired
in dark habiliments. With him were the Cardinal's other
attendants, Stella and Rolla, neither of whom merit special
description. The former was the Cardinal's steward, and
Cardinal Pole.
the latter his comptroller, and each wore a gold chain
around his neck.
Lord Montague was a very goodly personage, and bore
such a remarkable resemblance to his ill-fated father, that
Pole exclaimed, as he tenderly embraced him, " I could
almost fancy that my long-lost and much-lamented brother
had come to life again. I doubt not you possess your
father's excellent qualities of head and heart, as well as his
good looks."
" I trust I am no degenerate son, dear and venerated
uncle," replied Montague. " But I woul i my father had
lived to see this day, and to welcome you back to the
land from which you have been so long and so unjustly
exiled."
"Heaven's will be done!" ejaculated Pole, fervently.
" I do not repine, though I have never ceased to lament
the calamities and afflictions I have brought upon my
family."
" Think not of them now, dear uncle," rejoined Lord
Montague " They are passed and gone. The tyrant who
inflicted these injuries is in his grave. Happier days have
dawned upon us. Your brother yet lives in me, to honour
and serve you. Perchance your martyred mother now
looks down from that heaven which her destroyer shall
never enter, and joys at her son's return."
" It may be," replied the Cardinal, glancing upwards,
"and ere long I hope to join her, for my sojourn in this
Vale of Tears is nearly ended ; but I have much to do
while I tarry here. Oh ! my good nephew ! what mixed
emotions of joy and sorrow agitate my breast—joy at
returning to the country of my birth — sorrow for the
relatives and friends I have lost. Many a time and oft,
during my long banishment, have I besought Heaven to
allow me to return and lay my bones in my native land;
and now that my prayers have been granted, I tremble and
am sad, for I feel like a stranger."
" You will not be a stranger long, dear uncle," returned
Lord Montague. " There is not one of this throng who
does not feel that Heaven has sent you to us to give us a
blessing, of which we have so long been deprived."
As he spoke, the crowd, which had been Dressing on
How Cardinal Pole Arrived in England. 185
them, could no longer be kept back, but completely
surrounded the Cardinal; those nearest him throwing them¬
selves at his feet, kissing his garments, trying to embrace
his knees, and making every possible demonstration of
reverence. Little children were held up to h'ra; old men
struggled to approach him ; and it was long before he could
extricate himself from the throng, which he did with great
gentleness and consideration.
Graciously declining the hospitality proffered by the
mayor, the Cardinal proceeded with his suite to the Priory
of Saint Martin, where he tarried for the night.
On the next day, attended by an immense cortege, and
having two great silver crosses, two massive silver pillars,
and two silver pole-axes borne before him, as emblems of
his Legantine authority, he journeyed to Canterbury.
Here he heard mass in the magnificent cathedral, of
which he was so soon to become head, and rested at
the palace.
On the second day he proceeded to Rochester, his escort
increasing as he went on ; and on the third day he reached
Gravesend, where he was met by the Bishop of Durham,
the Earl of Shrewsbury, and other important personages,
who had been dispatched by their Majesties to offer him
their congratulations on his safe arrival in England, and at
the same time to present him with a copy of the act by
which his attainder was reversed.
At Gravesend he again tarried for the night, and next
morning entered a royal barge, richly decorated, lined with
tapestry, and containing a throne covered with gold
brocade. At the prow of this barge a silver cross was
fixed, which attracted universal attention as he passed up
the river, attended by several other gorgeous barges convey¬
ing his retinue.
As the Cardinal approached the metropolis, the river
swarmed with boats filled with persons of all ranks eager
to welcome him, while crowds collected on the banks to
gaze at his barge with the great silver cross at the prow.
While passing the Tower, and gazing at the gloomy
fortress where the terrible tragedies connected with his
family had been enacted, the Cardinal became a p ey to
saddening thoughts. But these were dispelled as he
Cardinal Pole,.
appioached London Badge, and heard the shouts of tne
spectators, who greeted him from the windows ol the lofty
habitations. The next objects that attracted his attention
were Baynard's Castle and Saint Paul's, and he uttered
aloud his thanksgivings that the ancient rites of worship
were again p^rlormed in the cathedral
Sweeping up the then clear river, past the old palace of
Bridewell, Somerset House—built in the preceding reign
by the Lord Protector, and which the Cardinal had never
before seen—past Durham-place and York House, attended
by hundreds of barques, he at length approached the
palace of Whitehall, and was taken to the privy stairs.
At the head of the stairs stood Gardiner, ready to receive
him, and after they had interchanged a most amicable greet¬
ing, and Pole had presented his friend Priuli, Gardiner
conducted the Cardinal through two lines of attendants
apparelled in the royal liveries, all of whom bowed reveren¬
tially as Pole passed on to the principal entrance of the
palace, where the King, with the chief personages of his
court, awaited his coming.
As the Lord Legate slowly approached, supported by
Gardiner, Philip advanced to meet him, and, embracing him
affectionately, bade him welcome, saying how anxiously both
the Queen and himself had looked for his coming. To these
gracious expressions Pole replied :
" I have rejoiced at the union her Majesty has formed,
Sire, because I regard it as a presage of my country's future
felicity. Inasmuch as a nuptial disagreement between an
English monarch and a Spanish queen led to a most lament¬
able breach with the Holy See, so the marriage of a Spanish
king and an English princess will serve to heal the breach.
Most assuredly my countrymen will reap the benefit of this
auspicious alliance, and so far from finding any yoke placed
upon them, as they once apprehended, will recognise the
difference between your Majesty and that Prince who chas¬
tised them with so heavy a rod."
"With the aid of your Eminence in all spiritual matters,
and with that of the Lord Chancellor in temporal affairs,"
replied Philip, " I doubt not I shall be able, through the
Queen's Highness, to contribute to the welfare and prosperity
of the realm. Such has been my constant endeavour since I
How Cardinal Pole Arrived in England\ 187
have been here. And now suffer me to lead you to her
Majesty, who is all impatience to behold you."
Hereupon they ascended the grand staircase, the King
graciously giving his arm to the Lord Legate. At the head
of the staircase they found the Queen, who exhibited the
liveliest marks of delight on seeing the Cardinal, and gave
him a most affectionate greeting.
Pole could not fail to be deeply moved by so much kind¬
ness, and with streaming eyes, and in broken accents, sough 1
to express his gratitude. He soon, however, regained h.s
customary serenity, and attended the Queen to the privy-
chamber, whither they were followed by the King and the
Lord Chancellor. He then delivered his credentials to her
Majesty, and they had a long discourse together, in which
both the King and the Lord Chancellor took part.
Before withdrawing, Pole besought permission to present
his friend Lord Priuli, and Mary kindly assenting, the noble
and learned Venetian was introduced to their Majesties, and
very graciously received by both. After this the Cardinal took
leave, and, attended by Gardiner, re-entered his barge, and
was conveyed in it to Lambeth Palace, which had been pre¬
pared for his residence.
On the same day a grand banquet was given at Whitehall
in honour of the Lord Legate, at which all the nobles vied
with each other in paying him attention. Indeed, since
Wolsey's palmiest days no such distinction had been shown
to an ecclesiastic. Priuli, also, came in for some diare of
the tribute of respect paid to his illustrious friend.
On the following day, in order to celebrate Pole's arrival
publicly, a grand tournament was held in the court of the
palace, where galleries were erected, adorned wiih rich hang¬
ings, having two canopies of crimson cloth of silver, embroi¬
dered with the royal arms, prepared for their Majesties—
a chair for the Cardinal being set near that of the Queen.
Precisely at two o'clock her Majesty issued frcm the palace
in company with the Cardinal, attended by her ladies, and
took her place beneath the canopy, Pole seating himself be¬
side her. The galleries on either side presented a magnifi¬
cent sight, being thronged with all the beauty and chivalry
of the court—high-born dames and noble gallants, all richly
apparelled.
i88
Cardinal Pole.
The lists were under the governance of the Lord Cham'
b.rlain, Sir John Gage, who was clad in russet armour, and
mounted on a powerful and richly-caparisoned steed ; and as
soon as the Queen and the Cardinal had taken their places,
loud fanfares were blown by a bevy of trumpeters stationed
on the opposite side cf the court.
At this summons two champions immediately rode into
the ring, attracting great attention. One of them was the
King. lie was clad in a suit of richly chased armour inlaid
w.th gold, and his helm was adorned with a panache of
red ostrich plumes. His courser was trapped with purple
satin, broached with gold. As he rode round the tilt yard
and saluted the Queen, a buzz of applause followed his
course.
His opponent was Osbert Clinton, whom his Majesty had
challenged to a trial of skill. Osbert wore a suit of black
armour, with a white plume, and was mounted on a power¬
ful charger, with bases and bards of black cloth of gold of
damask.
As soon as the champions had taken their places, the
signal was given by Sir John Gage, and dashing vigorously
against each other, they met in mid-career, both their lances
being shivered by the shock. As no advantage had been
gained on either side, fresh lances were brought, and they
immediately ran another course. In this encounter, Osbert
had the best of it, for he succeeded in striking off the King's
helmet, and was consequently proclaimed the victor, and re¬
ceived a costly owche as a prize from the hands of the Queen.
Other courses were then run, and spears broken, all the
combatants demeaning themselves valiantly and like men of
prowess. Amongst the Spaniards, those who most distin¬
guished themselves were Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, Don
Frederic de Toledo, and Don Adrian Garcias; whilst amongst
the Englishmen the best knights were accounted the Lord
Admiral and Sir John Perrot. The King was more fortu¬
nate in other courses than in those he had run with Osbert
Clinton, and received a diamond ring from her Majesty, amid
the loud plaudits of the spectators.
After this, Sir John Gage called upon them to disarm, the
trumpets sounded, and graciously bowing to the assemblage,
the Queen withdrew with the Cardinal.
CHAPTER IT.
OF THE REC 3NCILrATION OF THE RE M M WITH THE SEE
OF ROME.
few days afterwards, in consequence of the Queen's
indisposition, which, however, was not supposed
to be of a nature to inspire uneasiness, both
Houses of Parliament were summoned to the
palace of Whitehall, and assembled in the presence-chamber.
Mary, who was so weak at the time that she had to be
carried to her throne, was placed on a hautpas, beneath a
rich canopy embroidered with the royal arms in gold.
On her left hand was seated the King, attired in black
velvet, over which he wore a robe of black cloth of gold,
bordered with pearls and diamonds. The collar of the Garter
was round his neck, and the lesser badge studded with
gems, beneath his knee.
On the Queen's right, and on the haut-pas, but not beneath
the canopy, sat Cardinal Pole. His robes were of the richest
scarlet, and he wore a mantle of fine sables about his neck.
He was attended by four gentleman ushers, all richly clad,
and having heavy chains ot gold round their necks. Two of
these carried the large silver crosses, and the other two bore
the silver pillars. Behind the Queen stood Sir John Gage,
in his robes of office as Grand Chamberlain, and holding a
white wand, and with him were the Vice-Chamberlain and
Dther officers of the royal household. All the Queen's ladies
were likewise grouped around the throne.
Near to the Lord Legate stood Gai diner, and as soon as al/
'3
190
Cardinal Pole.
were in their places, and the doors had been closed by the
ushers, he addressed both Houses, informing them that the
Right Reverend Father in God, the Lord Cardinal Pole,
legate a latere, who was now present before them, had come
as ambassador from Pope Julius III. to the King and Queen's
Majesties on a matter of the utmost importance, not only to
their Highnesses, but to the whole realm. As representatives
of the nation, they were called there to listen to the declara¬
tion about to be made to them by the Lord Legate.
When Gardiner concluded his address and retired, every
eye was fixed upon the Cardinal, and a hush of expectation
fell upon the assemblage. After a moment's pause, Pole
arose, and with a dignified bow to their Majesties, com¬
menced his address, in tones that vibrated through every
breast.
" Long excluded from this assembly," he said, "and exiled
from my native country by laws upon the severity and in¬
justice of which I will not dwell, I have most heartily to
thank you, my Lords of the Upper House, and you, good
Sirs, of the Nether House, for reversing the sentence pro¬
nounced upon rne, and enabling me to appear before you
once more. I rejoice that I am able to requite the great
service you have rendered me. You have restored me to my
country and to my place amongst the highest nobility upon
earth. I can restore you to a heavenly kingdom, and to a
Christian greatness, which you have unhappily forfeited by
renouncing a fealty annexed to the true Church. Bethink
you of the many evils that have occurred to this land since
its lamentable defection. Estimate aright the great boon
now offered you. Until the late most unhappy schism, the
English nation ever stood foremost in the regard of the See
of Rome, abundant proofs of which I can offer you. While
reminding you of your past errors, let me exhort you to a
sincere repentance, and to receive with a deep and holy joy
the reconciliation with the Church of Rome, which I, as
Legate, am empowered to impart to you. To reap this
great blessing it only needs that you should repeal whatever
you have enacted against the Holy See, and those laws by
which you have severed yourselves from the body of the
faithful."
Delivered in tones of mellifluous sweetness and per-
Of the Reconciliation with Rome. 191
suasion, this discourse was listened to with profound atten¬
tion, and produced an unmistakeable effect upon the
auditors. As the Cardinal resumed his seat, Gardiner
advanced towards him.
" I thank your Eminence," he said, " in the name of their
Majesties and the Parliament for the good offices you have
rendered the nation. The members of both Houses will at
once deliberate upon what you have proposed, and will
speedily acquaint you with their determination, which, I
nothing doubt, will be favourable to the cause of our holy
religion."
Upon this, the Lord Legate arose and retired with his
attendants into an adjoining chamber, there to await the
decision of the Parliament.
As soon as he was gone, Gardiner again addressed the
assemblage in these terms : " Heaven hath spoken to you by
the lips of the holy man to whom you have just listened. I
can confirm the truth of all he has uttered. I acknowledge
myself to be a great delinquent, but I have deeply and sin¬
cerely repented of my errors, and I beseech you to do so
likewise. Rise from your fallen estate, and dispose your¬
selves to a complete reconciliation with the Catholic
Church, and a return to its communion. Are ye all agreed
to this ? "
"We are all agreed," replied the whole assemblage, with¬
out a moment's hesitation.
"I rejoice to hear it," replied Gardiner. "If you have
erred, you at least make amends for your error."
The promptitude and unanimity of this decision gave great
satisfaction to their Majesties, and the King, calling Gardiner
to him, held a brief conference with him, after which Sir
John Gage, with the Earl of Arundel, six knights of the
Garter, and the like number of bishops, were sent to
summon the Lord Legate. As Pole again entered the
presence-chamber, the whole of the assemblage arose. The
Cardinal having resumed his seat, Gardiner called out, in a
loud voice,—
" I again ask you, in the presence of the Lord Legate,
whether you sincerely desire to return to the unity of the
Church, and the obedience due to her chief pastor ? "
'• \Ve do !—we do !" cried the entire assemblage.
193
Cardinal Pole.
A radiant smile passed over Pole's benign countenance at
these exclamations, and he raised up his hands in thankful¬
ness to Heaven.
"This moment repays me for all I have suffered," he
murmured.
Then Gardiner turned towards the King and Queen, and,
making a profound obeisance to them, said :—
" On behalf of the members of both Houses of Parliament,
representatives of the whole realm, I have to express to your
Majesties their sorrow for the former schism, and for what¬
ever they have enacted against the See of Rome and the
Catholic religion, all which they now annul; and would
humbly beseech you to obtain from the Lord Legate pardon
and restoration to that body from which they had separated
themselves by their misdeeds."
" We pray your Eminence to grant the pardon and re¬
conciliation thus humbly sued for?" said Philip, turning
towards the Cardinal.
" Right joyfully will I accede to your Majesty's request,"
replied Pole.
The Cardinal's assent having been communicated to the
assemblage by Gardiner, they all advanced towards Pole,
who arose as they approached, and said:—
"Thanks are due to Divine goodness for granting you
this opportunity of cancelling your past offences. If your
repentance be answerable to the importance of the occasion
and the heinousness of the fault, great, indeed, must be the
joy of the saints at your conversion."
It being now evident that the Cardinal was about to pro¬
nounce the absolution, the whole assemblage, with the excep¬
tion of the King and Queen, fell upon their knees. Extend¬
ing his arms over them, Pole, in a clear and distinct voice,
said :—
"As representative of Christ's Vicegerent, I here absolve
all those present, and the whole nation, and the whole
dominion thereof, from all heresy and schism, and all judg¬
ments, censures, for that cause incurred, and restore them
to the communion of the Holy Church, in the name of the
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."
To this the whole assemblage responded "Amen !"
Nothing could be more solemn and impressive than the
Of the Reconciliation with Rome.
193
Cardinal's manner while pronouncing this absolution, and
his words penetrated all hearts. The Queen and most oi
her ladies shed tears. As the assembly rose from their
kneeling posture, they embraced each other, and gave utter¬
ance to their satisfaction.
The King and Queen, with their attendants, then pro¬
ceeded to the royal chapel to return thanks, and were
followed by the Cardinal, Gardiner, and the entire assem¬
blage. A solemn mass was then performed, and Te JDeum
sung.
CHAPTER III.
OP THE EVENTS THAT FOLLOWED THE RESTORATION Of'
THE PAPAL AUTHORITY.
O sooner was the nation's reconciliation with the
See of Rome completed, than an express was sent
by Cardinal Pole to Pope Julius III., acquainting
his Holiness with the joyful event. On receipt of
the intelligence, public rejoicings on the grandest scale were
held at Rome, religious processions paraded the streets,
masses were performed in all the churches, and a solemn
service was celebrated at Saint Peter's by the Pontiff in
person. The event, indeed, was a signal triumph to the
Pope, and in reply to Cardinal Pole he thanked him heartily
for the great service he had rendered the Church, and warmly
commended his zeal and diligence. Moreover, he issued a
bull granting indulgences to all such persons as should
openly manifest their satisfaction at the restoration of the
Papal authority in England.
Public rejoicings also took place in London, and in other
towns, but they were productive of mischief rather than
good, as they led to many serious brawls and disturbances.
Though compelled to submit to their opponents, who were
now in the ascendant, the Reformers were far from subdued,
but were quite ready for outbreak, should a favourable op¬
portunity occur for attempting it. The triumphant demon¬
strations of the Romanists were abhorrent to them, and
constant collisions, as we have said, took place between the
more violent adherents of the opposing creeds. In these
Of the Events that Followed.
encounters, the Protestants, being the less numerous, got
the worst of it, but they promised themselves revenge on a
future day.
On the Sunday after the reconciliation, a sermon was
preached by Gardiner at Paul's Cross, before the King and
Cardinal Pole. A large crowd collected to hear him. On
this occasion, in spite of the presence of a strong guard, some
interruptions occurred, proving that there were dissentients
among the auditors. Evidently there was a growing feeling
of dislike to Philip and the Spaniards, fostered by the mal¬
contents, and many a fierce glance was fixed upon the King,
many a threat breathed against him, as, surrounded by a
band of halberdiers, he listened to Gardiner's discourse.
But if Philip was hated even by the Romanists, who after
all were as true lovers of their country as those of the ad¬
verse sect, and equally hostile to the Spaniards, the universal
feeling was favourable to Cardinal Pole, whose benevolent
countenance pleased the Reformers, as much as his dignified
deportment commanded their respect. He and the King
rode together to Saint Paul's, and after hearing the sermon,
returned in the same way to Whitehall. Philip had the
sword of state borne before him, but the Cardinal contented
himself with the silver cross.
A few days afterwards, intimation was sent by the council
to Bonner, Bishop of London, that the Queen was in a
condition to become a mother. Command was given at the
same time that there should be a solemn procession to Saint
Paul's, in which the Lord Mayor, the aldermen, and all
the City companies, in their liveries, should join, to ofter
up prayers for her Majesty's preservation during her time of
travail, coupled with earnest supplications that the child
might be a male.
This announcement, which, as may be supposed, was
quickly bruited abroad throughout the City, gave great
satisfaction to the Romanists, but it was anything but
welcome or agreeable to the Reformers, who saw in it an
extension of power to their enemies, and an increase of
danger to themselves. If an heir to the throne should be
born, Philip's authority in England would be absolute.
Such was the general impression, and its correctness was
confirmed by a petition made to the King by both Houses,
196
Cardinal Pole.
which prayed " that if it should happen otherwise than well
to the Queen, he would take upon himself the government
of the realm during the minority of her Majesty's issue."
As may be supposed, Philip readily assented, and an act
was immediately passed carrying out the provisions above
mentioned, and making it high treason to compass the
King's death, or attempt to remove him from the govern¬
ment and guardianship confided to him.
Under these circumstances the solemn procession to Saint
Paul's took place. Vast crowds encumbered the streets
as the civic authorities proceeded from Guildhall to the
cathedral, headed by ten bishops in their robes, the pix
being borne before them under a canopy. This gave such
offence, that had not a strong military force kept the
populace in awe, it is certain that the procession would have
been molested. As it was, expressions of antipathy to
Philip could not be checked. "England shall never be
ruled by the Spaniard," was the indignant outcry, which
found an echo in many a breast, whether of Romanist or
Reformer.
In spite of all these clamours, the procession reached
Saint Paul's in safety, and high mass was celebrated by
Bonner and the other bishops, after which prayers were
offered up for the Queen, in accordance with the council's
mandate. The mass of the assemblage joined heartily in
thete supplications, but there were some who refused to
recite them, and secretly prayed that Philip's hopes of an
heir might be frustrated.
The reader is already aware that Cardinal Pole, immedi¬
ately on his arrival in London, had been put in possession
of Lambeth Palace. This noble residence, with the
revenues of the Archbishopric of Canterbury, confiscated
on the condemnation of Cranmer for high treason, was
bestowed on the Cardinal by the King and Queen; but
Pole could not be promoted to the archiepiscopal see while
Cranmer lived.
One of the Cardinal's first acts on taking possession of
the palace was to summon all the bishops and principal
clergy before him, and, after listening to their expressions
of penitence for the perjuries, heresies, and schisms they had
committed during the late reigns, he gave them absolution.
0/ the Events that Followed\
*97
And now, before proceeding further, it may be desirable
to give a brief description of the ancient edifice occupied
by the- Cardinal.
The present vast and irregular pile, known as Lambeth
Palace, was preceded by a much smaller mansion, wherein
the archbishops of Canterbury were lodged, and to which a
chapel was attached. This building was pulled down in
1262 by the turbulent Archbishop Boniface, and a new and
more important structure erected in its place. Of Boniface's
palace little now remains save the chapel and crypt. So
many additions were made to the palace by successive arch¬
bishops, and so much was it altered, that it iray almost be
said to have become another structure. A noble hall, sub¬
sequently destroyed in the time of the Commonwealth, was
built by Archbishop Chichely, who flourished in the reign
of Edward IV.; while the chief ornament of the existing
pile, the gateway, was reared by Cardinal Archbishop
Morton, towards the end of the 15th century. The
Steward's Parlour, a chamber of large dimensions, was
added by Cranmer, and a long gallery and other buildings
were erected by Cardinal Pole.
Before entering the palace, let us pause to examine the
gateway, a structure of almost unrivalled beauty, and con¬
sisting of two large square towers, built of fine brick, em¬
battled, and edged with stone. The archway is pointed, and
has a groined roof springing from four pillars, one in each
corner. Spiral stone staircases lead to the upper chambers,
and from the leads of the roof a wonderful prospect of the
surrounding metropolis is obtained. Connected with the
porter's lodge is a small prison-chamber, having a double
door, and high, narrow-grated windows. The walls are
cased with stone, and of prodigious thickness, while three
heavy iron rings fixed in them attest the purpose to which
the room was formerly applied.
Passing through the principal court, we enter the great
hall, rebuilt by Archbishop Juxon on the exact model of
the old hall, demolished during the Protectorate, so that it
may be considered a counterpart of Archbishop Chichely's
banqueting-chamber. Nearly a hundred feet in length, pro¬
portionately wide and lofty, this noble room has a superb
pendant timber roof, enriched with elaborate carvings, and
Cardinal Pole.
lighted by a louvre. In the great bay-window, amidst tiiw
relics of stained glass, recovered from the original hall, may
be discerned the arms of Philip of Spain, painted by order
of Cardinal Pole. At the present day the hall is used as
the palace library, and its space is somewhat encroached
upon by projecting bookcases, filled with works of divinity.
At the upper end is the archbishop's seat.
From the great hall we may proceed to the gallery and
guard-chamber, the latter of which was once used as the
armoury of the palace. It has an ancient timber roof, with
p.mdants, pointed arches, and pierced spandrels. Here are
portraits of many of the archbishops of Canterbury, among
which may be seen that of Cardinal Pole, copied from the
original by Raffaelle, preserved in the Barberini Palace at
Rome.
Pass we by the presence-chamber and other state-rooms,
and let us enter the long gallery erected by Cardinal Pole
—a noble room, lighted by windows enriched with stained
glass.
Hence we will proceed to the chapel erected by Boniface.
Lighted by three lancet-shaped windows on either side, and
divided by an elaborately carved screen, on the inner side
of which is the archiepiscopal stall, this chapel contains bul
little of its pristine character, and is disfigured by a flat-
panelled ceiling, added by Archbishop Laud.
Beneath the chapel, and corresponding with it in size, is
an ancient crypt, with a groined roof, once used as a place
of worship. In this part of the palace is a large room built
by Cianmer, and now called the Steward's Parlour, and
close to it are the servants' hall and the great kitchen.
We now come to a part of the palace to which interest of
a peculiar nature attaches. This is the Lollards' Tower, a
large stone structure, erected by Archbishop Chichely, which
derives its name from being used as a place of imprison¬
ment for the followers of Wickiifife, called Lollards. This
time-worn tower faces the river, and on its front is a small
niche or tabernacle, formerly occupied by an image of
Thomas h Becket.
In the lower part of the Lollard's Tower is a gloomy
chamber of singular construction, the heavy timber roof
being supported bv a strons wooden nillar cfandincr in the
Of the Events that Followed.
199
centre of the chamber, whence the place is called the Post
Room. Tradition asserts that the unfortunate Lollards,
confined in the chamber above, were tied to this pil ar and
scourged. The Post Room is lighted by three low pointed
windows looking towards the Thames, and its flat-panelled
ceiling is ornamented at the intersections with grotesque
carvings.
Ascending by a narrow spiral stone staircase, we reach
the prison-chamber just referred to, which is guarded by an
inner and outer door of stout oak, studded with broad-
headed nails. A strange, strong room, that cannot fail
powerfully to impress the visitor. Wainscot, ceiling, floor,
every part of the chamber is boarded with dark oak of great
thickness. Fixed to the wainscot, breast-high from the
ground, are eight massive rings. The boards adjoining them
are covered with inscriptions —mementoes of the many un¬
fortunates confined there. The prison-chamber is lighted
by two small grated windows, narrowing outwardly, one of
which looks upon the river.
"Attached to the palace are a park and gardens of con¬
siderable extent, and in the olden time of great beauty.
Within the gardens, up to the commencement of the present
century, grew two singularly fine fig trees, planted by Car¬
dinal Pole, and trained against that part of the palace which
he erected.
Lambeth Palace came into Pole's hands in a very habita¬
ble condition, having been well kept up by his predecessor,
Cranmer. So well pleased was the Cardinal with the man¬
sion, that he not only embellished it in many ways, but
enlarged it, as we have previously mentioned. He also took
great delight in the gardens, and laid them out in the Italian
style.
Unostentatious of character, and simple in his tastes and
habits, Pole felt it due to his elevated position to maintain
princely state in the residence assigned to him by their
Majesties, and employ his large revenues in hospitality and
charity. When complete, which it was within a month after
his occupation of the Palace, Pole's household was as
numerous and magnificent as Wolsey's, and comprised a
high-chamberlain and vice-chamberlain, twelve gentlemen
ushers steward, treasurer, comptroller, cofferer, three mar-
200
Cardinal Pole.
shals, Uvo grooms, and an almoner. In his chapel he had
a dean, a sub-dean, twelve singing-priests, and the like
number of quiristers. Besides these, there were his cross-
bearers, his pillar-bearers, and two yeomen to bear his
poleaxes. The inferior officers were almost too numerous to
particularise, comprehending purveyors, cooks, sewers, cup¬
bearers, yeomen of the larder, of the buttery, of the eweiy,
the cellar, the laundry, the bakehouse, the wardrobe, the
chandry, the wood yard, and the garden. Of gardeners,
indeed, there were several. Besides these, there were a
multitude of pages and grooms, a sumpter-man, a muleteer,
and sixteen grooms of the stable, each of whom had four
horses. Then there were tall porters at the gate, yeomen
of the chariot, and yeomen cf the barge. Nor were these
all. In addition to those previous enumerated, there were
a physician, two .chaplains, and two secretaries.
Such was the magn'ficent establishment maintained by
Pole during his residence at Lambeth Palace. His hos¬
pitality may be judged of by the fact that three long tables
were daily laid in the great hall, abundantly supplied with
viands, and ever thronged with guests. At the upper table
sat the Cardinal, generally surrounded by nobles or eccle¬
siastical dignitaries. A place at this table, not far from his
illustrious friend, was always reserved for Lord Priuli.
Apartments in the palace were, of course, assigned to
Priuli, who had likewise his own attendants. The entire
control of the vast establishment devolved upon the noble
Venetian, who undertook the office in order to relieve the
Cardinal of a portion of his labours.
Amidst all this profusion the poor were not forgotten.
Dole was daily distributed at the palace gate, .under the
personal superintendence of Pole and Priuli. The wants of
the necessitous were relieved, and medicines were delivered
to the sick. None who deserved assistance were ever sent
empty-handed away by the Cardinal.
Amongst the Cardinal's officers were our old acquaintances
Rodomont Bittern, Nick Simnel, and Jack Holiday, the first
of whom had been recommended to Pole by the King him¬
self. Rodomont was appointed captain of the palace guard,
and his two friends were made' lieutenants. On state occa¬
sions they formed part of the Cardinal's bod;-guard.
Of the Events that Followed.
20I
One fine morning, at an early hour, these three personages
had scaled the lofty gate-tower, in order to enjoy the goodly
prospect it commanded. Before them flowed the Thames,
then a clear and unpolluted stream, its smooth surface
speckled, even at that early hour, by many barques. A ferry¬
boat, laden with passengers and horses, was crossing at the
time from Lambeth to Westminster. On the opposite side
stood the ancient Abbey, with the Parliament House, the
Star Chamber, the beautiful gates of Whitehall, designed by
Holbein, the royal gardens, and the palace. Further on
cold be observed the exquisite cross at Charing, subse¬
quently destroyed by fanatical fury. Then following the
course of the river, the eye lighted upon York-place, Durham-
place, the Savoy, and the splendid mansion then but recently
completed by the aspiring Duke of Somerset. Further
on was the ancient palace of Bridewell, and beyond, Baynard's
Castle, while above the clustering habitations of the City
rose the massive tower and lofty spire of old Saint Paul's.
London at the period of whch we treat was singularly
picturesque and beautiful. The walls encircling it were well
fortified and in good repair, and most of its oldest and most
remarkable edifices were still standing, no terrible conflagra¬
tion having as yet touched them. Numberless towers,
churches, and picturesque habitations, with high roofs and
quaint gables, excited the admiration of those who stood that
morn on the gateway of Lambeth Palace ; but perhaps the
object that pleased them best was London-bridge, which,
with its gates, its drawbridges, its church, and lofty habita¬
tions, proudly bestrode the Thames. Having gazed their
fill at this wondrous structure, or rather collection of struc¬
tures, they turned towards the Surrey side of the river, and
noted Saint Mary Overy's fine old church, the palace of the
Bishop of Winchester, the Ring, at that time much fre¬
quented, in which bulls and bears were baited, and the
adjacent theatre, wherein, at a later date, many of the plays of
our immortal bard were represented. Content with this distant
survey, they then looked nearer home, and allowed their
gaze to wander over the park and gardens of the palace, and
finally to settle upon the various courts, towers, and buildings
composing the pile.
" By my faith, 'tis a stately edifice, this palace of Lam-
202
Cardinal Pole.
beth ! " exclaimed Rodomont. " Our lord and ma. iter the
Cardinal is as well lodged as the King and Queen at White¬
hall."
"Were it not for yonder ague-bringing marshes the
palace would be a marvellous pleasant residence," observed
Nick Simnel.
"Why should a sturdy fellow like you, Nick, fear ague?"
cried Rodomont. " Lord Priuli tells me that his Eminence
enjoys better health here than he has done since he left the
Lago di Garda—a plain proof that the place cannot be in¬
salubrious, as you would have it."
"Follow my example, Nick, and fortify yourself against
the morning mists with a thimbleful of aqua vitae," remarked
Jack Holiday, with a laugh. " Tis a sovereign remedy
against ague. But see ! yonder are the Cardinal and the
Lord Priuli, taking an early walk in the garden. They seem
engaged in earnest discourse."
"I warrant their discourse relates to the recusant Pro
testant divines, who have just been excommunicated by the
ecclesiastical commissioners, and are to be burnt," observed
Rodomont. "Theie will be rare doings at Smithfield ere
long, if Gardiner and Bonner have their way. But our good
lord the Cardinal is averse to persecution, and may succeed
in checking it."
" Heaven grant he may !" exclaimed Jack Holiday. " If
once the fires are lighted at Smithfield, there's no saying
when they may be extinguished, or who may perish by them.
'Tis a marvel to me that the late occupant of this palace,
Cranmer, has so long been spared. If the ecclesiastical
commissioners desire to deal a heavy blow against the
Reformers, why not strike their leader now they have him
in their power?"
" I will tell you why," rejoined Rodomont. " In this high
place none can overhear us, so we may talk freely. Gar¬
diner would fain be Archbishop of Canterbury, but he knows
that if Cranmer be burnt, our lord the Cardinal will at once
be appointed to the archiepiscopal see. Therefore Cranmer
is allowed to live, in the hope that Pole may be recalled to
Rome by his Holiness. But the crafty Bishop ot Winchester
will be disappointed, for the Cardinal is not likely to leave
his native country again."
Of the Events that Followed.
203
"lam rejo'ced to hear it," said Simnel. "We could
ill spare him. The Cardinal is the pillar of the Romish
church in England."
" By our Lady, he is a pattern to all," cried Rodomont.
" There lives not a better man than his Eminence. Even
the Queen, they say, is governed by his advice. He has
more influence with her than the King himself."
" Like enough," observed Jack Holiday, " for they do say
that the royal couple, like other married folk, have an occa¬
sional quarrel. Her Majesty is plaguily jealous."
" And not without reason," said Rodomont, with a laugh.
" It was not to be expected that the King, who is of an
amorous complexion, as all the world knows, should continue
faithful to a woman eleven years older than himself, and ill-
favoured into the bargain. He wants something younger
and better-looking."
"Like poor Constance Tyrrell," said Nick Simnel; "she
who is shut up yonder," he added, pointing to the Lollard's
Tower.
" Ay, and she will never get out unless she yields to the
King's wishes," observed Jack Holiday.
" Don't be too sure of that," rejoined Rodomont. " It
will be her own fault if she remains here another twenty-
four hours."
" How so ?—who will unlock the door for her ?—not her
gaoler?" said Holiday.
" Not her gaoler, fool," rejoined Rodomont, "but her lover,
Osbert Clinton. Since he can't unlock the door, he will un¬
bar the window. You are both too generous to betray him,
I know, and therefore I'll e'en tell you what occurred last
night. While making my rounds, a little after midnight,
I entered the outer court, and was standing near the Water
Tower, when looking up, I espied a head above yon ivied
wall, which divides the court from the river. In another
moment a body became visible as well as a head, and before
1 could count twenty a man dropped from the top of the wall
into the court. It was Osbert Clinton. I recognised him
even in that imperfect light, or I should have challenged
him. Guessing his purpose, I retired, placing myself so
that I could watch his movements without being perceived.
As I expected, his errand was to the Lollard's Tower, though
2C>4
Cardinal Pole.
how he hoped to gain admittance to Constance's cell passed
my comprehension."
"And did he gain admittance to her?" inquired
Holiday.
" You shall hear,"replied Rodomont. "Yon small grated
window in the upper part of the tower belongs to her cell.
How, think you, he contrived to reach it ? "
" Nay, I can't say," replied Holiday. "He could scarcely
climb up to it."
" Climb up a tower ! No, I should think not. But for
the ivy, he would never have got over yonder wall. He
reached the window by means of a rope ladder which he had
brought with him. How the plan had been preconcerted is
more than I can tell you, but it was evident Constance
expected him. A slight cough served to announce her
lover's presence to her. At the signal, a cord was imme¬
diately let down from the window of the cell, and as soon as
it came within Osbert's reach, he caught it, and fastening
the rope-ladder to it, the cord was quickly drawn up again,
taking the ladder with it. In another minute the ladder was
made fast to the bars of the window, and this done, up
sprang Osbert, and was soon only separated from the object
of his affections by the grating."
" A pize upon the grating ! " exclaimed Holiday. " I
would there had been no envious bars between them."
" That was exactly my feeling," said Rodomont. " Their
discourse was in whispers, but I heard enough to learn that
Osbert proposed some means of escape to her, but judged
from his expressions of disappointment that she would not
consent to the plan. Fear of discovery compelled him to cut
short the interview, however he might have desired to pro¬
long it, but before descending he promised to come again
to-night. The ladder being unfastened, he was quickly over
the wall, and in another minute must have regained the boat,
which I conclude was waiting for him. Now, what say you,
my masters ? Shall we not aid him in his efforts to get this
poor girl away ? "
" I will gladly do so," replied Holiday.
" So will I," said Simnel.
" Then we will forthwith set our wits to work, and some¬
thing must come of it," rejoined Rodomont. " If she remains
Of the Events that Followed.
205
here, she is lost. But see ! the poor folk are beginring to
crowd round the gate in expectation of their dole. How
many, think you, are daily fed by the Cardinal ? "
' Fifty or sixty, it may be," replied Simnel.
"Upwards of a hundred," said Rodomont. "Yonder
comes his Emminence, with Lord Priuli. Let us go down.
This keen morning has given me a rare appetite, and I pro¬
pose that we hie to the great hall, and break our fast with a
cold chine and a flagon of humming ale."
" Agreed," replied the others.
Whereupon they descended to the court, and bowing
reverentially to the Cardinal and Lord Priuli as they passed
them, proceeded to the banqueting-chamber, where prepara¬
tions were already made for a substantial repast. Suting
down at a side-table, they fell to work with right goou will.
14
CHAPTER IV.
Of THE UNCEREMONIOUS VISIT PAID BY THEIR MAJESTIES TO
CARDINAL POLE AT LAMBETH PALACE.
N the same day, at a late hour, in a large room of
the palace, panelled with dark oak, and lighted
by a deep bay-window filled with stained glass,
beside a table covered with books and papers,
sat Cardinal Pole and Lord Priuli. They were engaged in
conversation. Pole wore his scarlet soutane and lawn
rochet, and had a red silk calotte on his head. Priuli was
in black velvet, which set off his noble figure to great
advantage.
" An embassy is about to be dispatched in a few days to
Rome," observed Pole. " It will consist of my nephew,
Lord Montague, the Bishop of Ely, and Sir Edward Carne.
If you have any desire to return to your beloved Italy, you
can do so in their company. Do not let any consideration
for me weigh with you, I entreat. I am not without mis¬
giving that this chill climate, and, above all, the exhalations
from the marshes near the Palace, may be prejudicial to
your health. I need not say how gieatly I shall miss you,
but I shall be reconciled to the deprivation by feeling that
you are better off than with me."
" If I can serve you by accompanying this embassy to
Rome, I will readily do so, dear friend," rejoined Priuli;
" but I have no desire to return to Italy. It would be idle
to say that I do not prefer sunshine and an exhilaratincr
The Unceremonious Visit Paia by Their Majesties. 207
atmosphere to a cold and brumous climate like that of Eng¬
land. Undoubtedly, I would rather dwell in Rome than in
London, but, deprived of your society, Italy, with its blue
sky and noble monuments, would be a blank to me. I am
happier here than I should be at the Vatican without you.
Say no more, therefore, to me on that head, I beseech you.
But you yourself may be compelled to return to Rome. Not
improbably you may be elected to the Pontifical Throne ! "
" Should it be so, I should decline the dignity," replied
the Cardinal. "You, my good friend, who know my senti¬
ments perfectly, are aware that I have little ambition, ana
that all my exertions have been directed to the welfare of
our holy Church. This cause I can best serve by remaining
here, and I trust Heaven may spare me for the complete
fulfilment of my task. I do not delude myself with any
false hopes. I shall never behold Rome again, and it is
from this conviction that I would not hinder your return."
" I will remain with you to the last," rejoined Priuli.
" My life is linked with yours. Nothing but death can
divide us."
At this juncture an usher announced the Lord Chancellor,
and the next moment Gardiner entered the room. Both the
Cardinal and Priuli rose to receive him. After courteous
but grave salutations had passed between them, Gardiner
remarked, ' Your Eminence desires to speak to me about
those recusants who were yesterday excommunicated by the
ecclesiastical tribunal, and delivered to the secular power.
I may as well state at once that nothing can be advanced in
arrest of the judgment certain to be passed upon them.
They obstinately persisted in their heresy, and firmly refused
to subscribe to the doctrines of the Church."
"I grieve to hear it," replied Pole. " Yet I trust they
will not be severely dealt with."
" They will be dealt with as they deserve—they will be
burnt at the stake," rejoined Gardiner.
" But not without time allowed them for reflection, I trust,
my lord," said the Cardinal. "Undue severity will injure
our cause rather than serve it. These men will be accounted
martyrs, and held up as an example to others. Policy,
therefore, would dictate milder measures."
" Mild measures have been tried, and have proved in-
2o8
Cardinal Pole.
effectual," rejoined Gardiner. "We must now make a terrible
example of these obstinate and dangerous heretics."
Again the usher entered, and this time to inform the Car¬
dinal that their Majesties had arrived at the palace, and
were already in the courtyard. Hereupon Pole instantly
arose, and followed by Priuli, repaired to the ante-chamber.
Scarcely had he entered it, when the royal pair, preceded by
Sir John Gage, and attended by several officers of the court,
appeared at the outer door. The Cardinal immediately
hurried forward to bid them welcome, and thank them
for the distinguished honour conferred upon him by the
visit.
" Had I been aware of your coming, gracious Madam," he
said to the Queen, "I would have been at the gate to receive
you.n
" It is not a visit of ceremony," replied Mary, " therefore
we did not deem it necessary to send intimation of our de¬
sign. If your Eminence is at leisure, the King and myself
will gladly pass an hour in your society, and profit by your
counsels."
"I am entirely at your Majesty's disposal," replied the
Cardinal, bowing. " I pray you enter. And you, too, Sire,"
he added, conducting them to the inner room.
Mary looked ill and lauguid, and moved slowly and with
difficulty, requiring the King's support. But her illness being
attributed to her condition, occasioned no alarm.
On reaching the inner room, the Queen seated herself on
a high, carved oak chair proffered her by the Cardinal, while
Philip occupied a fauteuil on her left. As their Majesties
would not allow the Cardinal to remain standing, he took a
seat on the other side of the Queen. At a little distance
from the royal pair stood Gardiner, Priuli, and Sir John
Gage. All the other attendants withdrew.
" I did not expect to find you here, my lord," the Queen
observed to Gardiner, after bowing to him and Priuli.
" I was sent for, gracious Madam," replied the Lord Chan¬
cellor. " The Cardinal desired to confer with me on an
important matter connected with the maintenance of the
Established Church, in which his Eminence and myself differ
in opinion. In most matters I should readily defer to his
Eminence's better judgment. But I cannot do so in this in-
The Unceremonious Visit Paid by Their Majesties. 20 9
stance. I am glad your Majesty has come, as I feel certain
you will support my views."
" Whence arises this difference of opinion ? " demanded
Mary. " I should have thought your lordship and the Car¬
dinal must infallibly agree on all points touching the welfare
of the Church."
"The question between us, gracious Madam," said Pole,
" is whether, on the score of humanity and policy, it would
not be better to deal leniently rather than severely with
those who profess heretical opinions. I allude particularly
to the ministers of the Reformed Church who have just been
excommunicated and degraded, and delivered over to the
secular power, and who, unless mercy be shown them, will
suffer a dreadful death."
Mary's brow darkened.
" Surely your Eminence would not pardon them if they
persist in their heresies ? " she cried.
" I would not put them to death," rejoined Pole, "but
would endeavour to convince them of their errors by argu¬
ment and instruction. Failing in this, I would resort to such
measures as might be deemed best adapted to meet the exi¬
gencies of the case—but those measures should be tempered
with mercy."
"I did not expect such opinions as these from your Emi¬
nence," observed Mary. " The enemies of our faith must
be destroyed, or they will destroy us. A single diseased
sheep will taint the whole flock. If you have an unsound
limb, the surgeon will tell you that for the safety of the body
it must be cut off. The preservation, therefore, of the
Catholic Church requires that these tares amidst the corn be
rooted up and cast into the fire."
"These false brethren are seditious as well as heretical,"
said Philip sternly; " rebels against the Queen, and
enemies to the Church. No mercy ought to be shown
them."
"Your Eminence perceives that their Majesties are of my
opinion," said Gardiner to the Cardinal. " But has not our
Church deep wrongs to avenge? Have we not suffered
stripes and persecution from these heretics when they were
in power? Have not I myself been deprived of my revenues,
and imnrisoned within the Tower, with the sentence of death
2 I O
Cardinal Vole.
hanging over my head, for years, until happily released by
her Majesty?"
" At least your life was spared," observed Pole.
" It was spared more from fear than favour," retorted
Gardener. "Buthad King Edward lived another year, nay,
a few months longer, I should not have been here now to
protest against leniency towards such bitter enemies. One
of the latest acts of Cranmer was to frame a sanguinary code
against the professors of the ancient faiih, which had it been
put in force, would have been fraught with fearful conse¬
quences ; but ere that code became law, King Edward died,
and the weapon sharpened for our destruction fell from the
maker's hands."
" To strike off his own head," cried Philip, fiercely. " Your
Eminence would scarcely extend your clemency to this arch-
offender?" he added to the Cardinal.
" I would pardon him, if he recanted," replied Pole.
" What, pardon Cranmer, the apostate and heretic !" ex¬
claimed Gardiner. "Pardon him who betrayed and enslaved
the Church of which he ought to have been the protector!—
who manifested the most abject compliance with the will of
his royal master, flattering his passions, and humouring his
caprices ! Pardon him who shamefully promoted and pro¬
nounced the divorce between the King and her Majesty's
royal mother, casting thereby a blemish on their daughter!
Wou Y] you pardon him whose life has been one of dissimula¬
tion, and who professed and practised what in his secret
heart he disbelieved and abhorred? Would you pardon a
Reformer, who subscribed the terrible Six Articles, though
they were directed chiefly against his own sect, and who
would have subscribed any other articles enjoined by his
royal master—who on King Edward's accession declared
himself in favour of the principles of Zuinglius and Calvin—
who abolished the ancient worship—attacked every article
of our Church—denied its traditions—stigmatised its rites—
brought over foreign sectaries, however anti-Christian their
tenets, as Martin Bucer, Paul Fagius, Peter Martyr, Ochinus,
and others, procured them churches, and recommended them
to royal favour—and who filled up the measure of his guilt
by supporting the treasonable projects of Northumberland,
nelping him to place a usurper on the throne, and preaching
The Unceremonious Visit Paid by Their Majesties. 211
against the rightful claims of our sovereign mistress ? Would
you spare this hypocrite, this apostate, this heretic, this
double-dyed traitor ? "
"His crimes are many and indefensible, but I would leave
their punishment to Heaven," rejoined'Pole.
" I could forgive him every injury he has done me, except
the divorce pronounced against my sainted mother," said
Mary, her cheek flushing, and her eyes kindling as she spoke.
" In pronouncing that unjust sentence, he uttered his own
condemnation. His fate is sealed."
" Why has the punishment he so richly merits been so
long delayed ? " demanded Philip.
" His offences, Sire, are of so heinous a nature," responded
Gardiner, "and so fraught with injury to our ho'y religion
in its most vital part, that it has been necessary to refer
them to that supreme tribunal before which such inquests
can only properly be held. His case has been laid before
the Pope, who has appointed the Bishop of Gloucester and a
commission to try him. On their report, judgment will be
pronounced in solemn consistory by his Holiness. What
that judgment will be, cannot for a moment be doubted.
Cranmerwill be excommunicated and anathematised, deprived
of the archbishopric of Canterbury, and of all ecclesiastical
privileges. Furthermore he will be degraded and delivered
to the secular power, and your Majesties will be required by
his Holiness to proceed towards him as the law directs."
" For his offences the law prescribes death by fire, and by
that death he shall die," said Mary.
"Alas, that it should be so!" muttered Pole. "When
will the true spirit of the Gospel, which inculcates toleration,
charity, and forgiveness of injuries, be understood, and its
principles practised ? I would make a last appeal to j our
Majesties in behalf of those unfortunates," he added to the
Queen.
Before replying, Mary consulted the King by a look.
His stern expression of countenance confirmed her.
" It is in vain," she replied. " My heart is steeled against
them."
CHAPTER V.
BISHOP BONNER.
HORTLY afterwards, the Bishop of London was
announced by the usher. A brief preliminary
description of this remarkable prelate may be
necessary.
Edmond Bonner, Bishop of London, whose severity to¬
wards the Protestants has caused his memory to be justly
detested, was by no means the savage-looking or repulsive
personage generally supposed. Of middle height, stout, and
of fresh complexion, he had rather a jovial countenance,
being fond of good cheer, and his features, except when
inflamed by passion, as they not unfrequently were, had a
pleasant expression. But he was exceedingly hot-tempered,
and when excited, lost all control of himself, and became
perfectly furious. Neither did his anger, though easily
roused, quickly subside. In some lespects he resembled his
royal master, Henry VIII. His disposition was cruel and
vindictive, and he never forgot or forgave an injury. To
the Reformers, whom he bitterly hated, he proved, as is well
known, a terrible scourge.
Born towards the close of the 15th century, Bonner was
now near upon sixty, but though he had undergone many
hardships, and had endured more than four years' imprison¬
ment in the Marshalsea, his spirit was unbroken, and his
health unimpaired. During his long captivity he had been
supported by the conviction that the ancient worship would
be resto:ed, and his enemies be delivered into his hands.
Bishop Bonner.
213
What he had hoped for, and prayed for, having come to
pass, he promised himself ample compensation for the
afflictions he had endured. Learned and acute, Bonner
had early attracted the attention of Wolsey, by whom he
was much employed; and being subsequently appointed
chaplain to Henry VIII., he rose rapidly in lavour, as he
accommodated himself without scruple to the King's caprices.
Instrumental in furthering the divorce with Katherine of
Aragon, Bonner co-operated in the religious changes accom¬
plished by his royal master, and was also entrusted by him
with several missions of great delicacy, which he fulfilled
very satisfactorily, rendering himself altogether so useful,
and continuing so subservient, that, though often rebuffed
by the monarch—as who was not ?—he never entirely lost
his good graces.
Bu: when Edward VI. mounted the throne, all was
changed. Opposed to the Reformation, though he did not
dare openly to manifest his hostility to it, Bonner was
regarded with suspicion and dislike by the chiefs of the
Protestant party, who determined upon his overthrow.
Cited before an ecclesiastical commission, of which Crinmer
was the head, notwithstanding an energetic defence, appeals
to the King against the illegality of the tribunal, and the
injustice of his sentence, Bonner, at that time Bishop of
London, was deprived of his see and benefices, and im¬
prisoned in the Marshalsea, whence he was only liberated on
Mary's accession. Restored to his diocese, and reinstated
in power, he burned to avenge himself on his enemies, chief
amongst whom he reckoned Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer.
But now that they were safe in prison, he was content to
wait. The cup of vengeance was too sweet to be hastily
drained.
Bonner's appearance at this juncture was hailed with
satisfaction by Gardiner, who could count upon his support
against Pole, and he therefore remarked, alter the bishop
had made his obeisance to their Majesties, " My associate in
the ecclesiastical commission concurs with me that no mercy
whatever should be shown to heretics."
"Mercy to heretics !" exclaimed Bonner, surprised. "It
were mistaken clemency to spare such dangerous offenders.
Rigorouf measures will alone check the spread of ihe pesti
214
Cardinal Pole.
lence by which your kingdom is unhappily affected, gracious
Madam," he added to the Queen. "Now is the time to
strike terror into the hearts of these false brethren—to
exterminate them by fire and sword."
" The Lord Cardinal does not think so," rejoined Mary.
" He is of opinion that those convicted of heretical pravity
should be leniently dealt with."
"You amaze me, Madam," cried Bonner.
" The object your Majesty has in view," said Pole, "being
to bring back those who have strayed from the paths of
truth, and not to drive them yet further off, gentleness, and
not force, should be employed. By severity you will increase
the evil instead of curing it. Fear will make hypocrites,
not converts."
"No matter," cried Bonner. "Let the sacramentarians
conform outwardly. We care not to search their hearts.
Enough for us if they profess themselves Catholics."
"I grieve to hear you say so, mj lord," rejoined the
Cardinal. " It is better to have an open enemy than a false
friend. Our Church does not desire to encourage dissimula¬
tion, put to eradicate error and schism. I beseech your
Majesty to pause before you proceed further in a course
which I foresee is fraught with danger. Hitherto, all has
gone well. Your enemies are confounded. Your people are
loving and loyal, willing to make any sacrifices for you, save
those of conscience. The faith of your forefathers is restored
in its integrity. Your kingdom is reconciled to the Holy
See. Is this an opportune moment for persecution ? Would
you sully the snowy banner of the Church with blood ?
Would you destroy a tithe of your subjects by fire and
sword—by burning and massacre? Yet this must be done
if persecution once commences. Such means of conversion
are as unwarrantable as impolitic—contrary to the will of
Heaven, and likely to provoke its wrath. I defy the advo¬
cates of severity towards heretics to produce a single passage
from the Gospel that would authorise Christians to burn
their fellow-men for questions purely of conscience. As,
therefore, such rigour cannot be sustained by appeal to
Holy Writ, neither can it be upheld by any other considera¬
tion. It will increase the evil complained of, rather than
mitigate it."
Bishop Bonner.
215
"Your Eminence forgets how much we have suffered from
the Reformers," remarked Bonner.
" If they have done ill, ought we to imitate them in ill-
doing?" rejoined Pole. "Let us prove to them that we
are better Christians than they are. Your Majesty may
trust me, that the true way to convert the Protestants is to
reform our own clergy, whose ill-regulated conduct has led
to heresy and backsliding. Better this remedy than the
stake."
"All this shall to the Pope," observed Gardiner, in a
low tone, to Bonner. "His Eminence will be speedily
recalled."
"It is high time he should be recalled, if he entertains
these opinions," rejoined the other, in the same tone.
"Nothing that has leen urged will shake my purpose,"
said Mary. " I will free my kingdom from the curse that
has so long afflicted it, even though I inundate the land with
blood. But I agree with your Eminence that much reform
is needful in our own clergy, whose manners provoke scandal,
and encourage infidelity. I will address myself to the task.
To you, my Lord Chancellor, and to yoti, my Lord Bishop,"
she added to Gardiner and Bonner, " I commit the extirpa¬
tion of heresy. Relax not in your efforts."
"Rest assured we will not, gracious Madam," replied
Gardiner.
"Your Eminence seems to think," observed Bonner to the
Cardinal, " that the Lord Chancellor and myself haVe not
used proper means of weaning back these misguided men
from their errors. As there are two prisoners confined
within the Lollards' Tower for religious offences, may I ven¬
ture to inquire whether you have succeeded in accomplishing
their conversion ? "
"Not as yet," replied Pole; "but I do not despair of
ultimate success."
"What prisoners do you refer to?" demanded Mary.
" I have not heard of them."
The Cardinal was about to reply, when a look from the
King stopped him.
"Who are they, I repeat?" cried Mary, somewhat sharply,
surprised at Pole's disinclination to answer.
" One of them is the unhappy Constance Tyrrell, and the
Cardinal Pole.
other the half-crazeJ fanatic, Derrick Carver," replied the
Cardinal.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mary. " Was your Majesty aware
that these persons are confined here?" she added to the
King.
" They were sent hither by my orders," rejoined Philip,
coldly.
" And why was I not informed of the matter ?" asked
Mary.
" Because I did not deem it needful," replied the King.
" Not needful ! " exclaimed Mary. " By my soul, but it
was needful! 'Twas a strange step to take without my
knowledge or privity."
" You heat yourself unnecessarily, Madam," interrupted
Philip. "'Twas to spare you annoyance that I kept the
matter secret from you."
" How so ? " demanded Mary. " The unaccountable dis¬
appearance of this girl troubled me, as you know, and
Carver's supposed escape was equally displeasing to me."
"You would havp been informed of all in good time,"
said Philip. " How I discovered their hiding-place, and
why I sent them hither, shall be explained anon."
" I trust the explanation will prove satisfactory," replied
Mary. " Meantime, I will see the prisoners myself, and
interrogate them."
" Shall they be brought before you ? " inquired Pole.
" No," returned the Queen ; " I will proceed to the Lol¬
lards' Tower. Your Eminence will attend me thither."
" 'Twere better not, Madam," said Philip. "Be ruled by
me, and let alone this visit."
" You have some motive," rejoined Mary, in alow tone—
" some powerful motive for wishing me not to see Constance
Tyrrell. I will see her. I will question her. I will learn
the truth."
"Well, then, learn the truth, Madam," said Philip. " If
you are pained by it, it is not my fault."
"You have deceived me," continued Mary—"shamefully
deceived me. Of that I am convinced."
" Reserve these remarks for a more fitting opportunity,
Madam," said the King. " Since you are bent upon going
to the Lollards' Tower, I will not interfere to prevent vou.
Bishop Bonner.
217
But at least put some guard upon yourself, and breed not
scandal by your causeless suspicions."
Without making any reply, Mary arose. The King offered
his arm, but she rejected it, saying she needed not support.
Philip, however, was determined to accompany her, and they
went forth together, attended by the Cardinal. No one else
ventured to follow them, and Gardiner and Bonner, fearing
the King might be offended with them, thought it best to
retreat, and hastily quitted the palace.
CHAPTER VI.
HOW CONSTANCE TYRRELL WAS BROUGHT BEFORE THE
QUEEN IN THE LOLLARDS' TOWER.
'RECEDED by Rodomont Bittern and others of
the guard, and attended by the Cardinal, their
Majesties crossed the court to the Lollards'
Tower. As the Queen was slowly ascending the
steps leading to the entrance, a sudden faintness seized her,
and she paused.
" Better turn back, gracious Madam, if you feel ill,"
observed the Cardinal, noticing her extreme paleness.
"No, it will pass in a moment," she replied.
Resolved not to give way, she went on ; but the effort
was too much for her, and she had no sooner gained the
Post Room than she sank on a chair completely exhausted.
" What place is this ? " she asked, in a feeble voice, and
glancing around.
" It is called the Post Room, Madam, from that wooden
pillar in the centre," replied Pole.
" It looks like a torture-chamber," observed Philip.
" It has been put to a similar purpose, I fear," said the
Cardinal. "Yon pillar has not served merely t<? suppoit
the roof."
" Where is Constance Tyrrell?" demanded Mary.
" In the prison-chamber overhead," replied Pole. "The
staircase is steep and difficult. 'Twould be hazardous to
your Majesty to mount it."
" Let her be brought down," said the Queen.
How Constance was Brought Before the Queen. 219
Upon this, Rodomont Bittern, who, with Simon Mallet,
keeper of the tower, stood waiting for orders, immediately
disappeared thiough an arched doorway at the further end
of the sombre apartment. Shortly afterwards they returned,
bringing with them Constance Tyrrell. This done, they
retired.
Constance looked thin and pale, but her colour heightened
as she beheld Philip seated near the Queen. The blush,
however, quickly faded away, and was succeeded by a
death-like pallor, but she did not lose her self-possession.
Advancing towards her, the Cardinal said, in a low tone,—
" Kneel to her Majesty. Peradventure, you may move
her compassion."
Constance did as she was bidden, and threw herself at
the Queen's feet, crying,—
"If I have offended your Majesty, I implore your forgive¬
ness."
" What have I to forgive you, minion ?—what have you
done ? " said Mary, fixing a searching look upon her. " I
know nothing of your proceedings since you fled from
Hampton Court. Where have you hidden yourself? Why
were you brought here ? Speak ! "
" It is a long story to tell, Madam," cried Constance,
troubled by the stern gaze of the King.
" On peril of your life, I command you to conceal nothing
from me !" cried Mary, with a burst of uncontrollable fury.
" Confess your guilt, or I will wrest the avowal of it from
you by torture. Speak out, and you have nothing to fear
—but hesitate, equivocate, palter with me, and you are
lost."
"As I hope for salvation, Madam," rejoined Constance,
" I have nothing to confess."
" It is false 1" cried the Queen, with increasing fury. " I
read your guilt in your looks. You cannot regard me in the
face, and declare you have not injured me."
" I can look Heaven itself in the face, and declare I am
innocent of all offence towards your Majesty," rejoined
Constance.
"The King, no doubt, will confirm your assertions,"
observed Mary, bitterly.
" If I did not, I should belie the truth," replied Philip.
220
Cardinal Pole.
" By whose contrivance did you fly from Hampton
Court?" demanded Mary.
" Not by the King's, Madam. I fled with Osbert
Clinton."
" Tut! Osbert Clinton was merely a tool," exclaimed
Mary, incredulously. " Did his Majesty know of your
h ding-place ? "
"A-suredly not, Madam," replied Constance. "He it
was I dreaded most."
" Ha ! we are coming to it now," cried Mary. " Why did
you dread him ? "
" Nay, Madam, persist not in these inquiries, I entreat
you," interposed the Cardinal. "You will gain nothing by
them, and will only torture yourself."
"Though each word should wound me to the quick, 1
will have it," said Mary. " Why did you fear the King?"
"Oh! bid me not answer that question, Madam—I
cannot do it." '
" I will answer it for you," said Mary. " Contradict me
if you can. You thought that the King loved you, and
would pursue you."
" If she believed so, her flight was justifiable, and merits
not reproach from your Majesty," observed the Cardinal.
" Pardon me if I say you are unjust towards this maiden.
I am satisfied you have no real ground of complaint against
her."
" At least, she has been the cause of much trouble to
me," cried Mary.
" The innocent cause," said Pole.
" Ay, truly so," said Constance. " I have never wronged
your Majesty in act or thought. Beset by dangers, I fled
from them, and, if I did wrong, it was from error in judg¬
ment, and not from ill intent. Had 1 stayed But I will
not dwell upon what might have happened. Your Majesty's
reproaches cut me to the soul. I do not deserve them.
Rather, indeed, am I an object of pity than reproach. Six
months ago I was happy. My lite was unclouded—but a
change came suddenly, and since then all has been darkness
and misery."
"You could not expect happiness, since you have fallen
from your faith," said the Queen, severely. " You have
How Constance was Brought Before ine Queen. 221
justly provoked the wrath of Heaven, and cannot wonder
that you have felt the effects of its displeasure. From what
you have said, and from what his Eminence has urged in
your behalf, I do not believe you have been culpable towards
me. But you have cost me many a pang," she added,
placing her hand upon her breast.
"Yield to the pitying emotions which I can see sway
your breast, gracious Madam," interceded Pole, "and forgive
her."
" For the affliction she lias caused I do forgive her,"
replied the Queen, with an effort; " but if her conduct
towards myself is free from blame, as you represent it, in
other respects it is reprehensible. She was nurtured in the
true faith, and was once a model of piety—nay, even con¬
templated devoting herself to a religious life. But she has
listened to the baneful exhortations of one of these teachers
of heresy, and has become a proselyte to the new doctrines.
What shall be done with her?"
" Leave her to me, Madam," rejoined the Cardinal. " I
do not despair of accomplishing her cure. My hand shall
lead you back," he added to Constance. " My voice shall
direct you. It cannot be that one of a devout nature like
yourself, imbued from childhood in the principles of our
Holy Church, familiar with its rites and worship, can efface
its doctrines from your breast, and abandon them for
another creed. Your conscience must be troubled. The
sure way to regain serenity is to abjure your errors."
" Time was when every word uttered by your Eminence
would have found a response in my breast," rejoined Con¬
stance. " But the rites I formerly practised seem to me
idolatrous, and the doctrines then taught me unwarranted
by the Gospel. I cannot go back to the faith of Rome."
"You shall be forced back, Mistress, if you continue
perverse," cried the Queen, sharply.
" Hold, Madam ! " exclaimed Pole. " In this instance
let me have my way. I would win back this maiden by
gentleness, and not by coercion. I would appeal to her
reason and judgment, and not to her fears. Her cure may
be the work of time, because the disorder under which she
labours is obstinate, but I do not think it will baffle my
skill."
15
222
Cardinal Pole.
" If I could be persuaded by anyone to return to the
faith I have abjured, it would be by your Eminence," said
Constance, yielding to the kindly influence of his manner.
"You see, Madam, I have already made some little im
pression," observed Pole to the Queen. "Mildness is more
efficacious than violence. As she was enticed from the
fold, so must she be lured back to it."
"Well, have your way with her," replied Mary. "Where
is the other prisoner, Derrick Carver ? "
" In a dungeon beneath this room," replied Pole. " He
was placed there in order that no communication should
take place between him and Constance Tyrrell. They have
not seen each other since they were brought to the Lollards'
Tower."
" Such were my orders," observed Philip.
" It is well," rejoined the Queen. "They shall see each
other now. Let him be brought before me."
CHAPTER VII.
AN ACCUSER.
ffgSggjN being brought into the room by Rodomont and
Jfflgl Mallet, Derrick Carver made a profound reverence
to the Queen, but none to Philip and the Cardinal.
Then addressing himself to Constance, he said,
" Welcome, daughter! is the time come for our deliverance
from bondage ? "
"Not yet," she replied.
" How long, O Lord ! wilt thou suffer thy saints to be.
persecuted?" exclaimed the enthusiast. " It would be glad
tidings to me to learn that the end of my weary pilgrimage
was near at hand."
"Are you prepared to meet the death you seem to
covet ? " asked Pole.
" I trust so," replied Carver. " I have prayed long and
deeply."
" And repented of your sins—of your murtherous
designs against the life of his Majesty?" pursued
Pole.
"I do not regard that design as sinful," said Carver.
"Repentance, therefore, is uncalled for."
"And vou believe yourself to be religious, mistaken
man," rejoined Pole. " I tell you, if you die in this im¬
penitent state, you will perish everlastingly. You are so
blinded by pride and vain-glory that you cannot discern
evil from good, and persuade yourself that you are actuated
Cardinal Pole.
by high and noble motives, when in reality your motives
are sinful and damnable. You are nothing more than an
execrable assassin; so hardened in guilt that your heart is
inaccessible to virtuous and honourable feelings. True
religion you have none. You profess to believe in the
tenets of the Gospel, yet practise them not. Our blessed
Saviour would never number you among his followers,
but would cast you off as an unprofitable and faithless
servant. You reject truths you do not understand, treat
sacred rites as superstitious, and revile those who differ
from you in opinion. Go to! you ask for death, and yet
you are unfit to die."
"It is not for you to pass sentence upon me," said
Carver. " Heaven, to whom my secret motives are known,
will judge me."
" And condemn you, if you repent not," said Pole, " for
your soul is charged with heavy offences. As I am in¬
formed by those who have heard you, you have prayed for
her Majesty's destruction."
"I have prayed Heaven to touch her heart, so as to
cause her to abandon idolatry, or to abridge her days,"
rejoined Carver. "Better she be removed than false gods
be set up in our temples."
" And know you not that by giving utterance to such a
prayer you incur the doom of a traitor ?" said Pole.
"Your offences are so rank and monstrous, that unless you
exhibit some penitence, I cannot intercede in your behalf
with her Majesty."
" I ask for no grace from her, and expect none," replied
Carver. "Had I twenty lives, I would lay them down
for my religion and for iny country. We have been
delivered to a foreign yoke. But it will not bind us
long."
" Peace ! " cried Rodomont. " Knowest thou not that
thou art in the presence of the King ? "
" I know it well, and therefore I speak out," rejoined
Carver. " I tell this proud Prince of Spain that England
will never submit to his hateful and tyrannous rule. The
country will rise up against him, and cast him off. He
persuades himself that a son will be born to him, and
that through that son he will govern. But he is
An Accuser.
puffed up with vain hopes. Heaven will refuse him
issue."
"Ha! this passes all endurance," cried Philip.
"Have I touched thee, tyrant?" pursued Carver, exult-
ingly. " Heaven, I repeat, will refuse thee issue. The
support on which thou countest will be taken from thee.
Didst thou dare make the attempt, the accursed Inquisition
would at this moment be established amongst us. Thou
hast it in reserve for a future day, but ere that day arrives
thy perfidy will be discovered. False to thy oaths, faithless
to thy Queen, treacherous to all, thou shalt meet thy just
reward."
" Faithless to me ! " exclaimed Mary. " What wouldst
thou dare insinuate, thou foul-mouthed villain ? "
"That which I will dare maintain," rejoined Carver—
"that the consort you have chosen and have placed
on the throne beside you is false to his marriage
vows."
" Away with him !" cried Philip, furiously.
" Stay!" exclaimed Mary. " I would question him
further."
" Forbear, I beseech you, Madam," interposed Pole.
"You only give him power to level his poisonous shafts
against you."
" His tongue ought to be torn from his throat for giving
utterance to the lies his black heart has conceived ! " cried
Philip.
"My tongue has uttered no lies," said Carver. "I have
shown the Queen how she has been deceived."
"Thou hast simply proved thine own wickedness and
malevolence," said Pole. "Her Majesty despises thy
slander."
" But it cannot pass unpunished " said Philip. " Let
the false villain instantly retract the calumnies he has
uttered, or he shall be tied to yon post and scourged till he
shall confess himself a liar and a slanderer. Let him be
forced to recite the prayer for her Majesty's safe deliverance,
on pain of further torture. And, until he manifest con¬
trition for his offences, let his chastisement be daily
repeated."
"I will do none of these things," rejoined Carver, reso-
226
Cardinal Pole.
lutely. " Scourge me to death, and I will not retract a
single word I have uttered. I will not pray that the
Queen, whom thou hast deceived and wronged, may bear
tnee a son, and so confirm thine authority. But I will pray
to the last that my country may be delivered from oppres¬
sion, that the Papal power may be overthrown, and the
Protestant religion be re-established."
" Thy resolution shall be tested," said Philip.
"Your Majesty is justly incensed against this miserable
man," said Pole to the King. "Yet would I step between
him and your anger, and entreat you to spare him the
chastisement you have ordered to be inflicted upon him. I
do not seek to extenuate his offences, they are many and
heinous, and he must bear their punishment. But spare
him additional suffering. Spare him the scourge and the
rack."
" I will spare him nothing unless he retract," replied
Philip, sternly.
" I would accept no grace procured by thee," said Carver
to Pole. "As the representative of Antichrist, I regard
thee with loathing and detestation, and will take nothing
from thee."
"Were not thy mind distraught, thou couldst have no
antipathy to one who would befriend thee," replied the
Cardinal. " My religion teaches me to bless those that
curse us, to pray for them that use us despitefully. Be
assured i shall not forget thee in my prayers."
Carver regarded him steadily, but made no answer.
" I shall pray that thy heart may be softened," pursued
Pole, "that thou mayst understand thy sinfulness, and truly
repent of it ere it be too late. Once more I beseech your
Majesty to spare him the torture."
" Be it as you will. I can refuse your Eminence nothing,"
replied Philip.
" This is all the revenge I would take," said Pole, turning
to Carver. "You have declared that you hate me—that
you regard me as the representative of Antichrist. You
profess yourself to be a believer in the Gospel. My
practice is, at least, more conformable to its precepts than
yours."
Carver made no reply, but his lip slightly quivered.
An Accuser.
227
" Miserable man," continued Pole, looking at him com¬
passionately, " I pity you, and would save you if I could.
I see the struggle going on in your breast. Wrestle with
the demon who would gain the mastery over your soul, and
cast him from you. Pride stifles the better emotions of
your heart. Do not restrain them."
"If I listen to him much longer, my resolution will
tail me," murmured Carver. "I cannot resist his influ¬
ence."
" Ere long you will be in a better frame of mind," con¬
tinued Pole, "and more accessible to the arguments I would
employ."
"Think it not," interrupted Carver, at once recovering
his sternness. " You will never convert me to Popery and
idolatry."
"I may at least make you sensible of your errors, and
lead you to repentance," said Pole. "The rest lies with
Heaven."
" He shall remain in your Eminence's charge during a
short space," said Mary, " in the hope that you may be able
to bring him to a full sense of his enormities, and prepare
him for his end. His life is forfeited,"
" So the death to which I am doomed be the same as that
wherewith the staunchest adherents of our faith are menaced,
I am content," said Carver.
" Thou shall have thy wish," rejoined Mary. " Thy death
shall be by fire."
"Then I shall gain my crown of martyrdom," cried
Carver, exultingly.
"Fire will not purge out your sins," said the Cardinal.
"Those will cling to the soul, which is indestructible.
Therefore repent."
"And speedily," added Mary, "for thy time is
short."
Hereupon her Majesty arose, and, quitting the Post Room,
proceeded to the chapel, to which, as we have previously
intimated, there was access from the lower part of the
Lollards' Tower.
Here mass was performed, and, by the Queen's express
orders, both Constance Tyrrell and Derrick Carver were
brought into the chapel during the service. At its close
228
Cardinal Pcie.
they were taken to the cells, while the royal pair proceeded
with the Cardinal to the banquetting chamber, where a
collation was prepared.
The Queen, however, declined to partake of the repast,
saying she felt faint and ill, and two ladies who had accom¬
panied her to the palace being hastily summoned, she retired
with them.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THE QUEEN CONFIDED HER GRIEFS TO THE CARDINAL.
HILIP, who exhibited little uneasiness at the
Queen's indisposition, was still seated at table
with Pole, when the Cardinal's physician, Doctor
Forest, came in, and informed his Eminence that
her Majesty desired instant speech with him.
"The Queen is not seriously ill, I trust, Sir?" said Philip,
alarmed by the physician's grave looks.
"She appears to have received a severe shock, Sire,"
replied Forest, "but I trust no ill consequences may ensue.
Her Majesty wishes to see your Eminence—alone," he added
to the Cardinal.
" Go to her at once," said Philip. " If my hopes of suc¬
cession should be blighted, it will be grievous indeed. But
you have no such fears, Sir ?" he added quickly to the
physician.
"I shall have no fear if her Majesty's mind can be tran-
quilised," replied Forest—" and that, I trust, his Eminence
will be able to accomplish." .
" My reliance, then, is upon you," said Philip to the
Cardinal. "A few words from your lips will not fail to
calm her."
Thereupon Pole hastened to the apartment where the
Queen had been conveyed. On entering it, he found her
reclining on a couch, and attended by her ladies, who, on his
appearance, immediately withdrew.
"I am much concerned to see your Majesty thus," ob-
23°
Cardinal Pole.
served Pole. " It will be a real affliction if your visit to me
should be productive of ill consequences to yourself."
" I am sorry I came," replied Mary. " The words of that
malignant heretic have sunk deep into my breast. He said
that I shall never be a mother."
" Let not his words trouble you for a moment, gracious
Madam," said Pole. "They are of no account. He but
gave utterance to the evil wishes of his heart—nothing more.
Dismiss all fears from your breast, and look joyfully and
confidently forward to the moment which will crown a
nation's satisfaction in your marriage by giving it a
prince."
" Your words are comforting," replied Mary, faintlybut
I cannot shake off my fears. Something whispers in mine
ear that the fond hopes I have indulged will prove vain.
And what will happen then ? " she continued, with a shudder.
" I shall lose my husband."
" Oh ! think not so, gracious Madam—think not so 1"
cried Pole. "If the consummation you dread were to
happen—which Heaven, in its goodness, avert!—and fill the
land with sorrow—the King, your husband, would be more
devoted to you than ever."
" Hear me, my Lord Cardinal," said Mary, grasping his
arm convulsively. " I have already lost my husband's love,
if I ever possessed it, which I more than doubt. Were I to
disappoint his expectations now, he would leave me."
"Leave you, gracious Madam ! Impossible!"
" I say he would," rejoined the Queen. " This is the onl)
tie that binds us together. I cannot give him my kingdom,
and if I fail to give him an heir, through whom he, may
exercise the sovereignty, he will return to Spain."
" I cannot believe him so ungrateful," cried Pole. " Your
Majesty does him injustice."
" His conduct towards me leaves no doubt as to his inten¬
tions," rejoined Mary. " On our first meeting he vowed he
loved me, but his vows were false. I am not blind to my
defects. I know that I have few charms of person to attract
him—that I have neither youth nor beauty. But I gave him
a deep, true love. Moreover, I gave him a kingdom. How
has he requited me?—by neglect, by harshness, by infi¬
delity."
How the Queen Cotifided Her Griefs. 231
"Oh! Madam, I would willingly discredit what I hear,"
cried Pole. " If it be as you represent, I pity you from the
bottom of my heart."
"My sainted mother, Queen Katharine of Aragon, was
most unhappy," pursued Mary; " but I am little less un¬
happy. Neglected, injured, scorned as I am by my hus¬
band, I cannot, despite the efforts I make, shake off the love
I bear him. I summon pride to my aid, but in vain. My
heart is wrung with jealousy, but I hide my torments. What
shall I do if I lose him ? "
"You will not lose him, gracious Madam—fear it not,"
exclaimed Pole. "I will remonstrate with him. I will
convince him of the wickedness of his conduct."
"Proceed with caution, m you will only make matters
worse," said Mary. "Were I to lose him, I should die."
"Do not distress yourself thus, Madam," said Pole.
"Exalted as is your station, it does not exempt you from
the ordinary sufferings of humanity—nay- it exposes you to
greater ills than fail to the lot of those less loftily placed.
The King is unworthy of your love, I grant, but I counsel
you not to resent his neglect, nor to reproach him. Bear
yourself ever gently towards him, ever maintaining your own
dignity, and if you win not back his love, you are certain to
gain his esteem."
" Perchance I have reproached him overmuch," cried
Mary. " But, as I have already said, my heart has been
wrung by jealousy."
"Crush all such feelings, at whatever cost," rejoined Pole.
" Give him no grounds of complaint."
" But his unkindness makes me wretched," cried Mary.
" Would I could hate him—despise him !"
" It is sad that love like yours should meet so poor a
return," sighed Pole; " and the King is blind to his own
happiness that he does not estimate the treasure he casts
away, to set up worthless baubles in its place. Pray con¬
stantly and fervently to Heaven to bless you with a son,
and if your prayers are granted, you will be happy."
" But if Heaven should deny me the blessing ? "
"Heaven will compassionate you," said the Cardinal.
4 It will not be deaf to prayers like yours."
"Yet my mother's prayers w»*« unheard, though her
232
Cardinal Pole.
wrongs and sufferings were greater than mine. She died
neglected, heart-broken. Such may be my fate."
"The indulgence of these thoughts is like to bring about
the very calamity you would avert, Madam," said Pole.
"You know and feel how much depends upon the event we
so much desire, and your physician will tell you that to a
favourable issue freedom from agitation and anxiety are
essential. You will undo all the good if you harass yourself
thus unnecessarily."
"I will try to follow your counsel," replied Mary. "And
now, my good Lord Cardinal, answer me one question.
Have I wrongfully suspected Constance Tyrrell?"
" Madam, I truly think so," replied Pole.
" Then send for her instantly, that I may repair the wrong
I have done," cried Mary.
The Cardinal readily complied, and ere long Constance
made her appearance.
" Come hither, child," said the Queen, in a kind voice,
on seeing her. " I have done you injustice. But I will
make amends. You told me that you fled from Hampton
Court with Osbert Clinton. Why did you trust him ? "
" I trusted him because—because he loved me, gracious
Madam," replied Constance. " Since then we have been
affianced."
"Is the King aware of your betrothal?" inquired Mary.
" He is, Madam," replied Constance. " But he has for¬
bidden Osbert, on pain of death, to see me again."
" Indeed !" exclaimed Mary. " Then I cannot aid you
as I should wish to do. You must think of Osbert no
more."
"I cannot obey you in that respect, Madam," replied
Constance. " He is never absent from my thoughts."
"Poor child!" exclaimed Mary. "Your fate is as sad
as my own. We are both doomed to unhappiness."
" But it is in your Majesty's power to make me happy—
to make Osbert happy," cried Constance.
"Alas ! child, you give me credit for more power than I
possess," rejoined Mary. "I dare not oppose the King in
this matter. Osbert must not see you again. Should he do
so, I cannot save him from the King's resentment. But I
will do all I can for you. You shall be released from con-
How the Queen Confided Her Griefs.
233
finement, but you must remain for a time with the good
Cardinal, who, I am sure, will be a father to you."
" I will willingly take charge of her," said Pole. " She
shall have free range of the palace."
" But she must not quit it without my consent," said
Mary. "Neither must she see Osbert Clinton."
"I will answer for her," rejoined the Cardinal.
"Nay, I will answer for myself," cried Constance. ''1
thank your Majesty from the bottom of my heart, and will
faithfully obey your injunctions."
" It will be a period of probation, that is all," said the
Queen. " You will be better and happier for it in the end—
at least, I trust so. And now, child, you may retire. Re¬
member what I have said about Osbert Clinton."
" I shall not fail, gracious Madam," she replied. And
kissing the hand extended to her by the Queen, she with¬
drew.
Some further conversation then took place between Mary
and the Cardinal, which had the effect of restoring the
Queen to comparative cheerfulness, and she declared that
she now felt quite able to return to Whitehall. By her
desire, Pole then summoned her ladies, and, on their ap¬
pearance, quitted her to communicate the glad intelligence
of her recovery to the King.
CHAPTER IX.
THE FRANCISCAN.
HILIP remained for some little time in thebanquet-
ing-chamber, expecting the Cardinal's return, but
as Pole did not appear, the King at last sallied
forth into the court, where several of the Cardinal's
retinue were assembled. Perceiving Rodomont Bittern
among them, he signed to him to approach, and then walk¬
ing apart with him, said, with a certain significance—
" Since Constance Tyrrell has been imprisoned in the
Lollards' Tower, no communication has passed between her
and Osbert Clinton ?—ha ! "
" Access to her while shut up in yon tower were im¬
possible without consent of the keeper, Sire," replied
Rodomont; " and he is faithful."
" Difficult it may be, but not impossible," rejoined the
King. "Yon ivied wall would not be difficult to scale.
Her prison-chamber has a window which might be reached
by a rope ladder."
" Can he suspect ? " thought Rodomont, uneasily.
" Such plans are common enough in Spain, where walls,
bolts, and bars, and even watchful gaolers, cannot shut out
lovers," pursued Philip. " Osbert Clinton is rash enough—
enamoured enough to attempt anything."
" Your Majesty is a better judge of such matters than I
can pretend to be," said Rodomont; " but I would risk life
and limb for no woman, were she twice as lovely as Con¬
stance Tyrrell. The danger of the enterprise would effec-
The Franciscan.
255
tually cool my ardour. Osbert Clinton well knows that he
would incur your Majesty's severe displeasure were he to
make any such attempt."
" Danger, I repeat, will not deter him," said the King.
" It is not enough that Constance is shut up in yon tower—
that the doors of her cell are locked, and the windows
barred. I tell you, he will find a way to her—if he has not
done so already."
"I dare not contradict your Majesty," replied Rodomont.
" It may be as you suspect. What more would you have
done?"
"That tower must be strictly watched at night," said
Philip, "and you must be the watcher."
"I am ready to obey your Majesty," replied Rodomont;
"but such an office will somewhat interfere with my duties
to the Cardinal."
" Heed not that! " said Philip. " I will hold you ex¬
cused with his Eminence. You will commence the watch
to-night."
"To-night, Sire?"
"Should Osbert Clinton venture hither, arrest him, and
keep him in close confinement till you learn my pleasure."
"May I make bold to inquire if your Majesty has any
reason to suspect that he will come ? " said Rodomont.
" It matters not what I suspect. Do as I command you."
"Your injunctions shall be obeyed, Sire,"returned Rodo¬
mont. " And for his own sake I hope Master Osbert Clinton
may keep away."
At this moment a tall Franciscan friar, with the cowl of
his grey robe drawn over his head, was seen marching
slowly along the court-yard. He directed his steps towards
the Lollards' Tower, and on reaching it stayed at the door¬
way, where he remained in converse with Mallet, the keeper.
" Who is yon monk, and what is his errand ? " demanded
the King, who had been watching him with some curiosity.
" I know him not, Sire—he is a stranger," replied Rodo¬
mont. "Apparently he is seeking admittance to one of the
prisoners, which Mallet, the keeper, is unwilling to grant.
Perchance, it may be Mistress Constance Tyrrell whom he
desiies to see."
" Bring him before me, I will question him," said Philip.
236
Cardinal Pole.
Rodomont instantly obeyed, and shortly afterwards re¬
turned with the friar and Mallet. The Franciscan made
a humble obeisance to the King, but did not attempt to
raise his hood.
"An please your Majesty, this holy man is from Win¬
chester," said Mallet. " He is charged by Father Jerome
of Saint Catherine's Chapel on the Hill, with a message to
Mistress Constance Tyrrell. Is it not So?" he added to the
monk.
The Franciscan bowed his head.
"Is Father Jerome aware that she to whom he has sent
you has lapsed from the faith ? " said the King.
" He is, Sire," replied the monk, in tones that sounded
strangely hollow, " but he hopes she may still be reclaimed.
With the design of rendering some aid in the good work, I
have come hither. Great success has hitherto attended my
efforts; and therefore it is that good Father Jerome, who is
deeply interested in Mistress Constance's spiritual welfare,
hath selected me for the office."
"An opportunity shall be afforded you of making the
attempt," said the King. " There can be no reason why
this holy man should not be admitted to her," he added to
Mallet. " Take him to her cell."
" Mistress Constance is not in her cell at present, Sire,"
observed Mallet.
"Where is she, then?" cried the King, sharply.
" She is with her Majesty, Sire," replied Mallet.
"With the Queen?" exclaimed Philip, surprised. "Go
into the tower, good father, and await her return."
" Ha, here comes Mistress Constance," exclaimed Rodo¬
mont, as the damsel, escorted by Simnel and Holiday, issued
from the palace, and made her way towards the Lollards'
Tower. , Bowing humbly to the King, she would have
passed on, had he not stopped her.
"You have been with her Majesty, as I understand?" he
said. " How fares it with her now ? "
"As well as you could desire, Sire," she replied. " Her
Majesty has quite recovered."
"I would fain reward you for your good tidings," said
Philip. " It rests with yourself whether your imprisonment
in this tower shall be prolonged."
The Franciscan.
237
"My term of durance is at an end, Sire," she rejoined.
* I am a prisoner, it is true, but only restricted to the
limits of the palace. I desire no greater freedom. The
Queen has conferred this grace upon me."
" Her Majesty has only anticipated my intentions," said
Philip. "It grieved me to think you should have been
confined within that dreary cell. But why did you not
appeal to me, when you well knew that a word would have
procured you full liberty ? "
"But I could not utter that word, Sire," she rejoined,
coldly.
"Tarry a moment," said the King, checking her depar¬
ture. "This holy man has been sent by Father Jerome,
to whose ghostly counsels you once gave heed, in the hope
that he may restore you to the Catholic Church."
"Iam much beholden to Father Jerome for his kindly
concern in my behalf," she rejoined; "and it pains me to
dismiss the good friar he has sent without a hearing. But a
conference would be profitable to neither of us, and I must
therefore decline it."
" How knov you that such a conference would be unpro¬
fitable, daughter?" said the friar, in tones that trembled
with emotion. " I pray you send me not away unheard."
At the sound of his voice Constance started, and was
seized with a trepidation which she could hardly conceal.
" Can he have ventured here in this disguise ? " she mur¬
mured. "Imprudent that he is, he will sacrifice himself
ly his rashness! No, no," she ?dded ?loud "I cannot
consent to a conference with you without the Cardinal's
sanction. I am under his charge."
" If that be all, his Eminence's sanction can be readily
procured, for here he comes," said Philip.
" The Cardinal here, then he is lost!" mentally ejaculated
Constance. "You have come on a vain errand," she added,
to the monk.
" Nay, let us hear what his Eminence has to say to the
matter," observed Philip. And, as Pole came up at the
moment, he told him what had occurred.
"Father Jerome must have much confidence in this friar
if he imagines he will succeed where we have failed," re¬
marked Pole. " I will question him, and judge of his fitness
16
238
Cardinal Pole.
for the task. Bring him to me anon," he added to Rodo-
mont.
" I do not desire to confer with him," cried Constance,
distractedly. " Send him away !—Send him away ! "
"What means this strange emotion?" thought the
Cardinal. " A word with you, daughter," he added, taking
her aside. " Who is this monk ? I must know the truth.
Attempt to deceive me, and I will compel him to raise his
hood."
"In mercy spare him," she rejoined, "If the King be¬
holds his features he is lost."
" Then it is Osbert Clinton," said the Cardinal. " I will
not betray him, but you must promise to hold no converse
with him."
"I do—I do," she rejoined.
" Control yourself, or you will excite the King's suspi¬
cions," pursued the Cardinal. " I am glad I made this
discovery in time. I shall warn this rash youth not to come
here again. If he does, he must not count on my protec¬
tion. And now," he added, so as to be heard by the
King, " retire to your cell till a chamber can be prepared
for you in the palace. I will speak with this friar anon, and
act as may seem best to me in regard to him."
Thanking him for his goodness, and making an obeisance
to the King, Constance withdrew.
Philip and the Cardinal then hastened to the Queen, and
shortly afterwards the royal pair embarked in the barge
awaiting them, and returned to Whitehall.
CHAPTER X.
OF THE COUNSEL GIVEN TO OSBERT CLINTON BY THE
CARDINAL.
[HEIR Majesties had not long quitted Lambeth
Palace, when the Franciscan friar was summoned
by Rodomont to the presence of the Cardinal.
While crossing the court with the monk,
Rodomont paused for a moment, and directed his com¬
panion's attention to the Lollards' Tower.
"You would imagine the prisoners must be secure in that
tower, holy father," he remarked.
" Unquestionably so, my son," replied the friar.
"His Majesty, however, is not of that opinion," rejoined
Rodomont. " He is under the impression that a certain
young gallant, whose brain seems turned by love, would be
rash enough to climb, by means of a rope-ladder, to the
window of the cell wherein his mistress is confined."
"Does the King suspect this?" inquired the monk, un¬
easily.
" So shrewdly, that he has ordered me to keep strict watch
to-night, and to arrest the love-sick gallant should he appear.
The task is not to my liking, but I must obey his Majesty's
orders. Some men will run any risk for those they love—
but you, father, cannot understand such matters. You would
reprove Osbert Clinton—for so the gallant is named—for his
rashness and folly."
" I should pity him, rather than blame him," said the friar.
" And you world not deem it wrong if I were to aid him,
eh, father ? Certes, I should be loth to betray him—but he
is so imprudent that he might betray himself. Tis a
miracle that he 'scaped detection by the King just now-"
240
Cardinal Pole.
" What mean you, my son ? " cried the monk, alarmed.
" I mean that Master Osbert Clinton has been rash enoujh
to venture hither," said Rodomont; " and though luckily
his Majesty did not see through his disguise, I was not
equally blind."
"You knew me, then?" said Osbert Clinton.
" My suspicions of the truth were roused from the first
and were speedily changed to certainty," rejoined Rodomont.
"'Twas marvellous, I repeat, that you imposed upon the
quick-sighted King, but I do not think the Cardinal was
deceived. However, you have not much to fear from his
Eminence, who is too kind-hearted to do more than chide you
for your indiscretion. Had things continued as they were,
and Mistress Constance been kept a prisoner in yon tower, I
would have helped you to liberate her. But a change for
the better has occurred. The doors of her cell are opened,
and she is free to go where she lists within the palace. Let
that content you. And now I must bring you before his
Eminence."
With this they entered the palace, and after passing
though the vestibule, where a number of persons belonging
to the household were collected, they proceeded to a spacious
chamber, with a carved oak ceiling, windows filled with
painted glass, and walls furnished with book-shelves stored
with goodly tomes, where they found the Cardinal seated at
a table. He was writing at the moment, and only suspended
his task to look up, and then resumed it. When he had
finished his letter and sealed it, he delivered it to Rodomont,
bidding him give it to Lord Montague's messenger, who was
waiting to receive it. As soon as they were alone, he turned
to Osbert, and assuming a grave and severe expression of
countenance, ordered him to throw back his hood ; and, as
the young man complied, he said, "'Tis as I suspected. You
are Osbert Clinton."
" Yes, I am he," replied the other. " It was my intention
to avow myself to your Eminence—to explain my motives in
coming hither, and to crave your pardon."
" It is needless to explain your motives," said Pole; " I am
fully aware of them. Neither, though I blame your rashness,
shall I refuse you pardon. But this indiscretion must not be
repeated. If you come here again, you must take the con-
Of the Cardinal's Counsel to Osbert Clinton. 241
sequences of your folly. You are free to go as you came—
but again I say. you must not return."
" Ere I go, your Eminence's goodness emboldens me to
ask your permission for a brief interview with Constance
Tyrrell."
" I cannot grant your request," replied the Cardinal,
" though it pains me to refuse it. I pity both you and Con¬
stance, but I cannot aid you in the dilemma in which you are
placed. Patience is difficult, especially to a young and ardent
lover; but you must perforee practise it. Be not cast down.
If Fortune refuses to smile on you now, she may do so here¬
after. Be hopeful, be courageous, be trustful; and if your
love survives these trials, you will be rewarded in due season.
Rashness and precipitancy will destroy all. Constance will
be safe with me—safe as with her own father • nay, safer,
for I have more power than he can possess. If I cannot
give her to you—if I cannot even allow you to approach her
—I can protect her. Seek not then to disturb her, or to
plunge yourself into dirficulties from which none can extri¬
cate you. I shall employ the same arguments with Con¬
stance. I will tell her that your enforced separation will
only be for a time—that she must not despair, but may con¬
fidently look forward to to a meeting with you on some future
day."
"I am fully sensible of the wisdom of your Eminence's
counsel, and will endeavour to profit by it," said Osbert.
"Though the separation will be hard to bear, it will be shorn
of much of its anguish by the reflection that she has found a
sanctuary with you."
" And such, in truth, it is, for she will be protected from
all danger," rejoined Pole. " Henceforth you may picture
her, not as the inmate of a narrow cell, condemned to pass
her hours in seclusion, but as my guest, free to go where she
will within this mansion ; not coerced in matters of religion,
though I shall try by all proper means to lead her back to
her former faith; subject to no harsh discipline or regula¬
tions ; not compelled to peTorm any severe penance, but left
to her own free will—such will be the course I shall pursue
with her, and I trust it may tend to her comfort and benefit."
"It cannot fail," said Osbert. "Under your Eminence's
benignant influence she must be hapov."
24*
Cardinal Pole.
" She will at least find a refuge from the terrible storm
which is at hand, and which might overwhelm her as it will
many others," said the Cardinal. "Be thinkful, therefore,
that she is not exposed to this great peril, and is not likely
to be numbered amongst the victims of the religious persecu¬
tion, which, I fear, is at hand. And now fare you well, Sir.
Take my blessing with you. No words of gratitude are
needed. You shall thank me hereafter, when I restore Con¬
stance to you."
With this, he struck a small silver bell which stood upon
the table beside him. Before the summons could be
answered, Osbert had drawn the cowl over his head.
" Conduct this monk to the gate," said the Cardinal to
Rodomont, as the latter entered the room, " and suffer him
not to talk with anyone by the way."
" It shall be done as your Eminence enjoins," said Rodo
mont. " Come, Father ! "
And he quitted the room with Osbert.
CHAPTER XI.
HOW CONSTANCE PASSED HER TIME IN LAMBETH PALACE.
|®g|£|HE good Cardinal acted up to his promise in regard
Igf to Constance. An apartment was assigned her in
a wing of the palace overlooking the garden, and
that nothing might be wanting to her comfort,
search was made for her old attendant, Dorcas, whose re¬
treat being discovered, without much difficulty, by Rodo-
mont, she was brought to the palace, and reinstated in her
former position with her young mistress.
Ever since the night when Constance had been carried off
to the Lollards' Tower, the poor old woman had been incon¬
solable. Her joy, therefore, on finding her young mistress
again, may be imagined. She strained her to her breast
with all a mother's affection, wept over her, and could
scarcely cease her demonstrations of regard. The Cardinal,
who witnessed the meeting, was much touched by it, but at
last deemed it proper to moderate the old woman's transports
of delight. But this only turned the tide of her gratitude
upon him. She fell down at his feet, embraced his knees,
and prayed that his goodness might be rewarded.
Treated with paternal kindness and consideration by the
Cardinal, Constance could not but feel profound gratitude
towards him; and as the virtues of his character became
more fully revealed to her, she began to regard him with
feelings akin to veneration.
They had frequent discourses together on points of faith,
244
Cardinal Pole.
and, though Constance's adherence to the new doctrines
remained unshaken, she listened with attention to the Car¬
dinal's able and profound exposition of the tenets of the
Church of Rome. The differences between their respective
creeds appeared slighter than she had at first supposed, and
if all Romish priests and prelates were like the Cardinal,
lived as he lived, and taught as he taught, she felt that there
might, indeed, be one universal Church.
The calmness of Pole's manner, the clearness of his judg¬
ment, his profound theological learning, contrasted strongly
with the fanaticism and fiery zeal of Derrick Carver, who
had as little toleration for the Romanists as they had for
him. Her mind, over-excited by the stimulative discourses
of the enthusiast, acquired a healthier tone from the exhor¬
tations of the Cardinal, and she felt like one who had re¬
covered from a fever.
Perfectly resigned to her position, strengthened in all her
good resolutions by Pole, and allowed the free exercise of her
own religious opinions, she became composed and cheerful,
and, if not quite happy, was at least free from despondency.
Her personal appearance improved in the same ratio, and,
ere many weeks had flown, she had quite recovered her
beauty. Her life might appear dull and monotonous, but its
very monotony was not without a charm to her, who from
early years had meditated the seclusion of a convent. Caring
little for the world, or its pleasures and vanities, she was
well content with her present existence, and scarcely desired
to change it. Not that the Cardinal's palace, with its
princely establishment, its numerous and important guests,
was devoid of the stir and bustle of active life, but in this
she took no part. She did not mingle with the household,
and was never seen by the Cardinal's numerous guests.
The garden was open to her, with its long terraces, its
alleys and groves, and therein she took her walks at morn.
At such times she often met Pole and Priuli, and discoursed
with them. In argument Priuli displayed the same modera¬
tion and clearness of judgment as his friend, though he did
not equal him in profundity of intellect or learning. Per¬
haps Pole was disappointed that he did not produce a more
sensible impression upon his pupil, and bring her to express
contrition for her errors, and a desire for reconciliation with
How Constance Passed Her Time. 245
the Church of Rome, but he did not manifest any impatience;
still less did he employ harshness or threats. Attendance
at the chapel at matins or evensong, or during the celebra¬
tion of mass, was not compulsory on Constance, nor was she
forced to assist at any of the rites or observances of the
Church of Rome.
Not unfrequently the Cardinal spoke to her of Osbert
Clinton, and held out to her, as he had done to her lover, the
hope of a meeting at some future day.
Shortly after Constance's partial restoration to freedom,
the Cardinal dispatched Rodomont to Southampton to ac¬
quaint Master Tyrrell with the steps he had taken in his
daughter's behalf, and inviting him to come and see her.
Rodomont would fain have brought the old merchant back
with him, but Tyrrell declined. His anger against Constance
had not yet abated. Unless she renounced her errors, she
need not hope to see him again, he declared. He left her
entirely in the Lord Cardinal's hands, satisfied that if her
conversion could be accomplished it would be by his Emi¬
nence. The old merchant, it was clear, was so apprehen¬
sive of being implicated with his daughter, and suspected of
heretical pravity himself, that he was resolved not to go
near her.
Rodomont seized the opportunity of ascertaining his senti¬
ments in regard to her union with Osbert Clinton. But on
this point the old merchant was equally obstinate. " I will
not consent to her marriage—I will not give her my blessing
—I will not see her till she recants, and returns to the faith
of her forefathers," he cried. ' Then she shall be my daugh¬
ter once more."
" It is well for her that she has found a father in the Car¬
dinal, since her own father deserts her in her need," observed
Rodomont.
" Why, what would you have me do?" cried Tyrrell.
" Go see her! comfort her ! persuade her to conform,"
rejoined Rodomont.
" And be suspected of heresy, and cited before the ecclesi¬
astical commissioners—mayhap burnt before my own door,"
said Tyrrell. " No, I thank you. I mean to keep out of
harm's way."
"Well, if you can reconcile such conduct to your con-
240
Cardinal Pule.
science, T have no more to say," observed Rodomont; "ex¬
cept, that if you escape burning in th:s world, you stand a
good chance of burning in the next. So you positively de¬
cline to go back with me to Lambeth Palace—eh ?"
"Positively," replied Tyrrell. "As a good Catholic, the
Cardinal will applaud my conduct."
"There you are mistaken," rejoined Rodomont. "You
little understand his Eminence, if you suppose him dead to
the feelings of human nature, as you appear to be. He can
but entertain one opinion of your conduct—disgust." So
saying he left him.
On his return to Lambeth Palace, Rodomont informed the
Cardinal what had passed between himself and Master
Tyrrell. Pole could scarcely credit the relation, so astounded
was he at the old merchant's extraordinary indifference to
his daughter. However, the effect produced upon him by
Tyrrell's stoical conduct, was to increase the fatherly con¬
cern he already felt in Constance, and make him more anxious
than ever for her conversion.
How he prospered in his efforts we have already seen.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW THE CARDINAL VISITED DERRICK CARVER IN HIS CELL
IN THE LOLLARDS' TOWER.
UT there was another person besides Osbert Clinton
in whom Constance took deep interest, and whose
perilous position occasioned her profound anxiety.
This was Derrick Carver. True, since her inter¬
course with Pole, her admiration of the enthusiast had
somewhat abated, but she could not forget the benefits
he had conferred upon her. All that she could learn re¬
specting Carver was, that he had been removed from the
underground dungeon to the prison-chamber in the Lollards'
Tower, which she herself had occupied, and that he was
still confined there. She also ascertained, by means of
old Dorcas, that he had been several times examined by
Bonner, and had been severely handled by them for his
contumacy. Fain would she have obtained an interview
with him—fain would she have prayed with him and con¬
soled him—but this was not permitted. Pole, who con¬
sidered the fanatic's influence over, her to be most per¬
nicious, refused her solicitations, and in a manner that
did not allow her to renew the request. The Cardinal de¬
clared that, finding Carver impracticable, he had surrendered
him to the ecclesiastical commissioners, and he was now
entirely in their hands.
Constance, therefore, had no hope of beholding the enthu¬
siast again in this world. Strange to say, she did not alto¬
gether deplore his fate, but in moments of exaltation almost
248
Cardinal Pole.
envied him the martyrdom which it appeared certain he
would have to endure.
Throughout this time of trial, Carver's resolution had
never deserted him—had never even wavered. The prison
chamber to which he had. been removed was a great improve¬
ment upon the dismal dungeon v herein he had been pre¬
viously immured. In fact, as his movements were not
res'rained, and he was allowed writing materials, with a
Bible and a book of prayer, he was well enough content with
his lodging. To the mementoes of the many sufferers fo
conscience' sake who had preceded him in this cell, and
had carved their names on the stout oak panels lining the
walls, he added his own name, with these words: "Approved
by stripes, imprisonment, and death."
His cell was by no means gloomy. Through the narrow
grated window looking upon the Thames, and at which
Osbert had conversed with Constance, he obtained a
glimpse of the river, and of some structures on its opposite
banks, while he could hear the dash of oars in the water,
and the cheerful voices of the boatmen. But the stern
enthusiast bestowed but little thought on the external
world. His time was now entirely occupied in preparation
for eternity, and in fortifying himself for the fiery ordeal by
which his faith was to be approved.
On several occasions, as we have already stated, he had
been interrogated by Bonner, but neither promises of grace,
nor threats of torture, could move him. He resolutely re¬
fused to subscribe the recantation proffered him by the
bishop ; and when the latter, exasperated by his obstinacy,
had him taken to the Post Room, stripped to the girdle,
tied to the wooden pillar in the centre of the chamber, and
severely scourged, he uttered no cry, but persisted in his
refusal.
Determined to try the eftect of greater severity, and
having means and appliances at hand, Bonner ordered him
to be chained to the walls of his cell till he should show
signs of submission.
This was done. The unfortunate captive was fastened to
two of the ponderous iron rings which may still be seen in
the walls of the prison, and kept in such a position that he
could neither lie down nor stand erect.
How the Cardinal Visited Derrick Carver,
In this woful plight he remained for three days and three
nights, debarred of his chief solace, the Bible, and unable
to kneel in prayer without putting himself to excruciating
agony, but his constancy was unsubdued, and when Bonner
again visited him, thinking he must needs be overcome, he
found him unyielding as ever.
What further barbarities might have been practised by
the savage prelate upon the unfortunate captive can only
be imagined, but happily his victim was snatched from his
clutches by Pole. Made aware how severely the prisoner
had been treated, the Cardinal instantly interfered, caused
the poor wretch's chains to be taken off, and interdicted
any further application of torture. Bonner sullenly
acquiesced, as indeed he was obliged to do, but he
promised himself to report the Cardinal's culpable leniency
—for such he esteemed it—to their Majesties, and also to
the Pope.
" His Eminence is an abettor of heresy, instead of an up-
rooter of it," muttered the bishop. " If he be not recalled
by the Pope, he will undo all we have done."
Not altogether satisfied with the report he had received
of the prisoner's condition, Pole resolved to visit him in his
cell, and was accompanied in the errand of mercy by
Priuli. The ascent of the narrow spiral stone staircase
leading from the Post Room to the prison-chamber was
somewhat painful to the Cardinal, and he was compelled
to pause for a few moments to recover himself as he
reached the arched entrance of the cell. This gave him an
opportunity of examining the double doors, which we have
already described as of oak, bound with iron, and studded
with broad-headed nails ; and he pointed out the immense
thickness of the planks to Priuli.
Neither of them had been before in the upper part of the
Lollards' Tower, and, as they entered the prison-chamber,
they looked around it with melancholy interest. The oak
panels, dark almost as ebony, the black boarded roof, the
black boarded floor, the small grated windows, the ponder¬
ous iron rings fastened in the walls, the prisoner seated on
a stool at a table of similar material and similar hue to the
panels, all constituted a picture that powerfully impressed
them.
25°
Cardinal Pole.
Derrick Carver was engaged in reading the Bible, and s<d
profoundly engrossed, that he did not raise his eyes on
their entrance. The Cardinal signed to Mallet, by whom
they were attended, not to disturb him. The rugged
features and gaunt frame of the fanatic had undergone little
change, but his beard was grizzled, and his locks had be¬
come snow white.
The Cardinal and Priuli contemplated him for some time
with profound interest, and in perfect silence, but at last an
observation made by the latter, though uttered in a low
tone, reached the ears of the prisoner, and caused him to
look up. When he perceived who were in his cell, he tried
to rise, but was compelled by pain and weakness to
relinquish the attempt.
"The man is really too feeble to stand," remarked
Mallet. " Shall I bring your Eminence a chair?"
Pole declined the offer, saying he could stand well
enough.
" Leave the room, and remain without till you are
summoned," he added to Mallet, who immediately obeyed
the injunction, closing the door after him as*he went out.
" You are weak and ill, my poor friend," said Pole, in a
sympathetic tone. " Wine and nourishing food shall be
sent to recruit your strength."
" I do not need them," replied Carver. " Herein I find
new life and vigour," he added, pointing to the Bible.
" For three days and three nights, while fastened to yon
wall, was I deprived of this consolation, and I account it
the worst part of my suffering. I lack nothing now."
" I am sorry you have been treated with so much
severity," observed the Cardinal.
"I do not complain," replied Carver. " I may not have
been lawfully punished with the scourge, or lawfully fastened
to yon iron rings, but there is little law or justice in
England now, since we are under Spanish rule."
"You are mistaken, friend," replied Pole. " The statutes
against heresy and schism, which were in force when this
prison-chamber was built by Archbishop Chicheley, in the
time of Henry IV., more than a hundred years ago, have
been revived, and though your punishment has been severe,
t has not been contrary to law."
How the Cardinal Visited Derrick Carver, 251
M1 have said I do not complain," rejoined Carver. "We
have provoked Divine displeasure, and must endure our
merited chastisement till the wrath of Heaven be appeased.
Were I called upon to suffer all the persecutions endured
by holy Paul, I would cheerfully bear them for the sake of
the Gospel."
" I admire your resolution, friend," said Pole; " but I
beseech you to consider weis whether you may not be in
error."
" I cannot be in error, when I rely solely on the truths of "
Scripture," rejoined Caiver.
" But there are doctrinal points upon which men are not
agreed," said the Cardinal.
"There are," rep.ied Carver, "and my principles are
those of the Reformed Church. I abominate the Church
of Rome, and regard it as the synagogue of Satan, and the
very sink of all heresy, superstition, and idolatry. I will
have no masses, no auricular confession with penance, no
image-worship. I deny the real presence in the sacrament.
And I also deny that the Pope is the head of the Christian
Church, and utterly reject his authority."
" But if I can prove to you that you are wrong," said
Pole; "if I can convince you that the Pope's authority is
derived from Saint Peter, and through him from our Saviour
himself, will you not admit that you have formed erroneous
conclusions ? "
" I believe the Romish faith to be anti-Christian and
naught," rejoined Carver. "I cannot worship at its altars,
and were I to do so I should place my soul in jeopardy.
It is in vain to argue with me. Threats or fair promises
will be alike ineffectual. I am not be moved."
"But if you obstinately close your ears, how can you ever
learn the truth ? " said the Cardinal.
" I have learnt the truth," rejoined Carver, "and am proof
against fallacy and delusion. I have enough regard for
your Eminence to wish you were of my mind."
" Well, try to convince me. Let me hear what you have
to say m defence of your faith," observed Pole.
" 'Twere to show him too much indulgence," said Priuli.
" I could say much in defence of my faith," observed
Carver, "but 1 know you would not listen to me, and I
*52
Cardinal Pole.
should therefore only throw away my time. But let me not
appear ungrateful. I am assured that your Eminence is
actuated by a sincere desire for my welfare."
" I would save you, if possible, from the terrible deatn
by which you are menaced," said the Cardinal. " Conform,
and I will obtain your pardon. Reflect on what I have sa d."
" I need no reflection," rejoined the other. " I could not
conform with hypocrisy, and i will never belie my con¬
science."
" Have you no ties that bind you to earth ?—none for
whom you desire to live? " said the Cardinal.
" I have a wife and children, and an aged mother," replied
Carver; but I gave up all when I entered the service of my
Heavenly Master."
" And would you leave them without a protector?" said
Pole.
" Heaven will watch over them," rejoined the other.
"This man appears callous to all human emotions and
sympathies," observed Priuli.
" There you do not judge me rightly," said Carver. " My
breast is not devoid of affection. I love my wife and chil¬
dren—I love my mother—dearly—very dearly. But I am a
soldier of Christ, and having been summoned to the fight,
must obey the call. If I die in His cause, those dear to me
will not be deserted. You cannot touch me. There is no
weak part in my armour."
" Then you do not desire to confer with me further ? " said
Pole. " You have nothing to ask of me ? "
" There is one favour I would solicit," said Carver. " Be¬
fore I am taken hence I would fain have a last interview
with Constance Tyrrell."
" I cannot grant it," replied Pole. " I hope to accomplish
her conversion, and your influence might counteract my
efforts."
"But she continues stedfast in her faith?—Tell me that?"
cried Carver, anxiously.
" I cannot answer the question," returned Pole ; " would
not, if I could."
"She does !—I am sure she does !" exclaimed the enthu¬
siast. " She is my spiritual daughter. Her conversion was
my work, and I glory in it. Having opened her eyes to the
How The Cardinal Visited Derrick Carver.
light, she will not rehpse into darkness—never. No; I
have no misgivings about Constance."
" Be not too confident," rejoined Pole. '' My hope is to
bring her back to the fold from which she has strayed. You
have preferred a request to me which I am compelled to
refuse, but I will grant you a favour which you have not
solicited. I desire to benefit you as far as I can, and
will lighten the irksomeness of your confinement. In a
few days you will have recovered your strength, and will
be able to go forth. Pledge me your word to return early
in the evening, and you shall be allowed liberty during the
daytime."
" What is this I hear?" cried Carver, astounded. " Is it
possible that your Eminence will allow me to go where I list
during the daytime ? "
"You shall go forth wholly unattended on your promise
to return," rejoined the Cardinal.
"I never looked for such indulgence as this," said Carver,
much affected. "When I have heard the voices of the boat¬
men on the river, and other gladsome sounds, I have longed
to join my fellow-men, but I have checked the feeling, know¬
ing it could not be gratified. But now your Eminence offers
me this great boon—a boon I should not have dared to ask
—and with no conditions annexed to it."
"None save that I mentioned," replied Pole. "You
shall be free to go forth, but you must come back to your
cell at eventide."
For a few moments Carver covered his face with his hands,
and tears trickled down his rugged cheeks. After a while
he looked up and, in broken accents, said, " I did not think
to weep again either for joy or grief. But your Eminence's
goodness has touched me to the heart, and opened fountains
which I deemed fast sealed. You shall not find me unworthy
of the confidence reposed in me. The promise you exact
shall be religiously fulfilled. If I am suffered to go abioad,
I will assuredly return."
"Is it safe to let him out?" observed Priuli. "He is
seditious and perilous."
" I will trust him," replied Pole.
Upon this he called in Mallet, and informed him of the
permission he had granted the prisoner.
17
Cardinal Pole.
" But, your Eminence," remonstrated the keeper, " I am
responsible for his s.ife custody to Bishop Bonner. If this
unheard-of license be granted him, the man will never come
back."
" Set your mind at ease on Flat score, good friend," ob¬
served Carver. " I have pliglKjd my word to the Lord
Cardinal, and I will die rather than break it."
"But what am I to say to the bishop? I shall never be
able to face him."
" Say that you act by my orders," returned the Cardinal.
" Refer the bishop to me."
" Such a thing was never done before," said Mallet. "As
well let loose a ravening wolf among a flock of sheep as
liberate this man."
" Let my bidding be done," said Pole. " If blame there
be, it will rest on my head.—Farewell, friend," he added to
Carver, "do not abuse the license given you."
" Your Eminence shall have no cause to repent your trust
in me," said Carver.
On this the Cardinal and Priuli quitted the cell.
" Methinks you have shown too much consideration to
this man," observed Priuli. " He does not deserve you*
kindness."
" Time will show," replied Pole. " I have faith in him—
hope in his conversion."
CHAPTER XIII.
HOW DERRICK CARVER FULFILLED HIS PROMISE.
HREE days afterwards, Derrick Carver, upon whom
the Cardinal's goodness had operated like a
sovereign cordial, giving him new life and energy,
announced that he was strong enough to avail
himself of the permission he had received, and, accordingly,
the door of his cell was unlocked by Mallet, who accompanied
him to the palace gates, and there let him go, never expec¬
ting, as he frankly avowed, to behold him again.
" It may be well to follow him and see what he is about,"
observed Rodomont, who was standing by.
"Nay, his Eminence has strictly forbidden that," said
Mallet. " The man is to be left to his own devices. If
he come back, I shall esteem him a greater fool than
heretic."
"Tut, he will return," said Rodomont. " His Eminence
understands him better than you do."
" Well, we shall see," rejoined the other.
On that very day, it chanced that Bishop Bonner came to
Lambeth Palace, and proceeding straightway to the Lol¬
lards' Tower, inquired for the prisoner. On learning that
he had been allowed to go forth, he flew into a violent
passion, and declared he would have the keeper punished
for his gross breach of duty. Mallet excused himself, and
referred the infuriated bishop to the Cardinal, but Bonner
could n.ot obtain an audience till his rage had had time to
subside. Pole listened to his complaints and then replied,
calmly,—
Cardinal Pole.
" It is true, I have let the man go on his promise to
return in the evening."
" But what is the promise of such a false knave worth?"
cried Bonner, contemptuously. " He will infallibly break
it."
" I do not think so," rejoined the Cardinal. " But tarry
with me till eventide, and you will see."
Bonner agreed, dined with the Cardinal in the banqueting-
hall, and, as there were many other important guests that
day, he made merry, and thought no more about the
prisoner. While he was sitting, however, with his host
and Priuli, Rodomont Bittern entered, and, bowing to the
Cardinal said,—
"Your Eminence desired to be informed when Derrick
Carver came back. As the clock struck five, he returned to
his cell."
Pole smiled, and, turning to the Bishop, observed,—
" I was right in my judgment of him, you perceive."
"I cannot deny it," replied Bonner. "Nevertheless,
I would advise your Eminence to recall your permission.
Most assuredly he will do much mischief out of doors."
" If it turn out so, he shall be kept within his cell," re¬
joined Pole.
Shortly after this, Bonner took leave of the Cardinal, but,
before quitting the palace, he satisfied himself, by personal
inspection, that Carver was safe in his cell. He found him,
as usual, reading- the Bible, and, if he Had dared, would
have vented his rags upon hirn by causing him to be tied to
the whipping-post in the chamber beneath and scourged.
" I will have him burnt as scon as possible," he observed
to Mallet. "It is monstrous that such a vile wretch should
be treated with so much leniency. And what of the
Cardinal's other cade-Jamb, Mistress Constance Tyrrell?
Has she been brought back from her apostacy?"
"/ cannot say, in sooth, my lord," replied Mallet. "But
I incline to think not, seeing she doth not attend mass."
" Not attend mass ! Then she is still defiled by heresy,"
cried Bonner. " We will have her at Smithfield in spite of
the Cardinal." And with this amiable resolve he departed.
Next morning Carver went forth again, returning punc¬
tually at five o'clock in the evening, and he pursued the
How Derrick Carver Fulfilled his Promise. 257
same course for nearly a week, rather anticipating his time
than staying beyond it. One evening, however, he did not
appear as usual. Three hours more went by, and still he
came not, and then Mallet thought it right to acquaint the
Cardinal with his prolonged absence. The information
caused Pole to look grave.
" Something must have happened to him," he said. " I
do not believe he would have stayed away of his own accord,
still less do I deem he has any design of evasion. Send
Rodomont Bittern to me."
On Rodomont's arrival, the Cardinal ordered him to make
immediate inquiries after the prisoner, and to take any
persons with him who might aid in the quest.
" My own opinion is that the man has fallen into a snare."
Pole said. " But I leave it to your shrewdness to discover
what has become of him."
" In obedience to your Eminence's injunctions, his move¬
ments have not been watched," replied Rodomont, " so that
we have no clue to guide us. Nevertheless, I will essay to
find him."
"About the business forthwith, and with a good heart,"
said the Cardinal. "You are quick-witted, and your pene¬
tration will put you on the right track."
Taking with him his lieutenants, Jack Holiday and Nick
Simnel, Rodomont set out on his mission. Revolving what
the Cardinal had said while dismissing him, he came to the
conclusion that he should get on the right track by going to
Bonner, who, he suspected, had a strong motive for keeping
the prisoner out of the way.
Accordingly, he entered the Cardinal's barge with his
friends, bidding the oarsmen row them with all possible
dispatch to the stairs at Paul's chain, where, landing, they
made the best of their way to the palace of the Bishop of
London—a large edifice, which then stood on the north-west
side of the cathedral.
From the porter at the palace gate they ascertained that
Bonner was attending vespers in Saint Paul's, where they
could speak with him on the conclusion of the service.
Rodomont then inquired from the porter whether any
heretics had been arrested that day. The man replied that
several had been taken at a conventicle in Foster-lane, and
2$%
Cardinal Pole.
thai ihe chief sacramentary, who had been holding forth 10
the others, was detained in a strong-room in the gate till
the lord bishop should decide what was to be done with him.
Rodomont then explained to the porter that he was an
officer in Cardinal Pole's household, and with his companions
was in search of an heretical prisoner named Derrick Car¬
ver, and this perchance might be he.
" Marry, 'tis the very man," replied the porter.
Whereupon, he unlocked the door of the strong-room,
and showed them Carver within it, seated on a bench, with
his hands tied behind his back with cords. Rodomonl
would fain have carried him off at once, but this the porter
would not permit, saying they must tarry till the bishop
returned from Saint Paul's.
Half an hour elapsed before Bonner made his appearance,
and when he found Rodomont and his comrades there he
was exceedingly wroth, and refused to give up the prisoner.
" The knave was taken at a conventicle in Foster-Lane,"
Ae said, "where he was preaching heretical doctrines,
praying against her Majesty, and giving the communion
according to the prohibited book of service. I greatly
marvel that the Cardinal should allow such a pestilent
wretch to go forth to spread contagion abroad. Depart
now, and tell his Eminence that I will bring back the man
to him to morrow. He is safe here, as ye can bear
witness."
" Our orders are to bring him back wherever we may find
nim," rejoined Rodomont, "and those we must obey."
" What!" cried Bonner. " Will ye take him from me by
force ?"
" We trust your lordship will not drive us to that ex¬
tremity," replied Rodomont. "We claim this man as the
Lord Cardinal's prisoner, and we require your lordship to
deliver him up to us. If you resist, the fault will rest with
you."
" E'en take him, then," rejoined Bonner furiously. "But
ye may rest assured I will not be robbed of my prey. He
is a preacher of heresy and sedition, a blasphemer and
traitor, and I will burn him in spite of the Cardinal. It
shall go hard if I burn not Mistress Constance Tyrrell at
the same time."
How Derrick Carver Fulfilled his Promise. 259
Rodomont and his comrades stayed to hear no more, but
carried off the prisoner, and placing him in the barge,
conveyed him to Lambeth Palace. On arriving there they
took him at once before the Cardinal, and Rodomont ex¬
plained what had occurred.
"Your Eminence will perceive that I was forcibly de¬
tained," said Carver. " Had it not been so, I should have
returned at the appointed hour."
" I sent you not forth to propagate heresy and sedition,"
said Pole, severely. "You have broken the compact
between us, and abused my confidence. You can go forth
no more."
Carver bowed his head in submission, and was taken to
kiS <~ell in tire Lollards' tower.
3£nti of tfje CfjitXi SSoofc.
BOOK IV.
SMITHFIELD.
CHAPTER I.
HOW A SOLEMN PROCESSION WAS FORMED AT SAINT PAUI.'S.
AND SET FORTH TOWARDS SMITHFIELD.
I YE Protestant divines, amongst whom were
Hooper, the deprived Bishop of Gloucester, and
Rogers, a prebend of Saint Paul's, having been
excommunciated and delivered to the sheriffs,
and continuing firm in the maintenance of their opinions, they
were doomed to death at the stake. It was appointed that
Hooper should suffer at Gloucester, and Rogers at Smith-
field, and it was furthermore appointed that Rogers should
be the first to die. Rogers, we may mention, was one of the
first theological scholars of the age, and had assisted Tyndal
in translating the Bible in the time of Henry VIII.
At the earnest solicitation of Gardiner and Bonner, the
King consented to be present at the celebration of this act
of faith but Cardinal Pole refused to attend it, stating that
he would not countenance such a proceeding. Enraged at
his opposition, the two prelates took the only revenge in
their power, and procured a warrant from the Queen, autho¬
rising them to compel the attendance at the terrible cere¬
monial of any heretical prisoners they might designate.
How a Procession was Formed at St. Paul's. 261
Armed with this warrant, on the night previous to the execu¬
tion they gave notice to the Cardinal that they should send for
Derrick Carver and Constance Tyrrell at an early hour on
the morrow.
That night, as enjoined by the Cardinal, and as her own
feelings would have prompted without the injunction, Con¬
stance never sought her couch, but spent the hours in prayer
and meditation. Before daybreak she awoke old Dorcas,
who was slumbering tranquilly, and with her aid attired
herself carefully in dark habiliments, and, thus prepared,
patiently awaited the anticipated summons. Ere long, a
gentle tap was heard without, and the door being opened by
Dorcas, the Cardinal entered.
" I have come to see you before you set out, daughter,"
he said. " My own heart is sad. I have passed the night
in vigil and prayer, yet I do not feel comforted. I cannot
divest myself of the dread that this day will be prejudicial
to our religion. A just man is about to be sacrificed, and
his blood will cry out for vengeance. But here come the
guard," he added, as Rodomont and his companions
appeared at the doorway. " Are you ready ? "
" Quite ready," she replied. " But before I leave, let me
crave a blessing from your Eminence."
" You have it, daughter," he replied, extending his arms
over her. " May Heaven sustain you during the awful
scene you will be compelled to witness !"
Quitting the room, she followed Rodomont and the
others to the outer court. At the LoVEius' Tower they
were joined by Derrick Carver, who was brought forth by
Mallet. On beholding Constance, the enthusiast tittered a
joyful exclamation, but he was' not permitted to converse
wiih her, and the party proceeded in silence to the wharf
without the palace gate, where lay a barge, which had been
sent for the prisoners by Bonner.
Within this vessel were two Dominicans, an officer of
the guard, and a couple of halberdiers. At the prow was
displayed a black banner, on which was inscribed the
words : Exurge, Domine, et judica causam tuam, et
dissipentur inimici fldei.
The prisoners having entered the barge with Rodomont
Bittern, who had been enjoined by the Cardinal to attend
262
Cardinal Pole.
them, the vessel was pushed off", and moved down the
stream.
The morning was dark and raw. A fog hung over the
river, partly concealing the objects on its banks. Officers
and men maintained a moody silence, and the only sound
heard was a doleful hymn chanted by the Dominicans, and
taken up by the occupants of some skiffs that had accom¬
panied the barge from Lambeth.
At Paul's Wharf the prisoners w ere landed, and conducted
thence up Bennet's Hill and Paul's Chain to the Cathedral.
Matins were just over, and within the broad nave of the
noble fane a great number of priests, attired in their robes,
were assembled, prior to marching in solemn procession to *
Smithfield.
In the aisles, guarded by halberdiers, were collected groups
of recusants of both sexes, brought thither to give effect to
the ceremonial. Apart from these, but likewise brought
from prison to grace the procession, were several deprived
divines of the Protestant Church, some of whom afterwards
testified to their faith at the stake, while others were starved
in their cells, or died from ill treatment. Many who then
met on that melancholy morn, and exchanged a friendly
greeting, or a few words of comfort, saw each other for the
last time on earth. But in the faces of these stout-hearted
champions of the Protestant Church no traces of doubt or
discouragement could be discerned. They were evidently
prepared to meet their fate with resolution. Neither did
they manifest sorrow for the brother about to suffer, regard¬
ing him as one whose trials were well-nigh over, and who
was certain of meeting his reward.
Within the nave and aisles were congregated a vast num¬
ber of spectators of the solemn scene.
Close to one of the enormous columns lining the south
aisle of the magnificent fane stood Constance. She was
looking with a wistful eye at the deprived Protestant divines,
when her own name was breathed in her ear by some one
close behind.
Not doubting who spoke, she partly turned her head, and
perceived Osbert Clinton, who, screened from the guard by
the pillar, had contrived to approach her. The only person
who noticed the manoeuvre was Rodomont, but the kind-
How a Procession was Formed at St. Paul's. 263
hearted fellow looked another way, and tried not to hear
what was passing.
Not much was said—but the few words spoke of the
young man's wretchedness at the protracted separation from
her he loved.
" Be patient," she said. " All will be well in the end."
"Talk not to me of patience," he rejoined. "I am un¬
able to practice it. My heart will burst in the effort. I
cannot live without you, Constance. Commit yourself to
me, and I will free you. You will be gone before the guard
can notice your absence; and once mingled with the throng,
you will be safe. Come ! "
" I cannot—dare not go," she replied. " What would the
good Cardinal think of me if I complied ? "
" Heed him not, but think of me, whom you doom to
misery by hesitation. Do not throw away this chance.
Another may not occur."
" Pass if you will," interposed the friendly Rodomont, in
a low voice. "I shall hear and see nothing."
Squeezing his arm by way of thanks, Osbert renewed his
entreaties to Constance.
"No, I cannot do it," she rejoingd. " My word to the
Queen restrains me."
" What ? not gone !" exclaimed Rodomont, looking round.
" Peste ! it is now too late."
Just then a movement took place in the nave, and the
attention of the guard was drawn to the prisoneis.
Clad in his full robes, wearing his mitre, and carrying his
crosier, Bonner issued from the sacristy. Before him were
borne two large silver crosses, and the pix under a rich
canopy. At the same time, the procession was marshalled
by the priests. Long wax tapers were lighted and distri¬
buted among the recusants, who were compelled to carry
them ; the Protestant divines being alone exempted from
this degrading office.
As soon as the procession was formed, the halberdiers at
the head of it marched through the great western portal of
the cathedral, and were followed by a long line of recusants,
men and women, bearing lighted tapers. Amongst these
were Constance and Derrick Carver.
Tr.pn name the deprived Protestant clergy, walking tw>
264
Cardinal Pole.
and two. They were succeeded by monks and friars in the
habits of their orders. Then came priests in their robes, and
lastly Bonner himself, attired as we have described, and pre¬
ceded by the large silver crosses and the pix. On either
side of the sacramentaries were halberdiers to keep off the
crowd. Nor was this the only precaution taken. Outside
the cathedral there was a detachment of mounted aique-
busiers to clear the way for the train, while a band of archers
brought up the rear.
As the procession issued forth from Saint Pa- l's, the bells
of Saint Martin's, Ludgate, and other churches on the line
of way, began to toll slowly and solemnly.
CHAPTER II.
THE HALT AT NEWGATE.
T was a day of triumph to Bonner, and his heart
swelled with pride and gratified vengeance as he
marched along. The precincts of the cathedral
were crowded with spectators, as indeed were all
the streets traversed by the cortege on its way to Smithfield.
The majority of the beholders being Romanists, they
prostrated themselves devoutly as the host went by, while
the priests accompanying the bishop sprinkled them with
holy water.
However, there were many who refused to kneel, and who
were only restrained by fear from giving utterance to their
abhorrence of the ceremony. As the train was passing
through Ludgate, a man called out in a stentorian voice,
"So, my masters, at last we have got the Inquisition in
England !" But scarcely had the words escaped him, when
he was seized and dragged off.
Arrived at Newgate, where Prebend Rogers had been
kept since his condemnation, the cortege came to a halt, and,
after a short delay, the prisoner was brought forth. He was
a man of middle age, tall of stature, thin, but well-built,
dark-complexioned, and possessing a grave, intelligent coun¬
tenance.
He looked yeifectly composed, and remarked, as he
noticed the extent of the cortege, "Ye make as great a show
266
Cardinal Pole.
as if ye were about to conduct me to a festival, and not to
the stake."
While the sheriffs, who had charge of the doomed man,
and who wore their robes and chains, were mounting their
horses, a painful incident occurred. With loud cries, that
ought to have moved every breast, a woman, having a young
child in her arms, and with several other terrified children
clinging to her, burst through the ranks of the halberdiers,
exclaiming, " For Christ our Saviour's sake, let me bid a
last farewell to my husband ! "
" Get hence, importunate and troublesome woman ! " cried
one of the sheriffs, named Woodrooffe, in loud and harsh
tones. "This man is not thy husband."
" I protest to you he is, Sir," she rejoined, in extremity
of anguish, " my lawful husband, and these are our
children."
" Spawn of the devil!" shouted Woodrooffe. " Away
with all thy brood of Satan, or the men shall drive you
hence with their halberds. You ought to know that a priest
cannot marry."
"We have been married these fourteen years, Sir," said
Rogers. " I pray you suffer her to come to me. 'Twill be
a comfort to her and to the children to say farewell, and
receive my blessing, Our parting will be short. If you are
a husband and a father yourself, you will not be deaf to my
appeal."
" I am both, yet will I not suffer her or her base-born
brats to come near thee," roared Woodrooffe. " Push them
away with your pikes if they will not retire peaceably," he
add-ed to the guard.
" Heaven forgive you ! " exclaimed Rogers, as his wife
and children were thrust aside. "'Twas the sole consolation
I asked, and that is denied me."
Shortly after this interruption, the cortege moved forward
again, the condemned, closely attended by the sheriffs and
their officers, following next after Bonner.
On either side of the doomed man walked a priest with a
crucifix in his hand, one or other of whom was constantly
dinning exhortations to repentance into his ears. To these
he would not listen, but recited aloud the Miser'er'e. His
firm deportment and serene countenance—for he speedily
The Hal- at Newgate.
267
recovered his composure—produced a strong effect upon
the beholders.
The bell of Saint Sepulchre's tolled solemnly as the pro¬
cession wended its way along Giltspur Street, and the bells
of the two churches dedicated to Saint Bartholomew filled
the air with the like dismal clangour, as the head of the
cavalcade rode into Smithfield.
CHAPTER III.
SMITHFIELD IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
R*"^4'yi|0 part of London is richer in historical recollections
vari°us kinds than Smithfield. In this en-
closure, which in old times was a broad and
pleasant field, lying without the City walls on the
north-west, were held jousts and tournaments on the most
splendid scale, and attended by kings, foreign potentates
and ambassadors, nobles, knights, and dames of the highest
rank and peerless beauty. Barriers were frequently set up
in Smithfield by Edward III., and here a grand tournament,
which lasted for a week, was given by the same monarch, in
the latter part of his reign, in honour of the beautiful Alice
Perrars, by whose charms he was bewitched. Another grand
tournament was held here by Richard II., on which
occasion sixty knights on richly-caparisoned coursers, and
each attended by a lady of honour mounted upon a palfrey,
rode from the Tower to Smithfield, where, in the presence
of the King and Queen and chief nobles, many commend¬
able courses were run. In the same reign, the Earl of Mar
came from Scotland to challenge the Earl of Nottingham,
and the trial of skill took place at Smithfield, resulting in
the overthrow of Mar, who was so severely hurt by his
opponent that he died on the way back. In the time of
Henry IV., the Earl of Somerset, Sir John Cornwall, Sir
Richard Arundel, and others, tilted with certain Frenchmen ;
lind in the same reign a duel took place between Gloucester
and Arthur, which would have terminated fatally but for the
King's interference. In the succeeding reign, Sir Robert
Smithfield in the Sixteenth Century. 269
Carey fought an Aragonese knight at Smithfield, and slew
him. Several desperate combats occurred here in the reign
of Henry VI., but we cannot dwell upon them, and must
conclude our brief summary by allusion to the famous
encounter between Lord Scales and the Bastard of Burgundy,
held before Edward IV., at which the English noble had the
advantage, both mounted and on foot, with poleaxe as well
as with spear.
Many judicial combats were likewise fought at Smithfield,
and here it was that the armourer was slain by his false
servant—a picturesque incident introduced with admirable
effect by Shakespeare in the Second Part of "Henry VI."
Other occurrences of a yet more tragical character are not
wanting to deepen the interest of the spot. At the north cf
the field, and between a large pool and a track of marshy
land, grew some gigantic elms, and amidst these stately
trees stood a permanent gallows, at which the great Scottish
hero, William Wallace, was barbarously hanged, and, while
yet breathing, disembowelled and quartered. In the centre
of the field the Lollards were burnt, and on the same spot,
at a later date, numberless victims of the tyrant Henry's
rage perished in the same fearful manner.
The darkest page, however, in the annals of Smithfield,
belongs to the period under Consideration.
But Smithfield has lively as well as sombre traditions.
Here the famous ?krtholomew Fair wa? held, the humours
of which have been painted by Ben Jonson. Though the
amusements of this annual City carnival might scandalise
the present decorous generation, they suited our forefathers,
who had no objection to a little riotous excess. In the last
century, when Bartholomew Fair was at its zenith, excellent
theatrical representations were given there, and Fielding
himself had a booth at Smithfield.* However, tastes
changed. Bartholomew Fair lost its attraction, was voted a
nuisance, and finally abolished, though it lingered on till
within the last few years.
At the period of our history, Smithfield retained most of
its original features. It was still an open field without the
* See Mr. Morley's "Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair "—a work full of
curious research and delightfully written.
18
Cardinal Pole.
walls, resorted to by the citizens for purposes of recreation,
and was constantly used, as at an earlier date, for grand
military displays and for public executions. The grove of
giant elms, with the gallows in the midst, was still standing
near the pool, and no part of the broad enclosure had as yet
been encroached upon.
On the east side of the area, partially screened by a large
mansion, stood the Priory of Saint Bartholomew, a noble
religious institution, founded in the time of Henry I., by
Rahere, the King's minstrel, and which flourished until the
dissolution of the monasteries, when it was granted by
Henry VIII. to his Attorney-General, Sir Richard Rich.
The size and importance of the priory will be understood,
when it is stated that in addition to the abode and dormi¬
tories of the prior and monks, the establishment comprised
a large conventual church, refectory, hall, cloisters, courts,
and numerous offices, together with extensive gardens—
among which was a mulberry-garden. The splendid church
was partially pulled down, and the materials sold, but, on the
accession of Queen Mary, the remnant of the sacred pile,
together with other portions of the monastery, were restored
to the brotherhood of Black Canons, from whom they had
been wrested, and continued in their hands till the time of
Elizabeth, when the fraternity was ejected.
In front of the priory, as above stated, was a large and
picturesque mansion, which delighted the eye with its high
pointed roof, carved gables, richly-sculptured portals, and
mullioned windows. Adjacent to this habitation was an
ancient gateway, leading to the conventual church, over the
pointed arch of which was a tabernacle containing a statue
of Saint Bartholomew holding a knife. On the north of the
priory ran a long narrow lane, with detached houses and
gardens on either side of it, communicating with Aldersgate
Street.
On the south side of Smithfield stood the old hospital
belonging to the priory, at the rear of which was the church
of Saint Bartholomew the Less. On the west of the area
were a few scattered habitations, amongst which were three
renowned hostels, the Saint Catherine's Wheel, the King's
Head, and the Rose. Here another narrow lane, skirted 1 y
small tenements, ran down to Holborn,
Smithfield in the Sixteenth Century, 2 71
The best view of Smithfield was from the ground near the
old elm-trees. Standing there, and looking towards the
City, the prospect was exceedingly striking. On the left
was the priory, surmounted by the square tower of the con¬
ventual church, and contiguous to it the ancient hospital—a
highly picturesque structure. Further on was Saint Sepul¬
chre's. The north-western angle of the ancient City walls,
with its ramparts and battlements, was seen to great advan¬
tage from this point. Hundreds of lofty and slender spires,
graceful steeples, crocheted pinnacles, and embattled towers,
long since destroyed, met the gaze. But the grand object of
all was the venerable Gothic cathedral, with its spire, up¬
wards of five hundred feet in height, which could here be
surveyed in all its majesty and beauty.
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT PASSED IN SAINT BARTHOLOMEW'S CHURCH.
GREAT crowd had assembled in Smithfield to
witness the sad spectacle, but a circular space
was kept clear in the centre of the area exactly
opposite the ancient gateway leading to the
priory.
Within this ring, which was guarded by a double line of
halberdiers, stood a stout square oak post, about nine feet
high, driven securely into the ground, and having a heavy
iron chain attached to it by a staple. Hard by was an
immense pile of fagots, with some blocks of wood. A little
further off there was another pile, consisting of bundles of
dried reeds.
Close by the stake stood three men, of savage and
repulsive aspect, clothed in leathern jerkins and tight-fitting
hose of blood-red hue, having long iron prongs in their
hands.
As the cortege entered Smithfield, and the intended martyr
was descried, a murmur of commiseration rose from those
who sympathised with him, but it was instantly drowned
by a hurricane of fierce and exulting yells from the
Romanists.
Meantime, the mounted arquebusiers having cleared a
passage through the crowd, the long line of priests with
their banners and crosses, the recusants with the tapers, the
deprived Protestant divines, Bonner and the condemned,
passed through the gateway, and, traversing the court, pro
What Passed in Saint Bartholomew's Church
ceeded to the ancient conventual church, the bell of which
sounded dolefully the while.
At the portal they were met by the prior of the Black
Canons, with several of the brethren in their sable robes,
and conducted to the places appointed for them in the sacred
edifice.
The recusants were ranged on one side, and the Protestant
divines on the other, while the Romish priests proceeded to
the presbytery. A chair opposite the pulpit was assigned to
the doomed man, on which he sat down, with two halber¬
diers standing behind him.
On a faldstool near the altar sat Philip, who had come
there quite privately, and was only attended by his confessor,
Father Alfonso de Castro. In the choir sat Gardiner, with
some members of the council.
Beneath a circular arch, resting on massive cylindrical
pillars, near the north transept, stood Osbert Clinton, who,
having accompanied the cortege from Saint Paul's, had
entered the church at the same time with it, and stationed
himself where he could best see Constance without being
observed by the King. She soon became aware of his
presence, but only ventured occasionally to look towards
him, and then her glances yielded him little comfort.
After a brief delay, Bonner ascended the pulpit, and
taking for his text Saint Paul's words to the Galatians, "/
would they were cut off that trouble you,'1'' he preached a
violent sermon on the necessity of punishing heretics and
false brethren with death, citing many authorities in favour
of his views, and asserting that to maintain that heresy
ought to go unpunished would be to maintain that the
worst crimes should be unchastised. " Heresy," he said,
" being treason against Heaven, deserves the punishment of
treason. As such a traitor," he added, turning to Rogers,
" thou wilt be consigned to a fire, which will be to thee a
foretaste of the flames in which thou shalt burn everlast¬
ingly. Thy fate will be a terrible lesson to all who think
with thee."
" It will be a lesson to them how to testify to their faith,"
rejoined the prebend.
Bonner having descended from the pulpit, a votive mass
for taking away schism was performed by Gardiner, who
274
Cardinal Pole.
solemnly pronounced ihe oration :—Dens qui errata corrigis,
et dispersa congregas, et congregata conservas; qucesumus, super
popuhtm Christianum tuce unionis gratiatn clementer infunde:
ut divisione rejeda, vero Pastori Ecclesice iva se venies, tibi
digne valeat famulari.
Mass ended, the Dies Irce was sung by the choir of the
Black Canons, and, while this was proceeding, the cortege
began to move, passing slowly before the altar, preparatory
to quitting the church.
As before, a long array of priests with banners walked
with noiseless tread, bowing reverently as they passed the
altar. Then came the recusants, carrying their lighted
tapers, but not a knee was bent amongst them, not a head
inclined.
Last amongst these walked Constance, alone. She had
to pass close by Philip, who was seated on the faldstool,
with Gardiner and Father Alfonso beside him, and as she
approached hirn, her strength began to fail, and her knees
tottered. She tried to summon all her energies, but in vain.
In another moment she felt she must sink. Philip's gaze
was fixed steadily upon her. A desperate effort to pass
deprived her of the little strength left, and with a cry she
let fall the taper, and would have sunk upon the pavement
if the King himself had not caught her.
" Oh that I could die ! " she gasped.
"No, you must live for me, Constance," whispered Philip,
passionately.
She looked at him for a moment with mingled fear and
aversion, and then closed her eyes.
"She has swooned," said the King, consigning her to
Rodomont, who had been marching behind her. "Take her
where she can be tended."
In obedience to the injunction, Rodomont bore her to the
sacristy, where restoratives were applied by a monk, who
acted as physician to the brotherhood of the Black Canons.
This incident, as may be supposed, had not passed un¬
noticed by Osbert Clinton, whose eyes had never quitted
Constance for a moment. As she tottered and fell into the
King's arms, his agony became almost insupportable; and
when she was borne to the sacrisity by Rodomont, he would
have flown instantly to her assistance if he had dared.
What Passed in Saint Bartholomew's Church. 275
Meanwhile the cortege continued to pass slowly by the
King. The Protestant divines made him an obeisance as
they passed, but sedulously abstained from bowing to the
altar. Lastly came the intended martyr, who walked with
a firm step, and head erect.
As he came near, Gardiner commanded him to stop, and
thus addressed him : "John Rogers, somewhile priest, but
now an excommunicate person, we have striven to convert
thee, and by wholesome admonitions to reduce thee again
unto the true faith and unity of the universal Catholic
Church, but we have found thee obstinate and stiff-necked,
stedfastly continuing in thy damnable opinions and heresies,
and refusing to return to the lap of the holy mother church.
Wherefore, not being willing that thou shouldst infect the
Lord's flock with thine heresy, we have cast thee out from
the Church as an obstinate, impenitent sinner, and have
left thee to the judgment of the secular power, by whom
thou hast been justly condemned to perish by fire. The
punishment is inflicted upon thee for the salvation cf
thine own soul, and as a step towards the extirpation of
heresy."
" What consequences may follow my punishment, my
lord,none of us can tell,"rejoined Rogers; " but I am fully
prepared to die."
"Sinner as thou art, wilt thou be converted and live?"
cried Gardiner. " Here is her Majesty's pardon," he added,
showing him a scroll.
"I reject it," said Rogers, stoutly. " I maintain that the
Catholic Church of Rome is the Church of Antichrist. Item,
that in the sacrament of the altar "
" A truce to thy blasphemies," interrupted Gardiner,
furiously. "Away with him to the stake !"
" I am ready," said Rogers. " I bid you all to my funeral
pile. You shall see how a true believer can die. If I
blench, proclaim me a renegade."
Hereupon, the Protestant divines, who had listened with
great satisfaction, moved on, and Rogers followed them
with a firm step.
While this occurred, Osbert Clinton had contrived to
steal unperceived to the sacristy. Constance had just re¬
covered from her swoon. Luckily, no one was with her but
276
Cardinal Pole.
Rodomont, the monk who had tended her having just
quitted the chamber.
"Why have you come here, Sir?" cried Rodomont.
" Matters were bad enough before, but your imprudence
will make them ten times worse. If the King discovers
you, you are lost."
" I care not what happens to me," replied Osbert. " J
could not keep away. Fear nothing, Constance," he added,
" I will not quit you more."
" This is madness," cried Rodomont. " The King is
certain to come hither, and then you will be arrested. Hide
yourself in this cupboad," he added, opening the door of a
large oak ambry reared against the wall. " It only con¬
tains a few priestly vestments, and you can stand upright
within it."
But Osbert refused to move.
" Do as he recommends, I implore you," said Constance
to him. " You will throw away your life by staying with me."
"To be sure he will," rejoined Rodomont, dragging him
away, and forcing him into the ambry, the door of which
he shut.
The step was only just taken in time. In another
moment, the King came into the sacristy, and seeing that
Constance had recovered, he signed to Rodomont to leave
the chamber.
" I have much to say to you, Constance," he began, " but
this is not the moment for it. Are you still in the same
mood as when 1 saw you last. Has no change been
wrought in your sentiments ?"
" None, Sire," she replied. " I am quite happy in the
life I lead with the good Cardinal, and only pray it may
continue."
" But you still maintain your heretical opinions ?" said
the King.
"Firmly as ever, Sire."
" And does not this awful ceremonial shake you ? "
" On the contrary, it strengthens my convictions."
"All heretics are alike—all obstinate and contumacious,"
muttered Philip. " Constance, you cannot go back to the
Cardinal. He is much too lenient to you. I shall deliver
you to Bishop Bormer, who will treat you very differently."
What Passed in Saint Bartholomew's Church. 277
"Oh! Sire, do not deliver me to that cruel man. Let
me £0 back to the good Cardinal, who has been as a father
to me. Have compassion upon me."
"You have no compassion upon me, Constance,"rejoined
Philip. "You care not for my sufferings. Relent towards
me, and I will be less rigorous towards you."
"It cannot be, Sire," she rejoined.
" Be not hasty. Reflect. If I consign you to Bonner,
your fate is certain. After the execution, the sight of
which I will spare you, I will return for your answer. A
guard will be placed at the door to prevent your exit, but
no one shall disturb you. Again, I say, reflect. On your
own decision hangs your fate."
So saying, he quitted the sacristy, the door of which was
locked outside.
CHAPTER V.
the proto-martyr of the protestant church.
HE solemn proceedings we have described as
taking place in the conventual church of Saint
Bartholomew occupied more than an hour, and
during this time the concourse within Smithfield
had considerably increased. Every available inch of ground
commanding a view of the place of execution was by this
time occupied. The roofs and windows of all the habitations
overlooking the enclosure were filled, and the giant elm-trees
near the pool had hundreds among their branches.
Romanists and Protestants could be readily distinguished
from each other by their looks—the countenances of the
former being fierce and exulting in expression, while those
of the other bespoke sorrow and indignation.
On the left of the gangway leading to the priory and oppo¬
site the stake, a hrge scaffold had been erected. It was
covered with black cloth, and in front was an immense cross
embroidered in silver, underneath which was inscribed, unus
dominus, una fjdes, unum baptisma. This scaffold was in¬
tended for the recusants and Protestant divines, and was
guarded by mounted arquebusiers.
On the right of the gateway was reared a long covered
gallery, hung with crimson cloth of gold, and emblazoned
with the royal arms. This gallery was approached from the
upper windows of the mansion against which it was set, and
was reserved for the King, the bishops, and the council. It
was likewise guarded by mounted men-at-arms.
The Proto-Martyr of the Protestant Church.
279
The patience of the densely-packed crowd, eager for the
exciting spectacle it had come to witness, was well-nigh ex¬
hausted, when the solemn tolling of the bell of the conventual
church announced that, at last, the intended martyr was
coming forth. Then all noise and tumult suddenly ceased,
and deep silence fell upon the throng.
In the midst of this hush the doleful hymn chanted by
the monks could be distinctly heard. Every eye was then
directed towards the gateway. Presently the priests emerged,
carrying the crucifixes and banners, and mounting the scaf¬
fold, they ranged themselves in front of it. They were
followed by the recusants with lighted torches, who were
placed at the back of the scaffold, while the middle seats
were allotted to the Protestant divines.
All these proceedings were watched with deep interest by
the spectators. Many an eye was then cast towards the
royal gallery, but it was still vacant.
As yet nothing had been seen of the doomed man, but
now the sheriffs rode forth from the gateway, and in another
moment Rogers came after them, still maintaining his
firmness of deportment. He was preceded by half-a-dozen
halberdiers, and followed by two officers, with drawn swords
in their hands.
At this moment Philip came forth, and sat down in the
fauteuil prepared for him in the centre of the gallery. Close
behind him stood Father Alfonso, while on his right were
Gardiner and Bonner, and other prelates, and on his left the
principal members of the council.
As Philip appeared, a half-suppressed murmur arose
among the spectators, and had not their attention been
diverted by what was going on below, stronger manifesta¬
tions of dislike might have been made. Philip frowned as
these murmurs greeted him, but made no remark.
Meanwhile, Rogers continued to march resolutely towards
the place of execution—some of the spectators pitying and
comforting him, others flouting and reviling him. His firm¬
ness, however, was exposed to a sore trial at the last. His
unhappy and half-distracted wife having followed him with
her children to Smithfield, had managed to force her way
close up to the ring of halberdiers encircling the stake; and
as he came up, aided by some charitable persons near her,
Cardinal Pole.
who drew aside to let her pass, she burst forth, and ere she
couid be prevented, flung herself into his arms, and was
strained to his breast, while his children clung to his
knees.
But this agonising scene, which moved most of those who
beheld it, whatever their religious opinions might be, was of
brief duration. Seeing what had occurred, Sheriff YVood-
rooffe turned fiercely round, and roared out, " What 1 here
again, thou pestilent woman ! Pluck her from him, and
take her and her children from the ground."
" Go, dear wife and children," cried Rogers. " We shall
meet again in a better world, where none will trouble us.
Farewell for a little while—only a little while ! My bless¬
ing be upon you ! "
" I will not leave you. I will die with you," shrieked his
unhappy wife.
" Let these cruel men kill us also," cried one of the younger
children—a little girl. "We do not desire to live."
" Pluck them away instantly, I say," roared Woodrooffe.
" Why do you hesitate ? Do you sympathise with these
heretics ? "
"Gently Sirs, gently," said Rogers. "See ye not she
faints. Farewell, dear wife," he continued, kissing her
marble cheek. "You can take her now. She will not
struggle more. Be of good cheer, my children. We shall
meet again in heaven. Once more, farewell."
As his swooning wife and weeping children were taken
away, he covered his face with his hands, and wept aloud,
but, roused by the angry voice of the sheriff, he lifted up his
head, and, brushing the tears from his eyes, marched with
firm footsteps into the ring, in the midst of which was planted
the stake. No sooner had he come there than a priest
advanced towards him, and, holding up a crucifix, besought
him to repent.
But Rogers pushed him aside, and, turning to the assem¬
blage, called out with a loud voice,—
" Good people, having taught you nothing but God's holy
word, and such lessons as I have learnt from His blessed
book, the Holy Bible, I am come hither to seal my faith
with my blood."
" Have done, thou false knave !" cried YVoodroofife, " or I
The Proto-Martyr of the Protestant Church. 281
will have thy lying tongue torn from thy throat. Make
ready. Thou hast detained us long enough."
"Nay, treat him not thus harshly," interposed the priest.
Again, I implore you to renounce your errors."
"You waste time with him, good father," cried the sheriff.
"Not so," rejoined the priest. "Perchance, even now,
Heaven may soften his heart."
" I pray you let me be," said Rogers, taking a Prayer-
book from his breast, and turning the leaves.
"Thou shalt not read that book," cried the sheriff,
snatching it from him. " I will cast it into the fire with
thee. Make ready, I say."
On this Rogers went up to the stake, and pressing his
lips fervently to it, exclaimed, " Welcome the cross of
Christ! Welcome eternal life !"
On turning round, he would have addressed a few more
words to the people, but the sheriff, perceiving his design,
authoritatively forbade him.
Then one of the men standing near the stake came up
and besought his forgiveness.
"Forgiveness for what?" rejoined Rogers. "Thou hast
done me no injury that I know of."
" I am one of those appointed to burn you," replied the
man.
" Nay, then, I freely forgive thee, good fellow," replied
Rogers. "And I will give thee thanks also, if thou wilt
heap plenty of wood about me."
With that he took off his gown and doublet, and bestowed
them upon the man. Then, kneeling down by the stake, he
passed a few moments in deep and earnest prayer; after
which he arose, and said, in a firm voice, ' I am ready."
Thereupon, a smith and his man, who were in attendance .
with the sheriffs, stepped forward, and putting the chain
around him, fastened it at the back of the stake. An iron
hoop was likewise passed around his body, and nailed to
the post.
Then the men with the prongs began to pile the faggots
around him, mingling them with bundles of reeds.
"Are your fagots dry ? " he inquired, as they were thus
engaged.
" Ay, marry are they," replied the man to whom he had
282
Cardmal Pole.
given his cloak and doublet. "You shall not be long a-
burning, I'll warrant you."
When sufficient fagots had been heaped around him,
Sheriff Woodrooffe called for torches, which were brought,
but ere they could be applied, the priest again interposed.
" Hold yet a moment," he exclaimed.
Then advancing towards the martyr, who, chained to the
stake and half covered by the fagots, regarded him
steadily, he displayed a warrant to him, and said, " Here is
the Queen's pardon. Recant, I conjure thee, and thou
shalt be spared."
"Away with thee, tempter ! " exclaimed Rogers. " I take
you all to witness," he added, with a loud voice, "that I die
in the Protestant faith."
" Kindle the pile instantly ! " vociferated the sheriff.
Three blazing torches were then applied to the bundles of
reeds, and the next moment the flames leaped up and
enveloped the martyr.
Many of the beholders shouted and exulted at the terrific
spectacle, but groans and lamentations burst from others.
Then the flame fell for a moment, and the serene counte¬
nance of the martyr could be descried, his lips moving in
prayer. But not a groan or a cry escaped him.
The fagots now began to crackle and blaze. The flames
mounted higher and higher, and again wrapt the martyr
from view.
At this moment the sheriff threw the Prayer-book into the
fire, commanding the assistants to heap on fresh fagots as
fast as the others were consumed; and this was continued
till the sufferer was reduced to ashes.
Thus died the Proto-martyr of the Protestant Church.
?£nfo of tf)e jFoutti) 13oo'k.
BOOK V.
THE INSURRECTION.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT PASSED BETWEEN OSBERT AND CONSTANCE IN TTL6
SACRISTY.
N the King's depaiture from the sacristy, as pre¬
viously narrated, Constance immediately released
Osbert from the ambry, and the unhappy lovers,
rushing into each other's arms, forgot for a short
space the perilous position in which they were placed. At
last, Osbert, partially disengaging himself from the mistress
of his heart, exclaimed with bitterness,—
" What have we done that we should suffer thus severely ?
Heaven seems never weary of persecuting us. Yet we have
committed no fault save that of loving each other."
"Alas!" cried Constance, "it would seem that we are
never to be united on earth, since we meet only for a mo¬
ment, to be torn asunder. We must look for happiness
beyond the grave."
" That is but cold comfort, Constance," cried Osbert. " I
cling to life and hope. I yet hope to make you my bride,
and to spend years in your society—happy, happy years,
which shall make amends for all the misery we have under¬
gone."
284
Cardinal Po 'e.
" It would indeed be bliss to dwell together as you s. J*
replied Constance ; " but fate opposes us, and to struggle
against our destiny would be vain. The trials we experience
are given us for our benefit, and ought to be borne cheer¬
fully. At this very moment, within a short distance of us, a
martyr is purchasing, by a cruel death, a crown of glory and
a place in heaven. Hark to those cries !" she exclaimed, as
shouts were heard without; " perchance he is now bound to
the stake. I am thankful to be spared the frightful spectacle,
but I can pray for him here."
And she knelt down on the pavement, and prayed aloud.
While she was thus engaged, Osbert glanced anxiously
around in search of some means of escape, but could dis¬
cover none. The sacristy was lighted by two lancet-shaped
windows, but they were narrow, and barred outside.
" Despair !" he exclaimed, in half-frenzied accents, as his
search concluded. " Flight is impossible. We are lost."
But Constance's thoughts were with the martyr in Smith-
field, and the appalling scene seemed to be passing before
her eyes. Suddenly she shrieked out, " The fire is kindled.
I can see the red reflection of the flames through yonder
windows. Oh, it is horrible. Would I were back with the
good Cardinal!"
" Would you were !" ejaculated Osbert. " But I fear you
will never behold him more. The King will be here pre¬
sently, and will require an answer. What will you say to
him ?."
" Say ! What shall I say ? " cried Constance, bewildered.
"Ask me not," rejoined Osbert, in a sombre voice. " Take
this dagger," he added, placing a poignard in her hand.
" Conceal it about your person. You may need it."
" This dagger !" she cried, regarding the weapon. " What
am I to do with it ?"
" Should the worst befall, plunge it in the King's heart, or
your own," he rejoined.
" I cannot," she replied, letting the poignard fall upon the
pavement. " I will not commit a crime that would doom me
to perdition. Were I, in a moment of desperation, to do as
you suggest, all hope of our reunion in a better world would
be over. Then, indeed, I should be lost to you for ever."
" But this inexorable demon will be here anon," cried
What Passed Between Osbert and Constance. 285
Osbert, picking up the dagger. " The thought drives me
mad.. Would that these strong walls would crack asunder
to let us pass, or the floor yawn and swallow us up. Any¬
thing to avoid him."
" Fresh shouts ! more light against yon windows ! They
are adding fuel to the fire ! " cried Constance. " 'Twill be
over soon."
"And then the King will come hither," said Osbert.
" Are you prepared for him ? "
"Fully prepared," she rejoined. "Return to your place
of concealment, lest he should appear suddenly."
"No, I will remain her.j, and brave his anger," said
Osbert.
" Oh, do not act thus rashly!" she exclaimed. " You can
render me no aid, a?.d will only place yourself in needless
peril."
" I have no desire to live. Let the tyrant wreak his ut¬
most vengeance upon me if he will. Ha ! he comes," he
cried, as the key grated in the lock, and the door opened.
It was not the King, however, but Rodomont Bittern who
entered.
"Just as I expected !" exclaimed Rodomont. " Prudence
is not to be looked for in a lover. I was certain 1 should
find you talking to your mistress, and therefore I came to
warn you that the King will be here directly. Back to the
ambry at once."
"No more hiding for me," returned Osbert. "I shall
remain where I am."
"And be sent to the Tower, and have your head chopped
off for your pains," observed Rodomont. " What service
will that do to Mistress Constance ? "
" It will only tend to make me more wretched," she
rejoined. " If you love me," she added to Osbert, "you will
not expose yourself to this great danger."
" There, you cannot resist that!" cried Rodomont.
"Back to the ambry at once," he continued, pushing him
towards it. " And as you value your head, do not stir till
the coast is clear."
" I cannot answer for myself," remarked Osbert, as he got
into the cupboard. "A word from the King will bring me
forth."
19
2 86
Cardinal Pole.
" Then I'll answer for you," said Rodomont, locking the
ambry, and taking away the key. " That's the only chance
of keeping him out of harm's way. Be not cast down, fair
mistress," he added to Constance. "The Cardinal will
protect you."
" Were I with him, I should have no fear," she replied.
" He would shield me against all wrong ; but I am now in
the King's power, and he has threatened to deliver me to
Bishop Bonner."
"And if his Majesty should so dispose of you, 'twill be
but a brief confinement, for the Cardinal will speedily have
you back. So be of good cheer. But hist! there is a stir
within the church. The dread ceremony is over. I must
leave you, or the King will find me here. Keep up your
courage, I say."
With this he quitted the chamber, and made fast the d.'Gt
outside.
CHAPTER II.
HOW FATHER ALFONSO INTERPOSED IN CONSTANCE'S BEHALF.
FTER a brief interval, but which appeared like an
age to Constance, the door was again thrown
open, and Philip entered the sacristy. To judge
by his looks, no one would have supposed that he
was fresh from the terrible spectacle he had just witnessed.
"One would think that burning must be pleasant to those
tainted with heresy," he observed. " The wretch who has
just suffered for his contumely smiled as the pile was lighted.
But it was not to speak of him that I came here, but of your¬
self, Constance. Have you reflected ? "
" I did not need to reflect, Sire. My determination was
instantly formed, and is unalterable.''
"You will regret it, Constance—bitterly regret it. Con¬
sider what you sacrifice—life, and all that can render life
attractive—for a solitary cell, and a fiery death in Smith-
field."
" I require no consideration, Sire. I choose the dungeon
and the stake."
"Yet a moment," urged Philip. " Bishop Bonner is with¬
out, but I am unwilling to summon him."
"Do not hesitate, Sire. I have said that my determina¬
tion is unalterable."
After regarding her stedfastly for a few moments, and
perceiving that she manifested no symptoms of relenting,
Philip moved slowly towards the door, and, on reaching it,
paused and again looked at her fixedly But, as she still
288
Cardinal Pole.
continued firm, he summoned Bonner, who immediately
afterwards entered with Father Alfonso. The bishop's
features were flushed with triumph, but the Spanish friar
appeared grave and sad, and his cheeks were almost livid
in hue.
" Here is another obstinate heretic for you, my lord," said
the King, pointing to Constance. "Take her, and see what
you can do with her."
" If the Lord Cardinal and your Majesty have failed in
bringing her to reason, I shall stand but a poor chance of
doing so," replied Bonner. "Nevertheless, I will essay.
You must not expect the same gentle treatment from me,
mistress," he added, in a harsh voice, to Constance, "that
you have lately experienced from the Cardinal."
" I do not expect it, my lord," she rejoined.
" He has been far too indulgent," pursued Bonner. "You
have been free to roam about the palace gardens—have had
your own attendants and your own chamber, as if you were
the Cardinal's guest, and not his prisoner—have been
exempted from mass, and other privileges, wholly incon¬
sistent with your state. None of these immunities will you
enjoy with me. You will have no garden to walk in, but a
prison court with high walls—no dainty and luxurious
chamber, but a close cell—no better fare than bread and
water—no attendant save the gaoler—none to converse with
except the priest. This is the plan I shall pursue with you.
If it fails, and you continue obstinate, you need not be
reminded of your doom."
For a moment there was a pause. Constance then
addressed herself to the King, and, speaking with a spirit
which she had never previously displayed before him, said,
'• I protest against this course, Sire. If I am a prisoner at
all, I am the Lord Cardinal's prisoner. I was placed in his
Eminence's charge by the Queen's Majesty, and I demand
to be taken back to him. If I be not, but be illegally and
unjustly detained by the bishop, let his lordship look to it,
for assuredly he will have to render a strict account to the
Cardinal. I have been brought hither in virtue of a warrant
from her Majesty, which compels my attendance at this
execution, but the warrant declares that I am to be taken
back, and this the bishop engaged to do."
How Father Alfonso Interposed.
"Is this so?" demanded Philip.
"I cannot deny it," replied Bonner; "but your Majesty
can overrule the order."
" The King will not follow such ill counsel," said Con¬
stance. " If I be not taken back in accordance with the
warrant, both her Majesty and the Cardinal will be sore
displeased."
"The damsel speaks boldly yet truthfully, Sire," inter¬
posed Father Alfonso, " and has right on her side. The
bishop admits that she was brought here under her Majesty's
warrant, and does not deny that he undertook to take her
back to the Cardinal. If this be not done, his Eminence
will have just ground of displeasure. Furthermore, since
Mistress Constance was placed by the Queen under the
Cardinal's charge, her Majesty's consent must be obtained
ere she can be removed."
"But the King can set at nought the warrant," cried
Bonner, " and can remove the damsel from the Cardinal's
charge if he thinks fit."
"Doubtless his Majesty can act as he may deem meet,"
rejoined Father Alfonso; " but your lordship can scarce
expect to escape blame in the affair. The Queen is certain
to resent the disrespect shown to her authority, and the
Cardinal will be equally indignant at the interference with
him. Both will visit their displeasure on your head."
" But you will hold me harmless, Sire ? " said Bonner.
"Nay, my lord, 1 care not to quarrel with the Cardinal,"
rejoined Philip. " You must bear the brunt of his anger."
"And also of the Queen's displeasure," remarked Father
Alfonso. "Her Majesty takes great interest in this damsel,
and had a special design in placing her under the Cardinal's
care. If her plan be thwarted "
" Enough, good father, enough !" interrupted Bonner.
"Unsupported by your Majesty, I dare not act in opposition
to the Queen and the Cardinal, and consequently Mistress
Constance must go back to Lambeth Palace."
"Thank Heaven I am saved!" exclaimed Constance,
clasping her hands fervently.
" Be not too sure of that," muttered Bonner, with the
growl of a tiger robbed of his prey.
"Your lordship is right," observed Philip, who for a
2go
Cardinal Pole.
moment had been buried in thought. " Direct opposition
to the Cardinal might be fraught with ill consequences.
Let Mistress Constance go back to Lambeth Palace. But
ere many days—perchance to-morrow—the Cardinal shall
be compelled to yield her up to you. The Queen herself
shall give you the order."
" 1 do not think her Majesty will sign such an order,"
observed Father Alfonso.
" Be content, my lord, you shall have it," said the King
significantly to Bonner.
"There is another prisoner in the Lollards' Tower whom
I would fain have, Sire," observed the bishop.
"You mean the crazy fanatic, Derrick Carver," rejoined
Philip. " He shall be given up to you at the same time as
Constance. Come to Whitehall betimes to-morrow, and I
will procure you the warrant from her Majesty. Meanwhile,
let Constance go back."
"Your injunctions shall be obeyed, Sire. Ere long, I
hope to offer your Majesty a grand auto-da-fe at Smithfield."
" If his Majesty will be guided by me, he will not attend
another such dreadful execution as we have this day wit¬
nessed," observed Father Alfonso.
"Why so, father?" demanded the King.
" Because you will infallibly lose your popularity with the
nation, Sire," said Father Alfonso. " The odium of these
executions will attach to you, instead of to their authors."
" There is something in this," observed Philip, thought¬
fully. "We will talk of it anon. Farewell, my lord. To¬
morrow morning at Whitehall." And with a glance at
Constance, he quitted the sacristy, attended by his con¬
fessor.
After addressing a few harsh words to Constance, for
whom he seemed to have conceived an extraordinary anti¬
pathy, Bonner likewise quitted the chamber.
Shortly afterwards Rodomont entered, and hurrying to
the ambry, unlocked it, and set Osbert free.
Again the unhappy lovers rushed into each other's arms,
but Rodomont thought it necessary to interpose, saying
tnere was no time for the indulgence of such transports now,
but urging them to bid each other farewell.
" You heard what has passed just now," remarked Con-
Hoit Father Alfonso Interposed, 291
stance to Osbert; " I am to be taken back to the good
Cardinal."
" True ; but to-morrow he will be compelled to. surrender
you to Bonner," rejoined Osbert.
" Do not believe it, fair mistress," said Rodomont. " His
Eminence will protect you. You have escaped many diffi¬
culties, and may be equally fortunate now. You are to
return with the procession to Saint Paul's, after which you
will be taken to Lambeth Palace."
" Farewell, Constance," said Osbert, straining her to his
breast.
" Make haste !" cried Rodomont, impatiently, " or we
shall have the guard here, and then there will be a fresh
entanglement. Methinks I hear their footsteps. Quick !
quick !"
" I come," rejoined Constance.
And tearing herself from her lover, she followed him out
of the sacristy. The door being left open, Osbert allowed
a brief interval to elapse, and then issued forth into die
church which by this tinY was well-nigh deserted.
CHAPTER III.
HOW OSBERT WAS INDUCED TO"'JOIN A CONSPIRACY,
MONGST those who witnessed the burning of
Rogers was the French ambassador. On quitting
Smithfield, he repaired to the court adjoining the
conventual church, and was watching the
religious procession set out on its return to Saint Paul's,
when he noticed Osbert Clinton, whose eyes were following
the retreating figure of Constance. Approaching him, De
Noailles said, in a iow voice, "I am soiry to see poor
Constance Tyrrell among those recusants. Has she been
delivered over to Bonner's chambre ardenteV
"Not as yet," rejoined Osbert, in a troubled tone.
"I trust she never may be," said De Noailles, "for
Bonner has no pity for a he:etic. Youth and beauty
weigh very little with him. 'Tis enough to drive one mad
to think that so lovely a creature should be his victim !"
"She never shall be !" exclaimed Osbert, moodily.
"How will you hinder it?" said De Noailles. "Can you
snatch her from his grasp if he once secures her? Can you
unlock the prison in which she will be immured? Dare
you even approach her now ? How, then, will you be able
to free her, when she is led to the stake, escorted by a
guard as strong as that which accompanied the poor wretch
who has just been sacrificed?"
"Torture me not thus!" cried Osbert. "I feel as though
I could sell myself to perdition to accomplish her deliver¬
ance."
How Osbert was Induced to Join a Conspiracy. 293
"You shall not need to do that," observed De Noailles,
perceiving that Osbert was in the right frame of mind for
his purpose. " Now listen to me. A plot is hatching,
having for its object the overthrow of Philip, the deposition
of Mary, and the restoration of the Protestant faith, as a
guarantee for which the Princess Elizabeth is to be pro¬
claimed Queen. With this movement all the heads of the
Protestant party are connected, and only await a favourable
moment for an outbreak. That moment is at hand. The
execution which has just taken place is but the prelude to
others equally dreadful. In a few days Bishop Hooper will
be burnt at Gloucester, Saunders at Coventry, and Taylor
at Hadley; and, ere the month be out, others will swell the
fearful catalogue. Thoroughly alaimed, the Protestants
feel that, if they do not offer prompt and effectual resistance,
they will be exterminated. It is certain, therefore, that
they will all rise when called upon, and, if well managed,
the scheme cannot fail of success."
" What has this plot to do with Constance Tyrrell ?"
demanded Osbert.
" Much," replied the other. "Join us, and I will engage
to procure her liberation."
"On those terms I will join you," said Osbert. "What
would you have me do ? "
" I cannot explain our plans now. But meet me to
morrow, at midnight, in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey,
and I will introduce you to the chief conspirators."
"I will be there at the hour appointed," said Osbert.
" Till then, farewell ! "
And moving away, he followed the procession to Saint
Paul's, leaving De Noai.les well satisfied with his manoeuvre.
CHAPTER IV.
"WHAT PHILIP HEARD WHILE CONCEALED BEHIND
THE ARRAS.
EXT day in the forenoon, Bishop Bonner repaired
*° Whitehall Palace, and found the King in a
cabinet communicating with the great gallery.
Philip was seated at a table covered with dis¬
patches, and near him stood Rodomont Bittern, with whom
he was conversing.
" I am glad you are come, my lord," said the King to
Bonner, as the latter entered the cabinet. " This gentle¬
man is the bearer of a letter from the Lord Cardinal to her
Majesty, in which his Eminence solicits an audience of her
on a matter of importance. The Cardinal will be here at
neon, and the important matter on which he comes relates
to the delivery of Constance Tyrrell to your lordship. Is it
not so, Sir?" he added to Rodomont.
" It is, my liege," replied the other. " His Eminence is
unwilling to give up the maiden, and desires to ascertain
the Queen's pleasure on the subject. As I have already
told your Majesty, the Cardinal was much troubled on
learning from Mistress Constance what had befallen her
and he declared that unless he had the Queen's positive
commands to that effect he would not surrender her to the
ecclesiastical commissioners. I do not think I ever saw
him more moved."
" I make no doubt that his Eminence blamed me, Sir,'"
remarked Bonner.
What Philip Heard while Behind the Arras. 295
"To speak truth, my lord, he did," replied Rodomont;
" and he said plainly to Lord Pxiuli that you should not
have the damsel."
"Your Majesty hears that?" cried Bonner. "This proud
Cardinal defies your authority."
" Nay, there was no defiance on his Eminence's part of
the King's Highness," observed Rodomont, " but only of
your lordship. _ The representative of his Holiness, he said,
should not be insulted with impunity, and he added some
words which I care not to repeat, but they spoke of repri¬
mands, censures, and possible privation of dignity."
" His Eminence takes up the matter with great warmth,"
observed Bonner, uneasily.
" I have never known him so put out before," said Rodo¬
mont. " He paced to and fro within his chamber for an
hour, and the Lord Priuli could scarce pacify him. This
morning, after an interview with Mistress Constance, his
anger broke out afresh, and he dispatched me with a letter
to her Majesty, craving an audience at noon. This is all I
have to state. I have thought it right to warn your lord¬
ship that if you think fit to persist in the matter, you may
know what to expect."
"Enough, Sir," observed the King. "You may with¬
draw."
Rodomont bowed and retired, laughing in his sleeve at
the fright he had given Bonner. " Heaven forgive me for
making a bugbear of the good Cardinal," he muttered ;
"but the trick seems to have succeeded."
"So, the Cardinal is determined to try his strength with
us," observed Philip, as soon as he and Bonner were left
alone."
" I must beg to retire from the contest, Sire," replied the
bishop. " Whoever wins, I am sure to lose by it."
"Tut! I will bear you harmless," rejoined the King.
" But the Cardinal will be here anon. I must prepare the
Queen for his arrival."
"I would your Majesty could be prevailed upon to
abandon this design," observed Bonner. " It will lead to
nothing save trouble and confusion. Ever after I shah
have the Cardinal for an enemy."
"You alarm you'self needlessly," rejoined Philip. "That
296
Cardinal Pole.
knave purposely exaggerated his master's anger. The Car¬
dinal knows full well that the act is mine, and not your
lordship's."
With this, he passed through a side-door, and, accom¬
panied by the bishop, entered a large and magnificently
furnished apartment, embellished with portraits of Henry
VIII. and his family. No one was within this superb room,
and after traversing it, the King and Bonner reached an
ante-chamber, in which were assembled a number of pages,
esquires, and ushers in the royal livery.
On seeing the King, these personages drew up and bowed
reverently as he passed, while two gentleman ushers, each
bearing a white wand, marshalled him ceremoniously towards
the entrance of the Queen's apartments, before which stood
a couple of tall yeomen of the guard with halberds in their
hands.
As he approached this door, Sir John Gage came forth,
and Philip inquired if the Queen was alone. The Lord
Chamberlain replied in the affirmative, but added that Car¬
dinal Pole was momentarily expected, and that he himself
had come forth to receive his Eminence.
" It is well," replied Philip. "When the Cardinal comes,
do not mention to him that I am with her Majesty. I pray
your Lordship to remain here till you are summoned," he
added to Bonner.
With this he passed through the door, which was thrown
open by the ushers, and entered the Queen's chamber—a
spacious apartment, richly furnished, hung with tapestry,
and adorned with many noble pictures, chief among which
were portraits of the Queen's ill-fated mother by Holbein,
and of her royal husband by Sir Antonio More.
Mary was seated at a table placed near a deep bay-
window. She occupied a large armed-chair, and was
reading a book of devotions. Her attire was of purple
velvet, and a coif set with precious stones adorned her head.
A smile lighted up her pallid countenance on the King's
entrance.
" I give your Majesty good-day," she said. "To what do
1 owe the pleasure of this visit ? "
"You expect the Cardinal," rejoined Philip, abruptly and
sternly. " Do you know what brings him here ? "
What Philip Heard while Behind the Arras 297
" I do not," she answered, "JBut I shall be glad to see
him, as I desire to consult him as to the restitution of the
Church property vested in the crown during the King my
father's reign."
" Reserve that for another occasion, Madam," said Philip.
" The Cardinal's errand relates to Constance Tyrrell."
" Ha ! " exclaimed Mary, startled. " What has he to
say concerning her ? "
"That you will learn on his arrival," rejoined Philip.
"But it is my pleasure that she be removed from his custody
and delivered to Bishop Bonner."
"Then his Eminence has failed to reclaim her?"
"Signally. Nothing remains but to try extreme rigour,
and if that will not effect her conversion, the laws she has
offended must deal with her."
" I pity this unhappy maiden, albeit she continues obsti¬
nate," said Mary. " Be not angry if I tell you that I
designed to marry her to your secretary, Osbert Clinton, to
whom she is betrothed "
"She shall never wed him," said Philip, harshly. "Why
should you meddle in the matter? Has Osbert Clinton
dared to prefer this request to you?"
"No, on my soul," replied Mary. "But I know the girl
loves him tenderly, and, had she recanted, it was my design
to reward her with the husband of her choice."
" But she does not recant, I tell you, Madam," cried
Philip, " so it is idle to speculate on what might have
been. It is my will that she be delivered up to Bonner.
But the order must proceed from yourself, not from me.
Thus, when the Cardinal comes, you will be prepared with
an answer to him."
" But let me first hear what he has to urge," objected
the Queen.
" No matter what he urges," rejoined Philip. " Lay your
commands upon him, as I have intimated. Nay, I will be
obeyed," he added, authoritatively.
Mary sighed, but made no further remonstrance.
" The Cardinal must be at hand," continued Philip. " By
your leave, I will be an unseen witness of the interview."
And he stepped behind the arras, near which the Queen
was seated.
298
Cardinal Pole.
"He distrusts me," murmured Mary; " and, in soetl, he
has imposed a most painful task upon me."
Shortly afterwards, the Cardinal was announced, and,
greeting him kindly, the Queen begged him to take a seat
by her side.
" If your Majesty has heard what occurred yesterday in
Saint Bartholomew's Church at Smithfield," premised Pole,
" you will guess the object of my visit. Constance Tyrrell,
whom you confided to my charge, and whom I yet hope to
reclaim, is to be wrested fiom me. But I shall refuse to
deliver her up."
"Your Eminence must needs comply with my order,"
said Mary.
"True, Madam," replied the Cardinal. "But I do not
believe you will give any such order, when I say that in
surrendering her I shall only be consigning her to infamy
and dishonour."
" I pray your Eminence to explain yourself," said Mary.
" It is painful to me to speak out," replied Pole, " but I
cannot allow this unhappy maiden to be sacrificed. She
has opened her heart to me, and has confessed all. Blinded
by an insane and wicked passion for her, the King, since his
first accidental meeting with her at Southampton, has never
ceased to persecute her with his dishonourable solicitations.
Yesterday, during that dread ceremonial, when, terrified and
fainting, she was borne into the sacristy of Saint Bartho¬
lomew's Church, he renewed his unholy suit, and bade her
choose between his love and deliverance up to Bishop
Bonner. I doubt not that she would sustain this tiial, as
she has sustained others. I do not think that imprisonment
or torture would shake her. But why should she be exposed
to such treatment. Madam, this is not the case of an
heretical offender. Constance Tyrrell is to be imprisoned,
is to be tortured, is perhaps to suffer a fiery death, not on
account of her religious opinions, but because she has virtue
enough to resist the King. Madam, such wrong shall not
be, while I can raise mv voice against it."
" It shall not be," said Mary. " Is Bonner a party to
this foul transaction ? If so, as I live, I will strip him of
his priestly robes."
"No, Madam," replied Pole. "I must acquit Bonner of
What Philip Heard while Behind the Arras.
any complicity in the affair. He merely looks for a
victim."
"He shall not find one in Constance Tyrrell,"said Mary,
"My heart bleeds for her."
"Well it may, Madam," replied Pole. "A sad fatality
has rested upon her ever since the King's arrival m South¬
ampton, when her marvellous beauty attracted his attention,
and excited a passion which nothing apparently can
subdue."
" He saw her before he beheld me, and loved her better
than he loved me ! " cried Mary, bitterly. " Something of
this 1 suspected, but I thought 1 had removed her from his
influence by taking her with me to Winchester."
"Ay, but the King contrived to obtain a secret interview
with the damsel before your departure, 'said Pole, "and
this is the only part of her conduct that deserves censure.
Moved by his passionate words and captivating manner,
which few could resist, she listened to him, and at last
owned she loved him, or thought she loved him."
" Oh, I know his power ! " cried Mary. " He exercised
the same fascination over me."
"But withdrawn from his baneful influence, poor Con¬
stance bitterly repented of the error into which she had been
led, and, by the advice of Father Jerome, the good priest of
Saint Catherine's chapel at Winchester, to whom she con¬
fessed her fault, she left with him a tablet of gold, enriched
with precious stones, which had been given her by the King
as a gage of love. By Father Jerome's advice, also, she
quitted Winchester and returned to her father at South¬
ampton, the good priest dreading lest, if she remained with
your Majesty, she might Be exposed to further temptation."
"Father Jerome did right," said Mary; "and, perchance,
he saved her from dishonour."
"Up to this time, Constance had been a zealous
Catholic," pursued Pole; " but, while attending Derrick
Carver at the Hospital of the Domus Dei at Southampton,
she imbibed his pernicious doctrines, and embraced the
Reiormed faith. This deplorable change, I fear, is
attributable to the King."
" Methinks your Eminence is unjust there," observed
Mary.
3°°
Cardinal Pole.
" My grounds for the opinion are these," replied Pole.
"Constance's nature is devout and impressionable. Full of
grief and remorse, she was thrown into the way of Carver,
who took advantage of her troubled state of mind to accom¬
plish her conversion. Had I met her at that time she would
not have been lost to us, and I still trust she may be re-
cov ere h With the rest of her history your Majesty is
acquamted. It is a series of misfortunes ; neither does it
seem likely she will ever be wedded to him she loves.
Happy had it been for her that she had never excited the
King's love ! Happy had it been for her that her faith had
tot been unsettled, and that she had been able to pass her
life in holy and tranquil retirement. But her destiny was
otherwise. She has abjured her religion—she has lost her
father's affection—she has endured imprisonment—but,
though sorely tempted, she has not sinned. Be it yours,
gracious Madam, to preserve her from further suffering—
from further temptation."
"What can I do?" cried Mary. " I have promised the
King an order for her removal from your Eminence, and
deliverance up to Bonner."
" Madam, if that order be given and acted upon, I shall
resist it," replied Pole.
" Heaven aid me !" exclaimed the Queen. "I am sorely
perplexed, and know not how to act for the best."
" Consult the King, your husband, Madam," rejoined the
Cardinal. "Tell him what I have told you, and of my
resolution."
" I shall not need to be told," said Philip, coming from
behind the arras. " I have heard all that has passed be¬
tween you and her Majesty."
" I shrink from nothing I have uttered, Sire," rejoined
Pole. " I should have spoken with equal freedom had you
stood before me. But I beseech you pursue not this matter
further. Consequences you may not foresee will flow from
it. You will array against you a force stronger than you
can resist. I may be compelled to yield, but my voice will
be heard, and its echoes may shake your throne to its
foundations."
" Your Eminence menaces me," cried Philip, sternly.
" No, Sire, I warn you," rejoined the Cardinal, with dig-
What Philip Heard while Behind the Arras.
301
nity. "You are on a perilous path, from which it were wise
to turn back."
" Your Eminence seems to have forgotten your former
experiences, and how you fared in your struggle with her
Majesty's royal father," observed Philip. " In those days
the priesthood received a lesson from the crown which it
would be well if they remembered. The proudest of them,
Wolsey, was hurled from his high place. I warn you, there¬
fore of your danger before you enter upon a conflict with
me. What Henry VIII. accomplished may be done again.
If the priesthood wax insolent they may be crushed. The
Papal authority has been just restored, but it can be easily
shaken off again. Your Eminence has but recently returned
from a long exile, and you may have to endure a second
banishment."
" I shall do my duty without fear, Sire," replied Pole,
firmly. " I well know what my resistance to the will of
King Henry cost me. Because he could not reach me he
struck at those most dear to me—at my sainted mother, the
Countess of Salisbury, at my beloved brother, the Lord
Montague, at my friends the Marquis of Exeter and Sir
Edward Nevil, and at the young and gallant Earl of Surrey.
On all these he wreaked the vengeance which ought to have
alighted on my head. But I shall not fly now. I shall stay
to answer for my acts in person."
"Pshaw! " exclaimed Philip, changing his tone. "Your
Eminence takes the matter too seriously. I desire no quarrel
with you, or with the Church. It would be idle to do so on
an affair so trifling as the present."
" The affair is not trifling, Sire," rejoined Pole. " The
liberty, the honour, the life of a poor damsel are at
stake."
" That is your Eminence's version of the business," said
Philip. "You are simply protecting a heretic. I counsel
you to give up the girl peaceably. 'Twill be best."
" I have already stated my determination, Sire," rejoined
Pole. " Madam, I take my leave."
" Stop, my Lord Cardinal," cried Mary. " Depart not
thus, I beseech you. For my sake, tarry a few minutes
longer. Perchance his Majesty may relent."
"I would tarry till midnight if I thought so," replied
20
3°2
Cardinal Pole.
Pole. "Oh, Sire," he added to Phillip, "let me make a
final appeal to the latent generosity and goodness of your
nature. You have many high and noble qualities, inherited
from your august father. Let me sway you now. Be not
governed by wild and unhallowed pa,sions, the gratifica¬
tion of which will endanger your eternal welfare. If you
sin, you must not hope to escape chastisement; and as
your sin will be great, so will your chastisement be severe.
Wrongs, such as you would inflict upon her Majesty, are
visited with Heaven's direst wrath, and years of prayer
and penance will not procure you pardon. Cast off these
delusions and snares. You are fortunately united to a
Queen as eminent for virtue as for rank, whose heart is
entirely given to you, and who has just proved that she
will obey you in all things. In every respect she is worthy
of your love. She is your equal in birth, devout and
pure, a loving wife, and a great Queen. To sacrifice her
true and holy affection for lighter love would be un¬
pardonable ingratitude. In all the highest qualifications
of a woman, as purity, piety, judgment, discretion, dignity,
none can surpass your consort, and you must be insensible
indeed not to estimate her merits aright."
" I do estimate them—estimate them at their true worth,"
cried Philip. "Your Eminence has roused the better nature
in me, and made me sensible of my faults, and ashamed of
them. Forgive me, Madam," he added to Mary.
And as he spoke he approached the Queen, who threw
her arms fondly about his neck, exclaiming, " Oh, my good
Lord Cardinal, I owe this happiness to you."
" I am equally beholden to his Eminence," said Philip.
" He has spoken the truth to me, and awakened me to a
sense of my folly."
" I have called your Majesty's good feelings into play, that
is all," rejoined Pole. " Plenceforth, I trust that nothing
will disturb the good understanding that ought to subsist
between you and your royal consort. Pardon rne if I press
you further, Sire. Your heart being opened to kindly emo¬
tions, you will not refuse to listen to me. It is in your
power to make ample amends to poor Constance Tyrrell for
the misery she has endured, by giving your consent to her
marriage with Osbert Clinton."
What Philip Heard while Behind the Arras. 303
" I will add my entreaties to those of the Cardinal," said
the Queen. " Let it be so, I pray you."
" If your Eminence will reclaim her from heresy I will not
refuse my consent," replied Philip.
"I ask no more," rejoined Pole; "and I trust their nup¬
tials will not long be delayed."
"They shall never take place," mentally ejaculated Philip.
"Your Majesty may desire some private converse with his
Eminence," he added to the Queen. "I will go and dismiss
Bonner, who is waiting without. He will not trouble your
Eminence further."
And he quitted the chamber.
CHAPTER V.
HOW THE QUEEN CONSULTED WITH THE CARDINAL.
RAYING the Cardinal to resume his seat by her,
Mary said, " There is a matter on which I desire
to consult your Eminence. I cannot reconcile
it to my conscience to retain the revenues arising
from the Church lands, which were unlawfully vested in
the crown during the late schism ; but the Lord Chancellor,
to whom I have spoken on the subject, seeks to dissuade
me from my purpose, and declares that if I part with
these large revenues, which amount to well-nigh a hundred
thousand pounds a year, I shall not be able to maintain
my dignity. To this objection, I replied in all sincerity,
that I value my salvation more than ten crowns like that
of England, and that I would not endanger my heavenly
inheritance for all the wealth the world can offer. Still
Gardiner opposes me, and says that the giving up of my
revenues will be taken ill by those who are in possession
of the abbey lands and other property of the Church, pos¬
session of which has been secured to them by the papal bull
sent to your Eminence. But I see not why I should not
set the holders of these ill-gotten treasures a good example.
Peradventure some of them may follow it."
" I trust so, Madam," replied Pole ; " and I applaud your
resolution, for though you may impoverish your exchequer,
yet you will lay up a far greater treasure for future enjoy¬
ment in heaven. The bull to which you refer was sent by
the Pope at the solicitation of Gardener, to prevent the
How the Queen Consulted with the Cardinal. 305
opposition of certain nobles to reconciliation with the See of
Rome, but his Holiness's real sentiments may be judged by
another bull which he has just sent into Germany, excom¬
municating all who may keep any abbey or church lands,
and placing under the like ban all princes, prelates and
magistrates, who shall refuse to assist in the execution of
the bull. Though the bull is addressed to Germany, it
undoubtedly applies to this country as well, since his Holi¬
ness can never regard those with favour who have enriched
themselves with the spoils of the Church. Moreover, the
Church is poor, and some provision must be made for its
wants."
" Provision shall be made for it," replied Mary. " I feel
with horror that I myself may be excommunicated. But
the load shall be removed from my soul. All the crown
revenues, derived from the source I have mentioned, shall
be relinquished, and placed at the disposal of your Eminence,
to be applied in such manner as you may deem fit, for the
benefit of the clergy, and the augmentation of small
livings."
"Your Majesty will do a great and disinterested act,
which will for ever redound to your credit, and secure you
the prayers of the whole Church," said Pole. " I will take
care that the revenues entrusted to me are properly
applied."
" I would I could go still further," observed Mary,
" and procure an act to compel the restoration of Church
property, in whatever hands it may be. Think you it could
be done ? "
" I do not believe such an act could be procured, Madam,"
replied Pole. " Certain I am that it would not be prudent
to attempt to obtain it at this juncture. Let us wait to see
the effect of your own great action."
"I yield to your judgment," said Mary. "It is my
intention to re-establish three monasteries dissolved by the
King, my father—namely, the Grey Friars at Greenwich,
the Carthusians at Sheen, and the Briggittines at Sion."
" Heaven has stirred your heart to much good work,
Madam," said the Cardinal. " The Church will have cause
to bless your name."
" Yet another matter," observed the Queen. " I desire to
3°6
Cardinal Pole.
have masses said for the repose of my father's soul, and
would fain endow a church for that especial purpose."
"Alas! Madam, I cannot aid you there," replied Pole.
" His Holiness will never permit the endowment of a church
for the benefit of the soul of so determined a foe to the See
of Rome as Henry VIII. No priest will pray for him."
" But I can pray for him, and do so daily," rejoined Mary.
" I trust his heavily-laden soul is not beyond the reach ol
intercession. Since I may not endow a church to say masses
for him, I will augment the revenues of the college he
re-founded at Cambridge, in the hope that those who are
taught there may pray for the soul of their benefactor."
" A pious act, Madam," said Pole, " and I trust it may be
profitable to your father's soul."
" All these things I do, my Lord Cardinal," pursued
Mary, " in preparation for my hour of travail, when I may
be called away suddenly from this transitory life. If I
should be, you will religiously fulfil my designs."
" By Heaven's grace, Madam, I will accomplish the work
you confide to me," said the Cardinal. " The goods of the
Church shall be restored to holy uses, and all other things
done as you have appointed."
" One question more, and I have done," said Mary. " I
am about to make my will, and propose to settle the crown
on the King my husband, after my decease."
" Is his Majesty aware of your intention, Madam," in
quired the Cardinal.
" It is his wish that I should do so," replied Mary.
"So I suspected," said Pole. "Madam, as your kinsman
and faithful counsellor, as your loyal and loving subject, 1
implore you not to make the will you propose. Englishmen
will never accept a Spaniard as their sovereign, and if you
bequeath your kingdom to your husband, your will will
assuredly be set aside."
" But the King has caused the will to be prepared," said
Mary.
" Ha! has it gone so far as that ? " cried Pole.
" It will be brought to me this very day for my signature.'
replied Mary.
" Have you consulted the Lord Chancellor and the
council, Madam ? " demanded Pole.
How the Queen Consulted with the Cardinal. 307
"I have consulted no one," she replied. "The King
enjoined me not to do so. But I could not help confiding
the matter to your Eminence, knowing your affection for
me."
" By that affection, of which you know the depth and
sincerity, I charge you not to execute that will, Madam,"
said Pole. " Your ministers, if consulted, will agree with
me. This is no light question. The welfare of your king¬
dom is at stake."
At this moment a side-door opened, and Father Alfonso
appeared at it, with a packet in his hand. On seeing the
Cardinal, he would have retired, but the Queen signed to
him to come forward, and he was compelled to obey.
"It is the will," she observed in an under tone to Pole.
" It is providential that I am here," he replied.
Meanwhile, Father Alfonso advanced, ?nd, bowing rever¬
ently to the Queen and the Cardinal, laid the packet on the
table.
" Here is the document for your Majesty's signature," he
said. " The witnesses await your summons without."
" The scheme is carefully planned, but I will thwart it,"
mentally ejaculated Pole. " The witnesses may be dismissed.
The Queen will not sign this document," he added, aloud.
" What do I hear, Madam," cried Father Alfonso. " His
Majesty expects "
"1 say the Queen will not sign it," interrupted Pole,
taking up the will, " nor any other document to the like
effect."
Making a profound obeisance to the Queen, he quitted
the room, taking the packet with him.
CHAPTER VI.
OF THE MIDNIGHT MEETING IN THE CRYPT BENEATH TUB
CHAPTER-HOUSE.
T was on the stroke of midnight that Osbert
Clinton, muffled in a long black cloak, and armed
with rapier and dagger, arrived at the place of
rendezvous appointed by De Noailles. The
night was bright and beautiful, and the moon, nearly at the
full, and hanging above the north side of the noble Gothic
fane, silvered its hoary battlements and buttresses, and
glittered upon the tinted panes of the great pointed
windows.
Passing through an arched doorway, he entered the clois¬
ters, and marched slowly along the south ambulatory. No
one was there. Having thus tracked one side of the square,
and glanced down the alley on the left, he stood still and
listened, but no sound reached his ears, until shortly after¬
wards the deep bell of the abbey tolled forth the hour of
midnight. Then all again relapsed into solemn silence, and
had there been even a light footfall on the pavement, Osbert
must have heard it.
Again he moved slowly on. His thoughts were too much
occupied with the business he had on hand, or he might
have noted the vaulted and richly-ornamented ceiling over¬
head, or the pillared openings at the side, through which
the moonlight streamed upon the pavement, but though he
was not wholly unconscious of these architectural beauties,
The Midnight Meeting in the Crypt. 309
they produced little effect upon him, neither did the serene
loveliness of the night, or the hushed tranquility of the spot,
soothe his perturbed spirits.
He had reached another angle of the cloisters, and was
proceeding along the alley, which was here plunged in gloom,
when he fancied he discerned a dark figure advancing to¬
wards him, upon which he quickened his steps, and soon
reached the person, who, on seeing him, remained sta¬
tionary. It was De Noailles. Like Oobert he was muffled
in a cloak, and his broad-leaved hat was pulled over his
brows.
" You have not changed your mind, I perceive," observed
De Noailles, "but are resolved to go on with the enterprise."
" I am," replied Osbert.
" Follow me, then," rejoined the French ambassador, "and
I will introduce you to those in league with us."
Marching quickly but noiselessly along, he conducted
Osbert towards the chapter-house. On reaching it, they
descended a flight of stone steps which seemed to lead to a
vault, but further progress was arrested by a door, against
which De Noailles tapped gently. At this summons the
door was cautiously opened by a man, who appeared to be
well-armed, and they were admitted into a large subterra¬
nean chamber.
This crypt, for such it was, was dimly illumined by an
iron lamp fixen to a pillar standing in the centre of the
vault. The stone walls were of great solidity, in order to
sustain the weight of the chapter-house, and the roof, which
likewise formed the floor of the superstructure, was of stone,
ribbed, and groined, and supported by the pillar to which
the lamp was fixed.
In this crypt were assembled some eight or nine young men,
all of good condition, judging from their attire and deport
ment As De Noailles and Osbert entered the vault, a tall,
richly-dressed man detached himself from the group with
whom he was conversing, and advanced to meet them. As he
advanced, Osbert instantly knew him to be Thomas Stafford,
second son to Lord Stafford, and grandson of the Duke of
Buckingham, a disaffected personage who had been engaged
in Wyat's rebellion, but had escaped owing to want of proof
of his complicity in the affair.
Cardinal Pole.
" Your excellency is welcome," said Stafford to the am¬
bassador. " I am glad to find you bring us a recruit. What!
Osbert Clinton, is it you ? " he added, as the young man un-
muffled his countenance. "You are, indeed, an important
accession to our ranks. But you must take the oath of
fidelity. Our object is to deliver our country from the
tyranny of Spain, to depose Mary, to place Elizabeth on the
throne and wed her to Courtenay, and to restore the Protes¬
tant faith."
" I will be true to you to the death," replied Osbert em¬
phatically, " and will aid you to the utmost of my power—
this I solemnly swear."
" Enough," replied Stafford ; " and now I will present you
to my associates in this great and holy cause. Some of them
you know.'
" I know Sir Henry Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston, and
Sir Nicholas Throckmorton," replied Osbert, saluting the
three persons he named, "but the rest are strangers to me."
" This is honest Master Udal, and this bold Master Staun¬
ton, both good Protestants, and hearty haters of the Spaniard
and Popish idolatry," said Sir Henry Dudley. And after
salutations had passed by Osbert and the persons indicated,
he went on: " These gentlemen," bringing forward two
others, "are Masters Peckham and Werne. You have heard
of them, I make no doubt ? "
"Ay, marry have I, oftentimes," replied Osbert. "They
are officers to the Princess Elizabeth. I am glad to see
them here."
" They bring us messages from the Princess approving of
our design," said Dudley. " Her Highness will not write,
after the danger she incurred from her intercepted correspon¬
dence with Wyat."
" Her Grace is very favourable to your cause, as I have
already stated, Sir Henry," observed Peckham, " and wishes
it all possible success."
" She has need to do," said Sir Anthony Kingston. " If
we succeed, we shall place the crown upon her head."
" There is yet another gentleman whom you have not made
known to me, Sir Henry," said Osbert, indicating a dark,
sinister-looking personage, in a philemot-coloured mantle
and doublet, who stood aloof fiom the others.
The Midnight Meeting in the Crypt.
3"
" Ha! this is a very useful person," replied Dudley.
" This is M. de Freitville, a secret agent of the King of
France, who promises to aid our. enterprise with men and
money."
" I hope he will fulfil his promises better than those made
by him to Wyat," remarked Osbert, regarding Freitville
distrustfully.
" Had Wyat held out a few days longer, he would not
have lacked support," rejoined Freitville. " My royal master
afforded an asylum and gave pensions to all those implicated
in the rebellion who fled to France. His Excellency M. de
Noailles will tell you that his Majesty has ever been hostile
to this Spanish alliance, and that, failing in preventing it, he
is now determined to drive the Queen and her husband from
the throne, and set up the Princess Elizabeth in their stead."
" Has he no other views ? " said Osbert.
" None averse to this country," said De Noailles, "that I
can declare emphatically. It would be idle to assert that my
royal master is influenced by the same motives that you are;
but the end is the same. You both seek the dissolution of
this marriage and the overthrow of Philip—he as the avowed
enemy of Spain, you as suffering from the tyranny of Philip,
and anxious to restore the Reformed religion. Our interests,
therefore, are identical, and we make common cause together
against the foe. For my own part, I have a personal anti¬
pathy to Philip. He has done me a grievous injury, and I
will never rest till I requite him. Some day or other
his life will be in my hands and then he shall feel my
vengeance."
" My wrongs are greater than yours," cried Osbert. " I
have thrown off all allegiance to him, and am henceforth his
deadly foe. He has stepped between me and her whom I
love dearer ban life, and has sought to sacrifice her to his
unhallowed desires. He is unworthy to be the Queen's
consort—unworthy to govern Englishmen. I will shed my.
heart's blood in the attempt to drive him from the throne."
" Why not plunge a dagger in his breast," said Freitville,
" and so rid the country of a tyrant ? "
" I am no assassin," replied Osbert. " Deeply as I hate
him, I would not slay him save in fair fight. No, we must
rouse our countrymen to a sense of their danger, and rise in
312
Cardinal Pole.
arms against him, and put him justly to death, or drive him
from the country."
" His design is to subjugate England, and reduce us to the
condition of Flanders and Burgundy," cried Stafford. " If
he is allowed to remain on the throne for another year, he
will become absolute master of our liberties. The twelve
strongest fortresses in England—the Tower itself included—
are to be delivered up to him by the misguided and unworthy
Queen, and garrisoned by twenty thousand Spaniards."
" I can scarce think the Queen would be thus false to her
country," said Osbert.
" It is so, Sir, and I will tell you more," pursued Stafford.
"Alva is to be governor of the Tower, and ere he has been
there many months more noble English blood will drench
the scaffold than ever dyed it in King Harry's days. The
Inquisition, also, is to be established."
" It is already established among us," cried Sir Henry
Dudley. "We had our auto-da-fe in Smithfield yesterday."
" The Queen is so infatuated by her love for the King,"
pursued Stafford, " that she can deny him nothing. You,
Sir," he added to Osbert, "who have been in attendance upon
him, must know how shamefully he abuses her regard, and
the scandalous infidelities he practises."
"It is true," replied Osbert. "It is true, also, that her
Majesty can refuse him nothing. He has incited her to settle
her crown upon him by her will in the event of her decease
during her time of travail."
"Can she be so blind as not to perceive that by making
such a will she ensures her own death by poison ? " observed
De Noailles. " But her senseless passion deprives her of all
judgment."
" Now is the time to strike," cried Stafford. " Men's
minds are so excited that a single spark will set the whole
city of London m a flame. All the Protestants are ripe for
outbreak. Let us raise the standard of revolt in Smithfield,
on the very spot where Rogers was martyred, proclaim the
Princess Elizabeth Queen, the deposition of Philip and Mary,
and restoration of the Reformed religion. We can only
number a handful of men at first, but what matters that?
Thousands will soon rally round us, and ere night we shall
be masters of the City."
The Midnight Meeting in the Crypt. 313
"The enterprise is desperate," said Osbert, "but the
moment is propitious. I am with you."
" So are we all! " cried the others.
" Our cry shall be, ' Down with Philip and Mary ! Down
with the mass and idolatry ! Long live Queen Elizabeth,
the head and defender of the Protestant Church !'" said
Stafford. " Every Protestant will respond to the call."
"If we fail, we throw away our lives in a righteous
cause," rejoined Osbert.
" We shall not fail," cried Sir Henry Dudley. " I was at
Smithfield yesterday, and spoke with hundreds, who are
ready for an outbreak."
"So did I," added Sir Anthony Kingston. " I can vouch
for the detestation with which the King is regarded. Let
not the attempt be delayed."
"It shall be made to-morrow," said Stafford. "I can
muster fifty well armed men."
"And I half that number," said Dudley.
" And I twenty," said Kingston.
" I can bring no one with me," said Osbert. " But I will
gain a thousand followers before the day is over."
"At what hour shall we meet to-morrow?" said
Dudley.
"At noon," replied Stafford. " Give me your hand upon
it, Osbert Clinton."
" Readily," rejoined the other, grasping the hand stretched
out to him."
At this moment the lamp was suddenly thrown down, and
the crypt plunged in darkness.
"Traitors, before to-morrow you shall be all clapped in
the Tower !" cried a voice.
"'Tis the King !" mentally ejaculated Osbert Clinton.
And he sprang towards the door.
"Perdition ! we have a spy among us," cried Stafford.
' Seize him and put him to death !"
And, as he spoke, swords were drawn by the con¬
spirators.
" Let no one go forth, but let each man answer for himself.
Where is Osbert Clinton ? "
" Here," he replied, irom the door.
"Where is Sir Henry Dudley?"
Cardinal Pole.
" Here," answered the person designated.
While Stafford was pursuing these inquiries, Osbert heanl
some one approaching, and stepped a little aside. It was
well he did so, as otherwise a rapier would have transfixed
him. As it was, the point of the weapon merely pierced the
side of his doublet, without doing him any injury. But at
the same moment Osbert seized the arm that had dealt the
blow. After vainly struggling to free himself from the iron
grasp in which he was held, the King (lor it was he) whis¬
pered, " Release me, Sir, I command you."
"Your commands are of no weight here, Sire," replied
Osbert. " But I will not see you assassinated. Save your¬
self!"
And letting go his hold as he spoke, the King instantly
passed through the door, and made good his retreat.
At the noise occasioned by his exit, all was confusion and
alarm among the conspirators. Amid fierce shouts and
exclamations a general rush was made to the door, and had
they not reached it quickly, the whole party would have been
made prisoners without the possibility of escape, for some
one was trying to lock them in.
Made aware of their approach by the noise, this person
fied, without having accomplished his purpose, but, while
hastily mounting the steps, he became entangled in his gown
—for his garments were those of a monk—and fell. The
first of the conspirators to issue from the crypt, were Stafford
and Dudiey, and on catching sight of the monk, who was
getting up as quickly as he could, »hey recognised Father
Alfonso de Castro.
" By Heaven ! it is the King's confessor who has been
playing the spy upon us," exclaimed Stafford.
" He shall not escape to tell the tale," roared Dudley.
" My sword shall stop his preaching in future."
And they dashed up the steps. Ere they could reach him,
however, Father Alfonso had regained his feet, and speeded
across the court, shouting lustily for help.
His object was to gain a small tower, then standing near
the cloisters, on the summit of which tower, under a wooden
pent-house, hung the alarm bell. As Father Alfonso was
aware, the door of this building was always left open, and if
he could only reach it, he would be safe. Fea* lent him
The Midnight Meeting in the Crypt. 315
wings, and he had passed through the door, shut it, and
barred it inside before his pursuers came up.
While they were venting their disappointment in maledic¬
tions, he ran up a narrow spiral stone staircase, and, reach¬
ing a small chamber, seized a rope that dangled from a IWe
m the ceiling, and began to ring the alarm-bell
CHAPTER VII,
IN WHAT MANNER THE OUTBREAK COMMENCED.
EANTIME, all the conspirators had come forth
from the crypt, and were gathered together in the
court, considering what should be done under the
circumstances. The sudden and violent ringing
of the alarm-bell seemed to leave them no alternative but
flight.
" We must separate and beat a retreat," cried Stafford.
" The meeting must not take place as appointed to-morrow
at Smithfield, but must be deferred to some other oppor¬
tunity. That cursed Spanish friar has overheard our plans,
and will reveal them. You will all best consult your safety
by keeping out of the way for the present. The great enter¬
prise has been thwarted for the moment, but it will not be
abandoned."
"Assuredly not," cried Dudley. " Would there were some
means of silencing that infernal clatter."
" If it goes on it will rouse up half the town," cried Sir
Anthony Kingston.
"Why should it not serve as the signal for the rising?"
cried Osbert, who felt the necessity of immediate action.
" Why should we not commence the great enterprise now ?
To-morrow we shall all be proscribed, and a price set upon
our heads. Let us act to-night. That bell will spread alarm
through all this quarter of the town, and the people will
soon come flocking hither to learn its impoit. Let us tell
In What Manner the Outbreak Commenced. 317
them that a rising takes place this night against the Spanish
domination."
" Agreed !" exclaimed several voices.
"I approve of the plan," said De Noailles, who was evi¬
dently much alarmed ; " but I cannot be seen in the matter.
You know where to find me, gentlemen. Success attend
you!"
And he hastily retired with Freitville.
Meanwhile, the alarm-bell continued to r'ng violently, and
it was evident, from the shouts and noises heard without,
that the people were roused, and were flocking towards the
spot.
" I hear them. They are coming now," cried Stafford.
" Let us forth to meet them. Ring that bell as loudly as
thou canst, thou pestilent friar! It shall bring those to¬
gether who shall aid us to dethrone thy master."
And, as if in compliance with the request, the alarm-bell
was run more violently than ever.
The conspirators then marched, sword in hand, into the
Dean's-yard, where some of that dignitary's servants were
collected, but on seeing them these persons immediately
retreated. But the next moment there burst through the
gateway a troop of citizens, hastily and imperfectly attired,
and armed with various weapons, swords, pikes, and arque¬
buses.
"What ho, my masters !" shouted the foremost of these.
" Why rings the alarm bell ? "
" It rings to call you to arms," replied Osbert, "in defence
of your liberties and religion. A rising is about to take
place to depose Philip and Mary, place the Princess Eliza¬
beth on the throne, and restore the Reformed Religion, as
established by King Edward VI., of blessed memory."
"Hear you that, my masters?" cried the man. "The
mass is to be put down, and the Protestant faith restored."
It so chanced that the whole of the persons addressed
were Protestants, so they cheered lustily, and shoutedj
"Down with the mass !"
Meanwhile, the bell never for a moment ceased its
clamour, and numbers of other persons, armed like those
who had first appeared, answered the summons. Many of
these joined in the cries against Popery, but others being
21
3l8
Cardinal Pole.
Romanists, retorted furiously, and struggles immediately
began to take place between the opposing sects. As the
crowd was continually on the increase, the hubbub and dis¬
turbance grew louder and louder, and a general engagement
was threatened.
Just then, a party of twenty-five or thirty men, armed with
pikes and carrying lanterns, came up, shouting, " Down with
the mass ! Down with Antichrist! " Thus reinforced, the
Protestants laid about them stoutly, and soon drove off their
opponents.
This victory gained, they began to shout lustily, and called
out for a leader, whereupon Osbert Clinton leaped upon a
stone bench, and waving his sword above his head, cried out
in a loud voice, so as to be heard by all, " I am ready to
lead you, and if you will stand firmly by me and my
associates, we will deliver you from Spanish tyranny and.
oppression, and re-establish your religion. No more in¬
quisitorial practices—no more ecclesiastical commissions—
no more burnings at Smithfield. We will release all those
imprisoned for heresy."
"We will release our preachers and pastors," cried Staf¬
ford, leaping upon the bench, " and punish their judges. We
will hang Gardiner and Bonner."
Shouts and terrific yells responded to this proposition.
" Here come the arquebusiers ! " shouting several voices,
as the trampling of horses and the clanking of arms were
heard.
" Close up, and stand firm ! " cried Osbert, springing from
the bench and making his way towards the head of the
crowd, which now, in obedience to his commands, had
formed itself into a compact mass.
The next moment a troop of arquebusiers galloped up,
with their swords drawn, and drew up in front of the
mob.
After commanding a halt, their captain rode up to the
front ranks of the crowd, and called out, " In the Queen's
name, as good and loyal subjects of her Majesty, I command
you to disperse, and go peaceably to your homes."
A general refusal was the response.
"You had best not be obstinate," retorted the captain of
the guard- " Mark what I say. You have got amongst you
In What Manner the Outbreak Commenced. 319
several traitors, who are conspiring against their Majesties
and against the safety of the realm."
"We are all traitors and conspirators," cried several
voices. "We have thrown off our allegiance to the Queen
and the Pope. We will have no Spaniard for King."
" Hear me," shouted the officer. " If you do not instantly
deliver to us Sir Henry Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston,
Thomas Stafford, Osbert Clinton, and other traitors and con¬
spirators whom ye have among you, we will cut you to
pieces, and take them."
"Make good your threat, Sir," rejoined Osbert. " I am
one of those you have named. Advance and take me if you
can."
The officer instantly pushed forward his horse, but at that
moment a bullet from an arquebuse, fired behind Osbert,
crashed into his brain, and he fell heavily to the ground.
On seeing their leader fall, the arquebusiers instantly
charged the mob, cutting at them with their swords and
hewing down a considerable number. Still, as the sturdy
citizens, encouraged by their leaders, stood firm, and
received their assailants on their pikes, less mischief was
done them than might have been expected.
A dreadful melee now took place, which endured for nearly
a quarter of an hour; and while it was going on fresh
parties, both of Protestants and Romanists, arrived at the
scene of strife, and at once engaged in the conflict.
At first, it seemed as if the insurgents must be speedily
routed; but though the arquebusiers did great damage in
the early part of the fray, they were completely discomfited
in the end, most of their horses being killed under them.
During the fight, all the leaders of the outbreak distin¬
guished themselves by their bravery. Osbert Clinton threw
himself into the thickest of the fight, encouraged his fol¬
lowers by word and deed, struck down three of the horse¬
men, and mainly contributed to the victory eventually gained
by the insurgents. In little more than a quarter of an hour
after the commencement of the conflict, the arquebusiers
were dismounted and discomfited, and the Romanists driven
off.
-The alarm-bell, which had ceased during the raging of the
conflict, began to ring again more violently than ever.
32°
Cardinal Pole.
A brief consultation was then held among the leaders of
the outbreak as to the course that should next be pursued,
when it was agreed that they should march on past Charing
Cross and along the Strand, and if they received sufficient
accession to their forces, should break down Temple Bar,
enter the City, liberate the prisoners for religion from New¬
gate and the Marshalsea, and march on to the Tower.
" I will lead on this party," said Stafford.
" I will set free the prisoners from the Gate House here
at Westminster," said Sir Henry Dudley.
" I will crave to be allowed to pass over to Lambeth
Palace," said Osbert, "and set free Constance Tyrrell and
Derrick Carver. This done, I will cross London bridge and
join you. Let me have fifty men for the enterprise."
"Take double that number," said Stafford. "We shall
find plenty of others as we march along. Harkye, my
masters !" he called out to the crowd. "I want a hundred
men to go to Lambeth Palace."
"What to do?" demanded a burly citizen. "Not to
harm Cardinal Pole. He is a just man, and against persecu¬
tion. We will hang Bonner and Gardiner, and the rest of
the Romish prelates, but we won't hurt a hair of the good
Cardinal's head."
"Right, Master Rufford, we won't hurt Cardinal Pole,"
cried a man near him.
" I would not have him harmed," replied Osbert. " My
sole object is to liberate two Protestant prisoners—Constance
Tyrrell and Derrick Carver.
" Derrick Carver is confined in the Lollard's Tower," said
Rufford; " it was he who spoke to me of the Cardinal's
goodness. If it be merely to free him and Constance Tyrrell,
we are with you."
" Ay, any of us will go with you on that errand," cried
several voices.
" I also will go with you," said Udal.
A hundred men were then told quickly off, all of whom
were armed with pikes and other weapons.
" How are we to get across the river ?" demanded
Rufford.
"We will make the best of our way to the Horseferry,
where we shall find boats enow," leplied Osbert.
In What Manner the Outbreak Commenced. 321
"Ay, to the Horseferry! to the Horseferry !" cried
Eeveral voices.
" We shall n/eet again ere daybreak, if all go well," said
Osbert to Stafford and the others.
Then, putting himself at the head of his party, he led them
at a quick pace round the south-west precincts of the abbey,
and quickly gaining the banks of the river, proceeded to the
Horseferry.
Up to this time they had been unopposed. The occu¬
pants of the scattered habitations on the road opened their
windows to watch them pass, but none came forth to join
them. As Osbeit expected, they found the large ferry-boat,
two barges, and sufficent smaller craft to transport them
across the river, and the whole party having embarked in
these boats, they pushed off and began to row towards
Lambeth.
Scarcely, however, had they got a bow-shot from the shore,
when a band of mounted archers rode up to the ferry station,
and finding they were too late, and that all the boats had
been taken away by the insurgents, they fired a volley at
them, but without doing them any injury. Without trying
the effect of a second volley, the horsemen rode back to
Westminster, probably to find boats to enable them to cross
the river.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THE INSURGENTS PROCEEDED TO LAMBETH PALACR.
EANTIME, Osbert and his party were more than
half across the Thames.
Before them rose the stately palace of Lambeth,
with its towers and gateway, looking like a black
mass relieved against the clear sky. The serene beauty of
night, which contrasted forcibly with the agitating events
that were taking place, was not without effect upon Osbert.
As he stood at the prow of the barge, leaning upon his sword
and contemplating the scene, its holy calmness insensibly
softened him, and he began to feel compunction for what he
had done. But it was now too late to recede. The step
was taken, and he must go on. He must either perish as
a traitor, or live as the liberator of his country. Stifling all
remorseful feelings, he tried to fix his thoughts on the latter
contingency.
As the insurgents approached Lambeth Palace, it was
evident from the lights gleaming from the windows, and the
sounds heard from the courts, that its inmates were alarmed
and astir.
In another moment the little squadron reached the wharf.
Osbert was the first to land, and leaped ashore sword in
hand. Udal and Rufford followed him, but such expedition
was used that only a few minutes elapsed before the whole
party had disembarked.
Meantim :, their movements were watched from the battle-
How the Insurgents Proceeded to Lambeth Palace. 323
merits of the gateway by Rodomont Bittern and his two
lieutenants. As soon as the insurgents had landed, and
were drawn up, Osbert marched at their head towards the
gateway, but before he reached it, Rodomont called out in a
loud voice:—
" Who are ye, Sirs, and wkti ecek ye, that ye approach
the palace of the Lord Cardinal in this hostile fashion ?
State your business without parleying, thai 1 may report it
to his Eminence. But I warn you that you can have no
admittance at this hour."
" We will obtain admittance for ourselves if cur request
be refused," replied Osbert. " We require Constance Tyrrell
and Derrick Carver, both detained within the palace, to be
delivered up-to us."
" By whose warrant do you make this demand ? " inquired
Rodomont.
" By mine own," replied the other, " which thus backed,
shall answer as well as any other, were it even the Queen's."
"None but her Majesty's own order will procure their
liberation," rejoined Rodomont; "and since you possess
not that, you are likely to go away empty-handed. Though
I would fain disbelieve it, methinks it is Master Osbert
Clinton who speaks to me."
" I am he you suppose," replied Osbert. "Use dispatch,
good Rodomont, and convey my message to the Lord
Cardinal."
" If you are turned rebel, as I suspect from the tone you
adopt, and the armed rout at your heels," rejoined Rodo¬
mont, " I must pray you to cease all familiarity with me.
But I will make your demand known to the Lord Cardinal."
" Fail not to add, that if they be not delivered up, we will
enter the palace and take them," said Osbert.
" I will communicate your exact words," rejoined Rodo¬
mont, "but I warn you, that if you make the attempt you
will assuredly be hanged."
With this lie quitted the battlements.
While he was gone, Osbert employed the time in explain¬
ing to the insurgents what must be done in the event of the
Cardinal's refusal.
After a brief delay, a wicket in the gate was opened, and
R.odomont Bittern came forth.
324
Cardinal Pole.
"What answer bring you from the Lord Cardinal?"
demanded Osbert, on seeing him."
" His Eminence will answer you in person," said Rodo-
mont. " But if you will take the advice of one who was
once your friend, and is still your well-wisher, you will
pursue this matter no further."
"A truce to this," cried Osbert, sternly. "I must have
the Cardinal's answer without delay, cr I shall proceed to
action. I have no time to waste."
"You are peremptory, Sir," observed Rodomont dryly.
"So peremptory, that I will have the prisoners," rejoined
Osbert, fiercely.
" You must discuss that point with the Lord Cardinal
himself," rejoined Rodomont.
As he spoke, the falling of heavy bars within side pro¬
claimed that the gates were being unfastened, and in another
moment the ponderous valves swung aside and disclosed the
Cardinal standing beneath the archway.
Close behind him stood Priuli with Constance Tyrrell,
habited in black, and looking deathly pale, and a little
further removed was Derrick Carver, with Mallet, the
keeper of the Lollard's Tower.
No guard was near the Cardinal; the only persons with
him besides Simnel and Holiday being some half-dozen
attendants bearing torches. Pole's features wore a grave
and somewhat severe expression. He manifested no ap¬
prehension whatever, but fixed a searching though somewhat
sorrowful glance upon Osbert and the insurgent crew drawn
up behind him.
Seen by the light of the torches which gleamed upon
the Cardinal's majestic figure, upon Constance's pallid but
lovely features, upon Priuli's noble countenance, and "Derrick
Carver's rugged physiognomy—upon Osbert, who, sword in
hand, confronted the Cardinal, and upon the insurgents with
their pikes—the whole picture was exceedingly striking.
The conference was opened by Pole, who, eyeing Osbert
severely, and speaking in a stern tone, said, "I have cau-ed
my gates to be thrown open to you, Sir, in order to show
you that I have no fear. By what authority do you demand
the liberation of the persons committed to my charge?"
" J have no authority for the demand I make," replied
How the Insurgents Proceeded to Lambeth Palace. 325
Osbert, " but I have the power to enforce compliance, and
that must suffice. You have done well in throwing open
your gates to us, Lord Cardinal, for we design you no
injury. Let Constance Tyrrell and Derrick Carver, both of
whom I see with you, be delivered up to us, and we will
trouble you no further."
" And what will you do if I refuse ? " said the Cardinal,
sternly.
"We will take them," rejoined Osbert. "But I beseech
your Eminence not to compel us to have recourse to
violence."
"Hear me, misguided man," said Pole; "and hear me
all of ye," he continued, addressing the insurgents in a
louder tone, " I will not affect to misunderstand the cha¬
racter in which you come. You are rebels and traitors to
the Queen, and have risen in arms against her."
"None would be more loyal and devoted subjects of her
Majesty than we, were our rights and liberties respected,"
said Osbert: "but we have thrown off our allegiance
because we will not submit to be governed by a Spanish
king. We will not suffer our preachers and pastors to be
burnt at the stake as heretics and infidels, nor our country
to be enslaved. But we have not come hither to m ike
known our grievances to your Eminence, or to ask for
redress, which we well know we cannot obtain from you.
We have not come hither to do you injury of any sort, for
we hold you in profound respect, and wish there were many
of your creed like you. Our object is to liberate all
prisoners for religion, and we therefore require the release
of the two persons in your custody."
" Before you proceed to extremities," rejoined Pole, " let
me counsel you to pause and consider what you are about.
You 2re engaged in a rash enterprise, which will in no way
benefit your cause, but will infallibly lead to your destruction.
By this outbreak you will give your rulers a plea for further
oppression. I do not hesitate to say that I am averse to
religious persecution, and would gladly see an end put to it,
but this is not the plan to pursue. In a few hours your
outbreak will be crushed, and then the party you represent
will be worse off than ever. To all such as are peaceably
disposed among you, whose families are dear to them, and
Cardinal Pole.
who would avoid bloodshed and ignominious death, I would
say disperse quietly, go to your homes, and come not forth
again on a like pretext. To you, Osbert Clinton, who have
been unwise enough to place yourself at the head of this
insurrection, I must hold other language. Your only safety
is in flight. A price will be set on your head, and, if taken,
you will die the death of a traitor."
" I am aware of it," replied Osbert " But I have sworn
to free my country and my religion, or perish in the attempt.
I have no thoughts of flight, neither will my followers desert
me. But we have talked long enough. You know our
determination. Are we to have the prisoners peaceably, or
must we take them by force ? "
" I should be loth to provoke you to bloodshed," replied
the Cardinal. " Here are the two prisoners, as. you see. I
will place no restraint upon them. If they choose to go
with you, it is well. If not, you will depart without them."
" I readily agree to the terms, and thank your Eminence
for sparing me the necessity of violence," replied Osbert.
" I do not think they will hesitate. Derrick Carver, you
have heard what has passed. We wait for you."
But, to Osbert's great surprise, the enthusiast did not
move.
" I cannot go unless I am set free by the Cardinal," he
said.
" How ? " cried Osbert.
" His Eminence suffered me to go forth on my promise to
return," replied Carver, " and I will now prove to him that
I am to be relied on."
" I cannot prevent your departure," said Pole; "neither
can I set you free."
"Then I stay," replied Carver.
" I am not disappointed in you," observed Pole, approv¬
ingly.
" If such be your determination when freedom is offered
you, you must have taken leave of your senses," said Osbert.
" Constance, I call upon you—and shall not, I am sure, call
in vain."
" I cannot leave the good Cardinal, who has sheltered and
protected me, without his consent, even at your bidding,
" she replied.
How the Insurgents Proceeds 1 to Lambeth Palace. 327
"And my consent must be refused," said Pole. " Alas !
misguided man," he continued to Osbert. "You little know
what you have done. Just as the King has assented to
your union with Constance, you yourself raise an insuperable
obstacle to it. Now Constance is lost to you for ever."
" It is too true, Osbert!—it is too true," she cried.
" Why did you come hither thus ?"
"Ah! why?" he cried, striking his head with his clenched
hand. " Perdition on mv folly !"
"Save yourself by instant flight—that is the best advice I
can give you," said the Cardinal.
"Desert my friends—never!" exclaimed Osbert. "The
die is cast, and I must stand the issue. Constance, by all the
love you profess to bear me, I implore you to come with me."
"Alas ! alas! I cannot obey you," she rejoined.
" Then I will carry you off in spite of your resistance,"
cried Osbert. " Forward, friends, forward !"
Some few advanced at the summons, but the majority,
upon whom the Cardinal's harangue, combined with sub¬
sequent circumstances, had produced a powerful impression,
held back.
As Osbert stepped forward, Rodomont and his two com¬
rades placed themselves in his way.
"Back, misguided man!" cried the Cardinal. "Another
step, and you rush on certain destruction. The sanctity of
this asylum shall not be violated with impunity."
Just then loud shouts were heard, and some of the insur¬
gents rushing forth to see what was the matter, immediately
returned to say that a large number of the royal guard were
landing from boats, and that some of them were already on
the wharf.
" What shall we do ? " cried several voices.
"Give them battle," rejoined Osbert, in a loud voice.
" Farewell, Constance," he added; " if I fall, think that I
came to save you. Now, friends, to the wharf!—to the
wharf!"
Hereupon, all the insurgents, headed by Osbert, rushed
forth simultaneously from the archway, shouting, "Down
with King Philip !—down with the Pope !"
As soon as they were gone, the gates were closed by order
o. the Cardinal.
328
Cardinal Pole.
Some thirty or forty archers had already disembarked
from the boats that had brought them, and others were
leaping ashore, as Osbert and his partisans appeared on the
wharf. Fierce shouts were raised on both sides, and in
another instant a desperate conflict commenced. By a
sudden dash, Osbert hoped to drive the enemy into the
river; but the archers stood their ground well, and being
quickly reinforced by their comrades from the boats, they
not only repelled the attack made upon them, but forced the
insurgents to retire.
It soon became evident to Rodomont and his lieutenants,
who had mounted to the summit of the gateway to watch
the conflict, that it must speedily terminate in favour of the
archers, who were more than a match for their brave but
undisciplined opponents. And so it turned out. In less
than ten minutes the conflict was over, and the insurgents
dispersed or made captive. Osbert fought desperately to
the last, but finding it in vain to struggle longer, followed by
three or four others, among whom were Udal and Ruflord,
he leaped into a boat, and, pushing off, was borne swiftly
down the river.
Half-a-dozen other boats, manned by archers, instantly
started in pursuit, and frequent shots were fired at the
fugitives. Whether any of these took effect could not be
ascertained by Rodomont and his comrades, who watched
the chase with great interest from the battlements; but, at
all events, the flying barque held on its course, and seemed to
gain upon the others. At last, pursued and pursuers dis¬
appeared from view.
"As the Queen's loyal subject I ought not to wish well to
a traitor and a rebel," remarked Rodomont, ''and yet I
cannot help hoping that Osbert Clinton has escaped."
In this wish both his comrades concurred.
3£trtJ Of t\)t iSooft.
BOOK
THE LEWES
VI.
MARTYR.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE PARTING BETWEEN DERRICK CARVER AND CONSTANCE.
l^ai&vllHE attempt made by the conspirators to cause a
I^Kpl general rising proved completely abortive. Staf-
ford and his party received some accessions to
their numbers as they marched along, but before
they reached Charing Cross they were attacked and dis¬
persed by a troop of mounted arquebusiers, who issued from
Whitehall. Several persons were arrested, among whom
were the two officers of the Princess Elizabeth's household,
Peckham and Werne, but the ringleaders managed to escape.
Next day, Stafford, Dudley, Kingston, Udal, Osbert Clinton,
and the rest of the party, were publicly proclaimed as out¬
laws, rebels, traitors, and disturbers of the peace, and a large
reward offered for their capture.
Nothing, however, was said about the French ambassador.
Only to Gardiner did Philip avow that he had been secretly
present wiih Father de Castro at the meeting in the crypt,
and the Chancellor counselled him not to allow this circum¬
stance to transpire publicly, as they had proof enough
against the conspirators without it; above all, Gardiner was
33°
Cardinal Pole.
opposed to any proceedings being taken against De Noailles.
Thus the wily ambassador escaped with impunity as on pre¬
vious occasions. A strict wa^ch, however, was kept upon his
movements.
It was confidently anticipated, both by the King and
Gardiner, that before many days all the chief conspirators
would be arrested, but in this expectation they were dis¬
appointed. No traces of any of them could be discovered.
Some doubts were entertained as to the fate of Osbert
Clinton. Two persons were shot in the boat in which he
escaped from Lambeth, and their bodies thrown into the
Thames, and it was thought he was one of them ; but this
was by no means clear.
While the search for the leaders of the outbreak was thus
being actively, though unsuccessfully, prosecuted, Peckham
and Werne were taken to the Tower and put to the torture,
in order to compel them to accuse the Princess Elizabeth of
complicity in the affair, but nothing could be wrung from
them, and, with twenty other luckless personages who had
been captured at the same time, they were hanged, drawn,
and quartered, and their heads set upon the north gateway
of London Bridge.
Meanwhile, the religious persecution continued with un¬
abated rigour. Bishop Hooper, with two others, had under¬
gone martyrdom at different places, and six more prisoners,
excommunicated by Bonner, and delivered over to the civil
power, were about to perish in the same manner.
Conscious of the odium attaching to these sanguinary
measures, Gardiner prudently resigned his post at the eccle¬
siastical tribunal to Bonner, who thenceforward acted as
supreme judge, and was undeterred by scruples of any sort.
A momentary check was, however, given to his severity
from an unexpected quarter. From the various manifesta¬
tions made towards him by the Protestant party, and from
other circumstances, Philip could not fail to perceive that if
he took any further part in these barbarous proceedings, he
should raise up a host of determined enemies, so he caused
Father Alfonso to preach publicly, before him and the court,
a sermon strongly condemnatory of religious persecution.
The plan completely answered the King's expectations, it
being felt that such a sermon could not have been preached
Of the Parting Between Carver and Constance. 331
without his sanction, and it was argued, therefore, that he
must disapprove of the course pursued by Bonner.
The effect of this remarkable discourse—remarkable, in¬
deed, as emanating from one who had been designated " The
Scourge of Heresy "—was to stay the bitter persecution for
a while, but, though momentarily checked, it revived with
a greater fury than before. The six unfortunate persons
excommunicated by Bonner were consigned to the flames,
and urged to greater activity by the Marquis of Winchester,
and other members of the council, the zealous prelate looked
out for fresh victims.
Bonner had long burned to wreak his vengeance upon
Derrick Carver, and was at last able to gratify his desire.
Having procured a warrant from the Queen for the deliver¬
ance up to him of the prisoner, who was still confined in the
Lollards' Tower, he immediately acted upon it. Before he
was taken away, Carver, by permission of the Cardinal, was
allowed to bid farewell to Constance Tyrrell. The interview
took place in the Post Room in the Lollards' Tower, and in
order that there might be no check upon their freedom of
discourse, they were left alone together.
" Daughter," said Carver, who appeared more subdued
than usual, "I am about to win the crown of martyrdom for
which I have so long striven, and to inscribe my name upon
that scroll which shall hereafter be a guide to our Church.
In quitting you for a while, I expect you to remain stedfast
in the faith. Be not shaken by the arguments of the Car¬
dinal, who, though a good man, has been brought up in
superstition and idolatry, and cannot free himself from the
errors of his creed."
" Have no fear for me," replied Constance. " I shall soon
follow in the same path you are about to tread."
" Heaven forbid ! " exclaimed Carver, with an irrepressible
shudder. " Oh ! Constance, while alone in my cell, I have
communed with myself, sounding my breast to its depths,
and weighing every thought and action, and I reproach my¬
self that I have led you too far. I have kindled a holy fer¬
vour in your breast like that which animates my own, and
which incites you to bear witness to your faith by death."
" True. But surely you should rejoice that you have
kindled such a flame," she rejoined.
33*
Cardinal Pole.
"No; I would quench it," he cried. "Seek not martyr¬
dom. Rush not upon fierv torments—but live—live a godly
life."
" These words are strange from you, who have so often
painted the glories of martyrdom to me, and urged me to
share them with you."
"I repent that I did so," he rejoined. "Were you to
suffer with me, your torments would afflict me a thousand
times more than my own. 'Twere terrible that a frame so
fair as yours should be consumed by fire. It must not be.
You are young and beautiful. You love, and are beloved.
Live and be happy. Live for Osbert Clinton."
" Alas !" exclaimed Constance, "I know not if Osbert still
lives. It is thought he perished on that fatal night when he
came here to liberate us. He has not been heard of since.
But if he lives, it is as a proscribed rebel, with a price set on
his head, and if he be taken, his doom is certain. I have
nothing left but to die."
"No, you must live," said Carver, solemnly. "Osbert
Clinton is not dead. He did not perish on that disastrous
night, as you suppose. I have seen and spoken with him at
the window of my cell, which he reached as he did when you,
dear daughter, were its occupant. He and his friends are
not disheartened by the ill success of their enterprise. It
was rash and precipitate, and failed in consequence. But
they are planning another insurrection, and I pray Heaven
to crown it with success, since it has for its aim the restora¬
tion of our religion and the downfall of Philip ! "
" I rejoice to hear that Osbert still lives," said Constance ;
" but I fear these plots will eventually conduct him to the
scaffold."
"If he should so perish, then seek for a martyr's crown,
if you will," said Carver; " but while he lives, live for hitn.
Something tells me you will yet be united."
" I dare not hope so," she rejoined.
" If my last prayers will avail to ensure your happiness,
you shall have them," said Carver. " And now we must
part. Once more I exhort you to continue stedfast in the
faith. But be not influenced by the desire of vain-ipory,
which, perchance, may be my own besetting sin. And now
receive my blessing 1"
Of the Parting Between Carver and Constance. 333
And as she bent before h.m. he spread his arms over her
head, and pronounced a solemn benediction.
There was then a deep silence, broken only by Constance's
sobs.
" Weep not, dear daughter," he said. " Our parting
ought to be joyous rather than sad, seeing that my trials are
well-nigh over, and I am about to reap my reward. Fare¬
well! " he added, taking h.r hand, and pressing his lips to
it. "Forget not what I have said to you."
"Fear me not!" she rejoined, sinking upon a bench.
" Farewell!"
Carver cast a compassionate look at her, and then striding
resolutely towards the door, he called out that he was ready,
whereupon Mallet instantly appeared.
Without hazarding another glance at Constance, he then
quitted the chamber, and was taken by Mallet to the gate,
where he was delivered to the officers sent for him by
Bonner.
A barge awaited him, and in this conveyance he was taken
to Paul's Wharf. Thence he was escorted to the consistory
at Saint Paul's, where Bonner was sitting in judgment with
the Lord Mayor, the sheriffs, and several members of the
council.
22
CHAPTER II
HOW DERRICK CARVER WAS TAKEN TO LEWES.
HEN Derrick Carver was brought before the
tribunal, Bonner eyed him with a smile of
malignant satisfaction, and observed to Sheriff
Woodrooffe, who was sitting near him,—
" At last I have got this pestilent fellow, whom the Car¬
dinal has so long screened from justice. He shall not escape
now. I will deal roundly with him."
On this, he caused the minutes of the prisoner's previous
examinations to be read to him by an officer in the court,
which being done, Bonner said, in a bitter and derisive tone,
" Such were the detestable and damnable opinions pro¬
fessed by thee, Derrick Carver, when thou wert last interro¬
gated in the Lollards' Tower ; but doubtless the exhortations
and persuasions of the Lord Cardinal have wrought a bene¬
ficial change, and thou art now willing to confess thine
errors and abjure them."
" My op nions have undergone no change," replied Carver.
" But if any Romanist could have converted me, it would be
Cardinal Po'e."
" Ah ! you admit so much," cried Bonner. "Why should
Cardinal Pole prevail with you more than others? Hath he
more zeal—more devotion—more theological learning thin
others have ? "
" I know not whether he hath more zeal and learning than
your lordship, but he has more Christian charity," replied
How Derrick Carver was Taken to Lewes, 335
Carver. " He understands the Gospel, and is guided by its
precepts, which you are not."
" Belike you deem his Eminence less rigid, less orthodox
than I am ? " said Bonner.
" My tenets are not his tenets," replied Carver; " yet 1
hold him to be a good man, though, unhappily, blinded to
the truth. Your lordship may be the more orthodox Catholic
of the two, but you are the worse man."
"I thank thee for the admission, thou foul-mouthed knave,"
cried Bonner. "You all hear that he charges the Cardinal
with unsoundness of opinion," he added to the court.
" I charge thee with attempting to pervert my words,"
retorted Carver. " I meant to say that Cardinal Pole is the
chief living light and glory of the Church of Rome, whereas
thou art its shame and reproach. In after times, when this
bitter persecution of the faithful is spoken of, Reginald Pole
will be remembered for mildness and toleration, while th -u
wilt be execrated as the ' bloody Bishop Bonner'—a name
that shall cling to thee for ever !"
" I would rather have thy censure than thy commendation,"
rejoined Bonner. " Had the Cardinal treated thee with due
severity, thou wouldst never have lauded his virtues. Put
thou hast said enough to convince us thou art obstinate and
impenitent. Therefore I shall not take up the time of the
court by questioning thee further. Down on thy knees
while sentence of excommunication is pronounced upon
thee."
" I kneel only to Heaven," replied the prisoner, firmly.
At a sign from the bishop, two officers seized him, and, in
spite of his resistance, forced him upon his knees, detaining
him in this posture while the sentence was read to him by
Bonner. This done, he was permitted to rise, and the
officers left him.
" Thou art now accursed," pursued Bonner, " and hence¬
forward, if any man shall eat with thee, or drink with thee,
or otherwise help thee or comfort thee, he will be a partaker
in the curse."
"You have put me out of the communion of a Church
which I have quitted of my own accord for these ten years,"
said Carver. "As to your anathemas, they affright me not.
May they recoil with added strength on your own head."
33^
Cardinal Pole.
"Away, thou miserable blasphemer!" cried Bormer,
furiously. " I have done with thee for ever."
"No, not for ever, thou unrighteous judge," rejoined
Carver. " I summon thee to appear with me before the
Judgment Throne of Heaven to answer for the blood ihou
art about to shed."
So awful was the tone in which these words were uttered,
that a profound impression was upon all the hearers, and
even Bonner trembled. But he quickly shook off his trepi¬
dation, and exclaimed,—
" The gates of Heaven will be fast closed to you, unless
you repent. You will now be delivered to the sheriffs, and
by them will be taken to Newgate, where you will remain
until after your trial. If you are condemned, as I nothing
doubt you will be, you will be burned at Lewes, from the
neighbourhood of which place you come, and where we
learn there are many tainted with false doctrines, to whom
your death may prove a salutary warning."
" It will strengthen them in their faith, when they see how
a believer in the Gospel can die," rejoined Carver.
"Away with him!" cried Bonner, impatiently. "Away
with him !"
On this, the prisoner was removed from the court, and
conveyed with two others, who had been examined before
his arrival at the consistory, to Newgate.
By command of Sheriff Woodrooffe, who accompanied
him to the prison, he was placed in a noisome dungeon, and
only allowed bread and water. After a few days' confine¬
ment, he was brought up for trial, and, as had been foretold
by Bonner, condemned to death at the stake.
Orders were then given by Sheriff Woodrooffe that he
should be taken to Lewes, under a sufficient guard, for
immediate execution, and on the following day the little
cavalcade set out on its journey, stopping for the first night
at Croydon. The inhabitants of the place flocked forth to
see the prisoner, and many of them expressed great
commiseration for him, but he was not permitted by the guard
to speak to them, or to receive any refreshments offered
him.
"Avoid him!" cried Father Josfrid, a Dominican friar
by whom he was accompanied; "he is excommunicated
How Derrick Carver was Taken to Lewes.
33 7
and if ye give him aught, ye will share in the heavy curse
under which he labours."
From the exhortations of this zealous monk Carver was
never for a moment free, though they produced no other
effect upon him than annoyance. The escort was com¬
manded by an officer named Brand, who had been selected
for the business by Sheriff Woodrooffe on account of his
hatred to the Protestant party. He was a sullen, sour-
tempered personage, and showed his ill will to the prisoner
both by word and blow. Carver, however, bore this harsh
usage without a murmur.
On the second day the party reached East Grinstead,
where they passed the night, a cellar with a truss of straw
laid on the floor being allotted to Carver; and starting ea-ly
on the following morning, they reached Ditchling about noon,
and, after an hour's halt, commenced the ascent of the downs.
On arriving at Ditchling, the prisoner earnestly besought
Captain Brand to take him to Brightelmstone, in order that
he might bid farewell to his wife and children, and aged
mother; but the petition was refused, the officer declaring
he would not go half-a-dozen miles out of his way to pleasure
a heretic.
"They can come and see you burned at Lewes to¬
morrow, if they list," he added, with a savage grin.
Hearing what passed, a young man, mounted on a strong
iron-grey horse, who had entered the inn-yard almost imme¬
diately after the little cavalcade, inquired the nearest road
to Brightelmstone, and immediately galloped off in that
direction.
Having mounted the steep hill-side, and passed Ditchling
Beacon, the party proceeded along the brow of the downs,
whence such magnificent views of the weald of Sussex are
obtained, though these now received little attention, until
they came to Mount Harry, on whose verdant slopes was
fought the great battle between Henry III. and the Barons
under Simon de Montfort, when the ancient and picturesque
town of Lewes, with its towering castle and ruined priory,
its numerous churches, gates, and circling walls, burst upon
their view.
" Welcome! thou city of refuge," exclaimed Carver,
stretching out his hands towards the town. "Thou art
338
Cardinal Pole.
gladsome to mine eyes as was Ramoth Gilead to the fugitives
from Jordan. There shall I be at rest."
" There will be a rare bonfire in that old town to-morrow,"
observed Captain Brand, in a jeering tone, to the prisoner—
"a bonfire such as the townsfolk have seldom seen, and which
they are likely long to recollect. 'Twill be a grand spectacle
to those who look on," he added with stern significance.
" I had rather be the chief actor in the spectacle than a
beholder of it," replied Carver; "and I trust those who
witness it will long remember it."
On this, Brand rode on, and Father Josfrid resumed the
exhortation which he had been obliged for the nonce to
suspend.
CHAPTER III.
HOW DERRICK CARVER WAS PLACED IN A VAULT BENEATH
THE STAR INN AT LEWES.
T the period of our history, Lewes, as we have just
intimated, was surrounded by walls built of stone,
and of considerable strength, though few traces of
these fortifications are now left. At the west
gate of the town the party was met by the high sheriff, Sir
Richard de Warren, and Master Piddinghoe, the head-
borough, attended by a large posse of men armed with
halberds. Besides these, there were many burgesses and
priests, who had come forth to see the prisoner. At this
place Derrick Carver was delivered over to the high sheriff
by Captain Brand, who at the same time handed to Sir
Richard the warrant for the prisoner's execution.
"All shall be leady for the ceremonial to-morrow morn¬
ing," said De Warren. " We cannot lodge him in the castle,
but we will place him in a vault beneath the Star Inn, where
he will be perfectly secure."
" I have fulfilled mine office in delivering him into your
hands Sir Richard," replied Brand. "But my orders from
Sheriff Woodrooffe are to tarry here till the sentence is
carried out."
"You will not be detained beyond to-morrow morning,
Sir," said De Warren.
On this the party passed through the gate, and began to
move slowly down the High Street, which formed a gradual
descent towards the centre of the town. On either side the
Cardinal Vole.
street were habitations of various sizes, but ail or quaint and
picturesque architecture. As the train advanced, - the in¬
habitants came forth to see the prisoner, to many of whom
he was personally kno*vn, and these loudly expressed their
commiseration, and their abhorrence of his persecutors.
By the time the train had reached the massive Norman
gate of the castle, so large a crowd had collected that the
progress of the party was impeded, and the hign sheriffs
attendants had to use the poles of their halberds to effect a
passage.- In spite, however, of the exertions of the officers
and men, the throng could not be kept back, but forced
themselves up to the prisoner, and catching hold of his gar¬
ments, and clinging to his horse, besought his blessing.
"Stand back!—touch him not!" cried Father Josfrid.
" He is excommunicated."
Little attention however, was paid to the priest. In vain
Carver besought those nearest him to retire—in vain the
officers commanded them to stand back—they would not
stir. At last, force was employed, they were thrust violently
aside, and amid shrieks of terror and groans and yells of
indignation, Carver was hurried along, and finally conveyed
through a gateway into a large yard at the rear of the Star
Inn. As soon as this had been accomplished the gate was
shut, and a guard placed in front of it.
This ancient hostel, which still exists, though it has under¬
gone many transformations, was then a large and substantial
structure, capable of accommodating a great number of
guests, and was managed by Dame Dunster, a buxom widow,
whose boast it was that the best mutton in Sussex, the fattest
capons, the most perfectly seasoned venison pasties, the most
delicious stewed eels, and the brightest sack and claret, were
to be had at the Star at Lewes. Besides these good things,
and many others, those who lodged with Dame Dunster had
the luxury of linen white as snow, and fragrant of lavender.
Nothing, in short, was wanting at the Star—a comely and
good-humoured landlady, young and not ill-favoured hand¬
maidens, and active drawers—these for the guests, while for
their steeds there were good stables and good provender.
Beneath the hostel there existed, and indeed still exists, a
large vault, wherein, as the high sheriff had intimated to
Captain Brand, it was intended to place Derrick Carver for
How Derrick Carver was Placed in a Vault. 347
the night. The subterranean chamber was of great strength,
the roof high and arched, and the walls of solid stone. It
was of great antiquity, and had originally belonged to a
monastic edifice. On one side, at a considerable height from
the ground, was an unglazed window or apeiture, contrived
for the admission of air and light. This aperture was placed
on a level with the street, and was secured by stout iron
bars, fixed horizontally and close together. This singular
vault is still much in the same state as we have described it,
though it is now used for other purposes than as a place of
detention of prisoners, being, in fact, a very cool and com¬
modious cellar.
When Derrick Carver was taken into the inn-yard, as
already related, he became so faint that he was obliged to
sit down on a horse-block for a few minutes to recover him¬
self. Noticing his feeble condition, Dame Dunster who had
come forth to look at him, kindly sent for a cup of sack, and
offered it to him. But Father Josfrid again interposed, and
bade her take the wine away, if she would not fall under the
same ban as the miserable wretch before her. But the kind-
hearted hostess persisted, whereupon the priest snatched the
cup from her, and dashed its contents on the ground.
"You must have a heart utterly void of compassion, or
you could not act thus," cried Dame Dunster to Father
Josfrid. "You would see the poor man die, and not raise
a hand to help him. It would be happy for him, indeed, if
he were to die, as in that case he would escape further
cruelty."
"I am better now," replied Derrick Carver, raising him¬
self to his feet by a great effort. " I lack not the wine you
would have given me to drink, but I thank you heartily for
the kind intent, and invoke Heaven's blessings upon your
house."
"Thy blessings will prove curses, thou outcast from
Heaven," cried the priest.
" Be not troubled by his words, good sister," said Carver.
" Be mindful of what I say to you. Avoid idolatry and
superstition. Place your faith in the Gospel, and you shall
live. Pray for me, sister, and I will pray for you."
Dame Dunster and her maidens turned away weeping,
while Carver descended a flight of stone steps leading to the
342
Cardinal Pole.
vault, the door of which being unlocked he was rudely thrust
into the subterranean chamber. A few trusses of straw for
a couch, with bread-and-water for sustenance, being supplied
him, he was left alone, and the door locked outside.
After glancing round the vault, noting its size, and the
solidity of its walls, Carver turned his attention to the
barred opening, already described as being on a level with
the street. Through this opening noises reached his ears,
but no one was allowed to approach and hold converse with
him, a guard being placed outside the inn.
Carver took a few turns in the vault, and then sitting
down upon a wooden bench, which constituted its sole furni¬
ture, took out his Bible, which had been happily spared him,
and began to read it. He had been occupied in this manner
tor some time, when the strokes of a pickaxe dealt upon the
stones in the street disturbed him, and he raised his head to
listen. By-and-by the clatter of a shovel was heard—then
there was a great noise as if several men were carrying a
heavy mass, which appeared to be plunged into a hole that
had just been digged; and then there was a dull, dead,
thumping sound, as if the earth were being beaten down by
a ram.
Suspecting what was going forward, but desiring to know
the truth, Carver placed the bench immediately below the
window, and, mounting upon it, raised himself so that he
could just look through the bars into the street. He then
found that his conjectures were correct, and that the noises
he had heard were caused by men who were planting the
stake in the ground to which he was to be attached on the
morrow. With a mournful curiosity he watched them at
their work, and did not withdraw till the stake was firmly
secured, and a heavy iron chain attached to it. He had just
got down, when he heard Captain Brand, whose harsh voice
he instantly recognised, giving directions to the men.
"Take care that plenty of fagots are provided," he said;
"and, furthermore, I mustjfhave an empty tar-barrel lrrge
enough to hold the prisoner. He boasts of his firmness,"
added Brand with a bitter laugh. " We will see whether
we cannot shake it."
It wouid seem that he was likely to be disappointed in his
expectation, for Carver heard the order given without the
How Derrick Carver was Placed in a Vault.
slightest feeling of dread, but calmly resumed the perusal of
the sacred volume at the point where he had laid it aside.
Neither did he desist until it grew dark, and he was unable
to read longer.
He then knelt down and prayed fervently, continuing his
vigils until long after midnight, when weariness overcame him,
and flinging himself upon the straw, he presently fell asleep.
He was roused from his slumbers by a stone which fell
upon the floor of the vault not far from where he was lying,
and as he stirred he heard a voice calling to him from the
barred window, and looking in that direction, he could just
distinguish the figure of a man.
"Who speaks?" he demanded rising to his feet.
" A friend," replied the other. "Come nearer—quick!"
"The voice seems familiar to me," observed Carver, "and
if I did not deem it impossible, I should say it was "
" It is he you suppose," interrupted the speaker. "Come
as near me as you can, and come quickly, for I may be
discovered."
Thus adjured, Carver mounted the bench, and was then
only separated by the bars from the person outside, whom
he now recognised as Osbert Clinton.
"Why have you incurred this danger on my account, oh,
rash young man ?" he cried.
" I have somewhat to impart," replied Osbert; " but I
must be brief, for though the man on guard has quitted his
post, he may return. In a word, then, I shall make an
attempt to deliver you from these bloodthirsty tigers to¬
morrow. I have half a dozen friends with me, and when
you are brought forth for execution, we will fall upon the
guard and set you free."
" I forbid you to make the attempt, my son," replied
Carver. " I am fully prepared to die, and would not accept
a pardon from my enemies were it offered me. By freeing
me as you propose, you would wrest from me the crown of
martyrdom which I hope to win at yonder stake. My race
is almost run, and the goal is at hand. . I have done with
the world, and would not be brought back to it. My last
sufferings will be sharp, but they will be speedily over, and
I rejoice that I am able to bear them. Again, I say, this
attempt must not be made."
244 Cardinal Pote.
"< Since you will have it so, 1 must needs obey," rejoined
Osbert, in a mournful tone. " And yet I would try to move
y°" It would be in vain," said Carver. " Our moments are
precious. Let them not be wasted in idle discussion. I will
not fly from the death prepared for me. The stake is ready,
and shall not want the victim. I know you will readily do
me a service Seek out my poor wife and children at
Brightelmstone, and bid them farewell for me."
"I have already seen them," replied Osbert. "Your
wife is ill—too ill to leave the house—and I enjoined her
not to come here to-morrow."
"You did right—quite right," rejoined Carver. "What
of my aged mother ? " he demanded, in a voice of profound
emotion.
" I ought to have no concealment trom you now," said
Osbert. "Your mother is no more."
" I thought so," replied Carver, after a pause. " She
appeared to me just now during my slumber. Her counte¬
nance wore a heavenly smile, and methought her lips
opened to address me, but I could not catch the words she
uttered. Her spirit was still hovering nigh me when you
woke me from the blissful dream."
There was a deep, solemn pause, after which Carver
continued: " And now, Osbert Clinton, I have some
counsel to give you. The success of the great enterprise on
which you are engaged will depend on the prudence with
which it is conducted. Be not rash. Wait for a favourable
opportunity to strike the blow, and take heed that you do
not p'ace confidence in traitors."
" We expect men and money from France," said
Osbeit.
"France will play you false, as she has done before,"
t eplted Carver.
" But we are obliged to trust to that power, since we
have now no other resources," said Osbert. "All our
possessions have been seized and sequestered, and we have
not wherewithal to pay the host we could raise. We have
men, but not money. We lack as many chests of gold as
were brought from Spain by Philip when he landed at
Southampton."
How Derrick Carver was Placed in a Vault.
"What became of that Spanish bullion?" demanded
Carver.
" Part of it has been expended in bribes to our venal
nobles," replied Osbert. " But the rest is deposited in the
Tower."
" Is there much of the treasure left ? " inquired Carver.
" Half is left, as I understand," replied Osbert.
" W1 y not seize upon it, then ? " cried the other. "'Tis
lawful spoil. Instead of being employed, to corrupt mer¬
cenary nobles to enslave their country, let it be used to free
the land from Spanish thraldom and Popish tyranny.
Have no scruples. Seize upon it, I say. It was brought
into England to forge golden fetters for our rulers, let it be
turned into avenging swords."
" That treasure, indeed, would accomplish all we seek, if
we could obtain possession of it," said Osbert. "But I
have told you it is safely deposited in the Tower."
"And I say to you that it must be your business to get it
thence," rejoined Carver.
"You would not have me lay siege to the Tower to
obtain it ? " said Osbert.
"By stratagem you may accomplish what you desire,"
returned Carver. "I have no plan to suggest; but if you
weigh the matter carefully over, one is sure to occur to
you."
" I will give it due consideration," said Osbert. " Have
you aught more to say ? "
" Only to wish you happiness with her you love," replied
Carver. " My last words to Constance were to urge her to
look forward confidently to the day when she will be united
to you. For that day will come. It may not come so soon
as you anticipate and desire, but come it will. One word
more, and I have done. Should this insurrection prosper,
and your enemies fall into your hands, let no harm befal
Cardinal Pole. And now tarry no longer, my son. Take
my blessing with you, and depart."
" It is time," replied Osbert. " I hear the footsteps of
the guard. I shall be near you at the stake. Adieu !"
So saying, he disappeared, while Carver, descending from
the bench, knelt down and prayed fervently.
His devotions ended, he arose, and bethinking him oi
346
Cardinal Pole.
the vision he had seen during his slumber, he called out,
" Spirit of her from whom I derived my being, if thou art
indeed permitted to visit me, and art nigh me now, as I
think, I adjure thee to manifest thyself to me in the same
angelic form, and with the same angelic aspect, as I beheld
thee in my dream. Appear before me in this celestial guise
if thou canst, and cheer and comfort me with thy smile !"
At the close of this invocation, which he uttered with
great fervour, he looked around, half hoping that the spirit
would become visible, but nothing met his gaze except the
gloomy walls of his prison. He fancied, however, that he
heard something like a soft, low sigh, and felt a breath of
cool air upon his brow.
" It may not be," he said. " Thou canst not reveal thy¬
self to me, or mine eyes are unable to discern thee. But I
must have patience. In a few short hours I shall be as
thou art, and we can then hold the communion together
which is denied us now."
He then resumed his devotions, and continued in earnest
prayer till dawn glimmered through the bars of the window,
and ere long filled the vault with light.
Then some slight stir began to be heard in the street,
and by-and-by those on guard peered in at the bars of the
window. They beheld the prisoner seated upon the bench,
with the Bible open on his knee, profoundly occupied in its
perusuL
CHAPTER IV.
THE PROCESSION TO THE CALVARY.
LOVELY morning dawned upon Lewes. The sun,
which ere it reached its meridian was destined to
shine upon a terrible ceremonial, rose brilliantly
over Mount Caburn, glittering upon the brow of
that majestic eminence, and on the smooth summits of the
adjacent hill, and filling the wide valley, watered by the
meandering Ouse, with radiance. Kingston Hill with the
heights, enclosing the valley on the west, and extending to
Newhaven, glowed with roseate lustre, as did lordly Mount
Harry and his subject hills at the rear o. the town. The
noble amphitheatre of downs, by which the town is
surrounded, were seen in all their beauty, and no one
unacquainted with what was passing, would have supposed
that a morn so auspicious could usher in other than a joyous
day.
At an early hour the bells of the different churches began
to toll solemnly, announcing to the inhabitants that a sad
ceremonial was about to take place, and shortly after six
o'clock a religious procession, consisting 01 a number of
Cluniac monks, with the clergy and authorities Oi the place,
the high sherifi, the under-sheriffs, the chief burge.-ses,
with the headborough and constables, assembled in the
High Street, and proceeded to the Star Inn, where Derrick
Carver was brought out, and ordered to join it. The train
was headed by the Cluniac monks, who were attired in the
348
Cardinal Pole.
habits of their order, and after them walked the prisoner,
with Father Josfrid beside him. Next came the sheriff
with Captain Brand, then the local clergy and authorities,
while the head-borough and constables brought up the rear.
The procession descended the steep street leading to the
East Gate, through which it passed, and then, turning off
on the right, and skirting the old walls, which were
thronged with spectators, crossed the valley to Southover,
and shaped its course towards the singular mount rising
on the east of the ruined priory of St. Pancras. On the
summit of this eminence, a large crucifix, with the figure
of the Saviour nailed to it, was then reared, forming, from
its commanding position, a conspicuous object for miles
around.
On reaching the summit of the mount, the monks pros¬
trated themselves at the foot of the cross, and began to
recite a prayer, while the rest of the procession assumed an
equally reverential posture. Derrick Carver, however, re¬
fused to kneel, and on this occasion his prejudices were
respected. As he remained standing amidst the kneeling
assemblage, he cast his eyes around, and surveyed the fair
scene of which he was about to take leave for ever. To one
less firmly constituted, it might have seemed hard to quit so
lovely a world. But his thoughts were fixed on heaven, and
though nature put on her most tempting aspect, she could
not lure him back to earth.
Immediately beneath him lay the ruins of the once noble
priory of St. Pancras, demolished by the Vicar-General
Cromwell, in the reign of Henry VIII., and as he looked at
the fragments of this vast and stately pile, Carver rejoiced
in its destruction. Adjoining these ruins was an immense
dovecot, built «n the form of a cross, above which thousands
of pigeons were circling or alighting on its roof. On his
right, across a woody valley, climbing the side of a hill, and
with its picturesque habitations intermingled with trees,
was the town with whose annals his name was thenceforward
to be associated. Beautiful it looked on that bright clear
morning, and proudly towered its old Norman castle—grey
walls, quaint houses, and church-towers, glittering in the
sunbeams, and all seerrqng to claim attention; but Carver
turned from them to gaze at the downs, and as his eye
The Procession to the Calvary.
349
wandered over those fair hills, thoughts of other days
rushed upon him.
Many and many a happy hour had he spent upon those
downs. Familiar with all their beauties, his imagination
carried him from point to point, till it brought him to the
litde fishing-town where he was born, and where the greater
part of his life had been spent. For a moment only did he
yield to the emotions awakened within his breast. They
were sharp and poignant, but he instantly checked them,
and resumed his former stoicism.
Just then, the monks having finished their prayer, arose,
and began to chant a hymn to the blessed Virgin, in which
all those with them joined. Many of the inhabitants of the
town had followed the procession to the calvary, and by this
time a large concourse had assembled on the sides and at
the base of the mount. All these persons joined in the
choral hymn; and the effect of so many voices linked
together in harmony was inexpressibly fine.
At the conclusion of the hymn the monks began slowly
to descend the mount, chanting lugubrious strains as they
moved along. The others followed in the same order as
before. As Derrick Carver marched on, many of the
spectators expressed their sympathy for him, but no one
was suffered to approach him, or exchange a word with
him.
Amongst those who had followed the procession to the
mount were some half-dozen young men on horseback, who
had hitherto kept aloof from the crowd ; but just as Derrick
Carver reached the foot of the mount, one of them suddenly
dismounted, and leaving his steed with his companions,
forced himself into a front place amid the line of spec¬
tators.
The movement attracted the attention of the prisoner,
who instantly recognised Osbert Clinton, and signified to
him by his gestures that no change had taken place in his
sentiments.
Osbert's imprudent movement, however, had not escaped
the notice of Captain Brand, who, moreover, detected the
glance of intelligence that passed between the young man
and Carver. When Osbert shortly afterwards rejoined hiy
companions and remounted his horse, Brand directed the
23
35°
Cardinal Pole.
sheriffs attention to the group, and inquired if he knew the
young men.
De Warren replied in the negative, declaring they must
be strangers.
" I am certain I have seen that young man before," ob¬
served Brand, "though I cannot, for the moment, give him
a name. Ha ! I have it!" he exclaimed, quickly. " It is
Osbert Clinton."
"What! he who was engaged in the last rising?" cried
the sheriff, surprised.
"The same," replied Brand. "I am sure of it. And
now 1 look at the others, I cannot doubt but that they are
the ringleaders in that treasonable affair. A heavy price is
set on all their heads, and I must call upon you to aid me
in their capture, Sir Richard."
" I will readily do so," replied De Warren; " but even
supposing you are right in your suspicions, we must act
with prudence. They are all well mounted, and on the
slightest movement will be off, and easily baffle pursuit upon
these downs. Alarm them not. They are following the
procession. Once in the town, we can easily secure
them."
" They are evidently come to witness the execution," said
Brand, " and may design to rescue the prisoner."
" Fear nothing; we shall have them safe enough if we
proceed with caution," rejoined the sheriff. " 1 will pre¬
sently give instructions concerning them to Master Pidding-
hoe, the headborough."
" Leave the matter to me, I pray you, Sir Richard," said
Brand. "I can manage it without the headborough's
aid."
" You desire to obtain the whole reward, eh, Cap¬
tain Brand?" observed De Warren. "Well, as you
please."
The whole of this conversation had reached the ears of
Derrick Carver, who marched in front of the speakers, and
the danger incurred by Osbert and his friends caused him
great uneasiness. Fain would he have warned them of their
peril by look or gesture, but no opportunity of doing so
occurred.
Meantime, the procession moved on, and, pursuing a
The Procession to the Calvary. 351
different course on its return, entered the town by the
Water-gate, and then ascending the steep and narrow
thoroughfare called Saint Mary's Lane, came forth into the
High Street, exactly opposite the Star Inn. To his great
satisfaction, Captain Brand remarked that Osbert Clinton
and his companions had likewise passed through the Water¬
gate.
CHAPTER V.
HOW CAPTAIN BRAND SOUGHT TO CAPTURE THE
CONSPIRATORS.
ip|||?flN being brought back to the hostel, Derrick Carver
rggg| was again conducted to the vault, there to remain
till the hour appointed for his execution. He
was so much troubled in spirit, owing to his
anxiety for the safety of Osbert Clinton and his companions,
that he could not address himself to prayer, and was pacing
to and fro, when the door was unlocked, and the hostess
entered. Her first business was to set down a little basket
which she had concealed under her mantle, and she then
informed Carver that she had brought him some wine and
food. " I have prevailed on Master Piddinghoe to grant
me admittance to you," she said, " and I have managed to
bring in this basket unperceived by the guard. Eat, I pray
you, if only a morsel, and drink a cup of wine. It will
strengthen you."
" I thank you heartily, good mistress," replied Carver,
" but I shall eat and drink no more. There is, however,
one great service which you can render me, if you are so
minded."
And he looked at her wistfully.
"What is it?" she replied. "Tell me, and I will do it.
You may perfectly confide in me."
Carver then, in a few words, informed her of the danger
of Osbert Clinton and his friends, and after describing their
appearance, entreated her to warn them speedily.
The A ttempt to Capture the Conspirators.
"I will do your bidding without an instant's delay," she
replied. "I have seen the gentlemen you describe, and will
find them out, and urge them to instrnt flight. This
accounts for the orders I heard given to Master Piddinghoe
by Sir Richard de Warren, that all the town gates are to
be closed, and no one allowed to go forth without a pass¬
word. Luckily, I overheard it, and will give it to your
friends."
" You have removed a load of anxiety from my breast,
good mistress," said Carver. " If they are safe, I shall die
content."
" Then let no anxiety on their account trouble you fur¬
ther," she rejoined. " Ere many minutes they shall be out
of Lewes. Farewell! "
''Farewell, sister; my blessing go with you."
Hereupon the hostess quitted the vault, and Carver, whose
bosom was no longer oppressed, knelt down and resumed his
devotions.
Meanwhile, Dame Dunster, quitting the hostel privily,
went in search of Osbert and his companions ; but she could
discover nothing of them, and at last came to the conclusion
that they had already flown. She ascertained, however,
that in obedience to the sheriff's orders, all the town gates
where shut and guarded.
The hour appointed for the execution was now at hand.
Tne bell of Samt Michael's Church began to toll solemnly.
A great crowd was already collected in front of the Star Inn,
but a clear space was kept by the constables around the stake.
The din and confusion in the street, though it reached his
ears, did not distract the prisoner from his devotions, and
he continued in earnest prayer, until at last the door 01 his
cell was thrown open, and the sheriff, with Captain Brand,
Father JoTrid, and two officers provided with halberds,
entered the vault. On seeing them, Derrick Carver imme¬
diately arose from his knees, and told them in a firm voice,
that he was ready.
" I cannot hold out any hope of pardon to you," said De
Warren, "but I would fain hope that you will not die
impenitent."
" I shall die, Sir, as I have lived, in the faith I have pro¬
fessed and defended," replied Carver.
354
Cardinal Pole.
" Peradventure, you are of opinion that an attempt will
be made to liberate you ?" observed Brand. " It is well
you should be undeceived. The dangerous rebels who have
ventured her a have fallen into a snare."
" Are they taken ? " cried Carver.
" They soon will be," replied Brand. " Thou thyself
mayst possibly behold their capture. We hold them in our
hands. Their retreat is cut off. It will be my business to
convey them to the Tower."
"Alas ! why did they come hither? " groaned Carver.
"That is best know to themselves," rejoined Brand;
"but they have done me a good turn by coming."
" Have you aught to confess or declare concerning them ? "
demanded the sheriff
" An idle question," rejoined Carver. " Think you I
would say aught to their detriment ? "
Thereupon, the sheriff, bidding the officers bring forth
the prisoner, quitted the cell, and was presently followed by
the others. Several persons were assembled in the inn-
yard, and amongst them were Dame Dunster and her
handmaidens, weeping bitterly, to whom Carver bade an
eternal adieu, bidding them be comforted.
The gates, which had been hitherto kept closed, were then
thrown open, and the prisoner becoming visible to a portion
of the vast assemblage collected in the street, loud cries
arose.
The stake, as we have already mentioned, was planted in
the middle of the High-street, exactly opposite the Star Inn,
where the throughfare was w:dest. Around the place of
execution a large circular space was kept clear by the
constables and other officers armed with halberds, and within
this ring was heaped up a great pile of fagots with bundles
of dried gorse. In front of the stake stood the large empty
tar-barrel, commanded by Captain Brand. It was reared
on end, and the top had been staved in. Such were the
preparations made for the terrible ceremonial.
Into this ring Derrick Carver marched with firm footstep,
and his appearance was greeted with outcries of various
kinds from the beholders. He was closely attended by
Father Josfrid, who continued to press exhortations upon
him, to which he refused to listen. At this juncture Captain
The Attempt to Capture the Conspirators.
Brand came up to him, and said, " Thy life shall be spared
for a few minutes, that thou mayst know the fate of thy
friends." He then added to the officers : " Chain him not
to the stake till you receive the sheriff's signal from yonder
window."
And he pointed, as he spoke, to a large open window on
the first floor of the inn, which, unlike all the other windows
of the house, was destitute of spectators. Every spot,
indeed, commanding a view of the place of execution was
occupied. The entrance to St. Mary's-lane was blocked up
by a small party of horsemen, who, it need scarcely be said,
were Osbert Clinton and his friends. They had stationed
themselves at this point in order to secure a retreat in case of
need, but were wholly unaware that a party of armed men
were slowly ascending the narrow throughfare in their rear.
On quitting Derrick Carver, Captain Brand returned to
the inn-yard, where he had left his officers, and, putting
himself at their head, was about to sally forth and make the
arrest he meditated, when his plan was most unexpectedly
thwarted by Dame Dunster, who, suddenly appearing at the
open window which we have described as reserved fcr the
high sheriff and his attendants, leaned from it, and waving
a kerchief to attract the attention of Osbert and his friends,
called out to them in a loud voice,—
"Save yourselves!—save yourselves! —you are be¬
trayed ! "
Thus warned, the horsemen turned instantly to ride down
the hill, but at once perceived that their retreat in this
direction was cut off. Osbert did not hesitate a moment, but
calling out lustily to the crowd, " Make way, friends !—
make way ! " a passage was instantly opened for him and
his companions, and, ere any hindrance could be offered
them, they were all within the ring, and close to the
prisoner.
"You will not see this good man barbarously put to
death, my masters," cried Osbert, " but will aid him to
escape."
Several voices instantly answered the appeal, and a great
tumult arose amid the crowd.
" Think not of me, but save yourself I" cried Carver to
Osbert. " I shall not quit this spot."
356
Cardinal Pole.
So suddenly had the daring deed we have described been
executed, that surprise took away the power of opposition
from the constables and halberdiers, but they now took
heart, and encircled the horsemen, who had drawn their
swords, and kept them off. At the same time, Captain
Brand, who was issuing from the inn yard with his men,
vociferated,—
"Stay them, in the Queen's name !—let them not pass!—
they are rebels and traitor !"
" Touch us not, good friends," cried Osbert. " We are
true men, and would deliver you from Spanish bondage and
Popish thraldom."
Upon this several of the crowd called out,—
" We are for you, masters. This way !—this way !"
And, seconding their words by deeds, they threw them¬
selves upon the constables in front of them, and speedily
opened a passage, through which Osbert ar.d his com¬
panions got out of the ring, and dashed up the High-street.
A number of persons instantly started in pursuit, and as
the West-gate was closed, it was thought that the fugitives
must infallibly be captured; but those who entertained the
notion were wrong, since instead of seeking an exit by that
gate, Osbert and his companions turned off on the left, and
dashing down another thoroughfare as steep and narrow as
St. Mary's-lane, descended it in safety, and on reaching the
bottom of the hill, found that the Water-gate was open, and
rode through it ere the warder had time to shut it. Being
now out of the town, and all admirably mounted, they set
pursuit at defiance, and in less than an hour were safe on
the other side of Kingston Hill.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MARTYRDOM OF DERRICK CARVER.
O great was the confusion in the High Street after
the flight of Osbert Clinton and his companions,
and so threatening were the language and atti¬
tude of the populace, that it became a question
with the sheriff whether it would not be prudent to postpone
the execution to the following day. As a matter of precau¬
tion, Derrick Carver was taken into the entrance-hall of the
hostel, the door of which was closed, and a guard placed
before it.
Here he was kept for nearly an hour, when Captain
Brand returned with the intelligence that he had failed in
capturing the rebels. These were joyful tidings to Derrick
Carver, and he exclaimed, "Now I thall die content! "
After a brief consultation between the sheriff and Brand,
it was decided that the execution should be proceeded with,
upon which Brand went forth with his men, and soon suc¬
ceeded in clearing a space, as before, round the stake.
This done, Derrick Carver was aeain brought forth, and
when he appeared on the threshold of the inn, a great cry
arose from the people, and it became evident from the
violence of their gestures and vociferations that another
disturbance was at hand.
Alarmed by these menacing demonstrations, Sir Richard
de Warren, who was of a somewhat timid nature, ordered
the prisoner to be taken back, b it Brand insisted that the
sentence must be cariied out.
" We must not yield to intimidation," he said. "The law
must be carried out at all risks."
Cardinal Pole.
Still the sheriff hesitated, when Derrick Carver inter¬
posed :—
" I pray you, Sirs, let me speak to them," he said. " They
will listen to me."
" Speak to them if thou wilt," rejoined Brand. "But say
nought to inflame them further, or it shall be worse for
thee."
Having obtained this permission, Carver called out in a
loud voice to the assemblage, that he desired to address
them, upon which the tumult and clamour instantly ceased.
" Hear me, good friends," he cried, amidst the sudden
silence. " I am come here to give testimony by my death
to truth and pure religion against Antichrist and fahe
doctrines, and I beseech you, if you hold with me in the
faith, to let me die in peaCe. I would have my ending
profitable to you, and not the cause of bloodshed and
destruction even of my enemies."
This address produced the effect desired, and from that
moment the crowd became tranquil, and offered no further
interruption to the proceedings.
Seeing that order was restored, the sheriff committed the
further conduct of the ceremonial to Brand, and withdrew
to the upper window overlooking the street, whence he
could contemplate the tragical spectacle as from a tribune.
Meantime, Derrick Carver, pushing aside Father Josfiid,
marched up to the stake, and after embracing it tenderly,
knelt down, and in tones of the utmost fervour prayed for
strength and heavenly grace that he might by his death
glorify the Saviour's holy name, ratify his Gospel, comfort
the hearts of the weary, confirm his Church, and convert
such as were to be converted. He further prayed for
support during the grievous torments to which he was about
to be subjected, offering himself up as a willing sacrifice and
burnt-offering, and concluded by imploring that the blessing
of the Word, of which the realm was at present unhappily
deprived, might be once more vouchsafed to it. This prayer,
uttered aloud and with great earnestness, produced a pro¬
found impression on all who heard it.
Seeing this, and anxious to efface the impression, Father
Josfrid advanced towards him and said,—
" Wretched man, thy last hour is arrived; but there is
The Martyrdom of Derrick Carvei
359
yet time to save thy soul if thou wilt recant thine heresies,
and return to the Church thou hast abandoned, but which is
willing to receive thee."
" Hence with thee, tempter ! " cried Carver, rising to his
feet. "Wert thou to offer me all the riches of the earth, I
would not become an idolater."
Thus rebuked, Father Josfrid withdrew, and his place was
taken by two rough-looking men, one of whom rudely
ordered the prisoner to make ready.
Upon this, Carver proceeded to divest himself of a portion
of his apparel, and while he was thus employed, several
persons among the crowd called out to him for a memorial,
upon which he threw his garments amongst them, and they
were instantly seized upon by a hundred eager hands, and
rent in pieces, the fragments being carefully preserved by
those who were fortunate enough to secure them.
As he was taking off his doublet, the * acred volume which
had been the solace of his long imprisonment, and which
he had kept about him to this moment, fell to the ground ;
seeing which, Captain Brand, who was standing by, picked
it up, and with a look of disdain, tossed it into the tar-barrel
near the stake.
The two rough-looking men, who had remained near the
prisoner, now took hold of him, and raising him in their
arms, set him within the barrel. Thus disposed, Carver's
first business was to take up the Bible, and after pressing his
lips to it, he threw it amidst the crowd.
Greatly enraged by the act, Captain Brand called out in a
furious voice to the person who had secured the prize to
restore it instantly on pain of death, whereupon it was flung
back, and was subsequently consigned to the flames.
A heavy chain was then passed around Carver's body and
made fast to the stake. Left to himself for a moment, the
martyr then called out in a loud voice, "Farewell, dear
brethren, farewell! Our Church is encompassed about by
deadly enemies, who seek its destruction, and it is for the
restoration of that Church that my blood is this day freely
poured forth. It will not be shed in vain. Comfort ye amid
your troubles, and remain stedfast in your faith ! Happier
days shall soon dawn upon you. Farewell, O, farewell!"
No sooner had he concluded this valediction which was
360
Cardinal Pole.
responded to by loud lamentations from the majority of the
assemblage, than the men began to heap fagots around him,
filling the barrel with dry gorse and brushwood.
Before the pile, which was heaped up to his shoulders,
could be lighted, the martyr exclaimed, " Blessed are they
who die in the Lord. Thrice blessed are they who die in
the Lord's cause. Fear not them that kill the body, for
they cannot kill the soul. He that shall lose his life for
my sake shall find it, saith our blessed Saviour, in the which
hope I now die. Again, dear brethren, I bid you farewell!"
" A truce to thy blasphemy! " cried Brand, seizing a torch
and applying it to the pile.
Fast and fierce burnt the fire, and quickly mounted the
flame, but, to judge from the serene expression of his
countenance, it might have been as innocuous to the martyr
as was the blaze of the burning fiery furnace to the three
Israelites. Not a groan escaped Derrick Carver, and his
last words were, " I go to obtain my reward."
Captain Brand was as good as his word. A rare bonfire
was seen that day at Lewes. Fagots and brushwood were
heaped upon the pile till the flames rose up higher than the
upper windows of the old hostel, and the heat was so great,
that those nearest the blazing mass drew back half scorched.
When the fire had burnt out, all that remained was a heap
of ashes, in the midst of which stood a charred stake with
an iron chain attached to it.
Such was the martyrdom of Derrick Carver.
His memory is not forgotten in Lewes; and on the fifth
of November in each year, a great torchlight procession,
composed of men in fantastic garbs and with blackened
visages, and dragging blazing tar-barrels after them, parades
the High Street, while an enormous bonfire is lighted
opposite the Star Inn, on the exact : pot where Derrick
Carver perished, into which, when at its highest, various
effigies are cast. A more extraordinary spectacle than is
presented by this commemoration of the Marian peisecutions
in Lewes it has never been our lot to witness.
iSnlj of ttie Surtf) 15oofv.
BOOK VH.
THE TREASURE-CHESTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE LOVES OF OG AND LI LI AS.
T will probably be recollected under what singular
circumstances the acquaintance began between
Og the gigantic and Lilias the fair. From the
very moment when the damsel, seated behind the
giant on the broad back of Arundel, passed her arm round
his waist, a flame was kindled in his breast never afterwards
to be extinguished.
A magnetic influence was exercised over him by
Lilias, and he speedily became so much enthralled by
her fascinations as was Sir Bevis of Southampton,
whom he then represented, by the charms of the
peerless Princess Josyan. When he and his gigantic
brothers, with Sir Narcissus and Lady le Grand, proceeded
to Winchester to take part in the pageants displayed there
during the royal nuptials, Lilias accompanied them, and,
before many days had elapsed, her conquest cf Og was com-
Cardinal Pole.
plet2. She had him, as Gog confidentially remarked to
Magog, "entirely under her thumb."
"Will he be fool enough to marry her, think you,
brother ?" observed Magog, shrugging his shoulders, and
thinking of Dame Piaciaa.
" Hum! 1 cannot say, but I shall do my best to dissuade
him from the step," rejoined Gog.
So the brothers laid their huge heads together, and the
result was that they devised a plan by which they hoped to
get rid altogether of the fair syren, and cure Og of his ridi¬
culous passion, as they deemed it. Their plan was to send
back Lilias to Southampton, and persuade Og that she had
left him of her own accord to return to her former admirer,
and they managed the matter so adroitly, that Og was com¬
pletely duped, and, after a tremendous burst of indignation
against the fickleness of the sex, vowed he would never think
of the false jillflirt again. His brothers commended his
resolution, and told him he had had a narrow escape.
" If you are wise, you will take warning by me, and never
marry," said Magog.
" If he must needs marry, let him choose a buxom widow,
and not a tricksome girl like Lilias."
" I don't mean to marry at all," cried Og, resolutely.
But the fangs of disappointment gnawed his heart He
grew moody and dull, and avoided the society of his
brothers.
After a month's absence from the Tower, the three
gigantic warders returned there, and resumed their ordinary
duties. But Og's melancholy increased, and his brothers at
last began to feel uneasy about him, and to regret the part
they had played.
" It would be a grievous thing were he to break his heart
for this silly girl," remarked Gog. " He seems pining away
for her."
" He may be pining away," observed Magog; " but he is
in good case still, and his appetite is not amiss, judging by
the havoc he made with the cold chine of beef and lumbar-
pie at breakfast this morning, to say nothing of the stoup of
ale which he managed to empty. Nevertheless, I agree with
you, brother Gog, that he is not himself, and hath quite lost
his old pleasant humour. He never jests, as was his wont,
The Loves of Og and Lilias.
363
and I have not heard a hearty laugh from him since we sent
Lilias away."
" I begin to think we did wrong in meddling in the
matter," observed Gog. " I shall, never cease to reproach
myself if anything should hapoen to him."
•'Well, we acted for the best," said Magog. "I only
wish my marriage had been prevented," he added, with a
groan. " Let us see how he goes on. Perchance, he may
recover."
But Og did not recover, and, although he did not exhibit
any of the usual symptoms of despairing love, as loss of
appetite, or flesh, a lacklustre eye, and disordered manner,
still he became more gloomy and sullen than ever, and rarely
exchanged a word with his brothers.
Nearly eight months had now flown since he had beheld
Lilias, and still her image was constantly betore him, and
the witchery she had practised upon him by her fascinations
and allurements had not lost a jot of its power. He was
still as much under her sway as if she had been with him all
the time.
One evening, while he was taking a solitary walk upon
the ramparts, and thinking of Lilias, he saw Xit hastening
towards him, and would have avoided him, but the dwarf
stopped him, saying,—
" Give thee good e'en, Og. I was looking for thee. I
bring thee good news."
"Out of my way," rejoined the giant, gruffly. "I am in
no humour for jesting."
" I know thou art become as surly as a bear with a sore
head," replied Xit; "but thou hadst best not provoke a
quarrel with me, or thou wilt rue it."
"Pass on," roared Og, "and exercise thy wit at the
expense of those who are amused by it — my brothers
for example. But meddle not with me. I am danger-
ous."
" Big words do not terrify me," rejoined Xit, with a mock¬
ing "laugh. " Furious as thou art, I can tame thee with a
word. I have but to pronounce the name of 'Lilias Ring-
wood,' and thou wilt straight become as gentle as a lamb.
Ha ha ! ha ! Was I not right ? "
" Hast thou aught to tell me concerning Lilias ?" cried
364 Cardinal Pole.
Og, suddenly becoming as meek as the animal to which he
had been likened. " 1* so, speak quickly 2 "
"Soh! thou art in the mood for converse now, and my
jests do not appear tiresome to thee," rejoined Xit;" but I
will not gratify thee. Thou art dull company. I will go to
thy brothers."
" Nay, but Xit. sweet Xit, if thou hast any love for me,
tell me what thou knowest of Lilias."
" Thou dost not deserve that I should tell thee aught,
uncourteous giant," said Xit. " Nevertheless, out of com¬
passion for thy miserable state, I will speak. Know,
then, most amorous Titan, that I have seen the lady of thy
love "
" Thou hast seen Lilias!" interrupted Og. " Oh! thou
art my best friend. How doth she look ? Is she comely
as ever? Or is she changed and married to another?
Tell me the worst. It may break my heart—but spare me
not."
" I will tell thee the best and the worst as quickly as may
be," rejoined Xit. "The best is, that Lilias is still true to
thee, and looking lovelier than ever—and the worst is, that
she is coming to the Tower in a few days, and therefore
thou wilt soon behold her again."
"Why, the worst is best of all!" cried Og, transported
with delight.
"Nay, it is worst," rejoined Xit; "because, when she
comes, thou wilt be compelled to marry her."
" But I say to thee again that it is best, for I desire nothing
so much as marriage with her. But thou art not making
merry with me all this while ? 'Twere a sorry jest to trifle
with me thus."
"I am not trifling with thee, incredulous giant," replied
Xit. " If the hand of the fair Lilias will make thee happy,
thou shalt have it. That I promise thee. Now listen.
Compassionating thy woful condition, I have been to South¬
ampton, and seen the mistress of thy affections, and finding
her still unfettered by matrimonial ties, still amiably dis¬
posed towards thee, I proposed marriage to her in thy name,
and the offer was—accepted."
" Thou hast done me an incalculable service!" cried
Og, taking him in his arms, and hugging him tightly.
The Loves of Og and Li/ias. 365
' And so thou hast been to Southampton, and seen Lilias,
and won her for me—eh ? I have missed thee for the
last week, but fancied thou wert with her Majesty at White¬
hall."
"Set me down, and I will talk to thee," replied Xit.
"Thou hast almost squeezed the breath out of my body;"
and as Og placed him gently on the ground, he continued,
" I will now let thee into a secret. But first promise not to
be angry."
"I am far too happy to be angry with any one
now," rejoined Og. "Speak out. What hast thou to
reveal? "
" I must set thee right upon one point. When Lilias
quitted thee so suddenly at Winchester, it was not, as
thou wert led to suppose, from a desire to be reconciled
to her first lover. Her disappearance was contrived
by Gog and Magog, who did not wish thee to wed the
damsel."
" Thunder and lightning ! was it so ? " roared Og, with
sudden fury.
" Remember thy promise," said Xit.
"Well, proceed," cried Og, trying to calm himself.
" Perceivin . the mischief they had occasioned, and des¬
pairing of remedying the matter, thy brothers applied to
me, and out of my love for them and thee, I offered to go
to Southampton to see what could be done with Lilias.
Accordingly I went, and how I succeeded in my mission
thou art already aware."
" I am for ever beholden to thee," said Og. " And so
Lilias will certainly be here in a few days. Why didst thou
not bring her with thee ? "
" I would fain have done so," replied Xit; " but she had
preparations to make before her departure. However, she
will be escorted by a young gentleman whom you may
remember, Captain Rodomont Bittern, of Cardinal Pole's
household."
" Rodomont Bittern ! " exclaimed Og, knitting his bushy
brow. " Why should he escort her ? "
" Because he chances to be coming up to London at the
aame time—nothing more, thou jealous and suspicious fool,"
rejoined Xit. " Captain Bittern's errand to Southampton
24
366
Cardinal Pole.
was very different from mine. He did not go to propose a
marriage, but to attend a funeral. You remember Constanr e
Tyrrell?"
"Daughter of a wealthy Southampton merchant," replied
Og. "Yes, I remember her. It was whispered that the
King was enamoured of her, but that she preferred young
Osbert Clinton. She is now at Lambeth Palace, under the
guardianship of Cardinal Pole."
" I see you are well informed about her," replied Xit.
"Well, old Tyrrell, her father, is just dead, and has made a
very singular will. Since his daughter has become tainted
with heresy, he has lost all affection for her, and has now
disinherited her, and left the whole of his immense riches to
—whom think'st thou ? "
"Nay, I cannot guess," replied Og. " Not to Rodomont
Bittern, I trust?"
" No, not to him," returned Xit. " He has made Cardinal
Pole his heir, and the sum he has bequeathed is such as not
even a Cardinal need despise. This was the reason why
Rodomont Bittern and others of the Cardinal's household
were sent down to Southampton to bury the old merchant
and take possession of his property, and as I chanced to be
there at the same time, I naturally came in contact with
them, and on acquainting Captain Bittern with mine errand,
he proffered his services, and accompanied me when I called
on Lilias. It is but justice to him to add, that he pleaded
thy cause with the damsel as warmly as I could do myself.
When the affair was arranged, and Captain Bittern found
that a longer stay at Southampton was inconvenient to me,
he obligingly undertook to escort thy destined bride to
London. Thus thou hast now the whole affair before thee.
Methinks I have some little claim on thy gratitude. So
if you will come with me to thy brothers, and assure them
they are forgiven, I shall deem myself amply requited."
Og readily assented, and quitting the ramparts, they
proceeded to the By ward Tower, where they found Gog and
Magog at supper, an immense pasty, with a cold ham, a
mountainous loaf, and a mighty mazer filled with ale, being
set before them.
As Og and Xit entered, they both rose from the table at
which they were seated, and seeing there were no traces of
The Loves of Og and IAlt as. 367
anger on their brother's countenance, they held out theii
hands to him, which Og, so far from refusing, shook very
cordially.
In a few moments all explanations were over, and the
brothers amicably seated at the table, discussing the pasty,
ever and anon applying to the mazer, and talking, when
they were able to talk at all, of the approaching marriage.
CHAPTER II.
OF THE MEETING BETWEEN OG AND LILIAS ON TOWER-GREEN
RECISELY at the time that Lilias was expected, the
King paid a visit to the Tower. He came from
Whitehall by water, and was attended by Sir John
Gage and Sir Henry Jerningham. On landing, he
was received by the Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir Henry
Bedingfeld, and a guard, among whom were the gigantic
warders, and by his own desire was at once conducted to the
Jewel House, where his chests of bullion were deposited.
This building was situated in a court belonging to the old
palace, its precise position being on the south of the White
Tower, between the Queen's lodgings and the Cold Harbour
Tower. At the door of the Jewel Tower, the King was re¬
ceived by Master Thomas Lovel, the keeper, who seemed to
expect his Majesty, and took him forthwith to the strong¬
room containing the treasure. After satisfying himself that
the coffers were safe, Philip informed Lovel that he was
about to place them in the Exchequer, and gave him some
directions respecting their removal.
Before leaving the Jewel House, the King had some pri¬
vate converse with Lovel, who, it appeared, had an important
communication to make to him. Having given further in¬
structions in secret to the keeper, Philip proceeded to the
White Tower, where he ascended to the great council-
chamber, and after surveying it with much curiosity, re¬
paired to the ancient Norman chapel dedicated to Saint John
the Evangelist, and passed some time in devotion within it.
Of the Meeting Between Og and Li lias. 369
His examination of t.he White Tower ended, the King was
proceeding with Sir Henry Bedingfeld towards the lieuten¬
ant's lodgings, and they had just reached the Tower Green,
which was then, as now, shaded by noble trees, when lively
strains greeted their ears, and other joyous sounds pro¬
claimed that some festivities were going on. Turning to Sir
Henry Bedingfeld, Philip inquired the cause of this rejoicing,
but the latter looked perplexed, and being unable to obtain
any information from those about him, despatched a warder
to ascertain the meaning of the gleeful sounds. While the
man was gone on his errand, Phiiip occupied himself in ex¬
amining the exterior of the Beauchamp Tower, opposite
which he had halted. In another minute the warder re¬
turned, with a broad grin upon his face, and imparted some¬
thing to Sir Henry Bedingfeld, which at once caused a
corresponding smile to illumine the lieutenant's grave coun¬
tenance.
"An please your Majesty," said Sir Henry, addressing
Philip, "I have just ascertained that those sounds of rejoicing
are occasioned by the arrival from Southampton of the des¬
tined bride of one of our gigantic warders, Og—there he
stands to answer for himself, if your Majesty will deign to
question him."
" From Southampton !" exclaimed Philip. " I should not
be surprised if it were the fair damsel I beheld there at the
time of my arrival, who enacted the part of the Princess,
when the giant himself personated the redoubted Sir Bevis."
"'Tis the very same, Sire," replied Og, advancing towards
the King, and making a profound obeisance. " 'Tis Lilias
Ringwood, whom your Majesty deigns to remember. It
would appear she has just arrived, though I myself have not
had the gratification of beholding her."
"Thou shalt have the gratification anon," returned Philip;
"but where are thy brothers? They were with thee just
now. Are they with Lilias ? "
" I conclude so, Sire," replied Og. " While your Majesty
was in the White Tower, they were summoned by Xit, with
what intent I knew not then, though I can guess it now.
They are giving Lilias a joyful welcome preparatory to our
meeting. Under these circumstances, may I crave your
gracious permission to join my intended bride?"
Cardinal Pole.
"Control thine impatience for a moment, and answer mc
one question," said Philip. " How long is it since thou hast
seen her? "
" Not since your Majesty was espoused to the Queen at
Winchester," replied Og.
" And she has not changed her mind during that long in¬
terval ? By my faith, she is a very model of constancy ! "
exclaimed Philip, laughing. "Sir Henry Bedingfeld," he
added tc the lieutenant, " I would fain witness the meeting
between this loving pair. Let the damsel be brought
hither."
Whereupon an order to that effect was instantly given by
Bedingfeld.
Shortly afterwards the sound of a tabour and fife were
heard, while the trampling of feet and other confused noises
announced that a number of persons were coming up the
road leading from the Bloody Tower to the Green, and in
another moment a little procession came in view.
At the head of the train strutted Xit, in a jerkin and
mantle of crimson velvet, embroidered with gold, and carry¬
ing in his hand a pole decorated with ribbons of various
colours, and hung with bells. Behind the mannikin marched
Gog and Magog, sustaining between them a chair, in which
sat Lilias Ringwood, arrayed in a very becoming green
kirtle, and her pretty countenance suffused with blushes.
Some twenty or thirty persons in holiday attire followed the
bride, amongst whom were Rodomont Bittern, and his
friends Nick Simnel and Jack Holiday. Besides Lady le
Grand and Magog's wife, Dame Placida, there was a troop
of young damsels, several of whom had considerable preten¬
sions to beauty
As soon as the procession reached the green it came to a
halt, and Xit advancing alone towards the King, and making
a very ceremonious obeisance to his Majesty, desired to
know his pleasure.
" Let the damsel approach," said Philip.
Whereupon Xit signed to the two giants to advance with
their fair burden, and as they drew near, the King bade Og
go forward and help her to alight. It is needless to say that
the command was piomptly obeyed. With a few mighty
strides Og cleared the space between him and his mistress,
Of the Meeting Between Og and Lilias.
while his brothers elevated the chair on which she was
seated, as if to place her out of his reach. Lilias, however,
did not hesitate to spring from the giddy height into her
gigantic lover's outstretched arms, and was instantly clasped
to his mighty breast. After gazing on her rapturously for a
moment, and uttering a few passionate words, he deposited
her gently on the ground, amid the shouts and laughter of
the beholders.
"Welcome !—thrice welcome !" he cried. "This moment
amply repays me for all the misery I have endured."
•' And have you really been unhappy without me ? " in¬
quired Lilias.
"Unhappy !" exclaimed Og ; "I have been so wretched
that it is a marvel I didn't drown myself in the Tower moat.
However, it's all right now."
"To be sure it is," interposed Xit. "You will have
plenty of time for explanations hereafter. Your first busi¬
ness is to present your bride to his Majesty."
" Come, then," said the giant, taking her hand, and lead¬
ing her towards the king.
Lilias displayed no bashfulness, but tripped gracefully by
the side of her gigantic admirer, and made a profound
reverence to his Majesty as she was presented to him.
" By my faith, good fellow, thou art to be £' ,'ied," said
Philip. " I would not advise thee to let this fair creature
out of thy sight in future."
"I do not intend to give him the opportunity, Sire,"
replied Lilias, demurely.
"Wisely resolved," rejoined Philip, laughing. "As I
chanced to witness the commencement of your love affair, I
am glad to see it brought to such a satisfactory conclusion.
Make merry with your friends, and that you may do so
without scruple, here is that shall help to pay for the
wedding feast."
So saying, he took a well-filled purse from the velvet pouch
depending from his girdle, and gave it to Sir Henry
Bedingfeld, by whom it was handed to Og.
" We thank you most heartily for your bounty, Sire," said
Og, bowing as he received the princely gift, "and shall not
fad to drink long life to your Majesty."
"Ay, long life to his Majesty," cried Gog, in a stentorian
372
Cardinal Pole.
voice, " and may Heaven shower its choicest blessings or.
his head. Sh ;ut, friends, shout!" he added, turning to the
others, who instantly responded by loud cries of " Long
live the King ! "
Bowing graciously in acknowledgment, Philip moved
away with his attendants, and proceeding to the lower end
of the Green, entered the lieutenant's lodgings, where he
remained for some little time.
No sooner was the King gone, then Xit called out, in his
shrillest tones,—
" A dance ! a dance ! Let us not separate without some
mirthful pastime suited to the occasion. A dance, I say,
and as the merriest and best, let us begin with a brawl."
The proposition meeting with general concurrence, the
minstrels began to play a very lively air, while the entire
assemblage, with three exceptions, took hands, and formed
an immense ring. The three persons excepted were the
giants, whose stature forbade them to join in the dance; but
as the others wheeled round them, they found it impossible
to keep their limbs quiet, and began to execute such gro¬
tesque movements that the dancers were scarcely able to
proceed for laughter.
CHAPTER III.
8Y WHOM I HE WEDDING BREAKFAST WAS INTERRUPTED.
HE next day was a joyous one for Og, since it saw
him indissolubly bound to the object of his
affections. The marriage took place in the little
chapel on the Tower Green, and the edifice was
crowded during the ceremonial.
At its close, the happy couple adjourned, with their kins¬
folk and friends, to the Stone Kitchen, where a copious and
excellent repast had been prepared by Peter Trusbut, the
pantler, who still exercised his vocation as purveyor to the
warders of the Tower; and it need scarcely be said that full
justice was done to the many good things provided by him
on this auspicious occasion.
It was always agreeable to Peter Trusbut and his worthy
dame to see their guests enjoy themselves, and the rapidity
and gusto with which the dishes were now demolished per¬
fectly satisfied them. Gog and Magog ate more than usual
in honour of their brother's marriage, and the bridegroom's
prowess was hardly inferior to their own.
Of course Xit had been present at the wedding, and was
likewise a principal guest at the breakfast that followed it.
He was in high spirits, and diverted the company by his
lively sallies. When the dishes had been removed, he
leaped upon the table, goblet in hand, and, in appropriate
terms, proposed the health of Og and his bride—a toast
which was diunk with great cheers. While they were in the
very midst, of enjoyment, the door suddenly opened, and a
374
Cardinal Pole.
man of exceedingly sinis'ei aspect, and habited in a tight-
fitting leathern doublet, appeared at it. At the sight of this
ill-favoured personage, the countenances of the company
fell, and their laughter ceased.
" Who is that strange man ? " inquired Lilias of Og, in an
under tone.
"It is Mauger, the executioner," replied her husband.
"What brings thee here?" he added, half angrily, to the
headsman.
" I am come to congratulate you on your marriage,"
replied Mauger. " Am I not welcome ? "
" Sit down, and take a cup of wine," rejoined Og, filling
a goblet.
" Here's health to the bonny bride !" cried Mauger,
eyeing her cuiiously as he raised the flagon to his lips.
" I do not like his looks," said Lilias, clinging to her
husband. " I wish he had not come."
" Harkye, Mauger," cried Xit, who was still standing
upon the table, " thy presence is unsuited to this festive
occasion, and we can, therefore, dispense with thy society."
"I shill not go at thy bidding, thou malapert knave,"
rejoined Mauger. " I came to see the bride, not thee."
And he was about to seat himself in the chair left empty
by the dwarf, when the latter prevented him, exclaiming,—
" That chair is mine. Begone instantly, if thou wouldst
not be unceremoniously thrust from the room."
Og seemed inclined to second the dwarfs threat, but his
wife interposed, saying,—
" Let him not be turned out, or it may bring us ill luck."
"It will bring you ill luck if I be so. dealt with, fair
mistress," rejoined Mauger, with an uncouth attempt at
gallantry.
And, pushing Xit aside, he sat down in the vacant chair.
" I have a present for you, fair mistress," pursued the
headsman to Lilias. " Here it is," he added, producing a
silver box from his doublet. " This pomander was given
me by Queen Catherine Howard on the day of her
execution, and I have kept it about me ever since, but I
will now bestow it upon you, and I will tell you why. You
have a neck as long, and as white, and as snowy as Queen
Catherine \ and she had the whitest and slerderest throat
By Whom the Wedding Breakfast was Interrupted. 375
my axe ever touched—therefore you well deserve the box.
Take it, and if you ever need my services," he continued,
with a grim smile, "you shall give it me back again.
Smell to it—it is filled with delicate perfumes—ambergris,
storax, benjoin, labdanum, civet and musk. You will find
it a preservative against infection."
" It seems to me to smell of blood," said Lilias, tossing
back the box. " I will not have it."
"As you please," said Mauger, returning it to his doublet.
" Yet it is not a gift to be despised."
" Enough of this," said Og, somewhat sternly. " Do you
not perceive that you interrupt our festivities ? My wife
thanks you for your intended present, but declines it."
" I have nothing else to offer her, unless it be an earring
worn by Queen Anne Boleyn "
" I would not touch it for the world," cried Lilias, recoil¬
ing with horror.
" You know not what you refuse," said Mauger, testily;
" but it is in vain that I try to render myself agreeable.
Since I am an unwelcome guest, I will go. But I will tell
you a word in parting. This day has begun blithely
enough, but it will not end so merrily."
"What meanest thou?" cried Og, angrily. " Wouldst
thou insinuate that something is about to happen to me and
my bride ? "
" Or to me—or to any other among us ?" added Xit,
with equal fierceness.
"No, I mean not that," replied Mauger. "But I tell
you that the day will end differently from what you expect."
"Pshaw! thou art only saying this to frighten the women,"
said Og. " Sit down again and take another cup of wine."
"No, I have had enough," rejoined Mauger, in a surly
tone. " I came here with presents to the bride—presents
such as none other in the Tower could offer her—and they
have been scornfully rejected. Be it so. A day may come
for some of you when it may be necessary to bespeak my
favour."
And casting a stern and vindictive look around, he
limped out of the room.
" I am glad he is gone," observed Lilias. "And yet ]
wish he had not left us in anger."
37^
Cardinal Pole.
" Pshaw ! heed him not," rejoined Og. " His odious
office causes him to be generally shunned, and hence he is
sour-tempered. He is gentler than usual to-day."
" Then he must, indeed, be savage," said Lilias, forcing
a laugh.
" He is strangely superstitious," pursued Og, " and pre¬
tends he has warnings beforehand of the persons he is to
put to death. From what he let fall just now, I fancy he
has had one of those warnings."
" Saints preserve us ! I hope not!" cried Lilias, turning
pale. " I declare I feel quite ill. Did you not remark that
he compared my neck to that of Queen Catherine Howard."
"Nay, he meant that as a compliment," said her husband.
" In good sooth, thou hast a dainty neck, sweetheart."
" Dainty or not, I like not the comparison," said Lilias.
"When he looked at me, it seemed as if I felt the sharp
"edge of the axe—oh ! take me into the air, or I shall faint."
Og instantly took her in his arms, saying, as he carried
her forth, " If aught betide thee, sweet chuck, the day
shall not end merrily for Mauger."
" Do nothing to him, I charge you," rejoined Lilias,
faintly. " We have offended him enough already."
CHAPTER IV.
HOW THE TREASURE-CHESTS WERE CARRIED TO
TRAITORS' GATE.
HE bride's sudden indisposition naturally put an
Plliia1 en<^ to t^le breakfast, and ere many minutes a'l
IffgJdOj the guests had quitted the Stone Kitchen. On
being brought into the open air, Lilias speedily
revived, and the bloom which had tempjrarily deserted
them returned to her cheeks. A stroll on the green
completely restored her, though she was nearly made ill
again by an injudicious remark of Xit, who pointed
out to her the spot whereon the scaffold was usually
erected.
In order to divert her from the gloomy thoughts wlvch
seemed to have been inspired by Mauger, Og took her to
the palace and showed her over the royal apartments, with
the size and splendour of which she was much astonished.
They next visited the garden, with which she was also
delighted, and were crossing the outer court towards the
Cold Harbour Tower, when they encountered Lovel, the
keeper of the Jewel Tower, who, courteously saluting the
bride, volunteered to show her the treasures under his
custody.
Lilias gratefully accepted the offer, and was taken with
her husband and the whole party into the Jewel House,
where the many precious articles contained in it were dis¬
played to them. After they had feasted their eyes on this
rich collection, Lovel said to the bride,—
378
Cardinal Pole.
"You shall now see the coffers containing the bullion
deposited here by his Majesty. This is the only opportunity
you will have of viewing them, for they are to be removed
to the Exchequer to-night."
Upon this he unlocked the door of the strong-room, and
showed them fifteen mighty chests piled within it. Each
chest was wrapped in» a cover emblazoned with the arms 01
Castile and Aragon. Removing the cover from one of
them, Lovel disclosed a handsome coffer made of walnut,
strengthened by bands of brass, and secured by two
locks.
" Oh ! how I should like to see what is inside it! " cried
Lilias, after she had examined the exterior of the box.
And she looked so beseechingly at Lovel that he could
not refuse to gratify her curiosity.
" It is against my orders to open the chests," he said.
" Nevertheless, I will yield to your wishes."
And taking a bunch of keys from his girdle, he unlocked
the coffer, and raising the lid, revealed the bars of gold to
Lilias's admiring gaze.
" Oh ! how beautiful they look ! " she cried, clapping her
hands. " Cannot you spare one of them?—it would never
be missed."
" Were the gold mine, you should have one, and wel¬
come, fair mistress,'' replied Lovel, gallantly. " But this is
tne King's treasure, and I am bound to guard it."
"But suppose it were carried off by force, what would
you say then?" pursued Lilies, playfully.
" I cannot entertain any such supposition," he replied,
shutting down the lid, and locking the coffer. " There !
now I have removed temptation," he added, with a smile.
" That chest must be enormously heavy," observed Lilias
to her husband. " Do you think you could lift it, Og ? "
" I don't know," he replied; " but if Master Lovel will
allow me, I will try."
" Make the attempt, and welcome," replied Lovel, with a
laugh.
Seizing hold of the chest with a herculean grasp, Og
threw it over his shoulder.
" There, now you have got possession of it, away with
you," cried Lilias " Master Lovel will not prevent you."
How the Treasure-Chests were Removed. 379
" Hold ! hold !" exclaimed the keeper of the treasure.
This is carrying the jest rather too far."
" Did you really think I was making off with the chest,
Master Lovel?" cried Og, setting it down with a great
laugh.
" Well, it looked like it, I must own," returned the other.
"But you couldn't go very far with such a burden as
that."
"Couldn't I?" rejoined Og. "You don't know what I
could do if I tried. Why, I would carry the chest from the
Tower to Whitehall, if the King would only bestow it upon
me for my pains."
And he burst into another tremendous laugh, in which
his brothers heartily joined.
"That were a feat worthy of Samson," observed Lovel,
dryly. "Suppose I put your strength to the test."
"Do so," rejoined Og. "What would you have me per
form ? You have just told us that the chests are to be
removed to the Exchequer to-night. You don't want me
to carry them to Westminster Hall?"
" No, no! I don't want that," said Lovel, laughing.
"They are to be transported by water, and it will save
time if they are taken at once to Traitor's Gate, where
they will be embarked."
"Say no more —we'll do it, won't we?" cried Og, turn¬
ing to his brothers, who readily assented.
Without more ado, he again took up the ponderous
coffer, and called out, "Now, I'm ready."
"So are we," cried Gog and Magog, as they each
shouldered a chest.
Upon this, the whole party went out of the chamber,
the door of which was carefully locked by the keeper. It
was a striking sight to see the three giants, laden in the
manner we have described, cross the court of the palace,
and descend with slow but firm footsteps the slope lead¬
ing to the Bloody Tower, each having upon his broad
shoulders a weight sufficient to call into activity the full
forces of three ordinary men, and yet bearing it—if not
easily—yet stoutly. It was true that the muscles of their
bull throats and brawny legs were tremendously developed,
and looked almost as large as cables, but these were the
380
Cardinal Pole.
only evidences of the strain put upon them. Lilias walked
by the side of her husband, enchanted by this display of his
strength, while Xit strutted in front, as if the giants were
under his command.
State offenders, as is well known, were formerly brought
into the Tower through a gloomy archway, spanning a sluice
from the river—the sluice being protected by a ponderous
wooden gate, constructed of huge beams of wood, worked
by machinery in the superstructure. This massive portal
was popularly known as "Traitors' Gate." A flight of stone
steps offered a landing-place from the channel, which was
capable cf holding some three or four large boats, and led to
the outer ward of the fortress, but the approach was guarded
by another ponderous wooden portal. Within the archway
on the right of the steps was a stone platform, whence there
was access through a narrow arched passage to a guard-room
in the building above, which was known as Saint Thomas's
Tower. These details are necessary for the understanding
of what is to follow.
It was upon the platform just described that Lovel caused
the giants to deposit the chests. Tnis done, they immediately
went back to the Jewel Tower for a fresh supply, and paused
not in their exertions till the fifteen ponderous coffers had
been laid upon the platform. Lovel, of course, superintended
their task, and, when their labours were over, proposed an
adjournment to the Stone Kitchen, to which the giants made
no objection, so the gate being locked, and instructions given
to Croyland, the warder who had charge of Saint Thomas's
Tower, the whole party proceeded in search of refreshment.
On reaching the Stone Kitchen, Lovel called for a plentiful
supply of hydromel, which being quickly brought by Peter
Trusbut, the giants were enabled to quench their thirst. By
her husband's desire, Lilias sipped a few drops from his
brimming goblet ere he emptied it.
" I tell you what, Master Lovel," observed Magog. " I
have some misgiving about that treasure. Do you think it
quite safe where you have left it ? "
"Ay, marry," replied the other; "as safe as in the Jewel
House itself. Who can meddle with it? Traitors' Gate
will not be opened by Croyland without my order."
"True," rejoined Magog. "Still, with a treasure live
How the Treasure- Chests were Removed. 38i
lhat, no precautions ought to be neglected. To make
matters sure, I will go to Saint Thomas's Tower, and
stay there till all the chests are fetched away."
"Then you will have to stay there till night," said
Lovel.
"No matter," rejoined Magog, getting up. "Peter Trus-
but will send me a few flasks of wine, and I shall be just as
comfortable there as anywhere else. Are you coming with
me, Gog?" he added to his brother.
" I will follow in a few minutes, and bring the wine with
me," replied Gog.
"And I will join you later "on—as soon as Lilias can
spare me," laughed Og.
"Nay, then, there can be no doubt the treasure will be
well guarded," said Lovel.
And, bowing to the company, he quitted the Stone
Kitchen with Magog.
CHAPTER V.
SHOWING WHO WAS CONCEALED IN THE JEWEL HOUSE.
FTER accompanying Magog along the outer ward
to the entrance of Saint Thomas's Tower, where
he left him, Lovel passed under the gloomy arch¬
way of the Bloody Tower, and, ascending the hill,
made his way to the Jewel House.
Arrived there, he did not proceed to that part of the
building which we last visited, but sought his private cham¬
ber, and having entered it, and bolted the door inside, he
tapped at the door of a small inner room, and called out
" You may come forth, Sir."
The summons was promptly obeyed by a young man,
who stepping quickly towards him, said, "You have been
long absent, Lovel. What news do you bring?"
" Excellent news, good Master Osbert Clinton," replied
the other. " If all goes well, you will have the treasure to¬
night. It will delight you to hear that the coffers have
been transported by the gigantic warders to Traitor's Gate,
and are now lying there, ready for you and your friends to
take them away. So far all has gone well—far better than
could have been expected—and I hope the rest will turn
out equally prosperously. Indeed, it can scarcely fail to do
so, unless from ill management."
" What course do you advise us to pursue, Lovel ? " de¬
manded CLbeit.
"First of all, there must be no delay in the execution of
Showing who was Concealed in the Jewel House. 383
the project," replied the other. "The business must be
done to-night. A boat capable of containing the chests must
be brought to Traitors' Gate. I shall be in Saint Thomas's
Tower, and after going through the usual formalities, wii)
cause the great wooden gate to be opened. If no untoward
circumstance occurs, the coffers can thus be readily carried
off and conveyed to a place of safety."
" Once out of Traitors' Gate, all the rest will be easy,"
said Osbert. " Your plan promises well, good Lovel, and I
trust nothing will occur to mar it. Possessed of this gold,
we shall be able to carry into immediate effect our grand
enterprise. It may be wrong to seize this treasure, but
neither I nor my associates ha\ e any scruples on the sub¬
ject. We know that this gold is intended to be employed to
bribe our nobles to enslave the country, and we consider it
lawful plunder, of which we may rightfully possess ourselves
by force or stratagem."
" I take precisely the same view of the matter as yourself,
Sir," said Lovel; "and, as you, know, have engaged in this
enterprise without fee or reward. I am anxious, as you and
your friends are, to see the country delivered from Spanish
thraldom, and the Protestant religion restored. While
martyrs are giving up their lives in testimony of their faith,
I do not hesitate to jeopardise mine to benefit the same
cause. If this Spanish gold can be employed against our
enemies, instead of being used by them to our disadvantage,
I shall be content."
" In three day's time there will be a rising in Essex and
Suffolk," said Osbert; "and in less than a week an army of
insurgents, larger than that commanded by Wyat, will be
marching to London, its battle-cry being, ' Down with the
Spaniard and the Pope!' This gold will give us all we
need. And so you positively refuse any reward for the great
service you are rendering us, Lovel ? "
" Were I to take a reward, I should consider that I had
violated my trust," replied the other. " My object is to
serve my country, and if it be freed from oppression 1 shall
be amply rewarded. But now to proceed with the business.
No time must be lost in communicating with Sir Henry
Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston, Master Udal, and the rest of
^RSQciates."
384
Cardinal Pole.
" That can be quickly done," replied Osbert. " Thej
are close at hand—at the 'Rose and Crown,' on Tower
Hill. There can be no difficulty as to a boat, since one has
been already provided. At what hour ought the attempt to
be made? "
" Let me see," said Lovel, reflecting. " The tide will
serve at nine. The boat should be at Traitor's Gste at
that hour."
"Good," returned Osbert. "Now then to communicate
with my friends."
"Leave that to me," said Lovel; "you cannot quit the
Tower with safety, as, if you should be seen and recognised,
your instant arrest would follow. I will go to the ' Rose
and Crown' at once, and give full instructions to your
friends. Retire to the inner room, and do not stir forth
from it till my return."
And as Osbert complied, the keeper of the treasure left
the Jewel House, and set out on his errand.
CHAPTER VI.
HOW THE PLOT WAS DISCOVERED BY XIT, AND DISCLOSED
BY HIM TO MAGOG.
JFWTra EANTIME, Magog, with whom Lovel had parted
I at t'ie entrance °f Saint Thomas's Tower, had
wW.K gone in, and made his way through the side-
" passage, previously described, to the interior of
Traitors' Gate. He found the chests lying upon the plat,
form, just as they had been laid there by himself and his
brothers, and sitting down upon one of them, presently fell
asleep, and made the vaulted roof resound with his deep
breathing. How long he remained in this state he could
not say, but he was roused by feeling something crawling,
as he thought, over his face, and supposing it to be a
gigantic water-rat — the place being infested with such
vermin—he put out his hand, and catching hold of the
noxious creature, as he deemed it, was about to throw it.
into the water, when a shrill cry admonished him that the
fancied water-rat was no other than Xit.
"Wouldst drown me, Magog?" shrieked the dwarf,
clinging to him.
" Drown thee—not I!" replied the giant, laughing. " But
I took thee for a rat or an otter."
"None but a sleepy dolt like thyself would have made
such a mistake," said Xit, " I could not waken thee with¬
out plucking thy beard. Call'st thou this keeping guard
over the treasure ? I call it gross negligence."
386
Cardinal Pole.
"Well, well, I am vigilant enough now," rejoined Magog.
" What hast thou to say to me ? "
" Something that will keep thee wakeful, I trust," said
Xit. " Lend me thine ears, and I will disclose it to thee. I
have discovered a plot."
" Poh ! thou art always making some silly discovery that
leads to nothing," rejoined Magog.
" But this will lead more than one man to the scaffold,"
pursued Xit, mysteriously. " 'Tis an important discovery I
have made."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Magog, with some curiosity.
"What is it ? Let me hear and judge."
" It relates to the chests on which thou art sitting," re¬
plied Xit. " There is a plot to carry them off. Master
Lovel, the keeper of the treasure, is concerned in it, but the
principal contrivers are Osbert Clinton, Sir Henry Dudley,
Sir Anthony Kingston, Udal, and the others connected with
the late outbreak."
" Ah, this is indeed important!" cried Magog. " And
how didst thou make this discovery ? "
"You shall hear," replied Xit. "Suspecting all was not
right, I followed Lovel to his lodging, and by listening at
the keyhole, managed to overhear a conversation between
him and Osbert Clinton, who is at present concealed in the
Jewel House. From this I learnt that the treasure is to be
carried off by the traitors, in order to assist them in getting
up another insurrection of a far more formidable character
than the last. Their plan is to bring a boat to Traitors'
Gate at nine o'clock to-night, when, feigning to be officers
sent by the King to remove the treasure to the Exchequer,
they will present a warrant, and Master Lovel, being their
accomplice, the coffers will be delivered to them—so at least
they calculate."
"A well-devised plan, I must own," observed Magog,
" and like enough to have succeeded."
" It would infallibly have succeeded but for my shrewd¬
ness in detecting it," said Xit.
" Well, thou wilt, doubtless, receive due credit for thy
penetration from Sir Henry Bediugfeld, to whom the matter
must be forthwith communicated," observed Magog, getting
up.
How the Plot was Discovered by Xit. 387
"What art thou about to do, thou foolish giant?" ciied
Xit. "We can manage this affair without Sir Henry
Bedingfeld's assistance. Recollect that a heavy price is set
upon the heads of all these offenders, and if we can effect
their arrest—as we shall do if my counsels be followed—
the reward will be ours. We must take them all, like fish
in a net. Not one must be allowed to escape. Listen to
me, and I will show thee how it can be done. The moment
the barge is admitted into this place, Traitor's Gate must be
closed by thee or by thy brothers, and we shall then have
them like rats in a trap. Though they may offer some re¬
sistance at first, they will soon be forced to surrender.
Osbert Clinton is sure to be on the spot with Lovel, and we
can arrest them both at the same time. What think'st thou
of my plan ? "
" By my faith, it promises well," replied Magog.
"We shall need assistance," pursued Xit; "and besides
Og and Gog, I propose to call in the aid of Captain Bittern
and his friends. They are men of discretion, and can be
relied on. Care must be taken not to awaken Lovel's
suspicions, or our plan will be defeated. And now let us
quit this damp place. I am half choked by the mist. I
wonder thou couldst sleep in it. Come ! There is no fear
of the treasure being carried off just yet."
Upon this Magog arose, and they adjourned to the guard-
chamber.
Xit's plan was carried out. About eight o'clock in the
evening, Og tore himself from his bride, promising faithfully
to return to supper, and, accompanied by Gog, Rodomont
Bittern, Holiday, and Simnel, to all of whom the dwarf's
important discovery had been communicated, repaired to
Saint Thomas's Tower, and mounted to an upper chamber
overlooking the river, where they held themselves in readi¬
ness for whatever might occur, beguiling the tedium of wait¬
ing with some flasks of wine which they had brought from
the Stone Kitchen.
Xit, meanwhile, had kept watch over Lovel's movements.
He saw the keeper of the treasure return from his errand to
Tower Hill, and cautiously following him, and adopting the
same plan of espionage which he had previously employed,
ne heard him inform Osbert Clinton that he had seen
388
Cardinal Pole.
Sir Henry Dudley and the other conspirators, who were
well pleased with the arrangement, and undertook to bring
a barge to Traitor's Gate at the appointed hour that night.
" The coffers once secured," pursued Lovel, " your friends
propose to take them up the river to Chelsea and land them
there. No time must be lost in disposing of the treasure,
for the moment it becomes known that it has been carried
off, a general searclr will be made."
"Once in our possession, the treasure will never find its
way to the royal Exchequer—of that you may be quite
certain, Lovel," replied Osbert. " But what do you propose
to do? Your connection in the affair will assuredly be
suspected."
" I shall provide for my safety by flight," said Lovel.
" This very night I shall quit the Tower secretly, and remain
in concealment till your proposed insurrection will enable
me to appear with safety."
" If we succeed, as I trust under Heaven we shall, your
services shall not be forgotten, Lovel," observed Osbert.
" You shall have a better post under Elizabeth than that
which you now occupy under Philip and Mary."
" I have said that I do not seek reward," rejoined Lovel;
"but since, in abandoning this post, I shall sacrifice all, it is
but just that I should have some compensation."
"You shall have compensation in full, doubt it not,
Lovel," said Osbert. " And now let us finally arrange
our plans for to night. How many persons are there in
Saint Thomas's Tower?"
" Only three," replied Lovel. " Croyland, the keeper of
the gate, his man, and a sentinel. Stay ! I had forgotten.
One of the gigantic warders, Magog, is there at this
moment, but I do not think he will remain there till
night, and if he should, he will be no hindrance to us, since
all will be conducted with so much formality that suspicion
will be disarmed. We will go together to Saint Thomas's
Tower, and if my instructions to Sir Henry Dudley are
carefully carried out, no difficulty will be experienced."
What answer was made to this by Osbert, Xit could not
tell. Fancying he heard a movement towards the door, he
beat a hasty retreat, and left the Jewel House, perfectly
content with the information he had obtained.
CHAPTER VII.
HOW THE CONSPIRATORS WENT IN AT TRAITORS' GATE
BUT CAME NOT OUT AGAIN.
IGHT, anxiously expected both by plotters and
counter-plotters, arrived at last. Within the
lower chamber of Saint Thomas's Tower were
Magog and Xit, but the two other gigantic
warders, with Rodomont Bittern and his comrades, kept out
of sight, lest Lovel's suspicions should be awakened.
Croyland, the keeper of the Tower, had been made a
party to the plan, and consented to act as Xit directed.
The night was dark, and the mist hanging over the river,
and almost shrouding Saint Thomas's Tower from view, was
favourable to the project of the conspirators.
Some quarter of an hour before the time fixed for the
arrival of the barge, Lovel, accompanied by Osbert, who
was well armed, and wrapped in his cloak, quitted the
Jewel House, and proceeded to Saint Thomas's Tower.
The door was opened by Croyland, who had a lamp in his
hand, which he raised for a moment to survey Osbert, and
then, apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, ushered them
into the guard-chamber, which done, he returned to fasten
the door.
Within the guard-chamber were Xit and Magog. The
giant appeared to be fast asleep, with his huge head resting
on a table, and did not move on their entrance; but Xit
immediately arose, and atter a word with Lovel, was
informed by the latter that the gentleman with him was an
39°
Cardinal Pole.
officer sent by his Majesty to take charge of the treasure.
With this information the dwarf seemed perfectly content,
and bowed ceremoniously to Osbert, who slightly returned
the salutation. In another moment Croyland returned with
a lamp, and taking it from him, Lovel beckoned to Osbert
to follow him, and led the way to the platform on which the
chests were laid.
No sooner were they gone than Magog raised his head,
and said in a whisper to Xit, " Is it Osbert Clinton ? "
The dwarf replied in the affirmative, but added, " Don't
ask any more questions, or you will be overheard. Here
they are coming back. Down with your head ! "
On this, Magog resumed his previous posture. Next
moment Lovel reappeared with the lamp, but Osbert
remained in the passage, so as not to expose himself to
observation.
" The coffers are all right, I perceive," remarked Lovel,
as he set down the lamp upon the table. " I sha'n't be
sorry when they are gone," he added, with a laugh. " They
have been a great source of anxiety to me."
"I daresay they have," replied Xit. "Your office
wouldn't suit me at all, Master Lovel."
" Wherefore not ? " demanded the other.
" Because my honesty would never be proof against the
temptation I should be exposed to. The sight of so much
treasure would exercise a baneful influence over me, and I
should long to appropriate it to my own use. Whereas,
you, worthy Lovel, are of an incorruptible nature, and can
see gold without coveting it. You would never dream of
making free with the contents.of those coffers."
" Certainly not," replied Lovel.
" Therein we differ," pursued Xit. " Had those coffers
been confided to me, I should have fallen. The Arch
Enemy could not find a more certain means of destroying
me than they would afford him. Knowing my own frailty, I
respect your honesty the more, worthy Lovel. You can
touch gold without being defiled by it. Unluckily, such is
not my case."
Ere Lovel could reply, Osbert called out from the
passage: —
"The barge is at hand. I hear a noise outside in the river,"
How the Conspirators Went in at Traitors' Gate. 391
And, as he spoke, the bell hanging above the outer arch
of Traitors' Gate was rung.
" Here they are ! " cried Xit, shaking Magog. " Rouse
thyself, thou great sluggard."
" Who are here ? " cried the giant, pretending to waken
from a sound sleep.
" Why, the officers sent by the King to take away the
treasure," rejoined Xit.
" Oh, indeed !" ejaculated Magog, with a prodigious
yawn.
Meanwhile, Lovel, followed by Croyland, had mounted a
spiral stone staircase, which quickly brought them to the
summit of the round projecting tower at the western angle
of the fortification. On reaching the battlements, they
could discern through the gloom a large barque lying in the
river immediately beneath them. The barge was rowed by
four stalwart oarsmen, and its head was brought close up to
Traitors' Gate.
At the prow stood a tall man, apparently in command of
the party, and who was no other than Sir Henry Dudley.
The barge had already been challenged by the sentinel, and
a short parley had taken place, but when Lovel and
Croyland appeared, Dudley called out in a loud, authorita¬
tive voice:—■
"Open the gate quickly. We are officers sent by the
King to bring away the treasure."
" Have you a warrant for its removal ? " inquired Lovel.
" Ay," returned Dudley, " a warrant you will not care to
dispute."
" Enough," answered Lovel. " The gate shall be opened
immediately."
With this he disappeared from the battlements, while
Dudley, turning to his companion in the barge, said in a
low, exulting tone, " The prize will soon be ours. We shall
get in without difficulty."
" Heaven grant we may get out as easily !" rejoined Sir
Anthony Kingston, who was standing near him. " More
people go in at Traitors' Gate than come out from it."
As he spoke, the ponderous wooden valves, worked by
some machinery in the upper part of the tower, began
slowly to revolve upon their hinges, disclosing the inferior
392
Cardinal Pole.
of the passage, which was now illumined by torches held by
Magog and Croyland, who, with Lovel and Xit, were
stationed near the head of the steps. In the background,
partly concealed by the coffers, stood Osbert Clinton.
As soon as the valves had opened wide enough to admit
the barge, Dudley, who was all impatience to secure the
prize, called to the oarsmen to push in, and the order being
promptly obeyed, the barge entered the channel, and was
propelled to the foot of the steps. Sir Henry Dudley then
leaped ashore, and was followed by Sir Anthony Kingston
and some four or five others.
" Here is the order for the delivery of the treasure, Sir,"
said Dudley, presenting a paper to Lovel, who advanced to
meet him.
Lovel glanced at it for a moment, and then, apparently
satisfied by the inspection, observed,—
" We have been expecting you, Sir. The chests are all
ready, as you see."
" That is well," said Dudley, scarcely able to conceal his
satisfaction. " Let them be embarked at once."
While this brief dialogue occurred, Traitor's Gate was
noiselessly returning to its place, and in another minute was
closed. The conspirators, however, were too much occupied
with what they had in hand to notice this suspicious circum¬
stance. The oarsmen now got out of the barge, and were
preparing to place the uppermost chest on board, when
Osbert Clinton suddenly stepped forward, and said, in a
low voice, to Sir Henry Dudley,—
"We are betrayed. See you not that the gate is
shut ? "
" Ha ! so it is ! " cried Dudley. " Why is this, Sir?" he
added, fiercely, to Lovel. " How comes it that yon gate is
closed ?"
"I did not know it was so," replied the other. "There
must be some mistake. But I will cause it to be reopened
instantly."
" There is no mistake," cried Xit, in his loudest and most
important voice; " it is by my orders that Traitors' Gate
has been shut, and it wilbnot be opened again. Traitors, ye
are caught in a trap. Ye have come here, with wicked and
felonious intent, to carry off the King's treasure, but instead
How the Conspirators IVent in at Traitors' Gate. 393
of departing with your plunder to stir up rebellion, you will
be lodged in the dungeons of the Tower, and ere long expiate
your manifold and dire offences on the scaffold."
At this address the conspirators stared aghast, and laid
their hands upon their swords.
Osbert Clinton, however, signed to them to keep quiet,
and said to Lovel, " What means this, Sir ? Is it some ill-
timed jest?"
" I will tell you what it means, Master Osbert Clinton."
interposed Xit. " It means, that you, and all those with
you, are my prisoners. I arrest you all for high treason.
You yourself, Master Osbert Clinton—you Sir Henry Dud-
ley—you, Sir Anthony Kingston—you, Master Udal, and all
the rest of you. Deliver up your swords."
" This is droll," cried Osbert Clinton, forcing a laugh;
"but the jest may prove no laughing matter for thee. Get
the gate opened," he added to Lovel. " We will have the
treasure in spite of them."
" Traitors' Gate shall not be opened," screamed Xit. " I
forbid it, and ye shall find whether or not I shall be obeyed.
Stir a single foot, thou traitor Lovel, and thou art a dead
man." And drawing his sword, he presented it at the breast
of the keeper of the treasure, exclaiming, " I arrest thee,
also, on a charge of conspiracy and treason."
" An end must be put to this folly," cried Osbert, fiercely.
" By the time you have got the treasure on board I will have
the gate opened," he added to Dudley. Then drawing his
sword, he commanded Xit to stand out of the way.
" Help me, my faithful giants !" cried Xit, retreating.
" Help me !"
And at the words, Og and Gog issued from the passage
where they had remained concealed, and with their halberds
opposed Osbert's advance.
" Back !" roared Magog, in a voice of thunder, " or you
rush upon your death."
" You had better yield," cried Xit. "You cannot escape.
You will more easily cut your way through the solid beams
of Traitors' Gate than you will hew a passage through these
living ^'|1cut a way through both sooner than surrender,"
rejoined Osbert. " Follow me, friends."
39-i
Cardinal Pole.
And he was about to fling himself upon the giants, who
awaited his attack unmoved, when his desperate purpose
was averted by the sudden ringing of the alarm-bell. This
sound, which proclaimed that the fortress was alarmed, para¬
lysed his energies, and caused him to drop the point of his
sword, while the rest of the conspirators looked equally dis¬
heartened. Other sounds, calculated to increase their
apprehensions, were new heard,, and the trampling of feet,
accompanied by the clatter of arms, showed that a number
of men were collecting in the outer ward. It was plain that
the conspirators were betrayed, and the glances they ex¬
changed betokened that they felt so.
" You had better yield with a good grace," cried Xit,
" and not compel us to take your swords from you by force."
" I will die rather than yield," cried Osbert Clinton.
" So will we all," responded the others.
"Resistance is in vain," cried Lovel, suddenly changing
his manner. " It is time to throw off the mask. You are
prisoners to the King."
" Ha! it is thou who hast brought us into this snare,"
cried Dudley. " Take the reward of thy treachery," he
added, passing his rapier through his body.
" Ha ! I am slain ! " exclaimed Lovel, as he fell back¬
wards into the water.
At this moment the massive portal communicating with
the outer ward was opened, and an astounding spectacle
revealed.
Beneath the gloomy archway of the Bloody Tower stood
the King, the torchlight flashing upon his stately figure,
and communicating to his countenance a stern and sinister
expression.
With him was Sir Henry Bedingfeld. At the back of the
archway rose a grove of pikes, while on the right and left
was ranged a strong guard of halberdiers, several of whom
held torches, which gleamed upon the steel caps, corslets,
and partisans of their comrades.
At this unlooked-for spectacle the conspirators recoiled in
confusion and dismay. Flight was impossible, and as
Bedingfeld advanced towards them with an officer, and
demanded their swords, telling them they were his prisoners,
they had no alternative but submission.
How the Conspirators Went in at Traitors' Gate. 395
By the King's commands, the conspirators were then
brought before him, and he surveyed them for some
moments with a smile of gratified vengeance.
" Soh, traitors ! " he exclaimed, at length, " you thought
you had devised a cunning scheme to carry oft" my treasure.
But you have beeu outwitted. Your plans have been re¬
vealed to me, and I have allowed you to proceed thus far in
order to ensnare you all. You have fallen like wolves into
the trap set for you."
" The wretch who betrayed us has met his reward," cried
Sir Henry Dudley. " He has perished by my sword."
"Is Lovel slain?" exclaimed Philip. "I am sorry for
it."
" He richly deserved his fate," cried Osbert " I see now
how we have been duped."
At this moment Xit made his way towards the King, and
said, "An please your Majesty, these rebels and traitors
were captured by me. I claim the reward."
"Retire, thou presumptuous and intrusive varlet," cried
Bedingfeld. "This matter is too serious for thy inter¬
ference."
"But for my interference, Sir Henry," rejoined Xit,
proudly and indignantly, " the plot would not have been
discovered."
" There thou art wrong," rejoined Bedingfeld; " the plot
has been all along known to his Majesty. It was revealed
to him by Lovel, who, it seems, has gone to his account."
" Lovel is killed, sure enough," said Xit. " But I trust
my services will not go unrewarded."
"Thy claims shall be considered hereafter," said Philip.
And as Xit, satisfied with this assurance, bowed and retired,
he addressed the conspirators : "For the heinous crimes and
offences you have committed, you cannot doubt what your
sentence will be."
" We are all prepared for our fate," said Dudley, reso¬
lutely. " In engaging in this enterprise we well knew the
risk we incurred. Having failed, we are ready to pay the
penalty."
" Do you deem your base attempt consistent with the prin¬
ciples you profess ? " demanded Philip, contemptuously.
« Ay," rejoined Dudley. " Your gold has been ODe of the
Cardinal Pole.
chief weapons used against this unhappy land, and it war
the part of true Englishmen—as we are—to deprive you
of it."
" Ye are robbers and felons, and shall die the death of
such vile miscreants," said Philip, coldly. "By this foul
act you have forfeited your privileges as gentlemen."
" What! " exclaimed Osbert Clinton. " Are we to die
like common felons ? "
"Such will be your doom," rejoined Philip, sternly.
"Your Majesty is too magnanimous to stoop to such an
unworthy revenge," said Osbert Clinton. "Let us die upon
the scaffold. 'Tis the sole grace we ask of you."
"Ay, spare them this ignominious ending, I beseech you,
Sire," said Mauger, advancing from the guard, among whom
he was standing, "and let them fall by my hand."
" I owe thee a guerdon," rejoined Philip, "and will give
thee their heads. As to you, Osbert Clinton," he added,
" I could devise no worse torture for you than your own
bitter reflections will furnish. Had you not engaged in
this last design, you might have been pardoned your former
offences, have been restored to my favour, and have wedded
Constance Tyrrell. Reflect upon this when you are alone
in your dungeon."
" This is only said to torture me !" cried Osbert.
" It is said that you may be aware of the happiness you
have so recklessly thrown away," rejoined the King. " At
the intercession of Cardinal Pole, I had consented to pardon
you, and, moreover, had promised his Eminence not to
oppose your marriage with Constance. But there will be
no pardon for you now—no Constance."
Osbert made no reply, but covered his face with 1 s
hand.
After a brief pause, the King turned to Sir He ry
Bedingfeld, and ordered him to remove the prisoners to
their dungeons. " To morrow they will be privately inter¬
rogated," he said, "after which their arraignment, c n-
demnation, and execution will speedily follow. You ill
not have to wait long for your fees," he added to Mauger.
"I humbly thank your Majesty," replied the headsman.
On this, the conspirators were led off by the guard, and
placed in different state prisons in the inner ward, a cell in
How the Conspirators Went in at Traitors' Gate. 397
the Flint Tower being assigned to Osbert Clinton. Shortly
afterwards, the King rode back to Whitehall, attended by a
mounted escort.
As soon as tranquility was restored, Og returned to his
bride, whom he had left in the care of Dame Trusbut, at
the Stone Kitchen. A very substantial supper was in
readiness for him, and to this he sat down with his
brothers, Xit, Rodomont Bittern, Simnel, and Holiday,
and, despite the previous occurrences, they made a right
merry night of it.
Next day, the treasure chests, which had been left on the
platform in Traitors' Gate, were removed from the Tower,
and safely deposited in the Exchequer.
!£nb of tfje gtfbf ISoofe.
BOOK VIII.
CONSTANCE TYRREI.L,
CHAPTER I.
OF THE IMPORTANT DISPATCH RECEIVED FROM THE
EMPEROR BY PHILIP.
BOUT a month must now be allowed to elapse.
During this time, the whole of the conspirators,
with the exception of Osbert Clinton, had
suffered death on Tower Hill. But though
Osbert's execution was thus delayed, no hope of pardon
was held out to him. On the contrary, he was told by Sir
Henry Bedingfeld, who visited him almost daily, that his
sentence would infallibly be carried out, and that he ought
to be prepared for a sudden summons to the scaffold. " I
will give you notice when' I am sent for by his Majesty," he
said. " That will be an intimation to you that the hour is
at hand."
The Queen's accouchement being now daily expected,
great preparations were made for the important event;
religious processions thronged the streets, prayers were
offered for her Majesty's safe deliverance, and couriers kept
in constant readiness to bear the gladsome tidings to
Of the Important Dispatch Received by Philip.
foreign courts. While all were on the tenter-hooks of
expectation, the Romanists were gratified, and the
Protestants deeply chagrined, by the sudden and, as it
turned out, unfounded intelligence that her Majesty had
given birth to a son. The news spread with extraordinary
rapidity, not only in London, but throughout the whole
kingdom. Public rejoicings were made. Bonfires were
lighted in the streets. Te Deum was sung in the churches,
and one preacher—the priest of St. Anne's in Aldersgate—
went so far as to describe the personal appearance of the
new-born Prince, depicting him as a miracle of beauty and
proportion. But next day all was changed. The Romanists
were mortified by the authoritative contradiction of the
report, whilst the Protestants exulted. Other rumours
were then circulated, and it was said that the Queen had
died in child-bed. But this statement was soon discovered
to be false, and it eventually became known that the
disease under which her Majesty was labouring, and which
had deceived her physicians, was dropsy.
For some days Mary continued in a very precarious
state, and serious apprehensions of a ratal result were
entertained; but these dangerous symptoms abated, and in
less than a week she was pronounced out of danger.
During her illness she had been sedulously attended by
Constance Tyrrell, for whom she had sent when she
supposed herself sinking, and it was to Constance's un¬
wearying attentions that she mainly attributed her
recovery.
Naturally, the Queen's state of health had been a source
of the deepest anxiety to Cardinal Pole, and the news of
her amendment was a proportionate reliet to him. Having
received permission to wait upon her, he immediately
repaired to Whitehall, and on arriving at the palace he was
met by Doctor Ford, the Queen's physician, who conducted
him to her Majesty's presence.
Mary was in her cabinet, reclining in a large easy-chair,
propped up by cushions, wrapped in a loose gown ot
purple velvet, lined with miniver, and with her feet sup¬
ported by a tabouret. Her matures were swollen, and her
complexion turbid, and she had an air of extreme lassitude
and debility. The only person by whom she was attended
400
Cardinal Pole.
was Constance Tyrrell, who likewise looked extremely pale
and ill.
Having accompanied the Cardinal to the door of the
cabinet, Doctor Ford retired.
" I am glad to see your Eminence," said Mary, as the
Cardinal approached her. " Sit down beside me, I pray
you. At one time I feared I should never behold you
again; but I am better, and I owe my preservation, under
Heaven, to the ministry of this damsel. Without her I
believe I should have died, and I never can forget the
services she has rendered me—never sufficiently requite
them."
"Your Majesty overrates my poor services," said Con¬
stance.
" She has poured balm into my wounded heart, as well
as helped me to sustain my bodily sufferings," pursued
Mary. " Oh, my good Lord Cardinal, how can I have so
deeply offended Heaven that I should be thus severely
afflicted !—that the boon I have so earnestly prayed for
should be denied me. What have I done to merit this
chastisement ?—how have I sinned ? I have searched my
breast, but can discover no wickedness therein. I have
swerved from no duty. It cannot be a crime to love the
King my husband—though, perchance, I have made him an
idol. But enjoin me any penance you please. I will
perform it."
" I enjoin you only resignation to the decrees of Heaven,
gracious Madam," returned Pole. "Your afflictions have
been given you for some wise but inscrutable purpose, and
must be patiently borne."
" I have borne them with patience," rejoined Mary ; "yet
it is hard to be deprived of blessings which are vouchsafed
to the meanest of my subjects. How many a poor cottager's
wife can clasp her offspring to her breast!—while I, alas !
am childless."
"Your grief is shared by all your subjects, Madam,"
observed the Cardinal.
"Not by all," rejoined Mary, with asperity. "There are
many who exult in my distress, who have prayed that I
might have no issue, but that the sceptre might pass from
my hands to those of my sister Elizabeth. And their
Of the Important JDispatch Received by Philip. 401
prayers would seem to be heard, while mine are rejected.
Oh, what happiness would have been mine had a son been
granted me, for I feel all a mother's tenderness in my
breast. A son would have compensated me for all my
troubles—for the neglect I have experienced, and for the
desertion which will ensue—but now I shall go to my grave
broken-hearted."
"Be comforted, Madam, be comforted," said Pole. "All
will yet be well. The King will not leave you."
" He will leave me, that is certain," rej'oined Mary. " And
then will come the severest part of my trial. When he is
gone, all will be a blank to me. I would fain bury my woes
in a cloister."
" No, Madam, you must rouse yourself," said Pole. " You
must not give way to this excess of grief. It has pleased
the Supreme Disposer of events to deprive you, and the
country placed under your governance, of a great blessing;
but do not repine on that account. Rather rejoice that you
have been afflicted. Devote all your energies to the welfare
of your kingdom, and to the maintenance of religion. Peace
will then be restored to your breast—peace, which nothing
can disturb."
" I do not expect to find peace on this side of the grave,"
sighed Mary; " but I will try to follow your Eminence's
counsel."
"In time your wounds will be healed," rejoined Pole;
"and you will then understand why they have been in¬
flicted."
" I humbly resign myself to Heaven's decrees," said Mary.
"Fiat voluntas tua."
At this juncture, without being announced, the King
entered the cabinet, followed by Count D'Egmont. His
Majesty's features did not wear their customary sombre
expression, but were radiant with joy, and his deportment
evinced considerable excitement.
Advancing quickly towards the Queen, and bowing reve¬
rently to the Cardinal, he said,—
"Count D'Egmont has just brought me a most important
letter from the Emperor, and I lose not a moment in laying
its contents before your Majesty."
Then, turning to Pole, who was about to withdraw, he
402
Cardinal PoL.
added, " I pray your Eminence not to retire. The matter is
one that will interest you. Not to keep you in suspense, I
will state at once, and in a word, the purport of the dispatch.
The Emperor is about to abdicate, and resign his hereditary
dominions to me."
"What do I hear?" exclaimed Mary, in extremity of sur¬
prise. " The Emperor about to abdicate ! "
" 'Tis exactly as I have stated, Madam," cried Philip. " 1
have it here under his own hand."
"His Imperial Majesty has for some months meditated
this step, gracious Madam," interposed D'Egmont, bowing
to the Queen, "but it is only recently that his final resolu¬
tion has been taken. Of late a profound melancholy has
seized upon him, which he finds it impossible to shake off.
Tired of pomp and state, sated with glory and conquest,
wearied with the cares of government, racked by a cruel
disease, which allows him little respite from suffering, his
august Majesty is about to put off the purple robe and
crown, and, clothing himself in the lowly garb of a monk, to
pass the remainder of his days in seclusion. I have been
sent by the Emperor to announce his determination to his
royal son, into whose hands he designs to relinquish his vast
dominions."
"You hear, Madam—you hear what my father intends,"
cried Philip, with irrepressible delight.
"Yes, I hear it," rejoined Mary, mournfully.
" The solemn ceremony of abdication will take place at
Brussels," pursued D'Egmont, "in the presence of all the
nobles and deputies of Flanders, who, at the Emperor's
request, will transfer their allegiance to his son. Subse¬
quently, the sovereignty of Castile and Aragon will be ceded
to King Philip."
"And what of the crown of Germany?" demanded
Philip.
"That will deck the brows of your uncle Ferdinand, King
of the Romans," said D'Egmont. " The Empire of Germany
will be resigned in his favour."
" Is such my father's intent ? " said Philip.
" I believe so, Sire—nay, I am sure," returned D'Egmont
"To prove the motives by which your august sire is actuated
in his retirement, it will be enough to state, that out of his
Of the Important Dispatch Received by Philip. 403
immense revenues he only intends to reserve himself a pen¬
sion of a hundred thousand ducats."
"Only so much," cried Mary. "Why, 'tis less than a
noble's revenue."
" It is more than the Emperor will need, Madam, in the
solitary life he designs to lead," observed D'Egmont.
" I am filled with amazement," observed Pole. " That
Charles V., the foremost monarch of Christendom, the
greatest warrior of the age, who holds in his hands the des¬
tinies of Europe, should retire in the plenitude of his power,
is indeed a wondrous circumstance, to which there is no
parallel, save in the instance of Diocletian. May the
Christian monarch be as happy in his retirement as was the
heathen Emperor in his garden at Salona. Heavy, indeed,
must be the weight of a crown, since its wearer desires to
put it off thus."
" In his letter to me, the Emperor explains the motives of
his intent to abdicate," said Philip. "Referring to the
troubled and agitated life he has led, to his great fatigues
and exposure, his frequent travels in Europe and Africa, the
constant warfare in which he has been engaged, and his in¬
cessant labours for the public welfare and for religion, he
observes: ' As long as my strength would allow me, I have
fulfilled my duties, but now my infirmities counsel—nay,
command—repose. Ambition, and the desire to rule, no
longer sway my breast. The remainder of my days will be
consecrated to holy thought: and preparation for eternity.
To you, my son, and to your care, I shall resign my vast
possessions, conjuring you never to relax in your efforts for
the welfare of the people committed to your charge. Ihe
time may come when, exhausted, loaded with infimities, and
praying for release, you may desire to imitate your father's
example.'"
"May that day be long distant!" cried D'Egmont. "A
brilliant career is before your Majesty."
" Yet let the Emperor's words never be forgotten, Sire,"
remarked Pole, solemnly. " Lay them to heart, and be
guided by them; and so, when you arrive at that period
which your august sire has reached, when earthly glories
shall fade away and become as nothing in your sight, you
will derive comtort from ihe happiness and prosperity you
Cardinal PJe.
have conferred upon your people. Rarely has a crown been
similarly bestowed. Never could crown be more richly
graced. Wear it, Sire, as it has hitherto been worn—wear
it as your great father has worn it, and when you put it off,
you will do so, like him, without a sigh."
" Once mine, I shall be in no haste to part with it,"
observed Philip. " But have I no congratulations from your
Majesty?" he added to the Queen. " Do you not rejoice
with me on my good luck ?"
" Your good luck is my misfortune," rejoined Mary.
"This unlooked-for act of the Emperor must cause our
separation."
"Only for a season," returned Philip. "I must needs
obey my father's summons to Brussels; but I shall speedily
return."
" Impossible !" cried Mary. "As King of Spain, you will
have much to do, and cannot quit your dominions, even if
you should be so minded. No ! I am not to be deceived.
I cannot go to Spain, or to Flanders, and you will not come
to England. Henceforward we must dwell apart."
" Nay, nay, you are wrong, Madam—by my faith, you
are!" cried Philip. "I shall return before three months
have elapsed. Meantime, I confide you to the care of his
Eminence, who, I trust, will be rarely absent from you. It
is my wish," he added, " that the Lord Cardinal be appointed
chief of the Privy Council, and that nothing concerning
the government of the realm be concluded without his
sanction."
" All shall be done as you desire," rejoined Mary.
" Nay, Sire, I must decline a post for which I am unfitted,"
said Pole, " and which, as it would necessarily engage me in
concerns of the world, is little suited to the spiritual cha¬
racter with which I am invested."
"But I will take no refusal," said Philip. "You must, at
least, accept the post till her Majesty is perfectly restored to
health."
" I shall have only your Eminence to look to when the
King is gone," said Mary. " If need be, I must lay my
positive commands upon you."
" In that rase I have r.o alternative but submission,"
rejoined the Cardinal. "The sole condition I would annex
Of the Important Dispatch Received by Philip. 405
to my consent is, that I may be allowed to exercise my
religious functions as heretofore."
"Far be it from me to interfere with them," said Mary.
" Apartments shall be assigned you in the palace, so that I
may have an opportunity of seeing you more frequently, and
profiting by your counsels."
CHAPTER II.
HOW SIR HENRY BEDINGFELD CAME FOR OSBERT'S DEATH-
WARRANT ; AND WHAT HE OBTAINED.
T this moment an usher entered, and informed the
King that Sir Henry Bedingfeld was without,
having come to Whitehall in obedience to his
Majesty's commands.
" Admit him straight," replied Philip. And as the usher
withdrew, Philip approached the Queen, and spoke a few
words to her in a low tone. What he said was inaudible to
the others, but its import could be gathered from Mary's
troubled looks. She attempted some remonstrance, but the
King appeared inflexible.
While this was passing, Constance stole softly towards the
Cardinal, and said to him in a whisper, " Sir Henry Beding¬
feld is come for Osbert's death-warrant. I am sure of it,
from the look given me by her Maiesty. Oh ! my Lord
Cardinal, intercede for him with the King — intercede for
him, I implore of you."
" I will do what I can," replied Pole, in the same tone.
Meantime, Philip continued urgent with the Queen, his
manner becoming stern and peremptory.
" Must it be done at once?" inquired Mary.
" Ay, at once," rejoined the King. " I will have his head
before my departure to-morrow. Then I shall be sure that
my injunctions are obeyed. Here is the warrant," he added,
placing a scroll oi parchment before her. " Sign it."
How Bed ngfeld Came for Osberfs Death-warrant. 407
Mary, however, manifested great reluctance, and was still
appealing to the King, who continued inflexible, when Sir
Henry Bedingfeld appeared, and making a profound obei¬
sance to the royal pair, said, " I await your Majesty's com¬
mands."
" I shall be ready for you in an instant, good Sir Henry,"
rejoined the King. " Sign it, Madam—sign it," he added
quickly to the Queen. " Why do you hesitate ? "
"Because " And she glanced towards Constance,
who had now turned aside, weeping. " I owe my life to
her," she added. " Ought I to requite her thus ? "
" I have said I will not depart without assurance of this
traitor's death," rejoined Philip; " and your reluctance
shows how my orders would be obeyed in my absence. Sir
Henry Bedingfeld awaits the warrant."
Thus urged, Mary took up the pen, when Pole interposed.
" A moment, Madam," he cried. " Ere you sign that
death-warrant, I crave permission to say a few words to his
Majesty."
" I am entirely at your Eminence's disposal," rejoined
Philip, advancing towards him.
" Sire," said Pole, " you will, I am assured, acknowledge
that Heaven's bounties have been bestowed upon you with a
lavish hand."
Philip assented, and Pole went on. "You have been sum¬
moned to the greatest throne in Europe, and while your
heart is naturally elated by what you have gained, it should
be opened to the kindliest and most generous emotions. Let
your first act be one which shall show you are influenced by
such feelings."
"Whatwould you have me do?" replied Philip, somewhat
coldly. " I am about to testify my gratitude to Heaven by
public prayer and thanksgiving in Westminster Abbey, by
largesses to my attendants, by liberal donations of alms to
the poor, and in various other ways, as my confessor shall
direct, and as I trust will meet with your Eminence's
approval."
" All this is well," replied the Cardinal; " and yet your
heart may not be touched as I would have it. Perform a
noble deed. Osbert Clinton has deeply offended you. His
life is in your hands. Pardon him."
4o8
Cardinal rale.
" I cannot pardon him," replied Philip. " I have sworn
that he shall die."
" I will absolve you of your oath," said the Cardinal.
" The occasion is one that demands from you some self-
sacrifice, and you must make it."
" I would do aught in my power to gratify your Eminence,
to whom I am infinitely beholden, but I cannot forego an
act of just vengeance," replied Philip. "I have purposely
delayed this execution, not from any intention of sparing the
traitor, but because I would prolong his punishment. To-
mo row he dies. Press me no more, for I must perforce
refuse your request. I will not be balked of my revenge."
" It is well, Sire," replied Pole. " But I warn you that
you will repent your indulgence of this evil passion."
" You plead the cause of a rebel and traitor," cried Philip,
impatiently. " Osbert Clinton has been justly condemned
for his crimes."
" Search your heart, Sire," said the Cardinal, in a severe
tone, "and you will find why Osbert became a rebel and a
traitor. He was loyal and devoted till his wrongs—ay,
wrongs, Sire—made him what he is."
" But he rose in rebellion against the Queen," cried Philip.
"I pardon him for his offences against me—fully and freely
pardon him," interposed Mary; "and I pray your Majesty
to pardon him likewise."
Philip made no reply, but his looks continued inexorable.
" Essay what you can do," said Pole, in a low voice to
Constance.
"Alas, I despair of moving him," she rejoined. "Never¬
theless, I will make the attempt." And casting herself at
Philip's feet, she said, "Oh, Sire, if this sentence be carried
out, and Osbert perish on the block, you will have my life to
answer for as well as his, since I shall not long survive him.
The blow which strikes him will reach me also. I am the
cause of all Osbert's treasonable acts. But for his love for
me, he would have been loyal and devoted to you and to her
Majesty. Oh, that you had never seen me, Sire 1 Oh, that
chance, on your arrival in this country, had not brought you
near me ! Since that fatal hour nothing but calamity has
attended me. But now that you are departing, Sire, leave
nie not to wretchedness and despair. Pity Osbert, Sire—
How Bedingfeld Came for Osbert's Death-warrant. 409
overlook his offences, and pardon him. By so doing, you
will save yourself from a remorse which no penitence w:ll
remove, but which will ever haunt you if you doom us both
to death. But no, Sire, I see you relent—your nobler and
better feelings triumph—you are yourself—the worthy son
of Charles V. You forgive me — you pardon Osbert
Clinton?"
"Arise, Constance," said Philip, taking her hand and
raising her; "you have conquered. That I have done you
much wrong, and caused you great unhappiness, I freely
confess. That I may have goaded Osbert Clinton into the
commission of the offences of which he has been guilty, I
will not attempt to deny. But I will make amends. He
shall have a pardon."
" Nobly done, Sire! " ejaculated Pole. " Nobly done ! "
"To make sure that Osbert is worthy of the grace be¬
stowed upon him," said Philip, " he shall accompany me to
Brussels, and thence to Spain, and when I have proved him,
I will send him back to reap his reward."
" Oh, Sire, you overwhelm me with gratitude!" cried
Constance. " Happiness, so long a stranger to me, begins
to smile on me again."
" On his return, it will be for your Eminence to complete
the work by bestowing upon him the hand of your ward,"
said Philip to the Cardinal.
" And at the same time I shall surrender the fortune
which I hold in trust for her," said Pole.
"Sir Henry Bedingfeld," said Philip to the Lieutenant of
the Tower, whose looks manifested the lively interest he
took in what was passing, "you will return to the Tower,
not with a death-warrant, but with an order for Chbert's
immediate liberation."
" Here it is, Sir Henry," said Mary, tracing a few lines on
a sheet of paper, and giving it to Bedingfeld. "Tell him
that he has our full pardon."
" I shall not fail, gracious Madam," rejoined the Lieu¬
tenant of the Tower, with a profound obeisance.
And he moved towards the door. Before reaching it,
however, he was stopped by an usher, who placed a packet
in his hands, saying it was important, and had just been
brought from the Tower. The packet contained a letter,
Cardinal Pole.
enclosed within which was a small piece of paper. On
glancing at the letter, Bedingfeld started, and his countenance
fell.
" What is the matter, Sir Henry ? " demanded the King,
remarking his altered looks.
" The prisoner, Sire !—the prisoner !" faltered Bedingfeld.
" What of him ?" shrieked Constance, in tones that
chilled those who heard her. " What has happened ? "
" Read, Sire," said Bedingfeld, handing the missive he
had just received to the King.
" Ha ! is it so ? " cried Philip, his countenance changing
as he read the dispatch. " Remove her, I pray you, my
Lord Cardinal," he added to Pole.
" I will not go till I learn the truth," cried Constance,
distractedly. "Speak, Sir, I conjure you," she added to
Bedingfeld.
" Better let her kno.v the truth, be it what it may," said
Pole.
" Ay, speak, Sir Henry- \eep her not in suspense," said
the Queen. " The prisoner was well when you left the
Tower—ha ? "
" He was, Madam, but "
" But what ? " demanded Mary.
" Since then he has died by poison," said Philip.
" By poison ! how could it be procured ?" asked the
Queen.
" It appears to have been contained in a ring which he
was unluckily allowed to wear," replied Philip.
" Is there no poison left for me, that I may join him ? '
cried Constance.
"Kind Heaven support her!" exclaimed Pole. "Her
reason wanders."
" No, I am calm enough now," she rejoined.
"Then you may bear to hear that Osbert's last though
were given to you," said Philip. " This scrap of paper was
found clutched in his dying grasp. On it are written the
words, ' Farewell for ever, beloved Constance !'"
Taking the piece of crumpled paper from the King, she
gazed at it for a few moments, and then pressed it convul¬
sively to her lipc.
" Farewell, Qsbert—farewell for ever ! " she cried.
Ifow Bedm°feld Ca/ne for Osberf s Death-warrant. 4P
" No, not for ever," rejoined Pole, solemnly. " You wil
be united in a better world."
Praying the Cardinal to stay with her and console he,,
the King withdrew with D'Egmont and Bedingfeld.
Left alone with Pole and the Queen, Constance was
permitted by them to indulge her grief without restraint
before any attempt at consolation was made; but wh.n
these paroxysms were over, and she became calmer, the
good Cardinal poured balm into her bruised spirit, and
ceased not till his efforts were successful.
From that moment Constance became perfectly resigned
—and though all youthful gaiety and lightness of heart
deserted her, and her features wore an unvarying expression
of melancholy and sadness, she never uttered a murmur.
She would fain have spent the rest of her life in solitude
and retirement, but the Queen refused to part with her, and
retained her with her to the close of her days.
With remarkable consideration, Mary did not interfere
with her religious observances, but allowed her what she
denied all others, freedom of conscience. This concession,
however, on the Queen's part, was made on the earnest
recommendation of Cardinal Pole. Thus Constance con¬
tinued unshaken in her faith. By her gentle assiduities she
was enabled materially to alleviate the anguish of mind
endured by the Queen during Philip's absence, and when at
length Mary sank after protracted suffering, her last moments
were soothed by Constance Tyrrell.
CHAPTER III.
TWO LIGHTS EXTINGUISHED,
P WARDS of three years had flown since the
occurrences last narrated—three terrible years,
during which religious persecution never ceased.
Bradford and Marsh had perished at the stake, so
had Ridley and Latimer, with many others, and Cranmer
had won a martyr's crown. Gardiner had long gone to his
account, being stricken with a mortal disease, while reading
a letter describing the torments of Ridley and Latimer.
He lingered for a month, and then dying, was buried with
great pomp in Winchester Cathedial. But though Gardiner
was gone, Bonner yet lived, and the barbarous proceedings
against the Protestants were unrelaxed.
On Cranmer's death, Pole was immediately created Arch¬
bishop of Canterbury, and began to put into execution the
plan he had long designed for reforming the abuses of the
Church. Notwithstanding the opposition of the clergy,
aided as they were by Paul IV., the then ruling Pontiff,
wi o^e displeasure Pole had incurred, he succeeded in
effecting many benehcial changes, and would doubtless have
accomplished much more, had he been spared, but in the
very midst of his exertions he was attacked by a quartan
ague, engendered by the pestilent exhalations from Lambeth
marshes. By its extreme violence, the fever threatened from
the first a fatal termination.
Though not unconscious of his danger, and, indeed
Two Lights Extinguished.
413
scarcely entertaining a hope of recovery, the Cardinal
continued his labours during the intervals when he was free
from fever. His chief cause of concern at this moment
was, that the Queen also was lying upon a sick couch, front
which it was scarcely probable she could rise. Foreseeing
the disastrous consequences to the Church of Rome which
must inevitably ensue from her death, he felt so troubled in
spirit that his mental anxiety added force to the attacks of
the ague.
Throughout the Cardinal's illness, Priuli watched over
him with unremitting solicitude, and such entire reliance had
Pole in the judgment and devotion of his friend, that he
confided everything to him. One day, when the Cardinal
was free from fever, and he and Priuli were alone together
in the library of Lambeth Palace, he requested his friend to
unlock a small coffer which he pointed out, and at the same
time gave him a key. Priuli obeyed, and on opening the
coffer perceived within it a parchment, so endorsed as to
leave him no doubt as to its nature.
" That is my will," said Pole. " I desire you to read it."
On perusing the document, Priuli found that the Cardinal
had appointed him his sole heir and executor, whereupon,
looking Pole earnestly in the face, he said, " I am glad you
have consulted me on this matter, dear friend, and allowed
me the opportunity of expressing my opinion upon it. It
would have grieved me to disobey your injunctions, and yet
I cannot conscientiously fulfil them. Readily will I under¬
take the office to which you have appointed me, and will
carefully attend to your directions as to the distribution of
your property, but with regard to the rich inheritance you
would bestow upon me, I must peremptorily decline it. I
cannot—will not accept any part of it. I thank you for the
intent, but I am rich enough without this augmentation of
my worldly goods."
" Distribute my possessions among the poor, or build
churches and hospitals with them," rejoined the Cardinal.
" Whatever you do, will, I am sure, be for the best. But if
you decline my bequest, at least accept some slight object,
be it only a jewel or ring, to be kept as a memorial of our
long friendship."
((I desire neither jewel nor ring, nor any other memorial
27
4T4
Cardinal Pole.
richer than the breviary you constantly use," replied Priuli.
" Of all gifts, I should value that the most."
" It shall be yours, dear friend," rejoined Pole. " I shall
keep it as long as my eyes are able to fix upon it—as long
as my hands will hold it—then take it. May it afford you
the comfort it has ever afforded me, and draw you towards
Heaven, as it has never failed to draw me."
Pole was constant in his inquiries after the Queen, and
on her part Mary was equally anxious for information as to
the state of his health. Messengers were continually
passing between Lambeth Palace and Whitehall, but from
neither place were the tidings satisfactory. On the contrary,
the reports of the condition of Loth illustrious sufferers
grew worse, and it became a question as to which of the
two would be the survivor. Pole prayed that he might be
the first to depart—but it was not so ordained.
The grief felt by every member of the Cardinal's vast
establishment for the deprivation which they felt they must
soon undergo, was sincere and profound, but no one
deplored his exalted master's precarious condition more
deeply than Rodomont Bittern. The poor who thronged
the gates of the palace, and received alms and food from
Priuli, put up earnest prayers for their benefactor's recovery.
But the fever abated not, and though its attacks were
somewhat mitigated in severity, still the Cardinal's debili¬
tated frame was less able to withstand them. He daily
grew weaker and weaker.
Notwithstanding his prostration, however, he was carried
twice in each day to the chapel to hear mass. One evening
after vespers, the large easy-chair in which he reclined was
heeled into the library, and Priuli, who now seldom left
m, took his accustomed place by his side. Four days
ving elapsed since the Cardinal's last attack, it was certain
at the night would not pass without a return of the fever,
otwithstanding this, Pole was conversing cheerfully with
his friend, when Rodomont Bittern entered to say that
Mistress Constance Tyrrell was without, and desired to see
his Eminence.
"Admit her straight," replied Pole. "She is ever
we'come."
And the next moment Constance came in. The
Two Lights Extinguished\
415
expression of her countenance, which was as pale as death,
struck Priuli, but did not appear to attract Pole's attention!
Moving noiselessly towards the Cardinal, Constance knelt
before him, while he spread his thin white hands over her
head, and in feeble tones gave her his benediction.
" How fares the Queen?" inquired Pole, as Constance
arose. " She was somewhat easier this morning, as I under¬
stand."
" Her Majesty is easier now," replied Constance. " She
is free from ail pain."
" Is she gone ?" inquired Pole, while a premonitory
shiver shook his wasted frame.
"She is gone," rejoined Constance. "The heart that
has so long suffered has ceased to beat."
" May the angels of Heaven receive her soul and present
it before the Lord !" exclaimed Pole. " And may whatever
sin she has committed in life through human frailty be for¬
given her ! Did her spirit pass away easily ? "
" Most easily," replied Constance. " Her sole concern
was for the welfare of her Church."
" The chief pillar of the Church is broken," cried Pole, in
a voice of anguish; "and my hand, which might have helped
to support the falling structure, is also powerless. Dottiine,
salva nos, perimus / Salvator Mundi, salva Ecclesiam
tuam."
For some moments he remained in fervent prayer, after
whtcli he seemed calmer, and inquired if the Queen had
said aught concerning the King her husband.
" She spoke not of him at the last," replied Constance,
" but it would seem that the loss of Calais produced a deep
impression on her, for she said, ' My physicians seek to
know the cause of my malady. Let them open my breast,
and they will find "Calais" graven on my heart.'"
" It was not the loss of Calais that broke her heart," said
Pole. Heaven forgive him who has brought her prematurely
to the tomb. England has lost a great sovereign, and our
Church its chief defence. Elizabeth is now Queen, and
with her the Protestant Church will be restored. For¬
tunately, I shall not live to see that day. Farewell, dear
daughter. My blessing be ever upon you !"
Finding that the fever was coming on, he caused himself
Cardinal Pole.
to be transported to his chamber, and was laid upon the
couch which he was never again to leave with life.
Towards morning his condition became alarming, and he
received extreme unction, the last rites being performed by
the Bishop of Asaph. This done, after some words to
Priu'i, he clasped to his breast the crucifix, which he had
ever with him, and seemed to sink into a gentle slumber.
And so he breathed his last.
Crucifix and breviary were kept as sacred relics by
Priuli.
In the chapel of Saint Thomas 2t Becket, which he
himself built in Canterbury Cathedral, rests the saintly
Reginald Pole. This simple inscription is placed over his
tomb:—
Depositum Cardinalis Poll
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582 Belle of the Village.
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584 Stable Secrets, and The Life
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585 Flyers of the Hunt.
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588 Charles Auchester.
589 Counterparts.
590 My First Season.
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595 Master of the Hounds.
596 The Country Gentleman.
597 Squire of Beechwood.
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602 Shiloh.
603 Holden with the Cords
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612 My Home in the Shires
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638 Queen of the Seas.
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640 Cruise of the " Daring."
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644 The Jealous Wife.
645 Rival Beauties.
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650 Euialie.
651 The Diamond Cross.
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654 Deep Waters.
655 Misrepresentat ion.
656 The Brothers.
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707 Broken Toys.
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712 The Brilliant Marriage.
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726 Evelina.
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728 Unrequited Affection.
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732 The Scottish Chiefs.
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735 A Bad Beginning.
736 Wild as a Hawk.
737 Forgotten by the World.
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754 Royston Gower.
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758 Dr. Austin's Guests.
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759 Melincourt.
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762 Jacob Bendixen.
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763 The Only Child.
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768 Highland Lassies.
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772 Ladies of Bever Hollow.
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777 Lilian's Penance.
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782 Wild Hyacinth.
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793 A Lease for Lives.
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794 The Backwoodsman.
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IlllOn lllHUC On 111 10 ■ all-linen fronts and cuffs, 35/6 the halt-doz.
(to measure, 2s. extra). New designs in our special Indiana Gauze Oxford
and Unshrinkable Flannels for the Season. OLD SHIRTS made as good
as new, with best materials in Neckbands, Cuffs, and Fronts, for 14/-
the half-dozen. Patterns post free.
iDIQU ! npc . Collars, Sets, and Trimming Laces, in Crochet, Guipure,
mion LHUL ■ Applique, Point, and Limerick, at lowest Wholesale
Prices. Illustrated List post free.
Ladies should write for our new Illustrated
Sheets (post free). REAL IRISH AND
MADEIRA EMBROIDERY. Also Machine Work. All buttoned edges,
on best cloth, from 2£d. per yard.
IRISH LINEN UNDERCLOTHING:
of all yLadies." " Chemises,
trimmed Embroidery, 5/6 : Nightdresses, 8/6 ; Combinations, 6/11 Baby
Linen, Dress Materials, Flannels, Blankets, Hosiery, Gloves, Undervests,
Pants, Calicoes; also Lace and Linen Curtains, and Lace Goods of every
description.
IDICU wnm i CIMQ ■ Being made of pure unmixed wool of the toughest
Inlun if UULLtlvO ■ description, combine qualities that cannot be
surpassed while for appearance, and durability they are unequalled.
Tweeds and Cloths from 1/11 per yard. Patterns post free.
IRISH EMBROIDERY:
ROBINSON A CLEAVER, BELFAST,
By Special Appointments to H.M. the Queen and
the Empress Frederick of Germany.
Samples of any of the above post free.
IK
II
§Ss
KEATINGS
POWDER.
KILLS
BUGS,
FLEAS,
MOTHS,
BEETLES.
HARMLESS TO ANIMALS.
HARMLESS TO ANIMALS.
BUGS,
KILLS
FLEAS,
MOTHS,
BEETLES.
The PUBLIC are CAUTIONED that.packages of
the genuine powder bear the autograph of THOMAS
KEATING. Sold in Tins, 6d. & is. each everywhere.
wmsm
Ibigbcst Bwarb
COLUMBIAN EXHIBITION, CHICAGO,
PRINCE ALBERT'S
CACHOUX.
Dainty morsels in the form of tiny silver
Bullets, which dissolve in the mouth,
and surrender to the breath theii
hidden Fragrance.
Price 6d. & 11- By Post, 7(1. & 1/1.
JACKSON'S
At 1s.
RUSMA.
By Inland Post for 1s. 2d.
For removal of HAIR from the Arms, Neck, or Face, as well as Sunburn
or Tan from the Skin, without the use of the Razor.
WANSBROUGH'S Metallic Nipple SHIELDS.
At Is. per pair. By Inland Post for 1s. 2d.
To Ladies Nursing. For the Prevention and cure of Sore Nipples.
JACKSON'S French Liquid CLUE.
Bottle and Brush at 6d. and 1s. By Parcel Post, 3d. extra.
THE ORIGINAL TRANSPARENT CEMENT.
Ready for Use, and proper for whatever Glue is fit for—from a doll's nose
to a table's leg.
JACKSON'S Chinese Diamond CEMENT.
At 6d. and 1s. By Inland Post for 1s. 2d.
For Mending every Article of Ornament or Furniture, Glass, China,
Earthenware, etc.
JACKSON'S BENZINE RECT.
At 6d., 1s., and 2s. 6d. By Parcel Post, 3d. extra.
For taking out Grease, Oil, Paint, etc., from Dresses and Drapery;
Gloves, Slippers, Books, Manuscripts, and all Absorbent Fabrics,
it cleans with equal success.
From the Laboratory of
THOMAS JACKSON,
1894. Strangeways, MANCHESTER. 1894.
B^OOKB'S SO A. -
MONKKY BRWSI».
FOR CRU BEING KITCHEN TABLES AND FLOORS
tic Worlds mos; marvellous Cleanser and Polisher. Maxes Tin " ■
Copper like Gold, Paint like New, Brass Ware like Mirror.:, Spoueas
E arthenware, Crockery like Marble, Marble Wlrite.
SOLD BY GROCERS. IRONMONGERS AND CHFM'sTT