The Tower of London: A Historical Romance, Illustrated

“But you aim at her life?” said Gunnora.

“No,” replied the stranger, “I would preserve her. My object is to destroy Northumberland, and restore the crown to her to whom it rightfully belongs.”

“In that case I will go with you,” returned the old woman.

“You will fall into a snare,” interposed her grandson. “Let him declare who he is.”

“I will reveal my name to your grandame, boy,” replied the stranger. And advancing towards Gunnora, he whispered in her ear.

The old woman started and trembled.

“Hinder me not, Gilbert,” she said. “I must go with him.”

“Shall I accompany you?” asked her grandson.

“On no account,” replied the stranger, “unless you desire to be lodged in the deepest dungeon in the Tower. Be at the place of rendezvous to-morrow night, and you shall know more. Are you ready, good dame?”

Gunnora signified her assent; and, after a few parting words with her grandson, the latter unfastened a small door, opening upon the yard, and let them out.

They were scarcely clear of the house, when the stranger placing a silver whistle to his lips, blew a call upon it, which was instantly answered by a couple of attendants. At a signal from their leader they placed themselves on either side of Gunnora, and in spite of her resistance and remonstrances, dragged her forcibly along. The stranger, who marched a few yards in advance, proceeded at so rapid a pace, that the old woman found it utterly impossible to keep up with him. She therefore stood still, and refused to take another step. But this did not avail her, for the two attendants seized her in their arms, and hurried forward as swiftly as before.

Though bewildered and alarmed, Gunnora did not dare to cry out for assistance. Indeed, they did not encounter a single passenger in the streets, until, as they were descending Budge-row, they heard the clank of arms, and beheld the gleam of torches borne by a party of the watch who were approaching from Can-wick-street, or as it is now called, Cannon-street.

Turning off on the right, the stranger descended Dowgate-hill, and gained Thames-street before he had been remarked. A short time sufficed to bring him to St. Mary-hill, up which he mounted, and entering Thames-street, and passing St. Dunstan’s in the East on the right, and the ancient church of All Hallows Barking on the left, he reached Great Tower-hill.

By this time, the vapours from the river had cleared off. The stars had begun to peep forth, and the first glimpse of day to peer in the east. By this light, and from this spot, the stern and sombre outline of the Tower, with its ramparts – its citadel, and its numerous lesser turrets, was seen to great advantage. On the summit of the Hill appeared the scaffold and the gallows already noticed.

Pausing for a moment, and pointing to a range of buildings, the summits of which could just be distinguished, to the south of the White Tower, the stranger said – “Within that palace Northumberland now reposes, surrounded by a triple line of fortifications, and defended by a thousand armed men. But if you will only reveal all you know, ere another week has passed his head shall be laid on that scaffold.”

“The last time I beheld that fatal spot,” returned Gunnora, “my foster-son, the Duke of Somerset, was decapitated there. If I can avenge him upon his foe, I shall die content.‘’

“Obey my directions implicitly, and you shall do so,” rejoined the other.

“How are we to enter the Tower?” asked Gunnora.

“Not by the ordinary road,” replied the other, significantly. “But we shall be observed if we linger here. Forward!”

Crossing the Hill in the direction of the City Postern, the stranger suddenly wheeled round, and, under cover of a low wall, approached the moat. Exactly opposite the Devilin Tower, and the bastion occupying the north-western anglo of the exterior line of fortifications, stood at this time, at a little distance from the moat, a small low building. Towards this structure the stranger hastened. As he drew near it, he glanced uneasily at the ramparts, to ascertain whether he was observed. But though the measured tread of the sentinels and the clank of arms were distinctly audible, he remained unperceived.

Unlocking the door, the whole party entered the building, which was apparently deserted. After a moment’s search, the stranger discovered a spring in the floor, which he pulled, and a trap-door opened, disclosing a long and steep flight of steps, at the foot of which sat a man with a mask, bearing a torch.

No sooner did this person hear the noise occasioned by the opening of the trap-door, than he hastily ascended, and placed himself in readiness to guide the party. On gaining the level ground, it was evident, from the dampness of the arched roof of the passage, and the slippery surface of the floor along which they trod, that they were far below the bottom of the moat. Traversing this damp dark passage for more than a hundred yards, the humid atmosphere gave place to a more wholesome air, and the ground became drier.

Hitherto, the passage had been about three feet wide and seven high, and was arched and flagged with stone. But they had now arrived at a point where it became more lofty, and their further progress was checked by a strong door plated with iron, and studded with nails. Taking a huge key from his girdle, the man in the mask unlocked this ponderous door, and, admitting the party, fastened it behind him. He then led them up another stone stair-case, similar in all respects to the first, except that it did not ascend to more than half the height. This brought them to a vaulted gallery, from which three passages branched.

Pursuing that on the right, and preceded by his masked attendant, the stranger strode silently along. As she followed him, Gunnora noticed several strong doors in the wall, which she took to be entrances to dungeons. After threading this passage, the party ascended a third short flight of steps, at the top of which was a trap-door. It was opened by the guide, and admitted them into a small stone chamber, the walls of which appeared, from the embrazures of the windows, to be of immense thickness. The roof was groined and arched. In the centre of the room stood a small table, on which some provisions were placed. A small copper lamp, suspended from the roof, threw a sickly light around, and discovered a little pallet stretched in a recess on the right.

“You are now in the Bowyer’s Tower, in the chamber where it is said the Duke of Clarence was drowned in the butt of malmsey,” observed the stranger. “Here you will remain till your presence is required by the Council.”

Gunnora would have remonstrated, but the stranger waved his hand to her to keep silence, and, followed by his attendants, descended through the trap-door, which was closed and bolted beneath.

X. – HOW THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND MENACED SIMON RENARD IN SAINT PETER’S CHAPEL ON THE TOWER-GREEN; AND HOW QUEEN JANE INTERPOSED BETWEEN THEM

It will now be proper to ascertain how far the Duke of Northumberland was justified in his suspicion of Queen Jane’s conduct being influenced by some secret and adverse counsel. After the abrupt departure of Lord Guilford Dudley for Sion House, as before related, she was greatly distressed, and refused at first to credit the intelligence. But when it was confirmed beyond all doubt by a message from her husband himself, declaring that he would not return till she had acceded to his request, she burst into tears, and withdrew to her own chamber, where she remained for some time alone.

When she re-appeared, it was evident from her altered looks that she had suffered deeply. But it was evident also, from her composure of countenance and firmness of manner, that whatever resolution she had formed she would adhere to it.

Summoning the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke to her presence, she briefly explained to them that she had heard, with infinite concern and uneasiness, that the council had proposed to raise her husband to the throne, because she foresaw that it would breed trouble and dissatisfaction, and greatly endanger her own government.

“Your highness judges rightly,” replied the Earl of Pembroke. “It will be said that in thus elevating his son, Northumberland seeks only his own aggrandisement.”

“And it will be truly said, my lord,” rejoined Jane. “But if this is your opinion, why was your voice given in favour of the measure?”

“No man is bound to accuse himself,” replied Pembroke.

“But every man is bound to speak truth, my lord,” rejoined Jane. “Again I ask you, why your assent was given to this measure, which, by your own admission, is fraught with danger?”

“The Duke of Northumberland is my enemy,” replied the Earl, sternly. “Had this step been taken it would have ensured his destruction.”

“You speak frankly, my lord,” rejoined the Queen. “But you forget that it must have ensured my destruction also.”

“I am a loyal subject of your majesty,” replied the Earl of Pembroke, “and will shed my last drop of blood in the defence of your crown. But I will not submit to the Duke’s imperious conduct.”

“And yet, my lord, you owe your own dignity to him,” rejoined Jane, sarcastically. “Sir William Herbert would not have been Earl of Pembroke but for the Duke’s intercession with our cousin Edward. For shame, my lord! you owe him too much to act against him.”

“I owe him nothing,” interposed the Earl of Arundel, “and may therefore speak without risk of any such imputation as your majesty has thrown out against Lord Pembroke. If the overweening power of the Duke of Northumberland be not checked, it will end in his downfal, and the downfal of all those with whom he is connected.”

“I thank you for your counsel, my lord,” replied the Queen; “and, setting down much to your private animosity, will place the rest to loyalty to myself.”

“Your highness will be speedily satisfied of the truth of my assertion, if you refuse compliance with Northumberland’s demands,” replied Pembroke. “But you will find it, unless you have recourse to strong measures, a difficult and a dangerous game to play.”

“To one who, though so young in years, is yet so old in wisdom as your majesty,” added the Earl of Arundel, “it will be needless to say, that on the first decisive movement of your reign – as on that of a battle – depends the victory. If you yield, all is lost. From this one step the Duke will estimate your character, and become either your servant or your master. From his conduct, also, you will know what to expect from him hereafter.”

“My resolution is taken, my lords,” returned the Queen.

“The course I have resolved upon in reference to the duke, you will learn when I meet you in the council-chamber, where he will be present to speak for himself – and, if need be, defend himself. My desire is that my reign should begin and proceed in peace. And, if you hope for my favour, you will forget your differences with his grace, and act in concert with me. In asserting my own power, I trust I shall convince him of the futility of any further struggle with me, and so bring him to a sense of duty.”

“Your majesty may depend upon the full support of your council,” rejoined Arundel.

“I doubt it not, my lord,” replied Jane. “And now to the business on which I summoned you. It may have reached you that my dear lord has departed this morning for Sion House, in great displeasure that I have refused to comply with his wishes.”

“We have heard as much,” replied both noblemen.

“My desire is that you hasten after him and entreat him to return with all speed,” pursued Jane.

“Your majesty then consents!” exclaimed Pembroke, hastily.

“Not so, my lord,” replied the Queen. “I will raise him to his father’s rank. He shall have a dukedom, but not a kingdom.”

“I would counsel your majesty to reflect ere you concede thus much,” observed Arundel.

“I have already said that my resolution is taken,” replied the Queen. “Repeat what I have told you to him, and entreat him to return.”

“Entreat him!” echoed Pembroke scornfully. “It is not for your highness to entreat, but to command. Obedience sworn at the altar by the lips of the Queen of England, is cancelled as soon as uttered. Your husband is your subject. Empower us to bring him to you, and he shall be at your feet within an hour.”

“My pleasure is that you literally fulfil my injunctions, my lords,” replied the Queen. “Lord Guilford Dudley was the husband of my choice. When I gave my hand to him at the altar, I had no thought that it would ever grasp a sceptre, Nor, till I obtained this unlooked-for – and, believe me, most unwished-for dignity, – did the slightest misunderstanding ever arise between us. But now that I am compelled to sacrifice my affections at the shrine of duty, – now that I am Queen as well as consort – and he is subject as well as husband – this disagreement has occurred, which a little calm reflection will put to rights.”

“What if his lordship should refuse to return with us?” asked Pembroke.

“You will use your best endeavours to induce him to do so,” replied Jane, a tear starting to her eye, and her voice faltering in spite of her efforts to maintain her composure. “But if you fail, I shall at least be satisfied that I have done my duty.”

“Your majesty’s commands shall be obeyed,” replied Pembroke. “But we must have your licence to go forth – for we are detained as prisoners within the Tower.”

“You shall have it,” replied Jane. And she immediately wrote out the order.

“The passport must be countersigned by the duke,” said Pembroke. “The gate-keepers will not hold this sufficient authority.”

“How!” exclaimed Jane, reddening, “Am I not Queen? Is not my authority absolute here?”

“Not while the duke holds his high office, gracious madam,” returned Pembroke. “His followers give you the name of Queen. But they look up to him as sovereign.”

“My lord, I need no assurance that you are Northumberland’s mortal enemy,” replied Jane.

“I am your majesty’s loyal subject,” replied the earl. “And if your passport be respected, I will confess that I have wronged him.”

“And if it be not, I will confess I have wronged you, my lord,” rejoined Jane. “The royal barge is at your service. – An usher shall conduct you to it.”

So saying, she motioned one of her train, to attend them, and the two nobles bowed and departed.

As soon as they had quitted the royal presence, Pembroke observed to his companion: —

“We have now effected a quarrel, which will end in Northumberland’s destruction and Jane’s dethronement. Simon Renard will so fan the flame, that it shall never be extinguished.”

As the Earl anticipated, the Queen’s pass was refused – the warders declaring that their instructions were to suffer no one to go forth without the Duke’s written order. They then returned to the palace. It was some time before they were admitted to the Queen, as she was engaged in the angry conference previously-related with her mother-in-law. When the Duchess had departed, they sought an audience.

“How, my lords,” cried Jane, turning very pale; “do I see you again so soon?”

“It is as I informed your highness,” replied the Earl of Pembroke, laying the order on the table. “The Duke is master here.”

“Ha!” exclaimed the Queen, starting to her feet, “am I deserted by my husband – braved by the Duke – and treated like an infant by his imperious dame? I cry you pardon, my lords, you have not deceived me. You are my loyal subjects. Oh! I could weep to think how I have been deluded. But they shall find they have not made me queen for nothing. While I have power I will use it. My lords, I bid you to the council at noon tomorrow. I shall summon Lord Guilford Dudley to attend it, and he will refuse at his peril.”

“Have a care, gracious madam, how you proceed with the Duke,” replied Pembroke. “Your royal predecessor, Edward, it is said, came not fairly by his end. If Northumberland finds you an obstacle to his designs, instead of a means of forwarding them, he will have little scruple in removing you.”

“I shall be wary, doubt it not, my lord,” rejoined Jane. “To-morrow you shall learn my pleasure. I count on your fidelity.”

“Your majesty may safely do so,” they replied. And with renewed assurances of zeal, they departed.

“Her spirit is now fairly roused,” observed Pembroke, as they quitted the palace. “If she hold in the same mind till to-morrow, it is all over with Northumberland.”

“Souvent femme varie, bien fol est qui s’y fie,” observed Simon Renard, advancing to meet them. “Let me know how you have sped.”

The Earl of Pembroke then related the particulars of their interview with the Queen.

“All goes on as well as I could desire,” observed Renard. “But she must come to an open rupture with him, else the crafty Duke will find some means of soothing her wounded pride. Be that my task.”

Taking their way slowly along the outer ward, the trio passed under the gloomy gateway of the Bloody Tower, and ascended a flight of steps on the left leading to the Tower Green. Here (as now,) grew an avenue of trees, and beneath their shade they found De Noailles, who instantly joined them. Renard then entered into a full detail of his schemes, and acquainted them with the information he had received through his messengers, in spite of all the Duke’s precautions, of the accession in strength which Mary’s party had received, and of the numbers who had declared themselves in her favour. He further intimated that his agents were at work among the people to produce a revolt in the metropolis.

As they proceeded across the Tower-green, the Earl of Pembroke paused at a little distance from the chapel, and pointing to a square patch of ground, edged by a border of white stones, and completely destitute of herbage, said —

“Two Queens have perished here. On this spot stood the scaffolds of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard.”

“And ere long a third shall be added to their number,” observed Renard, gloomily.

Shaping their course towards the north-east angle of the fortress, they stopped before a small turret, at that time called the Martin Tower, and used as a place of confinement for state offenders, but now denominated the Jewel Tower, from the circumstance of its being the depository of the regalia.

“Within that tower are imprisoned the Catholic Bishops Gardiner and Bonner,’” remarked Arundel..

“Let Mary win the crown, and it shall be tenanted by the protestants, Cranmer and Ridley,” muttered Renard.

While the others returned to the Green, Renard lingered for an instant to contemplate the White Tower, which is seen perhaps to greater advantage from this point of view than from any other in the fortress. And as it is in most respects unchanged, – excepting such repairs as time has rendered necessary, and some alterations in the doorways and windows, to be noted hereafter, – the modern visitor to this spot may, if he pleases, behold it in much the same state that it appeared to the plotting Spanish ambassador.

Rising to a height of nearly a hundred feet; built in a quadrangular form; terminated at each angle by a lofty turret, three of which are square, while the fourth, situated at the northeast, is circular, and of larger dimensions than the others; embattled; having walls of immense thickness, exceeding fourteen feet, and further strengthened by broad flat buttresses, dividing the face of the building into compartments; lighted by deep semi-circular-arched windows; – this massive stronghold, constructed entirely of stone, – and now in some parts defaced by a coating of mortar and flints, – occupies an area of an hundred and sixteen feet on the north and south, and ninety-six on the east and west. At the south-east corner is a broad semi-circular projection, marking the situation of St. John’s Chapel, already described. The round turret, at the north-east angle, was used as an observatory by the celebrated astronomer, Flamstead, in the reign of Charles the Second. The principal entrance was on the north, and was much more spacious than the modern doorway, which occupies its site.

At the period of this chronicle the White Tower was connected, as has already been mentioned, on the south-east with the ancient palace. On the south stood a fabric called the Jewel-house; while at the south-western angle was another embattled structure of equal elevation and dimensions with the By-ward Tower and the other gates, denominated the Coal-harbour Tower. These, with the Lanthorn Tower and the line of buildings extending in an easterly direction towards the Broad Arrow Tower, have totally disappeared, and the White Tower is now disconnected with every other edifice. For centuries it has stood, and for centuries may it continue to stand! Within its walls the old monarchs of England have held their councils, – within its vaults prisoners have sighed, – from its gates queens have come forth to execution! – Long may it flourish as a fearful memento of the past!

On the present occasion, it presented a stirring picture. From a tall staff, planted on the roof, floated the royal standard. Cannon bristled from its battlements, and armed men were seen marching from post to post on its platforms. Before the principal entrance four warders were stationed; and in front troops of arquebusiers and archers were passing under the review of their leaders. The sound of martial music filled the air; pennons and banners fluttered in the breeze; and pikes, steel caps, and corslets glittered in the sunbeams. Amid these warlike groups, the figures of the gigantic warders and their diminutive attendant, Xit, caught the eye of Renard, and filled him with astonishment: – the former being taller by the head and shoulders than the mass of their companions, besides far exceeding them in bulk and size of limb; while the latter, with more than ordinary pretensions to the dignity of manhood, had scarcely the stature of a child. It must not be omitted in the description of the White Tower that the summits of its four turrets were surmounted by large vanes, each decorated with a crown, in the hollows of which, as in our own time, the jackdaws were accustomed to build.

After gazing at this magnificent structure for a few minutes, and indulging in the emotions which its contemplation inspired, Simon Renard followed his companions, and resumed his discourse. They had again adverted to Jane, when the door of the principal entrance of the White Tower was thrown open, and, attended by the Duchess of Suffolk and the Ladies Hastings and Herbert, the subject of their conference issued from it and proceeded on foot towards St. Peter’s Chapel. The road was immediately cleared by her attendants, and the three gigantic warders and their tiny companion marched before her, and planted themselves on either side of the chapel door. Glancing significantly at his companions, Renard motioned them to follow him, and hurried towards the sacred pile.

“What! you a rigid Catholic, M. Renard.” observed Pembroke, “about to attend Protestant worship? Hopes may be entertained of your conversion.”

“Stronger hopes may be entertained that I shall restore the ancient worship,” muttered Renard, as he entered the chapel, and took his place unobserved by the Queen behind one of the columns of the aisle, while she advanced to the altar.

Erected in the reign of Edward the First, the little chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula (the parochial church – for the Tower, it is almost needless to say, is a parish in itself), is the second structure occupying the same site and dedicated to the same saint. The earlier fabric was much more spacious, and contained two chancels, with stalls for the king and queen, as appears from the following order for its repair issued in the reign of Henry the Third, and recorded by Stow: – “The king to the keepers of the Tower work, sendeth greeting: We command you to brush or plaster with lime well and decently the chancel of St. Mary in the church of St. Peter within the bailiwick of our Tower of London, and the chancel of St. Peter in the same church; and from the entrance of the chancel of St. Peter to the space of four feet beyond the stalls made for our own and our queen’s use in the same church; and the same stalls to be painted. And the little Mary with her shrine and the images of St. Peter, St. Nicholas, and Katherine, and the beam beyond the altar of St. Peter, and the little cross with its images to be coloured anew, and to be refreshed with good colours. And that ye cause to be made a certain image of St. Christopher holding and carrying Jesus where it may best and most conveniently be done, and painted in the foresaid church. And that ye cause two fair tables to be made and painted of the best colours concerning the stories of the blessed Nicholas and Katherine, before the altars of the said saints in the same church. And that ye cause to be made two fair cherubims with a cheerful and joyful countenance standing on the right and left of the great cross in the said church. And moreover, one marble font with marble pillars well and handsomely wrought.”