The Tower of London: A Historical Romance, Illustrated

Thus much respecting the ancient edifice. The more recent chapel is a small, unpretending stone structure, and consists of a nave and an aisle at the north, separated by pointed arches, supported by clustered stone pillars of great beauty. Its chief interest is derived from the many illustrious and ill-fated dead crowded within its narrow walls.

Here rested, for a brief season, the body of John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, beheaded in 1535, for denying the king’s supremacy – “a prelate,” says Holinshed, “of great learning and of very good life. The Pope had elected him a cardinal and sent his hat as far as Calais. But his head was off before his hat was on, so that they met not.” Next to Fisher was interred his friend, the wise, the witty, the eloquent Sir Thomas More, whom Hall, the chronicler, hesitates whether he shall describe as “a foolish wise man, or a wise foolish man,” – and who jested even on the scaffold. His body was afterwards removed, at the intercession of his daughter, Margaret Roper, to Chelsea. Here also was interred the last of the right line of the Plantagenets, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, the mother of Cardinal Pole. The venerable countess refused to lay her head upon the block, saying (as Lord Herbert of Cherbury reports), – “‘So should traitors do, and I am none.’ Neither did it serve that the executioner told her it was the fashion: – so turning her grey head every way, she bid him, if he would have it, to get it as he could: so he was constrained to fetch it off slovenly.”

Here also was deposited the headless trunk of another of Henry the Eighth’s victims, Thomas Lord Cromwell, the son of a blacksmith, who, having served as a common soldier under Bourbon, at the sack of Rome, entered Wolsey’s service, and rose to be Grand Chamberlain of the realm. Here, in Elizabeth’s reign, were brought the remains of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, who aspired to the hand of the Queen of Scots. And here also were laid those of Robert Devereux, the rash and ill-fated Earl of Essex. Under the communion-table was interred, at a later date, the daring and unfortunate Duke of Monmouth, who fell a sacrifice to his ambition. And to come down to yet more recent times, beneath the little gallery at the west of the chapel, were buried the three leaders of the rebellion of 1745 – Lords Kilmarnock, Balmerino, and Lovat.

There were four other graves, which, as being more nearly connected with the personages introduced in this chronicle, it will be proper to notice separately. Before the altar, on the west, a plain flag bore the inscription “Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, 1552.” On the next grave to that of the great Lord Protector was written “Katherine Howard,” and on the adjoining stone, “Anne Boleyn” These two queens, – equally unfortunate, but not, perhaps, equally culpable, – perished within five years of each other – the latter suffering in 1536, the former in 1541. Close to the wall on the right, a fourth grave bore the name of “Thomas Seymour, Baron Sudley.” Seymour was brother to the Duke of Somerset, and Lord High Admiral of England; and the only stain on the Protector’s otherwise reproachless character is, that he signed his death-warrant, and declined to use the power he undoubtedly possessed, of procuring his pardon. The fiery and ambitious Admiral was beheaded in 1549.

Between this grave and that of Anne Boleyn intervened a plain stone, unmarked by any inscription, and indicating a vacant tomb. Beneath this flag, eighteen months after the execution of his victim, the Duke of Somerset – and barely six weeks from the day on which this chronicle opens – was deposited the headless trunk of the once all-powerful and arrogant Northumberland.

The service over, as the Queen was about to depart, Simon Renard advanced to meet her. Returning his ceremonious salutation by a dignified greeting, Jane, with a look of some surprise, inquired the cause of his presence..

“I might have chosen a more fitting season and place for an audience with your majesty,” replied Renard, in the low and silvery tone which he could adopt at pleasure. “But I have that to communicate which emboldens me to break through all forms.”

“Declare it then, sir,” replied the Queen.

Renard glanced significantly at her. She understood him, and motioning her attendants to withdraw to a little distance, they obeyed; and Lady Hastings seized the opportunity of despatching a messenger to her father to acquaint him with the circumstance, as already related.

What was the nature of the disclosure made by the wily ambassador to the Queen, it is not our present purpose to reveal. That it was important was evident from the deep attention she paid to it; and it was apparent, also, from her changing looks and agitated demeanour, that her fears were greatly aroused.

As Renard proceeded, her uneasiness increased so much that she could scarcely support herself, and her attendants were about to hasten to her assistance, when a gesture from the ambassador checked them.

Different inferences were drawn by the various witnesses of this singular interview. But all were satisfied of the ascendancy which Renard had, in some manner, acquired over the youthful sovereign. While glances of triumph were exchanged between the conspiring lords, who watched them from their station in the aisle, the greatest misgivings were experienced by the Ladies Hastings and Herbert. Unable to comprehend the mystery, they were so much struck with the peculiar expression of Jane’s countenance, which precisely resembled the look she wore after the mysterious occurrence in St. John’s Chapel, that they could not help thinking the present conference had some relation to that event.

Renard’s manner, indeed, was so extraordinary that it furnished some clue to the nature of his discourse. Casting off the insinuating tone and deferential deportment with which he had commenced, he gradually assumed a look and accent of command, and almost of menace. His figure dilated, and fixing his black flaming eye upon the trembling Queen, he stamped his foot upon the vacant grave on which he was standing, and said, in a voice so loud that it reached the ears of the listeners, “Your Majesty will never wear your crown in safety till Northumberland lies here.”

Before any answer could be returned, the door of the chapel was suddenly thrown open, and the Duke presented himself. A momentary change passed over Renard’s countenance at this interruption. But he instantly recovered his composure, and folding his arms upon his breast, awaited the result.

Unable to control his indignation, the Duke strode towards them, and flinging his jewelled cap on the ground, drew his sword.

“M. Renard,” he exclaimed, “you are a traitor!”

“To whom, my lord?” replied Renard, calmly.

“To me – to the Queen,” rejoined the Duke.

“If to be your grace’s enemy is to be a traitor, I confess I am one,” retorted Renard sternly. “But I am no traitor to her majesty.”

“It is false!” exclaimed the Duke, furiously. “You are her worst and most dangerous enemy. And nothing but the sacred spot in which you have sought shelter, prevents me from taking instant vengeance upon you.”

Renard smiled disdainfully.

“Your grace threatens safely,” he said, in a taunting tone.

“Insolent!” exclaimed the Duke, roused to a pitch of ungovernable fury. “Draw and defend yourself, or I will strike you dead at my feet.”

“Put up your sword, my lord,” cried Jane, throwing herself between them. “You forget in whose presence you stand.”

“No!” exclaimed Northumberland, “I do not forget. I am in the presence of one who owes her authority to me – and who holds it through me. The same power which made you queen, can as readily unmake you.”

“Your majesty will now judge who is the traitor,” observed Renard, sarcastically.

“I do,” she replied. “I command your grace,” she continued, authoritatively addressing Northumberland, “to quit the chapel instantly.”

“What if I refuse to obey?” rejoined the Duke.

“Your grace will do well not to urge me too far,” replied Jane. “Obey me, or take the consequences.”

“What are they?” cried the Duke contemptuously.

“Your arrest,” said the Earl of Pembroke, laying his hand upon his sword, and advancing. “If his grace will not submit himself to your highness’s authority, we will compel him to do so.”

“Jane!” said the Duke, suddenly controlling himself – “be warned before it is too late. You are in the hands of those who will destroy you.”

“On the contrary,” rejoined Renard, “her majesty is in the hands of those who will uphold her, and destroy you?

“No more of this,” interposed the Queen. “If you are, what you profess yourselves, my faithful subjects, you will reconcile your differences.”

“Never!” exclaimed the Duke. “Let M. Renard look to himself.”

“Another such menace, my lord,” said Jane, “and I place you in arrest.”

“Threatened men live long,” observed Renard. “I beseech your majesty not to place any restraint upon his grace.”

“Will your highness grant me a moment’s speech with you!” said Northumberland, sheathing his sword.

“Not now, my lord,” replied Jane. “To-morrow, at the council, you shall be fully heard. And I charge you, by your allegiance, to cease all hostilities till then. Have I your knightly word for this?”

“You have,” replied the Duke, after a moment’s reflection.

“And yours, M. Renard?” continued the Queen, turning to him.

“Since his grace has passed his word I cannot withhold mine,” replied the ambassador. “But I give it with reluctance.”

“Your grace will not fail to attend the council to-morrow,” said Jane.

“If your highness desires it I will not, undoubtedly,” replied the Duke. “But since you decline to act upon my advice, there can be little need for my presence.”

“My wishes – my commands are, that you attend,” rejoined the Queen.

“Your wishes are commands,” rejoined the Duke. “I will be there.”

“Enough,” replied Jane. “M. Renard, you will accompany me to the palace.”

As the ambassador was preparing to depart, he perceived Northumberland’s cap lying at his feet.

“Your grace’s hat,” he observed, pointing to it. And glancing significantly at Jane, he added, in an audible whisper, “Would the head were in it!”

“Ha!” exclaimed the Duke, laying his hand upon his sword. “But you are safe till to-morrow.”

Renard made no reply, but with a smile of exultation followed the Queen out of the chapel.

XI. – HOW THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND WAS PREVAILED UPON TO UNDERTAKE THE ENTERPRISE AGAINST THE LADY MARY

At noon on the following day, the Council was held as appointed by the Queen. In the meantime, alarming intelligence having been received of the accession which Mary’s party had obtained, it became absolutely necessary that immediate and decisive measures should be taken against her.

As soon as the Lords of the Council, including the two ambassadors, Renard and Noailles, were assembled, and the Queen had taken her seat upon the throne, the Earl of Pembroke stepped forward, and thus addressed her: —

“It is with infinite concern that I have to apprise your majesty that news has just been brought that Sir Edward Hastings, with an army of four thousand men, has gone over to the Lady Mary. Five counties also have revolted. Your highness is already aware that the Earls of Sussex, Bath and Oxford, Lord Wentworth, Sir Thomas Cornwallis and Sir Henry Jerningham, have raised the commoners of Suffolk and Norfolk. Lord Windsor, Sir Edmund Peckham, Sir Robert Drury, and Sir Edward Hastings, have now raised those of Buckinghamshire. Sir John Williams and Sir Leonard Chamberlain have stirred up a party in Oxfordshire, and Sir Thomas Tresham another in Northamptonshire. These rebels with their companies are now marching towards Framlingham Castle.”

“The revolt must be instantly checked,” rejoined Jane. “An army must be sent against her.”

“To whom will your majesty entrust its command?” inquired the Earl of Pembroke.

“To one well fitted for the office, – my father, the Duke of Suffolk,” answered the Queen.

“My advice is, that it be given to the Duke of Northumberland,” said the Earl of Arundel. “Wherever he has carried his arms – in Scotland and in France – he has been victorious. The recollection of the defeat sustained by the rebels at Dussindale will operate in his favour. His grace has every recommendation for the office. Having achieved the victory of Norfolk once already, he will be so feared that none will dare to lift up a weapon against him. Besides which, I need scarcely remind your highness, who must be familiar with his high reputation, that he is the best man of war in the realm, as well for the ordering of his camps and soldiers, both in battle and in the tent, as for his experience and wisdom, with which he can both animate his army and either vanquish his enemies by his courage and skill, or else dissuade them (if need be,) from their enterprise.”

“My voice is for Northumberland,” cried Cecil.

“And mine,” added Huntingdon.

“We are all unanimous,” cried the rest of the Council.

“Your grace hears the opinion just given,” said Jane. “Will you undertake the command?”.

“No,” answered the Duke, bluntly. “I will shed my blood in your majesty’s defence. But I see through the designs, of your artful council, and will not be made their dupe. Their object is to withdraw me from you. Let the Duke of Suffolk take the command. I will maintain the custody of the Tower.”

“Do not suffer him to decline it,” whispered Simon Renard to the Queen. “By this means you will accomplish a double purpose – insure a victory over Mary, and free yourself from the yoke he will otherwise impose upon you. If the Duke of Suffolk departs, and he is left absolute master of the Tower, you will never attain your rightful position.”

“You are right,” replied Jane. “My lord,” she continued, addressing the Duke, “I am satisfied that the Council mean you well. And I pray you, therefore, to acquiesce in their wishes and my own.”.

“Why will not your highness send the Duke of Suffolk, as you have this moment proposed?” rejoined Northumberland.

“I have bethought me,” replied the Queen. “And as my husband has thought fit to absent himself from me at this perilous juncture, I am resolved not to be left without a protector. Your grace will, therefore, deliver up the keys of the Tower to the Duke of Suffolk.”

“Nay, your majesty,” – cried Northumberland.

“I will have no nay, my lord,” interrupted the Queen peremptorily. “I will in nowise consent that my father shall leave me. To whom else would your grace entrust the command?”

The Duke appeared to reflect for a moment.

“I know no one,” he answered.

“Then your grace must perforce consent,” said the Queen.

“If your majesty commands it, I must. But I feel it is a desperate hazard,” replied Northumberland.

“It is so desperate,” whispered Pembroke to Renard, – “that he has not one chance in his favour.”

“The Council desire to know your grace’s determination?” said Arundel.

“My determination is this,” rejoined the Duke. “Since you think it good, I will go, – not doubting your fidelity to the Queen’s majesty, whom I shall leave in your custody.”

“He is lost!” whispered Renard.

“Your grace’s commission for the lieutenantship of the army shall be signed at once,” said Jane; “and I beseech you to use all diligence.”

“I will do what in me lies,” replied the Duke. “My retinue shall meet me at Durham House to-night. And I will see the munition and artillery set forward before daybreak.”

A pause now ensued, during which the Duke’s commission was signed by the whole Council.

“It is his death-warrant,” observed Renard to the Earl of Arundel.

“Here is your warrant, under the broad seal of England,” said the Earl of Pembroke, delivering it to him.

“I must have my marches prescribed,” replied the Duke. “I will do nothing without authority.”

“What say you, my lords?” said Pembroke, turning to them.

“Agree at once,” whispered Renard – “he is planning his own ruin.”

“Your grace shall have full powers and directions,” rejoined Pembroke.

“It is well,” replied Northumberland. “My lords,” he continued with great dignity, addressing the Council, “I and the other noble personages, with the whole army that are now about to go forth, as well for the behalf of you and yours, as for the establishing of the Queen’s highness, shall not only adventure our bodies and lives amongst the bloody strokes and cruel assaults of our adversaries in the open fields; but also we leave the conservation of ourselves, children and families, at home here with you, as altogether committed to your truth and fidelity. If,” he proceeded sternly, “we thought you would through malice, conspiracy, or dissension, leave us, your friends, in the briars and betray us, we could as well, in sundry ways, foresee and provide for our own safety, as any of you, by betraying us, can do for yours. But now, upon the only trust and faithfulness of your honours, whereof we think ourselves most assured, we do hazard our lives. And if ye shall violate your trust and promise, hoping thereby of life and promotion, yet shall not God account you innocent of our bloods, neither acquit you of the sacred and holy oath of allegiance, made freely by you to the Queen’s highness, who, by your own and our enticement, is rather of force placed therein, than by her own seeking and request. Consider, also, that God’s cause, which is the preferment of his word, and fear of Papists’ entrance, hath been (as you have heretofore always declared,) the original ground whereupon you even at the first motion granted your good wills and consents thereunto, as by your handwritings appeareth. And think not the contrary. But if ye mean deceit, though not forthwith, yet hereafter, Heaven will revenge the same.”

“Your grace wrongs us by these suspicions,” observed the Earl of Arundel.

“I will say no more,” rejoined the Duke, “but in this perilous time wish you to use constant hearts, abandoning all malice, envy, and private affections.”

“Doubt it not,” said Cecil.

“I have not spoken to you in this sort upon any mistrust I have of your truths,” pursued the Duke, “of which I have always hitherto conceived a trusty confidence. But I have put you in remembrance thereof, in case any variance should arise amongst you in my absence. And this I pray you, wish me not worse good-speed in this matter than you wish yourselves.”

“We shall all agree on one point,” observed Pembroke aside to Renard – “and that is a hope that he may never return.”

“If your grace mistrusts any of us in this matter, you are deceived,” rejoined Arundel, “for which of us can wash his hands of it. And if we should shrink from you as treasonable, which of us can excuse himself as guiltless. Therefore, your doubt is too far cast.”

“I pray Heaven it be so,” replied the Duke, gravely. “Brother of Suffolk, I resign the custody of the Tower to you, entreating you, if you would uphold your daughter’s crown, to look well to your charge. I now take my leave of your highness.”

“Heaven speed your grace,” replied Jane, returning his haughty salutation.

“Farewell, my lord,” said the Earl of Arundel, “I am right sorry it is not my chance to bear you company, as I would cheerfully spend my heart’s blood in your defence.”

“Judas!” muttered the Duke.

Upon this, the Council broke up, and Jane returned to the palace, accompanied by the Duke of Suffolk, the two ambassadors, and others of the conspiring nobles.

“We may give each other joy,” said Pembroke to Renard, as they walked along – “we are at last rid of Northumberland. Suffolk will be easily disposed of.”

“Queen Mary shall be proclaimed in London, before tomorrow night,” rejoined Renard.

Meanwhile, the Duke, attended by the Marquis of Northampton, the Lord Grey, and divers other noblemen, entered his barge, and proceeded to Durham House. On the same night, he mustered his troops, and made every preparation for his departure, As he rode forth on the following morning through Shoreditch, great crowds collected to see him pass. But they maintained a sullen and ominous silence.

“The people press to see us,” observed the Duke, in a melancholy tone, to Lord Grey, who rode by his side; “but not one saith God speed us!”

XII. – HOW MAGOG BECAME ENAMOURED OF A BUXOM WIDOW, YCLEPED DAME PLACIDA PASTON; HOW HE WENT A WOOING; AND HOW HE PROSPERED IN HIS SUIT

ON the night of the Duke of Northumberland’s departure, as the three gigantic warders and their dwarfish attendant were assembled in their lodging in the By-ward Tower, preparatory to their evening meal, the conduct of Magog, which had been strange enough throughout the day, became so very extraordinary and unaccountable, that his brethren began to think he must have taken leave of his senses. Flinging his huge frame on a bench, he sighed and groaned, or rather bellowed, like an over-driven ox, and rolling his great saucer eyes upwards, till the whites only were visible, thumped his chest with a rapid succession of blows, that sounded like the strokes of a sledgehammer. But the worst symptom, in the opinion of the others, was his inability to eat. Magog’s case must, indeed, be desperate, if he had no appetite for supper – and such a supper! Seldom had their board been so abundantly and invitingly spread as on the present occasion – and Magog refused to partake of it. He must either be bewitched, or alarmingly ill.

Supplied by the provident attention of the pantler and his spouse, the repast consisted of a cold chine of beef, little the worse for its previous appearance at the royal board; a mighty lumber pie, with a wall of pastry several inches thick, moulded to resemble the White Tower, and filled with a savoury mess of ham and veal, enriched by a goodly provision of forcemeat balls, each as large as a cannon-shot; a soused gurnet floating in claret; a couple of pullets stuffed with oysters, and served with a piquant sauce of oiled butter and barberries; a skirret pasty; an apple tansy; and a prodigious marrow pudding. Nor, in this bill of fare, must be omitted an enormous loaf, baked expressly for the giants, and compounded of nearly a bushel of mingled wheaten flour and barley, which stood at one end of the table, while at the opposite extremity was placed a nine-hooped pot of mead – the distance between each hoop denoting a quart of the humming fluid.

But all these good things were thrown away upon Magog. With some persuasion he was induced to take his seat at the table, but after swallowing a single mouthful of the beef, he laid down his knife and fork, and left the rest untasted. In vain Og urged him to try the pullets, assuring him he would find them delicious, as they were cooked by Dame Potentia herself: – in vain Gog scooped out the most succulent morsels from the depths of the lumber pie, loading his plate with gobbets of fat and forcemeat balls. He declined both offers with a melancholy shake of the head, and began to sigh and groan more dismally than ever.

Exchanging significant looks with each other, the two giants thought it best to leave him to himself, and assiduously addressed themselves to their own meal. By way of setting him a good example, they speedily cleared the chine to the bone. The gurnet was next despatched; and a considerable inroad made into the lumber pie, – three of its turrets having already disappeared, – when, as if roused from a trance, Magog suddenly seized the marrow pudding, and devoured it in a trice. He then applied himself to the nine-hooped pot, and taking a long deep draught, appeared exceedingly relieved.

But his calmness was of short duration. The fit almost instantly returned with fresh violence. Without giving the slightest intimation of his intention, he plucked his cap from his brow, and flung it at Xit, who chanced at the moment to be perched upon a stool stirring a great pan of sack posset, set upon a chafing-dish to warm, with such force as to precipitate him over head and ears into the liquid, which, fortunately, was neither hot enough to scald him, nor deep enough to drown him. When he reappeared, the mannikin uttered a shrill scream of rage and terror; and Og, who could not help laughing at his comical appearance, hastened to his assistance, and extricated him from his unpleasant situation.

By the aid of a napkin, Xit was speedily restored to a state of tolerable cleanliness, and though his habiliments were not a little damaged by the viscous fluid in which they had been immersed, he appeared to have suffered more in temper than in any other way from the accident. While Og was rubbing him dry, – perhaps with no very gentle hand, – he screamed and cried like a peevish infant undergoing the process of ablution; and he was no sooner set free, than darting to the spot where Magog’s cap had fallen, he picked it up, and dipping it in the sack-posset, hurled it in its owners face. Delighted with this retaliation, he crowed and swaggered about the room, and stamping fiercely upon the ground, tried to draw his sword; but this he found impossible, it being fast glued to the scabbard. Magog, however, paid no sort of attention to his antics, but having wiped his face with the end of the table-cloth, and wrung his bonnet, marched deliberately out of the room. His brothers glanced at each other in surprise, and were hesitating whether to follow, when they were relieved from further anxiety on this score by Xit, who hurried after him. They then very quietly returned to the repast, and trusting all would come right, contented themselves with such interjectional remarks as did not interfere with the process of mastication. In this way they continued, until the return of Xit, who, as he entered the room, exclaimed, with a half-merry, half-mischievous expression of countenance, “I have found it out – I have found it out.”