HOW PHILIP, WITH FOUR-AND-TWENTY NOBLE GUESTS, DINED AT ARTHUR’S ROUND TABLE IN WINCHESTER CASTLE; AND HOW THE FEAST ENDED.
The 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—”
“——the pride of warlike years,Old Arthur’s board—”
“——the pride of warlike years,Old Arthur’s board—”
“——the pride of warlike years,
Old Arthur’s board—”
in other words, the famous Round table, atwhichwhichKing 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 Canterbury. 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.”
“Some British pen has sketched the names renowned,In marks obscure, of Arthur’s deathless peers.”
“Some British pen has sketched the names renowned,In marks obscure, of Arthur’s deathless peers.”
“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 sacrilege of some kind. They set it up as a target, and perforated 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.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 Norfolk. 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 things. 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 heartily 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 Magog—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.”
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 appeared 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 displeasure 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, Sirrah, 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 gracious 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 incidentoccurred. 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 hippocras had been drunk. To this end the giants lent their best assistance, but before it could be fully accomplished, 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.
OF PHILIP’S PUBLIC ENTRY INTO LONDON.
OF PHILIP’S PUBLIC ENTRY INTO LONDON.
OF PHILIP’S PUBLIC ENTRY INTO LONDON.
The court had not been long at Windsor Castle, ere most of the Spanish grandees who had accompanied 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 prejudicial to my plans.”
“I see not how that can be, Sire. You yield too much to English prejudices. Pardon me for saying so, but youought 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 declared 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 trust you,” said the King. “You would ruin all by precipitancy. My plan is slow, but sure. Farewell, 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 extirpated from the realm, and the papal supremacy re-established,” 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 Popemay 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 redressed, it must be borne in patience.”
“Well, we must hope for better days, when these plunderers will meet their deserts on the scaffold and the gibbet,” said Alva. “I now take my leave of your Majesty.” So saying, he departed.
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 installation 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 of 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 forthwith 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 for the service, he kept a strict watch over the King’s proceedings, 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 condescending to the English nobles—far more so than he wasto 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. Moreover, 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 magnificentcortége, 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 Andalusian 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 ofsilk and gold, and fringe of the same. Besides these, there 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 procession, and another brought up the rear. In front of thecortégerode 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 continued 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 saluted 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 presenting the Bible to his son and successor, Edward VI., the sacred volume being inscribed in large charactersVerbum 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 ofthecortégewas 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 unapproachable.
SHOWING HOW CONSTANCE TYRRELL EMBRACED THEREFORMED FAITH.
SHOWING HOW CONSTANCE TYRRELL EMBRACED THEREFORMED FAITH.
SHOWING HOW CONSTANCE TYRRELL EMBRACED THE
REFORMED FAITH.
We will now see what had befallen Constance Tyrrell. When Father Jerome, in obedience to Philip’s injunctions, 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 earnest exhortations addressed to her by the enthusiastic Derrick Carver had already produced a sensible impression, and she seemed more than half disposed 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 Tyrrell, 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 lamentable change that had taken place in Constance’s religious opinions.
Mary manifested great surprise and displeasure at theintelligence, 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 I am 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 execution, and buried your charms in a convent.”
“A great change has come over me, Sire,” rejoined Constance. “I have wholly abandoned that intention.”
Queen Mary discovers the perfidy of the King.P. 155.
“I rejoice to hear it,” cried the King. “I dispatchedFather Jerome to you, and I suppose his arguments prevailed?”
“No, Sire,” rejoined Constance. “I have been turned aside from my purpose by better arguments than any Father Jerome could employ.”
“Nay, I care not who dissuaded you,” replied Philip, “I am content with the resolution you have taken. I have been wretched—most wretched, since we parted, Constance.”
“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. “Youshallhear how constantly I have thought of you. Your image has been ever before me. 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 behindher Majesty, whose looks proclaimed the depth of her indignation, came Sir John Gage. For a moment, Philip 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 assertion. Speak, Sire, speak!”
Unable to resist this appeal, Philip said, “It is the truth, Madam. I alone am to blame.”
“You hear, gracious Madam,” cried Constance, “his Majesty acquits me. My sole crime is, that I have unhappily 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,” interposed 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 between 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 Mary 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, Philip looked on coldly. Mary at length spoke.
“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.”
“Sheshallleave the palace, and that without delay,” rejoined Mary. “But she will be more secure in some religious house than with her family.”
“I pray you let me return to my father,” implored Constance, 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 beheld you, you were zealous and devout.”
“I am zealous and devout still, I trust, Sire,” rejoined Constance. “But my eyes have been opened, and I 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“Myconfessor, 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 counsel have you listened? Is it from the would-be assassin, Derrick 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 thispolluted 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 swerved.”
“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, I 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 according 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 kindlier tone, “Your Majesty can have no further business here. I will pray you to accompany me.”
Philip 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.
IN WHAT MANNER CONSTANCE FLED FROM HAMPTON COURTPALACE.
IN WHAT MANNER CONSTANCE FLED FROM HAMPTON COURTPALACE.
IN WHAT MANNER CONSTANCE FLED FROM HAMPTON COURT
PALACE.
The unhappy girl was still alone in the chamber, 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 I am 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. Dismiss all doubts, and trust yourself with me. I will lay down my life for you.”
“If I consent, whither would you take me?” she demanded. “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 dishonour. 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 contrition. 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 convinced 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 for the worst. Come!”
They were about to quit the chamber, when they were stopped by old Dorcas, to whom her mistress hastily explained 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 opening upon astaircasestaircase, which I had the curiosity to examine,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; whereupon 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 Gage. “I shallnot 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 evasion 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 noiselessly 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 accomplished, 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 messengers returned, bringing with them Master Tyrrell. He could give no account of his daughter, but pledged himselfto 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 contributed 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.