William Ainsworth - The Tower of London - A Historical Romance, Illustrated

“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!”

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.