Read the book: «The Tower of London: A Historical Romance, Illustrated», page 34

XXXIV. – HOW THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH WAS CONFRONTED WITH SIR THOMAS WYAT IN THE TORTURE-CHAMBER

As Elizabeth passed beneath the portal of the Bloody Tower, on her way to the lieutenant’s lodgings, whither she was conducted after quitting Traitor’s Gate, by Bedingfeld and Sussex, she encountered the giants, who doffed their caps at her approach, and fell upon their knees. All three were greatly affected, especially Magog, whose soft and sensitive nature was completely overcome. Big tears rolled down his cheeks, and in attempting to utter a few words of consolation, his voice failed him. Touched by his distress, Elizabeth halted for a moment, and laying her hand on his broad shoulder, said in a tone, and with a look calculated to enforce her words, “Bear up, good fellow, and like a man. If I shed no tears for myself, those who love me need shed none. It is the duty of my friends to comfort – not to dishearten me. My ease is not so hopeless as you think. The queen will never condemn the innocent, and unheard. Get up, I say, and put a bold face on the matter, or you are not your father’s son.”

Roused by this address, Magog obeyed, and rearing his bulky frame to its full height, so that his head almost touched the spikes of the portcullis, cried in a voice of thunder, “Would your innocence might be proved by the combat, madam, as in our – ” and he hesitated, – “I mean your royal father’s time! I would undertake to maintain your truth against any odds. Nay, I and my brethren would bid defiance to the whole host of your accusers.”

“Though I may not claim you as champions,” replied Elizabeth; “I will fight my own battle, as stoutly as you could fight it for me.”

“And your grace’s courage will prevail,” rejoined Og.

“My innocence will,” returned Elizabeth.

“Right,” cried Gog. “Your grace, I am assured, would no more harbour disloyalty against the queen than we should; seeing that – ”

“Enough,” interrupted the princess, hastily. “Farewell, good friends,” she continued, extending her hand to them, which they eagerly pressed to their lips, “farewell! be of good cheer. No man shall have cause to weep for me.”

“This is a proud, though a sad day,” observed Og, who was the last honoured by the princess’s condescension, “and will never be obliterated from my memory. By my father’s beard!” he added, gazing rapturously at the long, taper fingers he was permitted to touch, “it is the most beautiful hand I ever beheld, and whiter than the driven snow.”

Pleased by the compliment – for she was by no means insensible to admiration, – Elizabeth forgave its unseasonableness for its evident sincerity, and smilingly departed. But she had scarcely ascended the steps leading to the Green, when she was chilled by the sight of Renard, who was standing at the northern entrance of the Bloody Tower, wrapped in his cloak, and apparently waiting to see her pass.

As she drew near, he stepped forward, and made her a profound, but sarcastic salutation. His insolence, however, failed in its effect upon Elizabeth. Eyeing him with the utmost disdain, she observed to Bedingfeld, “Put that Spanish knave out of my path. And he who will remove him from the queen’s councils will do both her and me a good turn.”

“Your grace has sufficient room to pass,” returned Renard, with bitter irony, and laying his hand upon the hilt of his sword, as if determined to resist any attempt to remove him. “Your prison within the Bell Tower is prepared, and if my counsels have any weight with her majesty, you will quit it only to take the same path, and ascend the same scaffold as your mother, Anne Boleyn.”

“Another such taunt,” cried Sussex, fiercely, “and neither the sacred character of your office, nor the protection of the queen, shall save you from my sword.”

And he thrust him forcibly backwards.

Elizabeth moved on at a slow and stately pace, while the guard closing round her and Sussex, opposed the points of their halberds to the infuriated ambassador.

“Your highness has increased Renard’s enmity,” observed Bedingfeld, with a troubled look.

“I fear him not,” replied Elizabeth, dauntlessly. “Let him do his worst. English honesty will ever prove more than a match for Spanish guile.”

Entering the lieutenant’s lodgings, and traversing the long gallery already described as running in a westerly direction, Elizabeth soon reached the upper chamber of the Bell Tower, which, she was informed by Sir Thomas Brydges, was appointed for her prison.

“It is a sorry lodging for a king’s daughter,” she observed, “and for one who may be queen of this realm. But since my sister will have it so, I must make shift with it. How many attendants are allowed me?”

“One female,” replied Brydges.

“Why not deprive me of all?” cried the princess, passionately. “This chamber will barely accommodate me. I will be alone.”

“As your grace pleases,’” replied Brydges, “but I cannot exceed my authority.”

“Can I write to the queen?” demanded Elizabeth.

“You will be furnished with writing-materials, if it is your purpose to prepare your confession,” returned the lieutenant. “But it must be delivered to the council, who will exercise their discretion as to transmitting it to her highness.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the princess, “am I at their mercy?”

“Alas! madam, you are so,” replied Bedingfeld; “but the chancellor is your friend.”

“I am not sure of it,” returned Elizabeth. “Oh! that I could see the queen, were it but for one minute. My mother perished because she could not obtain a hearing of my royal sire, whose noble nature was abused in respect to her; and the Duke of Somerset himself told me, that if his brother the Admiral had been allowed speech of him, he would never have consented to his death. But it is ever thus. The throne is surrounded by a baneful circle, whose business is to prevent the approach of truth. They keep me from my sister’s presence, well knowing that I could clear myself at once, while they fill her ears with false reports. Bedingfeld, you are her faithful servant, and, therefore, not my enemy. Tell her, if she will grant me an audience alone, or before her councillors, I will either approve my innocence, or consent to lose my head. Above all, implore her to let me be confronted with Wyat, that the truth may be extorted from him.”

“The interview would little benefit your grace,” remarked Brydges. “Wyat confesses your privity to the rebellion.”

“He lies,” replied Elizabeth, fiercely. “The words have been put into his mouth with the vain hope of pardon. But he will recant them if he sees me. He dare not – will not look me in the face, and aver that I am a partner in his foul practices. But I will not believe it of him. Despite his monstrous treason, he is too brave, too noble-minded, to act so recreant a part.”

“Wyat has undergone the question ordinary, and extraordinary, madam,” replied Brydges; “and though he endured the first with surprising constancy, his fortitude sank under the severity of the latter application.”

“I forgive him,” rejoined Elizabeth, in a tone of deep commiseration. “But it proves nothing. He avowed thus much to escape further torture.”

“It may be,” returned Brydges, “and for your grace’s sake I hope it is so. But his confession, signed with his own hand, has been laid before the queen.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Elizabeth, sinking into the only seat which the dungeon contained.

“I beseech your highness to compose yourself,” cried Bedingfeld, compassionately. “We will withdraw and leave you to the care of your attendant.”

“I want no assistance,” replied Elizabeth, recovering herself. “Will you entreat her majesty to grant me an audience on the terms I have named, and in the presence of Wyat?”

“It must be speedy, then,” remarked Brydges, “for he is adjudged to die to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!” echoed Elizabeth. “Nay, then, good Bedingfeld, seek the queen without delay. Implore her by the love she once bore me – by the love I am assured she bears me still – to interrogate me before this traitor. If he perishes with this confession uncontradicted, I am lost.”

“Your words shall be repeated to her highness,” replied Bedingfeld, “and I will not fail to add my entreaties to your own. But I cannot give a hope that your request will be granted.”

“It is fortunate for your highness that the queen visits the Tower to-day,” observed Brydges. “Her arrival is momently expected. As I live!” he exclaimed, as the bell was rung overhead, and answered by the beating of drums and the discharge of cannon from the batteries, “she is here!”

“It is Heaven’s interposition in my behalf,” cried Elizabeth, “Go to her at once, Bedingfeld. Let not the traitor, Renard, get the start of you. I may live to requite the service. Go – go.” #

The old knight obeyed, and the others immediately afterwards retired, closing the door upon the princess, and placing a guard outside.

Left alone, Elizabeth flew to the narrow, and strongly-grated loophole, commanding the southern ward, through which the queen must necessarily pass on her way to the palace, in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. She had not to wait long. Loud fanfares of trumpets resounded from the gate of the By-ward Tower. These martial flourishes were succeeded by the trampling of steeds, and fresh discharges of ordnance, and the next moment, a numerous retinue of horse and foot emerged from the gateway. Just as the royal litter appeared, it was stopped by Sir Henry Bedingfeld, and the curtains were drawn aside by Mary’s own hand. It was a moment of intense interest to Elizabeth, and she watched the countenance of the old knight, as if her life depended upon each word he uttered. At first, she could not see the queen’s face, but as Bedingfeld concluded, Mary leaned forward, and looked up at the Bell Tower. Uncertain whether she could be seen, Elizabeth determined to make her presence known, and thrusting her hand through the bars, waved her kerchief. Mary instantly drew back. The curtains of the litter were closed; Bedingfeld stepped aside; and the cavalcade moved on.

“She will not see me!” cried Elizabeth, sinking back in despair. “I shall perish like my mother.”

The princess’s agitation did not subside for some time. Expecting Bedingfeld to return with the tidings that Mary had refused her request, she listened anxiously to every sound, in the hope that it might announce his arrival. Hour after hour passed by and he came not, and concluding that he did not like to be the bearer of ill news, or what was yet more probable, that he was not allowed to visit her, she made up her mind to the worst. Elizabeth had not the same resources as Jane under similar circumstances. Though sincerely religious, she had not the strong piety that belonged to the other, nor could she, like her, divorce herself from the world, and devote herself wholly to God. Possessing the greatest fortitude, she had no resignation, and while capable of enduring any amount of physical suffering, could not controul her impatience. Her thoughts were bitter and mortifying enough, but she felt no humiliation; and the only regrets she indulged were at having acted so unwise a part. Scalding tears bedewed her cheeks – tears that would never have been shed, if any one had been present; and her mingled emotions of rage and despair were so powerful, that she had much ado to overcome them. Ungovernable fury against Mary took possession of her, and she pondered upon a thousand acts of revenge. Then came the dreadful sense of her present situation – of its hopelessness – its despair. She looked at the stone walls by which she was inclosed, and invoked them to fall upon her and crush her – and she rushed towards the massive and iron-girded door, as if she would dash herself against it with impotent fury. Her breast was ravaged by fierce and conflicting passions; and when she again returned to her seat, she grasped it convulsively to prevent herself from executing the desperate deeds that suggested themselves to her. In after years, when the crown was placed upon her head, and she grasped one of the most powerful sceptres ever swayed by female hand – when illustrious captives were placed in that very dungeon by her command, and one royal victim, near almost to her as a sister, lingered out her days in hopeless captivity, only to end them on the block – at such seasons, she often recalled her own imprisonment – often in imagination endured its agonies, but never once with a softened or relenting heart. The sole thought that now touched her, and subdued her violence, was that of Courtenay. Neither his unworthiness nor his inconstancy could shake her attachment. She loved him deeply and devotedly – with all the strength and fervour of her character; and though she had much difficulty in saving him from her contempt, this feeling did not abate the force of her regard. The idea that he would perish with her, in some degree reconciled her to her probable fate.

Thus meditating, alternately roused by the wildest resentment, and softened by thoughts of love, Elizabeth passed the remainder of the day without interruption. Worn out, at length, she was about to dispose herself to slumber, when the door was opened, and Sir Thomas Brydges, accompanied by two serving-men and a female attendant, entered the room. Provisions were placed before her by the men, who instantly withdrew, and Brydges was about to follow, leaving the female attendant behind, when Elizabeth stopped him, and inquired what answer Sir Henry Bedingfeld had brought from the queen.

“My orders are to hold no communication with your grace,” replied the lieutenant.

“At least, tell me when I am to be examined by the council?” rejoined Elizabeth. “The meanest criminal has a right to be so informed!”

But Brydges shook his head, and quitting the chamber, closed the door, and barred it outside.

Controlling her feelings, as she was now no longer alone, Elizabeth commanded her attendant to awaken her in an hour, and threw herself upon the couch. Her injunctions were strictly complied with, and she arose greatly refreshed. A lamp had been left her, and taking up a book of prayers, she addressed herself to her devotions, and while thus occupied her mind gradually resumed its composure. About midnight, the door was opened by the lieutenant, who entered the room attended by Nightgall, and two other officials in sable robes, while a guard of halberdiers, bearing torches, remained without.

“I must request your grace to follow me,” said Brydges.

“Whither?” demanded Elizabeth, rising. “To the queen’s presence?”

The lieutenant made no answer.

“To the council?” pursued the princess, – “or to execution? No matter. I am ready.” And she motioned the lieutenant to lead on.

Sir Thomas Brydges obeyed, and followed by the princess, traversed the gallery, descended the great staircase, and entered a spacious chamber on the ground floor. Here he paused for a moment, while a sliding panel in the wall was opened, through which he and his companion passed.

A short flight of stone steps brought them to a dark narrow passage, and they proceeded silently and slowly along it, until their progress was checked by a strong iron door, which was unfastened and closed behind them by Nightgall. The jarring of the heavy bolts, as they were shot into their sockets, resounded hollowly along the arched roof of the passage, and smote forcibly upon Elizabeth’s heart, and she required all her constitutional firmness to support her.

They were now in one of those subterranean galleries, often described before, on either side of which were cells, and the clangour called forth many a dismal response. Presently afterwards, they arrived at the head of a staircase, which Elizabeth descended, and found herself, in the torture-chamber. A dreadful spectacle met her gaze. At one side of the room, which was lighted by a dull lamp from the roof, and furnished as before with numberless hideous implements – each seeming to have been recently employed – sat, or rather was supported, a wretched man upon whom every refinement of torture had evidently been practised. A cloak was thrown over his lower limbs, but his ghastly and writhen features proved the extremity of suffering to which he had been subjected. Elizabeth could scarcely believe that in this miserable object, whom it would have been a mercy to despatch, she beheld the once bold and haughty Sir Thomas Wyat.

Placed on the corner of a leathern couch, and supported by Wolfytt and Sorrocold, the latter of whom bathed his temples with some restorative, Wyat fixed his heavy eyes upon the princess. But her attention was speedily diverted from him to another person, whose presence checked her feelings. This was the queen, who stood on one side, with Gardiner and Renard. Opposite them was Courtenay, with his arms folded upon his breast. The latter looked up as Elizabeth entered the chamber; and after gazing at her for a moment, turned his regards, with an irrepressible shudder, to Wyat. Knowing that her safety depended upon her firmness, though her heart bled for the tortured man, Elizabeth disguised all appearance of compassion, and throwing herself at the queen’s feet, cried, “Heaven bless your highness, for granting me this interview! I can now prove my innocence.”

“In what way?” demanded Mary coldly. “It would indeed rejoice me to find I have been deceived. But I cannot shut my ears to the truth. Yon traitor,” she continued, pointing to Wyat, “who dared to rise in arms against his sovereign, distinctly charges you with participation in his rebellious designs. I have his confession, taken from his own lips, and signed with his own hand, wherein he affirms, by his hopes of mercy from the Supreme Judge before whom he will shortly appear to answer for his offences, that you encouraged his plans for my dethronement, and sought to win the crown for yourself, in order to bestow it with your hand upon your lover, Courtenay.”

“It is false,” cried Elizabeth; – “false as the caitiff who invented it – false as the mischievous councillor who stands beside you, and who trusts to work my ruin, – but, by our father’s soul it shall go hard if I do not requite him! Your majesty has not a more loyal subject than myself, nor has any of your subjects a more loving sister. This wretched Wyat, whose condition would move my pity were he not so heinous a traitor, may have written to me, but, on my faith, I have never received his letters.”

“Lord Russell’s son declares that he delivered them into your own hands,” observed Mary.

“Another he, as false as the first,” replied Elizabeth. “It is a plot, your highness – a contrivance of my enemy, Simon Renard. Where is Lord Russell’s son? Why is he not here?”

“You shall see him anon, since you desire it,” replied Mary. “Like yourself, he is a prisoner in the Tower. But these assertions do not clear you.”

“Your highness says you have Wyat’s confession,” rejoined Elizabeth. “What faith is to be attached to it? It has been wrung from him by the severity of the torture to which he has been subjected. Look at his shattered frame, and say whether it is not likely he would purchase relief from such suffering as he must have endured at any cost. The sworn tormentors are here. Let them declare how often they have stretched him on the rack – how often applied the thumbscrew, – how often delivered him to the deadly embraces of the scavenger’s daughter, before this false charge was wrung from him. Speak, fellows! how often have you racked him?”

But the tormentors did not dare to reply. A stifled groan broke from Wyat, and a sharp convulsion passed over his frame.

“The question has only extorted the truth,” observed Mary.

“If the accusation so obtained be availing, the retraction must be equally so,” replied Elizabeth. “Sir Thomas Wyat,” she exclaimed, in aloud and authoritative tone, and stepping towards him, “if you would not render your name for ever infamous, you will declare my innocence.”

The sufferer gazed at her, as if he did not clearly comprehend what was said to him.

Elizabeth repeated the command, and in a more peremptory tone.

“What have I declared against you?” asked Wyat, faintly.

“You have accused me of countenancing your traitorous practices against the queen’s highness, who now stands before you,” rejoined Elizabeth. “You well know it is false. Do not die with such a stain upon your knighthood and your honour. The worst is over. Further application of the rack would be fatal, and it will not be resorted to, because you would thus escape the scaffold. You can have, therefore, no object in adhering to this vile fabrication of my enemies. Retract your words, I command you, and declare my innocence.”

“I do,” replied Wyat, in a firm tone. “I have falsely accused you, and was induced to do so in the hope of pardon. I unsay all I have said, and will die proclaiming your innocence.”

“It is well,” replied Elizabeth, with a triumphant glance at the queen.

“Place me at the feet of the princess,” said Wyat to his supporters. “Your pardon, madam,” he added, as the order was obeyed.

“You have it,” replied Elizabeth, scarcely able to repress her emotion. “May God forgive you, as I do.”

“Then your former declaration was false, thou perjured traitor?” cried Mary, in amazement.

“What I have said, I have said,” rejoined Wyat; “what I now say is the truth.” And he motioned the attendants to raise him, the pain of kneeling being too exquisite for endurance.

“And you will adhere to your declaration?” pursued Mary.

“To my last breath,” gasped Wyat.

“At whose instigation were you induced to charge the princess with conspiring with you?” demanded Renard, stepping forward.

“At yours,” returned Wyat, with a look of intense hatred. “You, who have deceived the queen – deceived me – and would deceive the devil your master, if you could – you urged me to it – you – ha! ha!” And with a convulsive attempt at laughter, which communicated a horrible expression to his features, he sank into the arms of Wolfytt, and was conveyed to a cell at the back of the chamber, the door of which was closed.

“My innocence is established,” said Elizabeth, turning to the queen.

“Not entirely,” answered Mary. “Wyat’s first charge was supported by Lord Russell’s son.”

“Take me to him, or send for him hither,” rejoined Elizabeth. “He has been suborned, like Wyat, by Renard. I will stake my life that he denies it.”

“I will not refute the idle charge brought against me,” observed Renard, who had been for a moment confounded by Wyat’s accusation. “Your majesty will at once discern its utter groundlessness.”

“I ask no clemency for myself,” interposed Courtenay, speaking for the first time; “but I beseech your highness not to let the words of that false and crafty Spaniard weigh against your sister. From his perfidious counsels all these disasters have originated.”

“You would screen the princess in the hope of obtaining her hand, my lord,” replied Mary. “I see through your purpose, and will defeat it.”

“So far from it,” replied the Earl, “I here solemnly renounce all pretensions to her.”

“Courtenay!” exclaimed Elizabeth, in a tone of anguish.

“Recent events have cured me of love and ambition,” pursued the Earl, without regarding her. “All I desire is freedom.”

“And is it for one so unworthy that I have entertained this regard?” cried Elizabeth. “But I am rightly punished.”

“You are so,” replied Mary, bitterly. “And you now taste some of the pangs you inflicted upon me.”

“Hear me, gracious madam,” cried Courtenay, prostrating himself before the queen. “I have avowed thus much, that you may attach due credit to what I am about to declare concerning Renard. My heart was yours, and yours only, till I allowed myself to be influenced by him. I knew not then his design, but it has since been fully revealed. It was to disgust you with me that he might accomplish the main object of his heart – the match with the prince of Spain. He succeeded too well. Utterly inexperienced, I readily yielded to the allurements he spread before me. My indiscretions were reported to you. But, failing in alienating me from your regard, he tried a deeper game, and chose out as his tool, the princess Elizabeth.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Mary.

“He it was,” pursued Courtenay, “who first attracted my attention towards her – who drew invidious comparisons between her youthful charms and your Majesty’s more advanced age. He it was, who hinted at the possibility of an alliance between us – who led me on step by step till I was completely enmeshed. I will own it, I became desperately enamoured of the princess. I thought no more of your highness – of the brilliant prospects lost to me; and, blinded by my passion, became reckless of the perilous position in which I placed myself. But now that I can look calmly behind me, I see where, and why I fell – and I fully comprehend the tempter’s motives.”

“What says your excellency to this?” demanded Mary, sternly.

“Much that the Earl of Devonshire has asserted is true,” replied Renard. “But in rescuing your majesty, at any cost, from so unworthy an alliance, I deserve your thanks, rather than your reprobation. And I shall ever rejoice that I have succeeded.”

“You have succeeded at my expense, and at the expense of many of my bravest and best subjects,” replied Mary, severely. “But the die is cast, and cannot be recalled.”

“True,” replied Renard, with a smile of malignant satisfaction.

“Will your highness pursue your investigations further tonight?” demanded Gardiner.

“No,” replied the queen, who appeared lost in thought. “Let the Princess Elizabeth be taken back to the Bell Tower, and Courtenay to his prison in the Bowyer Tower. I will consider upon their sentence. Wyat is respited for the present. I shall interrogate him further.”

With this, she quitted the torture-chamber with her train, and the prisoners were removed as she had directed.