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HOUSE OF TORMENT
A Tale of the Remarkable Adventures of Mr. John CommendoneGentleman to King Philip II of Spain at the English Court
by
C. RANGER-GULL
Author of "The Serf," etc.
New YorkDodd, Mead and Company1911
Published September, 1911
The Quinn & Boden Co. PressRahway, N. J.
DEDICATION TO DAVID WHITELAW
SOUVENIR OF A LONG FRIENDSHIP
_My dear David,_
_Since I first met you, considerably more than a decade ago, in a little studio high up in a great London building, we have both seen much water flow under the bridges of our lives._
_We have all sorts of memories, have we not?_
_Late midnights and famishing morrows, in the gay hard days when we were endeavouring to climb the ladder of our Art; a succession of faces, a welter of experiences. Some of us fell in the struggle; others failed and still haunt the reprobate purlieus of Fleet Street and the Strand! There was one who achieved a high and delicate glory before he died--"Tant va la cruche a l'eau qu'a la fin elle se casse."_
_There is another who is slowly and surely finding his way to a certainty of fame._
_And the rest of us have done something, if not--as yet--all we hoped to do. At any rate, the slopes of the first hills lie beneath us. We are in good courage and resolute for the mountains._
_The mist eddies and is spiralled below in the valleys from which we have come, but already we are among the deep sweet billows of the mountain winds, and I think it is because we have both found our "Princess Galvas" that we have got this far upon the way._
_We may never stand upon the summit and find that tempest of fire we call the Sun full upon us. But the pleasure of going on is ours still--there will always be that._
_Ever your friend, C. RANGER-GULL._
CONTENTS
I IN THE QUEEN'S CLOSET; THE FOUR FACES
II THE HOUSE OF SHAME; THE LADDER OF GLORY
III THE MEETING WITH JOHN HULL AT CHELMSFORD
IV PART TAKEN IN AFFAIRS BY THE HALF TESTOON
V THE FINDING OF ELIZABETH
VI A KING AND A VICTIM. TWO GRIM MEN
VII HEY HO! AND A RUMBELOW!
VIII "WHY, WHO BUT YOU, JOHNNIE!"
IX "MISERICORDIA ET JUSTITIA"
X THE SILENT MEN IN BLACK
XI IN THE BOX
XII "TENDIMUS IN LATIUM"
CHAPTER I
IN THE QUEEN'S CLOSET; THE FOUR FACES
Sir Henry Commendone sat upon an oak box clamped with bands of iron andwatched his son completing his morning toilette.
"And how like you this life of the Court, John?" he said.
The young man smoothed out the feather of his tall cone-shaped hat."Truly, father," he answered, "in respect of itself it seems a very goodlife, but in respect that it is far from the fields and home it isnaught. But I like it very well. And I think I am likely to rise high. Iam now attached to the King Consort, by the Queen's pleasure. HisHighness has spoken frequently with me, and I have my commission dulywritten out as _caballerizo_."
"I never could learn Spanish," the elder man replied, wagging his head."Father Chilches tried to teach me often of an afternoon when you werehawking. What does the word mean in essence?"
"Groom of the body, father--equerry. It is doubtless because I speakSpanish that it hath been given me."
"Very like, Johnnie. But since the Queen, God bless her, has come to thethrone, and England is reconciled to Holy Church, thou wert bound toget a post at Court. They could not ignore our name. I wrote to theBishop of London myself, he placed my request before the Queen's Grace,and hence thou art here and in high favour."
The young man smiled. "Which I shall endeavour to keep," he answered."And now I must soon go to the Queen's lodging. I am in attendance onKing Philip."
"And I to horse with my men at noon and so home to Kent. I am glad tohave seen thee, Johnnie, in thy new life, though I do not love Londonand the Court. But tell me of the Queen's husband. The neighbours willall want news of him. It's little enough they like the Spanish match inKent. Give me a picture of him."
"I have been at Court a month," John Commendone answered, "and I havelearned more than one good lesson. There is a Spanish saying that runsthis way, '_Palabras y plumas viento las Heva_' (Words and feathers arecarried far by the wind). I will tell you, father, but repeat nothingagain. Kent is not far away, and I have ambition."
Sir Henry chuckled. "Prudent lad," he said; "thou art born to be about apalace. I'll say nothing."
"Well then, here is your man, a pedant and a fool, a stickler for littletrifles, a very child for detail. Her Grace the Queen and all the noblesspeak many languages. Every man is learned now. His Highness speaks butSpanish, though he has a little French. Never did I see a man with sosmall a mind, and yet he thinks he can see deep down into men's heartsand motives, and knows all private and public affairs."
Sir John whistled. He plucked at one of the roses of burnt silverembroidered upon the doublet of green tissue he was wearing--the galadress which he had put on for his visit to Court, a garment which was agood many years behind the fashion, but thought most elegant by hisbrother squires in Kent.
"So!" he said, "then this match will prove as bad for the country as allthe neighbours are saying. Still, he is a good Catholic, and that issomething."
John nodded carelessly. "More so," he replied, "than is thought becomingto his rank and age by many good Catholics about the Court. He is asregular at mass, sermons, and vespers as a monk--hath a leash of friarsto preach for his instruction, and disputes in theology with others halfthe night till Her Grace hath to send one of her gentlemen to bid himcome to bed."
"Early days for that," said the Kentish gentleman, "though, in faith,the Queen is thirty-eight and----"
John started. "Whist!" he said. "I'm setting you an evil example, sir.Long ears abound in the Tower. I'll say no more."
"I'm mum, Johnnie," Sir Henry replied. "I'll break in upon thee no more.Get on with thy tale."
"'Tis a bargain then, sir, and repeat nothing I tell you. I was sayingabout His Highness's religion. He consults Don Diego Deza, a Dominicanwho is his confessor, most minutely as to all the actions of life,inquiring most anxiously if this or that were likely to burden hisconscience. And yet--though Her Grace suspects nothing--he is of a verygross and licentious temper. He hath issued forth at night into thecity, disguised, and indulged himself in the common haunts of vice. Imuch fear me that he will command me to go with him on some suchexpedition, for he begins to notice me more than any others of theEnglish gentlemen in his company, and to talk with me in the Spanishtongue...."
The elder man laughed tolerantly.
"Every man to his taste," he said; "and look you, Johnnie, a prince iswedded for state reasons, and not for love. The ox hath his bow, thefaulcon his bells, and as pigeon's bill man hath his desire and would benibbling!"
John Commendone drew himself up to his full slim height and made amotion of disgust.
"'Tis not my way," he said. "Bachelor, I hunt no fardingales, nor wouldI do so wedded."
"God 'ild you, Johnnie. Hast ever taken a clean and commendable view oflife, and I love thee for it. B
ut have charity, get you charity as yougrow older. His Highness is narrow, you tell me; be not so yourself.Thou art not a little pot and soon hot, but I think thou wilt find afire that will thaw thee at Court. A young man must get experience. Iwould not have thee get through the streets with a bragging look norfrequent the stews of town. But young blood must have its May-day.Whilst can, have thy May-day, Johnnie. Have thy door shadowed with greenbirches, long fennel, St. John's wort, orphine, and white lilies. Wiltnot be always young. But I babble; tell me more of King Philip."
The tall youth had stood silent while his father spoke, his grave, ovalface set in courteous attention. It was a coarse age. Henry the Eighthwas not long dead, and the scandals of his court and life influenced allprivate conduct. That Queen Mary was rigid in her morals went for verylittle. The Lady Elizabeth, still a young girl, was already committingherself to a course of life which--despite the historians of the populartextbooks--made her court in after years as licentious as ever herfather's had been. Old Sir Henry spoke after his kind, and few young menin 1555 were so fastidious as John Commendone.
He welcomed the change in conversation. To hear his father--whom hedearly loved--speak thus, was most distasteful to him.
"His Highness is a glutton for work," the young man went on. "I see himdaily, and he is ever busy with his pen. He hateth to converse uponaffairs of state, but will write a letter eighteen pages long when hiscorrespondent is in the next room, howbeit the subject is one which aman of sense would settle in six words of the tongue. Indeed, sir, he istruly of opinion that the world is to move upon protocols andapostilles. Events must not be born without a preparatory course of hisobstetrical pedantry! Never will he learn that the world will not reston its axis while he writeth directions of the way it is to turn."
Sir Henry shook himself like a dog.
"And the Queen mad for such a husband as this!" he said.
"Aye, worships him as it were a saint in a niche. A skilled lutanistwith a touch on the strings remarkable for its science, speaking manylanguages with fluency and grace, Latin in especial, Her Grace yetthinks His Highness a great statesman and of a polished easy wit."
"How blind is love, Johnnie! blinder still when it cometh late. A capout of fashion and ill-worn. 'Tis like one of your French witheredpears. It looks ill and eats dryly."
"I was in the Queen's closet two days gone, in waiting on His Highness.A letter had come from Paris, narrating how a member of the Spanishenvoy's suit to that court had been assassinated. The letter ran thatthe manner in which he had been killed was that a Jacobin monk had givenhim a pistol-shot in the head--'_la facon que l'on dit qu'il a ette tue,sa ette par un Jacobin qui luy a donne d'un cou de pistolle dans latayte_.' His Highness took up his pen and scrawled with it upon themargin. He drew a line under one word '_pistolle_'; 'this is perhapssome kind of knife,' quoth he; 'and as for "_tayte_," it can be nothingelse but head, which is not _tayte_, but _tete_ or _teyte_, as you verywell know.' And, father, the Queen was all smiles and much pleased withthis wonderful commentary!"
Sir Henry rose.
"I will hear no more," he said. "It is time I went. You have given memuch food for thought. Fare thee well, Johnnie. Write me letters withthy doings when thou canst. God bless thee."
The two men stood side by side, looking at each other in silence, onehale and hearty still, but with his life drawing to its close, the otherin the first flush of early manhood, entering upon a career whichpromised a most brilliant future, with every natural and materialadvantage, either his already, or at hand.
They were like and yet unlike.
The father was big, burly, iron-grey of head and beard, with hooked noseand firm though simple eyes under thick, shaggy brows.
John was of his father's height, close on six feet. He was slim, butwith the leanness of perfect training and condition. Supple as an eel,with a marked grace of carriage and bearing, he nevertheless suggestedenormous physical strength. The face was a pure oval with an olive tingein the skin, the nose hooked like his sire's, the lips curved into abow, but with a singular graveness and strength overlying and informingtheir delicacy. The eyes, of a dark brown, were inscrutable. Steadfastin regard, with a hint of cynicism and mockery in them, they were at thesame time instinct with alertness and a certain watchfulness. He seemed,as he stood in his little room in the old palace of the Tower, asingularly handsome, clever, and capable young man, but a man withreservations, with secrets of character which no one could plumb ordivine.
He was the only son of Sir Henry Commendone and a Spanish lady of highbirth who had come to England in 1512 to take a position in the suite ofCatherine of Arragon, three years after her marriage to Henry VIII.During the early part of Henry's reign Sir Henry Commendone was much atWindsor and a personal friend of the King. Those were days of greatbrilliancy. The King was young, courteous, and affable. His person washandsome, he was continually engaged in martial exercises and all formsof field sports. Sir Henry was one of the band of gay youths who tiltedand hawked or hunted in the Great Park. He fell in love with thebeautiful young Juanita de Senabria, married her with the consent andapprobation of the King and Queen, and immediately retired to his manorsin Kent. From that time forward he took absolutely no part in politicsor court affairs. He lived the life of a country squire of his day inserene health and happiness. His wife died when John--the only issue ofthe marriage--was six years old, and the boy was educated by FatherChilches, a placid and easy-going Spanish priest, who acted as domesticchaplain at Commendone. This man, loving ease and quiet, wasnevertheless a scholar and a gentleman. He had been at the court ofCharles V, and was an ideal tutor for Johnnie. His religion, thoughsincere, sat easily upon him. The Divorce from Rome did not draw himfrom his calm retreat, the oath enforcing the King's supremacy had noterrors for him, and he died at a good old age in 1548, during theprotectorate of Somerset.
From this man Johnnie had learnt to speak Spanish, Italian, and French.Naturally quick and intelligent, he had added something of his mother'sforeign grace and self-possession to the teachings and worldly-wisdom ofDon Chilches, while his father had delighted to train him in all manlyexercises, than whom none was more fitted to do.
Sir Henry became rich as the years went on, but lived always as a simplesquire. Most of his land was pasturage, then far more profitable thanthe growing of corn. Tillage, with no knowledge of the rotation ofcrops, no turnip industry to fatten sheep, miserable appliances andentire ignorance of manures, afforded no interest on capital. But theexport of wool and broadcloth was highly profitable, and Sir Henry'swool was paid for in good double ryals by the manufacturers andmerchants of the great towns.
John Commendone entered upon his career, therefore, with plenty ofmoney--far more than any one suspected--a handsome person, thoroughlyaccomplished in all that was necessary for a gentleman of that day.
In addition, his education was better than the general, he was withoutvices, and, in the present reign, the consistent Catholicity of hishouse recommended him most strongly to the Queen and her advisers.
* * * * *
"So God 'ild ye, Johnnie. Come not down the stairs with me. Let us makefarewell here and now. I go to the Constable's to leave my duty, andthen to take a stirrup-cup with the Lieutenant. My serving-men andhorses are waiting at the south of White Tower at Coal Harbour Gate.Farewell."
The old man put his arms in their out-moded bravery round his son andkissed him on both cheeks. He hugged like a bear, and his beard was wiryand strong against the smooth cheeks of his son. Then coughing a little,he almost imperceptibly made the sign of the cross, and, turning,clanked away, his sword ringing on the stone floor and his spurs--for hewore riding-boots of Spanish leather--clicking in unison.
John was left alone.
He sat down upon the low wooden bed and gazed at the chest where theknight had been sitting. The little room, with its single window lookingout upon the back offices of the palace, seemed strangely empty,momentarily forlorn. Johnnie sighe
d. He thought of the woods ofCommendone, of the old Tudor house with its masses of chimneys anddeep-mullioned windows--of all that home-life so warm and pleasant; dawnin the park with the deer cropping wet, silver grass, the whistle of thewild duck as they flew over the lake, the garden of rosemary, St. John'swort, and French lavender, which had been his mother's.
Then, stifling a sigh, he sprang to his feet, buckled on his sword--thefashionable "whiffle"-shaped weapon with globular pommel and thequillons of the guard ornamented in gold--and gave a glance at a littlemirror hung upon the wall. By no means vain, he had a very careful tastein dress, and was already considered something of a dandy by the youngmen of his set.
He wore a doublet of black satin, slashed with cloth of silver; andblack velvet trunks trussed and tagged with the same. His short cloakwas of cloth of silver lined with blue velvet pounced with his cypher,and it fell behind him from his left shoulder.
He smoothed his small black moustache--for he wore no beard--set hisruff of two pleats in order, and stepped gaily out of his room into along panelled corridor, a very proper young man, taut, trim, and _pointdevice_.
There were doors on each side of the corridor, some closed, some ajar. Acouple of serving-men were hastening along it with ewers of water andtowels. There was a hum and stir down the whole length of the place asthe younger gentlemen of the Court made their toilettes.
From one door a high sweet tenor voice shivered out in song--
"Filz de Venus, voz deux yeux desbendez Et mes ecrits lisez et entendez..."
"That's Mr. Ambrose Cholmondely," Johnnie nodded to himself. "He has asweet voice. He sang in the sextette with Lady Bedingfield and LadyPaget last night. A sweet voice, but a fool! Any girl--or dame eitherfor that matter--can do what she likes with him. He travels fastest whotravels alone. Master Ambrose will not go far, pardieu, nor travelfast!"
He came to the stair-head--it was a narrow, open stairway leading into asmall hall, also panelled. On the right of the hall was a wide, opendoor, through which he turned and entered the common-room of thegentlemen who were lodged in this wing of the palace.
The place was very like the senior common-room of one of the moreancient Oxford colleges, wainscoted in oak, and with large mullionedwindows on the side opposite to a high carved fire-place.
A long table ran down the centre, capable of seating thirty or fortypeople, and at one end was a beaufet or side-board with an almostastonishing array of silver plate, which reflected the sunlight thatwas pouring into the big, pleasant room in a thousand twinkling pointsof light.
It was an age of silver. The secretary to Francesco Capella, theVenetian Ambassador to London, writes of the period: "There is no smallinnkeeper, however poor and humble he may be, who does not serve histable with silver dishes and drinking cups; and no one who has not inhis house silver plate to the amount of at least L100 sterling isconsidered by the English to be a person of any consequence. The mostremarkable thing in London is the quantity of wrought silver."
The gentlemen about the Queen and the King Consort had their own privatesilver, which was kept in this their common messroom, and was alsosupplemented from the Household stores.
Johnnie sat down at the table and looked round. At the moment, save fortwo serving-men and the pantler, he was alone. Before him was the silverplate and goblet he had brought from Commendone, stamped with his crestand motto, "_Sapere aude et tace_." He was hungry, and his eye fell upona dish of perch in foyle, one of the many good things upon the table.
The pantler hastened up.
"The carpes of venison are very good this morning, sir," he saidconfidentially, while one serving-man brought a great piece of manchetbread and another filled Johnnie's flagon with ale.
"I'll try some," he answered, and fell to with a good appetite.
Various young men strolled in and stood about, talking and jesting orwhispering news of the Court, calling each other by familiar nicknames,singing and whistling, examining a new sword, cursing the amount oftheir tailors' bills--as young men have done and will do from the dawnof civilisation to the end.
John finished his breakfast, crossed himself for grace, and, exchanginga remark or two here and there, went out of the room and into themorning sunshine which bathed the old palace of the Tower in splendour.
How fresh the morning air was! how brilliant the scene before him!
To his right was the Coal Harbour Gate and the huge White Tower. TwoRoyal standards shook out in the breeze, the Leopards of England andblazoned heraldry of Spain, with its tower of gold upon red for Castile,the red and yellow bars of Arragon, the red and white checkers ofBurgundy, and the spread-eagle sable of Sicily.
To the left was that vast range of halls and galleries and gardens whichwas the old palace, now utterly swept away for ever. The magnificentpile of brick and timber known as the Queen's gallery, which was theactual Royal lodging, was alive and astir with movement. Halberdiers ofthe guard were stationed at regular distances upon the low stone terraceof the facade, groups of officers went in and out of the doors, alreadysome ladies were walking in the privy garden among the parterres offlowers, brilliant as a window of stained glass. The gilding and paintedblazonry on the great hall built by Henry III glowed like huge jewels.
On the gravel sweep before the palace grooms and men-at-arms wereholding richly caparisoned horses, and people were continually coming upand riding away, their places to be filled by new arrivals.
It is almost impossible, in our day, to do more than faintly imagine ascene so splendid and so debonair. The clear summer sky, its crushedsapphire unveiled by smoke, the mass of roofs, flat, turreted,embattled--some with stacks of warm, red chimneys splashed with the jadegreen of ivy--the cupulars and tall clock towers, the crocketedpinnacles and fantastic timbered gables, made a whole of extraordinarybeauty.
Dozens of great gilt vanes rose up into the still, bright air, the goldseeming as if it were cunningly inlaid upon the curve of a blue bowl.
The pigeons cooed softly to each other, the jackdaws wheeled andchuckled round the dizzy heights of the White Tower, there was a sweetscent of wood smoke and flowers borne upon the cool breezes from theThames.
The clocks beat out the hour of noon, there was the boom of a gun and awhite puff of smoke from the Constable Tower, a gay fanfaronade oftrumpets shivered out, piercingly sweet and triumphant, a distant bellbegan to toll somewhere over by St. John's Chapel.
John Commendone entered the great central door of the Queen's gallery.
He passed the guard of halberdiers that stood at the foot of the greatstaircase, exchanging good mornings with Mr. Champneys, who was incommand, and went upwards to the gallery, which was crowded with people.Officers of the Queen's archers, dressed in scarlet and black velvet,with a rose and imperial crown woven in gold upon their doublets,chatted with permanent officials of the household. There was aconsiderable sprinkling of clergy, and at one end of the gallery,nearest to the door of the Ante-room, was a little knot of Dominicanmonks, dark and somewhat saturnine figures, who whispered to each otherin liquid Spanish. John went straight to the Ante-room entrance, whichwas screened by heavy curtains of tapestry. He spoke a word to theofficer guarding it with a drawn sword, and was immediately admitted toa long room hung with pictures and lit by large windows all along oneside of its length.
Here were more soldiers and several gentlemen ushers with white wands intheir hands. One of them had a list of names upon a slip of parchment,which he was checking with a pen. He looked up as John came in.
"Give you good day, Mr. Commendone," he said. "I have you here upon thispaper. His Highness is with the Queen in her closet, and you are to bein waiting. Lord Paget has just had audience, and the Bishop of Londonis to come."
He lowered his voice, speaking confidentially. "Things are coming to ahead," he said. "I doubt me but that there will be some savage doingsanon. Now, Mr. Commendone, I wish you very well. You are certainlymarked out for high preferment. Your cake is dough on both sides. Seeyou kee
p it. And, above all, give talking a lullaby."
John nodded. He saw that the other knew something. He waited to hearmore.
"You have been observed, Mr. Commendone," the other went on, his pointedgrey beard rustling on his ruff with a sound as of whispering leaves,and hardly louder than the voice in which he spoke. "You have had thosewatching you as to your demeanours and deportments whom you did notthink. And you have been very well reported of. The King likes you andHer Grace also. They have spoken of you, and you are to be advanced. Andif, as I very well think, you will be made privy to affairs of state andpolicy, pr'ythee remember that I am always at your service, and love youvery well."
He took his watch from his doublet. "It is time you were announced," hesaid, and turning, opened a door opposite the tapestry-hung portalthrough which Johnnie had entered.
"Mr. Commendone," he said, "His Highness's gentleman."
An officer within called the name down a short passage to a captain whostood in front of the door of the closet. There was a knock, a murmurof voices, and John was beckoned to proceed.
He felt unusually excited, though at the same time quite cool. Old SirJames Clinton at the door had not spoken for nothing. Certainly hisprospects were bright.... In another moment he had entered the Queen'sroom and was kneeling upon one knee as the door closed behind him.
The room was large and cheerful. It was panelled throughout, and thewainscoting had been painted a dull purple or liver-colour, with thepanel-beadings picked out in gold. The roof was of stone, andwaggon-headed with Welsh groins--that is to say, groins which cut intothe main arch below the apex. Two long Venice mirrors hung on one wall,and over the fire-place was a crucifix of ivory.
In the centre of the place was a large octagonal table covered withpapers, and a massive silver ink-holder.
Seated at the table, very busy with a mass of documents, was King PhilipII of Spain. Don Diego Deza, his confessor and private chaplain, stoodby the side of the King's chair.
Seated at another and smaller table in a window embrasure Queen Mary wasbending over a large flat book. It was open at an illuminated page, andthe sunlight fell upon the gold and vermilion, the _rouge-de-fer_ andpowder-blue, so that it gleamed like a little _parterre_ of jewels.
It was the second time that John Commendone had been admitted to thePrivy Closet. He had been in waiting at supper, the Queen had spoken tohim once or twice; he was often in the King Consort's lodging, and wasalready a favourite among the members of the Spanish suite. But this wasquite different. He knew it at once. He realised immediately that he washere--present at this "domestic interior," so to speak, for someimportant purpose. Had he known the expressive idiom of our day, hewould have said to himself, "I have arrived!"
Philip looked up. His small, intensely serious eyes gave a gleam ofrecognition.
"Buenos dias, senor," he said.
John bowed very low.
Suddenly the room was filled with a harsh and hoarse volume of sound, agreat booming, resonant voice, like the voice of a strong, rough man.
It came from the Queen.
"Mr. Commendone, come you here. His Highness hath work to do. Art alutanist, Lady Paget tells me, then look at this new book of tablaturewith the voice part very well writ and the painting of the initial mostskilfully done."
The young man advanced to the Queen. She held out her left hand, alittle shrivelled hand, for him to kiss. He did so, and then, rising,bent over the wonderfully illuminated music book.
The six horizontal lines of the lute notation, each named after acorresponding note of the instrument, were drawn in scarlet. The Arabicnumerals which indicated the frets to be used in producing the noteswere black and orange, the initial H was a wealth of flat heraldiccolour.
"His golden locks time hath to filuer turnde"
the Queen read out in her great masculine voice,--a little subdued now,but still fierce and strong, like the purring of a panther. "What thinkyou of my new book of songs, Mr. Commendone?"
"A beautiful book, Madam, and fit for Your Grace's skill, who hath norival with the lute."
"'Tis kind of you to say so, Mr. Commendone, but you over complimentme."
She bent her brows together, lost in serious thought for a moment, anddrummed with lean fingers upon the table.
Suddenly she looked up and her face cleared.
"I can say truly," she continued, "that I am a very skilled player. Fora woman I can fairly put myself in the first rank. But I have met otherssurpassing me greatly."
She had thought it out with perfect fairness, with an almost pedanticprecision. Woman-like, she was pleased with what the young courtier hadsaid, but she weighed truth in grains and scruples--tithe of mint andcummin, the very word and article of bald fact; always her way.
"And here, Mr. Commendone," she continued, "is my new virginal. It hathcome from Firenze, and was made by Nicolo Pedrini himself. My Lord Mayorbegged Our acceptance of it."
The virginal was a fine instrument--spinet it came to be called inElizabeth's reign, from the spines or crow-quills which were attached tothe "jacks" and plucked at the strings.
The case was made of cypress wood, inlaid with whorls of thin silver andenamels of various colours.
"We were pleased at the Lord Mayor's courtesy," the Queen concluded, andthe change in pronoun showed John that the interview was over in itspersonal sense, and that he had been very highly honoured.
He bowed, with a murmur of assent, and drew aside to the wall of theroom, waiting easily there, a fresh and gallant figure, for any furthercommands.
Nor did it escape him that the Queen had given him a look of prim, butquite marked approval--as an old maid may look upon a handsome andwell-mannered boy.
The Queen pressed down the levers of the spinet once or twice, and thethin, sweet chords like the ghost of a harp rang out into the room.
John watched her from the wall.
The divine right of monarchs was a doctrine very firmly implanted in hismind by his upbringing and the time in which he lived. The absolutism ofHenry VIII had had an extraordinary influence on public thought.
To a man such as John Commendone the monarch of England was rather morethan human.
At the same time his cool and clever brain was busily at work, drinkingin details, criticising, appraising, wondering.
The Queen wore a robe of claret-coloured velvet, fringed with goldthread and furred with powdered ermine. Over her rather thin hair,already turning very grey, she wore the simple caul of the period, ahead-dress which was half bonnet, half skull-cap, made of cloth oftinsel set with pearls.
Small, lean, sickly, painfully near-sighted, yet with an eye full offierceness and fire--your true Tudor-tiger eye--she was yet singularlyfeminine. As she sat there, her face wrinkled by care and evil passionseven more than by time, touching the keys of her spinet, picking up apiece of embroidery, and frequently glancing at her husband with quick,hungry looks of fretful and even suspicious affection, she was far morewoman than queen.
The great booming voice which terrified strong men, coming from thisfrail and sinister figure, was silent now. There was pathos even in herattitude. A submissive wife of Philip with her woman's gear.
The King of Spain went on writing, coldly, carefully, and withconcentrated attention, and John's eyes fell upon him also, his newmaster, the most powerful man in the world of that day. King of Spain,Naples, Sicily, Duke of Milan, Lord of Franche Comte and theNetherlands, Ruler of Tunis and the Barbary coast, the Canaries, Cape deVerd Islands, Philippines and Spice Islands, the huge West Indiancolonies, and the vast territories of Mexico and Peru--an almostunthinkable power was in the hands of this man.
As it all came to him, Johnnie shuddered for a moment. His nerves weretense, his imagination at work, it seemed difficult to breathe the sameair as these two super-normal beings in the still, warm chamber.
From outside came the snarling of trumpets, the stir and noise ofsoldiery--here, warm silence, the scratching of a pen upon parchment,the e
cho of a voice which rolled like a kettle-drum....
Suddenly the King laid down his pen and rose to his feet, a tall, lean,sombre-faced man in black and gold. He spoke a few words to Father DiegoDeza and then went up to the Queen in the window.
The monk went on arranging papers in orderly bundles, and tying some ofthem with cords of green silk, which he drew from a silver box.
John saw the Queen's face. It lit up and became almost beautiful for asecond as Philip approached. Then as husband and wife conversed in lowvoices, the equerry saw yet another change come over Mary's twitchingand expressive countenance. It hardened and froze, the thin lipstightened to a line of dull pink, the eyes grew bitter bright, the headnodded emphatically several times, as if in agreement at something theKing was saying.
Then John felt some one touch his arm, and found that the Dominican hadcome to him noiselessly, and was smiling into his face with a flash ofwhite teeth and steady, watchful eyes.
He started violently and turned his head from the Royal couple in someconfusion. He felt as though he had been detected in some breach ofmanners, of espionage almost.
"Buenos dias, senor, como anda usted?" Don Diego asked in a low voice.
"Thank you, I am very well," Johnnie answered in Spanish.
"Como esta su padre?"
"My father is very well also. He has just left me to ride home to Kent,"John replied, wondering how in the world this foreign priest knew of theold knight's visit.
It was true, then, what Sir James Clinton had said! He was beingcarefully watched. Even in the Royal Closet his movements were known.
"A loyal gentleman and a good son of the Church," said the priest, "wehave excellent reports of him, and of you also, senor," he concluded,with another smile.
John bowed.
"_Los negocios del politica_--affairs of state," the chaplain whisperedwith a half-glance at the couple in the window. "There are great timescoming for England, senor. And if you prove yourself a loyal servant andgood Catholic, you are destined to go far. His Most Catholic Majesty hasneed of an English gentleman such as you in his suite, of good birth,of the true religion, with Spanish blood in his veins, and speakingSpanish."
Again the young man bowed. He knew very well that these words wereinspired. This suave ecclesiastic was the power behind the throne. Heheld the King's conscience, was his confessor, more powerful than anygreat lord or Minister--the secret, unofficial director of world-widepolicies.
His heart beat high within him. The prospects opening before him wereenough to dazzle the oldest and most experienced courtier; he was uponthe threshold of such promotion and intimacies as he, the son of a plaincountry gentleman, had never dared to hope for.
It had grown very hot; he remarked upon it to the priest, noticing, ashe did so, that the room was darker than before.
The air of the closet was heavy and oppressive, and glancing at thewindows, he saw that it was no fancy of strained and excited nerves, butthat the sky over the river was darkening, and the buildings upon LondonBridge stood out with singular sharpness.
"A storm of thunder," said Don Diego indifferently, and then, with agleam in his eyes, "and such a storm shall presently break over Englandthat the air shall be cleared of heresy by the lightnings of HolyChurch--ah! here cometh His Grace of London!"
The Captain of the Guard had suddenly beaten upon the door. It was flungopen, and Sir James Clinton, who had come down the passage from theAnte-room, preceded the Bishop, and announced him in a loud, sonorousvoice.
Johnnie instinctively drew himself up to attention, the chaplainhastened forward, King Philip, in the window, stood upright, and theQueen remained seated. From the wall Johnnie saw all that happened quitedistinctly. The scene was one which he never forgot.
There was the sudden stir and movement of his lordship's entrance, thealteration and grouping of the people in the closet, the challenge ofthe captain at the door, the heralding voice of Sir James--and then,into the room, which was momentarily growing darker as the thunderclouds advanced on London, Bishop Bonner came.
The man _pressed_ into the room, swift, sudden, assertive. In hisscarlet chimere and white rochet, with his bullet head and bristlingbeard, it was as though a shell had fallen into the room.
A streak of livid light fell upon his face--set, determined, and alivewith purpose--and the man's eyes, greenish brown and very bright, caughta baleful fire from the waning gleam.
Then, with almost indecent haste, he brushed past John Commendone andthe eager Spanish monk, and knelt before the Queen.
He kissed her hand, and the hand of the King Consort also, with somemurmured words which Johnnie could not catch. Then he rose, and theQueen, as she had done upon her arrival from Winchester after hermarriage, knelt for his blessing.
Commendone and the chaplain knelt also; the King of Spain bowed hishead, as the rapid, breathless pattering Latin filled the place, and oneoutstretched hand--two white fingers and one white thumb--quivered for amoment and sank in the leaden light.
There was a new grouping of figures, some quick talk, and then theQueen's great voice filled the room.
"Mr. Commendone! See that there are lights!"
Johnnie stumbled out of the closet, now dark as at late evening, strodedown the passage, burst into the Ante-room, and called out loudly,"Bring candles, bring candles!"
Even as he said it there was a terrible crash of thunder high in the airabove the Palace, and a simultaneous flash of lightning, which lit upthe sombre Ante-room with a blinding and ghostly radiance for thefraction of a second.
White faces immobile as pictures, tense forms of all waiting there, andthen the voice of Sir James and the hurrying of feet as the servantsrushed away....
It was soon done. While the thunder pealed and stammered overhead, theamethyst lightning sheets flickered and cracked, the white whips of thefork-lightning cut into the black and purple gloom, a little processionwas made, and gentlemen ushers followed Johnnie back to the RoyalCloset, carrying candles in their massive silver sconces, dozens oftwinkling orange points to illumine what was to be done.
The door was closed. The King, Queen, and the Bishop sat down at thecentral table upon which all the lights were set.
Don Diego Deza stood behind Philip's chair.
The Queen turned to John.
"Stand at the door, Mr. Commendone," she said, "and with your sworddrawn. No one is to come in. We are engaged upon affairs of state."
Her voice was a second to the continuous mutter of the thunder, low,fierce, and charged with menace. Save for the candles, the room was nowquite dark.
A furious wind had risen and blew great gouts of hot rain upon thewindow-panes with a rattle as of distant artillery.
Johnnie drew his sword, held it point downwards, and stood erect,guarding the door. He could feel the tapestry which covered it movingbehind him, bellying out and pressing gently upon his back.
He could see the faces of the people at the table very distinctly.
The King of Spain and his chaplain were in profile to him. The Queen andthe Bishop of London he saw full-face. He had not met the Bishop before,though he had heard much about him, and it was on the prelate'scountenance that his glance of curiosity first fell.
Young as he was, Johnnie had already begun to cultivate that coolscrutiny and estimation of character which was to stand him in suchstead during the years that were to come. He watched the face of EdmundBonner, or Boner, as the Bishop was more generally called at that time,with intense interest. Boner was to the Queen what the Dominican Dezawas to her husband. The two priests ruled two monarchs.
In the yellow candle-light, an oasis of radiance in the murk and gloomof the storm, the faces of the people round the table hid nothing. TheBishop was bullet-headed, had protruding eyes, a bright colour, and hismoustache and beard only partially hid lips that were red and full. Thelips were red and full, there was a coarseness, and even sensuality,about them, which was, nevertheless, oddly at war with theirdetermination and infl
exibility. The young man, pure and fastidioushimself, immediately realised that Boner was not vicious in the ordinarymeaning of the word. One hears a good deal about "thin, cruel lips"--theQueen had them, indeed--but there are full and blood-charged lips whichare cruel too. And these were the lips of the Bishop of London.
There was a huge force about the man. He was plebeian, common, butstrong.
Don Diego, Commendone himself, the Queen and her husband, were allaristocrats in their different degree, bred from a line--pedigreepeople.
That was the bond between them.
The Bishop was outside all this, impatient of it, indeed; but even whilethe groom of the body twirled his moustache with an almost mechanicalgesture of disgust and misliking, he felt the power of the man.
And no historian has ever ventured to deny that. The natural son of thehedge-priest, George Savage--himself a bastard--walked life with ashield of brutal power as his armour. The blood-stained man from whom--afew years after--Queen Elizabeth turned away with a shudder ofirrepressible horror, was the man who had dared to browbeat and bullyPope Clement VII himself. He took a personal and undignified delight inthe details of physical and mental torture of his victims. In 1546 hehad watched with his own eyes the convulsions of Dame Anne Askew uponthe rack. He was sincere, inflexible, and remarkable for obstinacy ineverything except principle. As Ambassador to Paris in Henry's reign hehad smuggled over printed sheets of Coverdale's and Grafton'stranslation of the Bible in his baggage--the personal effects of anambassador being then, as now, immune from prying eyes. During theProtectorate he had lain in prison, and now the strenuous opposer ofpapal claims in olden days was a bishop in full communion with Rome.
... He was speaking now, in a loud and vulgar voice, which even thepresence of their Majesties failed to soften or subdue.
--"And this, so please Your Grace, is but a sign and indication of thespirit abroad. There is no surcease from it. We shall do well to gird usup and scourge this heresy from England. This letter was delivered by anunknown woman to my chaplain, Father Holmes. 'Tis a sign of the times."
He unfolded a paper and began to read.
"I see that you are set all in a rage like a ravening wolf against thepoor lambs of Christ appointed to the slaughter for the testimony of thetruth. Indeed, you are called the common cut-throat and generalslaughter-slave to all the bishops of England; and therefore 'tis wisdomfor me and all other simple sheep of the Lord to keep us out of yourbutcher's stall as long as we can. The very papists themselves begin nowto abhor your blood-thirstiness, and speak shame of your tyranny. Liketyranny, believe me, my lord, any child that can any whit speak, cancall you by your name and say, 'Bloody Boner is Bishop of London'; andevery man hath it as perfectly upon his fingers'-ends as hisPaternoster, how many you, for your part, have burned with fire andfamished in prison; they say the whole sum surmounteth to forty personswithin this three-quarters of this year. Therefore, my lord, though yourlordship believeth that there is neither heaven nor hell nor God nordevil, yet if your lordship love your own honesty, which was lost longagone, you were best to surcease from this cruel burning of Christianmen, and also from murdering of some in prison, for that, indeed,offendeth men's minds most. Therefore, say not but a woman gave youwarning, if you list to take it. And as for the obtaining of your popishpurpose in suppressing the Truth, I put you out of doubt, you shall notobtain it as long as you go to work this way as ye do; for verily Ibelieve that you have lost the hearts of twenty thousand that were rankpapists within this twelve months."
The Bishop put the letter down upon the table and beat upon it with hisclenched fist. His face was alight with inquiry and anger.
Every one took it in a different fashion.
Philip crossed himself and said nothing, formal, cold, and almostuninterested. Don Diego crossed himself also. His face was stern, buthis eyes flitted hither and thither, sparkling in the light.
Then the Queen's great voice boomed out into the place, drowning thethunder and the beating rain upon the window-panes, pressing in gouts ofsound on the hot air of the closet.
Her face was bagged and pouched like a quilt. All womanhood was wipedout of it--lips white, eyes like ice....
"I'll stamp it out of this realm! I'll burn it out. Jesus! but we willburn it out!"
The Bishop's face was trembling with excitement. He thrust a paper infront of the Queen.
"Madam," he said, "this is the warrant for Doctor Rowland Taylor."
Mary caught up a pen and wrote her name at the foot of the document inthe neat separated letters of one accustomed to write in Greek, belowthe signature of the Chancellor Gardiner and the Lords Montague andWharton, judges of the Legantine Court for the trial of heretics.
"I will make short with him," the Queen said, "and of all blasphemersand heretics. There is the paper, my lord, with my hand to it. A blackknave this, they tell me, and withal very stubborn and lusty inblasphemy."
"A very black knave, Madam. I performed the ceremony of degradation uponhim yestereen, and, by my troth, never did the walls of Newgate chapelshelter such a rogue before. He would not put on the vestments which Iwas to strip from him, and was then, at my order, robed by another. Andwhen he was thoroughly furnished therewith, he set his hands to hissides and cried, 'How say you, my lord, am I not a goodly fool? How sayyou, my masters, if I were in Chepe, should I not have boys enough tolaugh at these apish toys?'"
The Queen crossed herself. Her face blazed with fury. "Dog!" she cried."Perchance he will sing another tune to-morrow morn. But what more?"
"I took my crosier-staff to smite him on the breast," the Bishopcontinued. "And upon that Mr. Holmes, that is my chaplain, said, 'Strikehim not, my lord, for he will sure strike again.' 'Yes, and by St. Peterwill I,' quoth Doctor Taylor. 'The cause is Christ's, and I were nogood Christian if I would not fight in my Master's quarrel.' So I laidmy curse on him, and struck him not."
The King's large, sombre face twisted into a cold sneer.
"_Perro labrador nunca buen mordedor_--a barking dog is never a goodfighter," he said. "I shall watch this clerk-convict to-morrow. Methinkshe will not be so lusty at his burning."
The Bishop looked up quickly with surprise in his face.
"My lord," the Queen said to him, "His Majesty, as is both just andright, desireth to see this blasphemer's end, and will report to me onthe matter. Mr. Commendone, come here."
Johnnie advanced to the table.
"You will go to Sir John Shelton," the Queen went on, "and learn fromhim all that hath been arranged for the burning of this heretic. TheKing will ride with the party and you in close attendance upon HisMajesty. Only you and Sir John will know who the King is, and your lifedepends upon his safety. I am weary of this business. My heart grievesfor Holy Church while these wolves are not let from their wickedness. Gonow, Mr. Commendone, upon your errand, and report to Father Deza thisafternoon."
She held out her hand. John knelt on one knee and kissed it.
As he left the closet the rain was still lashing the window-panes, andthe candles burnt yellow in the gloom.
By a sudden flash of lightning he saw the four faces looking down at thedeath warrant. There was a slight smile on all of them, and theexpressions were very intent.
The great white crucifix upon the panelling gleamed like a ghost.