Elizabeth still continued a close prisoner in the Bell Tower. But she indulged the most sanguine expectations of a speedy release. Her affections had received a severe blow in Courtenay’s relinquishment of his pretensions to her hand, and it required all her pride and mastery over herself to bear up against it. She did, however, succeed in conquering her feelings, and with her usual impetuosity, began now to hate him in the proportion of her former love. While his mistress was thus brooding over the past, and trying to regulate her conduct for the future within the narrow walls of her prison, Courtenay, who had been removed to the Flint Tower, where he was confined in the basement chamber, was likewise occupied in revolving his brief and troubled career. A captive from his youth, he had enjoyed a few months’ liberty, during which, visions of glory, power, greatness, and love—such as have seldom visited the most exalted—opened upon him. The bright dream was now ended, and he was once more a captive. Slight as his experience had been, he was sickened of the intrigues and hollowness of court life, and sighed for freedom and retirement. Elizabeth still retained absolute possession of his heart, but he feared to espouse her, because he was firmly persuaded that her haughty and ambitious character would involve him in perpetual troubles. Cost what it might, he determined to resign her hand as his sole hope of future tranquillity. In this resolution he was confirmed by Gardiner, who visited him in secret, and counselled him as to the best course to pursue.
“If you claim my promise,” observed the crafty chancellor, “I will fulfil it, and procure you the hand of the princess, but I warn you you will not hold it long. Another rebellion will follow, in which you and Elizabeth will infallibly be mixed up, and then nothing will save you from the block.”
Courtenay acquiesced, and Gardiner having gained his point, left him with the warmest assurances that he would watch over his safety. Insincere as he was, the Chancellor was well-disposed towards Courtenay, but he had a difficult game to play. He was met on all hands by Renard, who was bent on the Earl’s destruction and that of the princess; and every move he made with the queen was checked by his wary and subtle antagonist. Notwithstanding her belief in their treasonable practices, Mary was inclined to pardon the offenders, but Renard entreated her to suspend her judgment upon them, till the emperor’s opinion could be ascertained. This, he well knew, if agreed to, would insure their ruin, as he had written secretly in such terms to Charles the Fifth as he was satisfied would accomplish his object. Extraordinary despatch was used by the messengers; and to Renard’s infinite delight, while he and Gardiner were struggling for ascendancy over the queen, a courier arrived from Madrid. Renard’s joy was converted into positive triumph as he opened his own letters received by the same hand, and found that the emperor acquiesced in the expediency of the severest measures towards Elizabeth and her suitor, and recommended their immediate execution. The same despatches informed him that Charles, apprehensive of some further difficulty in respect to his son’s projected union with Mary, had written to the Count D’Egmont at Brussels, with letters of ratification and procuration, commissioning him to repair to the court of London without delay, and conclude the engagement by espousing the queen by proxy.
Not many hours later, the Count himself, who had set out instantly from Brussels on receiving his commission, arrived. He was received on the queen’s part by the Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Shrewsbury, comptroller of the household, and the Marquis of Winchester, high treasurer, and conducted to the state apartments within the palace of the Tower, where the court was then staying. Mary appointed an audience with him on the following day, and in the interim, to Renard’s disappointment, remained closeted with Gardiner, and would see no one beside. The ambassador, however, consoled himself with the certainty of success, and passed the evening in consultation with D’Egmont, to whom he detailed all that had passed since the flight of the latter.
“The heretical faction in England,” he observed, “is entirely crushed—or will be so, when Jane and Elizabeth are executed. And if his highness, Prince Philip, will follow up my measures, he may not only restore the old faith throughout the realm, but establish the inquisition in the heart of London within six months.”
The next day, at the appointed hour, the Count D’Egmont attended by Renard and the whole of his suite, was conducted with much ceremony to the council-chamber in the White Tower. He found Mary surrounded by the whole of her ministers, and prostrating himself before the throne, acquainted her with his mission, and, presenting her with the letters of procuration he had received from the prince, entreated her to ratify on her side the articles already agreed upon. To this request, for which she was already prepared by the emperor’s despatches, Mary vouchsafed a gracious answer, saying: “I am as impatient for the completion of the contract as the prince your master can be, and shall not hesitate a moment to comply with his wishes. But I would,” she added, smiling, “that he had come to claim its fulfilment himself.”
“His highness only awaits your majesty’s summons, and an assurance that he can land upon your shores without occasioning further tumult,” rejoined D’Egmont.
“He shall speedily receive that assurance,” returned Mary. “Heaven be praised! our troubles are ended, and the spirit of disaffection and sedition checked, if not altogether extinguished. But I pray you hold me excused for a short time,” she continued, motioning him to rise; “I have some needful business to conclude before I proceed with this solemnity.”
Waving her hand to Sir Thomas Brydges, who stood among the group of nobles near the throne, he immediately quitted the presence, returning in a few moments with a guard of halberdiers in the midst of which were Elizabeth and Courtenay. At the approach of the prisoners, the assemblage divided into two lines to allow them passage; and preceded by the lieutenant, they advanced to within a short distance of the queen.
Marv, meantime, had seated herself; and her countenance, hitherto radiant with smiles, assumed a severe expression. A mournful silence pervaded the courtly throng, and all seemed as ominous and lowering as if a thunder-cloud had settled over them. This was not however the case with Renard. A sinister smile lighted up his features, and he observed in an under-tone to D’Egmont, “My hour of triumph is at hand.”
“Wait awhile,” replied the other.
Elizabeth looked in no wise abashed or dismayed by the position in which she found herself. Throwing angry and imperious glances around, and bending her brows on those who scanned her too curiously, she turned her back upon Courtenay, and seemed utterly unconscious of his presence.
At the queen’s command, Gardiner stepped forward, and taking a roll of paper from an attendant, proceeded to read the charges against the prisoners, together with the depositions of those who had been examined, as to their share in the insurrection. When he concluded, Elizabeth observed in a haughty tone—“There is nothing in all that to touch me, my lord. Wyat has recanted his confession, and avowed he was suborned by Renard. And as to the rest of my accusers, they are unworthy of credit. The queen’s highness must acquit me.”
“What say you, my lord!” demanded Gardiner of Courtenay.
“Nothing,” replied the earl.
“Do you confess yourself guilty of the high crimes and misdemeanours laid to your charge, then?” pursued the chancellor.
“No!” answered Courtenay, firmly. “But I will not seek to defend myself further. I throw myself on the queen’s mercy.”
“You do wisely, my lord,” returned Gardiner; “and your grace,” he added to Elizabeth, “would do well to abate your pride, and imitate his example.”
“In my father’s time, my lord,” observed the princess, scornfully, “you would not, for your head, have dared to hold such language towards me.”
“I dared to plead your mother’s cause with him,” retorted Gardiner with much asperity. “Your majesty will now pronounce such sentence upon the accused, as may seem meet to you,” he added, turning to the queen.
“We hold their guilt not clearly proven,” replied Mary. “Nevertheless, too many suspicious circumstances appear against them to allow us to set them at large till all chance of further trouble is ended. Not desiring to deal harshly with them, we shall not confine them longer within the Tower. Which of you, my lords, will take charge of the princess Elizabeth? It will be no slight responsibility. You will answer for her security with your heads. Which of you will take charge of her, I say?”
As she spoke, she glanced inquiringly round the assemblage, but no answer was returned.
“Had not your highness better send her grace under a sure guard to the emperor’s court at Brussels,” observed Renard, who could scarcely conceal his mortification at the queen’s decision.
“I will think of it,” returned Mary.
“Sooner than this shall be,” interposed Sir Henry Bedingfeld, “since none worthier of the office can be found, I will undertake it.”
“You are my good genius, Bedingfeld,” replied Mary.—“To you, then, I confide her, and I will associate with you in the office, Sir John Williams, of Thame. The place of her confinement shall be my palace at Woodstock, and she will remain there till you receive further orders. You will set out with a sufficient guard for Oxfordshire.”
“I am ever ready to obey your highness,” replied Bedingfeld.
“Accursed meddler!” exclaimed Renard to D’Egmont, “he has marred my project.”
“The Earl of Devonshire will be confined in Fotheringay Castle, in Northamptonshire,” pursued Mary. “To you, Sir Thomas Tresham,” she continued, addressing one of those near her, “I commit him.”
“I am honoured in the charge,” returned Tresham, bowing.
“Your majesty will repent this ill-judged clemency,” cried Renard, unable to repress his choler; “and since my counsels are unheeded, I must pray your highness to allow me to resign the post I hold near your person.”
“Be it so,” replied Mary in a freezing tone; “we accept your resignation—and shall pray his imperial majesty to recal you.”
“Is this my reward?” exclaimed Renard, as he retired, covered with shame and confusion. “Cursed is he that puts faith in princes!”
The prisoners were then removed, and as they walked side by side, Courtenay sought to address the princess, but she turned away her head sharply, according him neither look nor word in reply. Finding himself thus repulsed, the earl desisted, and they proceeded in silence as long as their way lay together.
And thus, without one farewell, they parted—to meet no more. Liberated at the instance of Philip of Spain, Courtenay journeyed to Italy, where he died two years afterwards, at Padua, obtaining, as Holinshed touchingly remarks, “that quiet, which in his life he could never have.” Of the glorious destiny reserved for Elizabeth, nothing need be said.
The prisoners removed, the queen presented her hand to the Earl of Pembroke, and repaired with her whole retinue to Saint John’s Chapel.
Arrived there, Mary stationed herself at the altar, around which were grouped Bonner, Tunstal, Feckenham, and a host of other priests and choristers, in their full robes. In a short time, the nave and aisles of the sacred structure were densely crowded by the lords of the council, together with other nobles and their attendants, the dames of honour, the guard, and the suite of the Count D’Egmont. Nor were the galleries above unoccupied, every available situation finding a tenant.
D’Egmont, as the representative of Philip of Spain, took up a position on the right of the queen, and sustained his part with great dignity. As soon as Gardiner was prepared, the ceremonial commenced. D’Egmont tendered his hand to Mary, who took it, and they both knelt down upon the cushion before the altar, while the customary oaths were administered, and a solemn benediction pronounced over them. This done, they arose, and Gardiner observed to the queen in a voice audible throughout the structure—“Your majesty is now wedded to the Prince of Spain. May God preserve you both, and bless your union!”
“God preserve Queen Mary!” cried the Earl of Pembroke, stepping forward.
And the shout was enthusiastically echoed by all within the chapel. But not a voice was raised, nor a blessing invoked for her husband.
Te Deum was then sung by the choristers, and mass performed by Bonner and the priests.
“His imperial majesty entreats your acceptance of this slight offering,” said D’Egmont, when the sacred rites were concluded, presenting the queen with a diamond ring, of inestimable value.
“I accept the gift,” replied Mary, “and I beg you to offer my best thanks to the emperor. For yourself, I hope you will wear this ornament in remembrance of me, and of the occasion.” And detaching a collar of gold set with precious stones from her own neck, she placed it over that of D’Egmont.
“I now go to bring your husband, gracious madam,” said the count.
“Heaven grant you a safe and speedy journey!” replied Mary.
“And to your highness a prosperous union!” rejoined the count; “and may your race long occupy the throne.” So saying, he bowed and departed.
D’Egmont’s wish did not produce a cheering effect on Mary. Jane’s words rushed to her mind, and she feared that her union would not be happy—would not be blessed with offspring. And it need scarcely be added, her forebodings were realised. Coldly treated by a haughty and neglectful husband, she went childless to the tomb.