CHAPTER XXXV
THE TRIAL
The excitement, great as it was, had perforce to be kept in check.
The Clerk of the Crown had collected his papers: he now stood up andcalled upon the accused:
"Robert, Duke of Wessex and of Dorchester, Earl of Launceston, Wexfordand Bridthorpe, Baron of Greystone, Ullesthorpe and Edbrooke, PremierPeer of England, hold up thy right hand."
The prisoner having done so, Mr. Barham, the Queen's Sergeant, openedthe contents of the indictment.
"Whereas it is said that on the fourteenth day of October thou didstunlawfully kill Don Miguel, Marquis de Suarez, grandee of Spain andenvoy extraordinary of His Most Catholic Majesty the King of Spain, thouart therefore to make answer to this charge of murder. I thereforecharge thee once again: art thou guilty of this crime, whereof thou artindicted, yea or nay?"
"I am guilty," replied Wessex firmly, "and I have confessed."
"By whom wilt thou be tried?"
"By God and by my peers."
"Before we proceed," continued the Sergeant, "what sayest thou, Robert,Duke of Wessex, is that which thou hast confessed true?"
"It is true."
"And didst thou confess it willingly and freely of thyself, or was thereany extortion or unfair means to draw it from thee?"
"Surely I made that confession freely," replied the prisoner, "withoutany constraint, and that is all true."
"And hast thou read the depositions of those who were witness of thycrime, and who have added their testimony to that which thine accusers,the Queen's Commissioners, already know?"
"I have not read those depositions, as there was no one present when DonMiguel died save I--his murderer--and God!"
As Wessex made this last bold declaration, the Queen's Serjeant turnedtowards His Eminence as if expecting guidance from that direction, butas nothing came he continued--
"I would have thee weigh well what thou sayest. Thine answers andconfessions, if spoken truthfully, will do much to mitigate the severityof the punishment which thy crime hath called forth."
"I will make mine own confession," retorted Wessex, with a sudden quickreturn to his own haughty manner. "I pray you teach me not how to answeror confess. But because I was not cognizant whether my peers did know itall or not, I have made a short declaration of my doings with DonMiguel. That is the truth, my lords," he added, addressing his triersand judges on the bench, "everything else which hath been added contraryto mine own confession is a lie and a perjury, as God here is mywitness."
"Thy confession is but a brief record of the fact, as the Clerk of theCrown will presently read. There is neither circumstance nor detail."
"And is it for circumstance or detail that I am being tried?" rejoinedWessex, "or for the murder of Don Miguel de Suarez, to which I herebyplead guilty?"
The Queen's Serjeant looked to Sir Robert Catline for guidance. The LordChief Justice, however, was of opinion that the prisoner's confessionmust be read first, before any further argument about it could beallowed.
The Clerk of the Crown then rose and began to read:--
"The voluntary confession of Robert Duke of Wessex, now a prisoner in the Tower, and accused of murder, treason, and felony: made at the Tower of London on the fifteenth day of October, 1553. I hereby acknowledge and confess that on the fourteenth day of October I did unlawfully kill Don Miguel, Marquis de Suarez, by stabbing him in the back with my dagger. For this murder I plead neither excuse nor justification, and submit myself to a trial by my peers and to the justice of this realm. So help me God."
The bench, the entire hall, was crowded with the Duke's friends; withthe exception of a very small faction, who for reasons they deemed goodand adequate desired the Spanish alliance, and the death of the man atthe bar, not a single man or woman present believed that that confessionwas an expose of the truth. The Serjeant himself, the Clerk of theCrown, the Attorney and Solicitor-General who represented theprosecution, knew that some mystery lurked behind that monstrousself-accusation. But it was so straightforward, so categorical, thatunless some extraordinary event occurred, unless Wessex himself recantedthat confession, nothing could save him from its dire consequences.
Oh! if Wessex would but recant! No one would have disbelieved himthen--not that fickle, motley crowd surely, who with its owncharacteristic inconsequence had suddenly taken the accused to itsheart.
"'Tis not true, Wessex!" shouted a manly voice from the body of thehall.
"Deny it! deny it!" came in a regular hubbub from the compact mass ofthroats in the rear.
The Duke smiled, but did not move. Lord Rich, in his memoirs, herepoints out that "His Grace seemed all unconscious of his surroundingsand like unto a wanderer in the land of dreams."
But the confession had aroused the opposition of the crowd, it was trulypast honest men's belief. Every one murmured, and some chroniclers averthat there was a regular tumult, more than encouraged by the Duke'sfriends, and not checked even by the Lord High Steward himself.
In the turn of a hand public opinion had veered round. Forgetting that awhile ago they were ready to hoot and mock the prisoner, the men nowwere equally prepared to make a rush for the bar and drag him away fromthat ignominious place, which they suddenly understood that he nevershould have occupied.
The Serjeant-at-Arms had much ado to make himself heard. The guard hadliterally to make an onslaught on the crowd. It was fully five or tenminutes before the noise subsided; then only did murmurs die down likethe roar of the sea when the surf recedes from the shore.
It was a brief lull, and Mr. Barham, the Queen's Serjeant, having oncemore enjoined silence on behalf of Her Majesty's Commissioner, and onpain of imprisonment, was at last able to continue his duties.
"It appeareth before you, my lords," he resumed in a loud, clear voice,"that this man hath been indicted and arraigned of a most heinous crime,and hath confessed it before you, which is of record. Wherefore thereresteth no more to be done but for the Court to give judgmentaccordingly, which here I require in the behalf of the Queen'sMajesty."
The Lord High Steward rose and a gentleman usher took the white wandfrom him. He stood bareheaded, and every one in the Hall could see him.
"Robert, Duke of Wessex," he said, and his voice trembled as he spoke,"Duke of Dorchester, Earl of Launceston, Wexford, and Bridthorpe, Baronof Greystone, Ullesthorpe, and Edbrooke, premier peer of England, whathave you to say why I may not proceed to judgment?"
The last words almost sounded like an appeal, of friend to friend,comrade to comrade. Lord Chandois' kindly eyes were fixed in deep sorrowon the man whom he had loved and honoured sufficiently to wish to seehim on the throne of England.
There was an awed hush in the vast hall, and then a voice, clear anddistinct--a woman's voice--broke the momentous silence.
"The Duke of Wessex is innocent of the charge brought against him, as Ihereby bear witness on his behalf."
Even as the last bell-like tones echoed through the great chamber ayoung girl stepped forward, sable-clad and fragile-looking, butunabashed by the hundreds of eyes fixed eagerly upon her.
In the centre of the room she paused, and, throwing back the dark veilwhich enveloped her face, she looked straight up at my Lord HighSteward.
"Who speaks?" he asked in astonishment.
"I, Ursula Glynde," she replied firmly, "daughter of the Earl of Truro."
At sound of her voice Wessex had started. His face became deathly paleand his hand gripped the massive bar of wood before him, until everymuscle and sinew in his arm creaked with the intensity of the effort. Itwas only after she had spoken her own name that he seemed to pullhimself together, for he said--
"I pray your lordships not to listen. I desire no witnesses on mybehalf."
His temples had begun to throb, a wild horror seized him at thought ofwhat she might do. And her appearance, too, had set his heart beating ina veritable turmoil of emotions. For she stood now before him,
beforethem all, as the vision of purity and innocence which he had firstlearnt to worship: that other self of hers, that mysterious, half-crazedbeing who had fooled and mocked him and then committed the awful crimefor which he stood self-convicted, that had vanished, leaving only thisdelicate, ethereal being, the one whom he had clasped in his arms, whoseblue eyes had gazed lovingly into his, whose lips had met his in thatone mad, passionate embrace.
When he interposed thus coldly, impassively, she shuddered slightly butshe did not turn towards him, and he could only see the dainty outlineof her fine profile, cut clear against a dark background of movingfigures beyond. From the table at which she herself had been sitting andwaiting all this while, and which was now in full view of thespectators, two advocates rose and joined the bench of judges. One ofthem, after a brief consultation with the Clerk of the Crown, turnedrespectfully towards the Lord High Steward.
"I humbly beseech your lordship," he said firmly, "and you, my lords, tohear the evidence of the Lady Ursula Glynde. There has been no time toobtain a written deposition from her, for God at the eleventh hour haththought fit to move her to speak that which she knows, so that adreadful error may not be committed."
"This is a great breach of customary procedure," said Mr. ThomasBromley, the Solicitor-General, with a dubious shake of the head.
"Not so great as you would have us think, sir," commented Sir RobertCatline, "for e'en in the trial of the late-lamented Queen Catherine ofblessed memory, my lord of Uppingham, whose depositions could not betaken previously, was nevertheless allowed to bear witness on behalf ofthe accused."
But the opinion of the most learned lawyer in England would not now havebeen listened to, if it had been adverse to the present situation. Lordsand judges, noblemen and spectators clamoured with every means at theircommand, short of absolute contempt of Court, that this new witnessshould be heard.
"How say you, my lords?" said the Lord High Steward eagerly, "bearing inmind the opinion of our learned colleague, ought we to hear this lady orno?"
"Aye! aye!" came from every voice on the bench.
"By Our Lady! I protest!" said Wessex loudly.
"We will hear this lady," pronounced the Lord High Steward. "Let herstep forward and be made to swear the truth of her assertions."
Ursula came forward a step or two. Mr. Thomas Wilbraham,Attorney-General of the Court of Wards, who was sitting close by, heldout a small wooden crucifix towards her. She took it and kissed itreverently.
"You are the Lady Ursula Glynde," queried Lord Chandois, "maid-of-honourto the Queen's Majesty?"
"I am."
"Then do I charge you to speak the truth, the whole truth, and naughtbut the truth, so help you God."
"My lords," protested Wessex hotly, for his brain was in a whirl. Hecould not allow her to speak and accuse herself of her crime--she, theangel side of her, taking upon herself the evil committed by thatmysterious second self over which she had no control. It was toohorrible! And all these people gaping at her made his blood tingle withshame. What he had readily borne himself, the disgrace, the staringcrowd, the pity and inquisitiveness of the multitude, that he felt hecould not endure for her.
Already, as he saw her now, his heart had forgiven her everything;gladly, joyously would he die now, since he had seen her once more asshe really was, pure and undefiled by contact with the ignoble wretchwhom, in a moment of madness, she had sent to his death.
He protested with all his might. But it was his own past life, hisfriends, his popularity, which now literally conspired against him, andcaused his judges to turn a deaf ear to his entreaties.
"My lord of Wessex," said the High Steward sternly, "in the name ofjustice and for the dignity of this court, I charge you to be silent."
Then he once more addressed the Lady Ursula.
"Say on, lady. This court will hear you."
She waited a few moments, whilst every spectator there seemed to hearhis own heart beat with the intensity of his excitement. Then she beganspeaking in a firm and even voice, somewhat low at first, but gaining instrength and volume as she proceeded.
"I would have you know, my lords," she said, "that at midnight on thefourteenth day of October, being in the Audience Chamber at HamptonCourt Palace, in the company of Don Miguel de Suarez . . ."
She paused suddenly and seemed to sway. Mr. Thomas Wilbraham ran to her,offering her a chair, which she declined with a quick wave of the hand.
"My lords," said Wessex, quietly and earnestly, during the brief lullcaused by this interruption, "I entreat you in the name of justice, donot hear this lady; she is excited and overwrought and knows not thepurport of what she is saying. . . . You see for yourselves she isscarce conscious of her actions. . . . I have made full confession. . . there rests nothing to be done. . . ."
"Prisoner at the bar," said the Lord High Steward, "I charge you to besilent. Lady Ursula, continue."
And Wessex perforce had to hold his peace, whilst Ursula resumed hertale more calmly.
"Being in company of Don Miguel, who spoke words of love to me . . . andanon did hold me in his arms . . . when I tried to escape . . . but. . . but . . . he would not let me go . . . he . . . he . . . yourlordships, have patience with me, I pray you . . ." she added in tonesof intense pathos as the monstrous lie she was so sublimely forcingherself to utter seemed suddenly to be choking her. Then she continuedspeaking quickly, lest perhaps she might waver before the end.
"His Grace of Wessex did come upon us, and seeing me held with violence,I, who was his betrothed, to save mine honour, the Duke did strike DonMiguel down."
There was dead silence as the young girl had finished speaking. Wessexwas staring at her, and Mr. Thomas Norton assures us that he burst outlaughing, a laugh which the Queen's printer stigmatizes as "heartlessand unworthy a high-born gentleman! for truly," he continues, "the LadyUrsula Glynde was moved by the spirit of God in thus making a tardyconfession, and His Grace, methinks, should have shown a proper spiritof reverence before this manifestation of God."
But if Wessex laughed at this supreme and palpitating moment, surely hislaugh must have come from the very bitterness of his soul. As far as heknew Ursula had told nothing but a strangely concocted lie. To him, whohad--as he thought--seen her with the blood of Don Miguel still warmupon her hands, this extraordinary tale of threatened honour and timelyinterference was but a tangled tissue of wanton falsehoods--another inthe long series which she had told to him.
And purposeless too!
He had no idea of any sacrifice on her part, and merely looked upon herpresent action as a weak attempt to save him from the gallows and nomore.
She just liked him well enough apparently not to wish to see him hang,but that was all. And this suddenly struck him as ridiculous, paltry,and childish, a silly bravado which caused him to laugh. Perhaps shedesired to save him publicly at slight cost to herself, in order thatshe might yet occupy one day the position which she had so avowedlycoveted since her childhood--that of Duchess of Wessex!
It was indeed more than ridiculous.
The stain of murder, which was really on her hands, she was full willingthat it should rest on him, only slightly palliated by the lie which shehad told.
Strange, strange perversion of a girlish soul!
With dulled ears and brain in a turmoil Wessex only partly heard thequestions and cross-questions which his judges now put to her. She neverwavered from her original story, but repeated it again and again,circumstantially and without hesitation. Never once did she look towardsthe bar.
"Lady Ursula Glynde," said Lord Chandois finally and with solemnearnestness, "do you swear upon your honour and conscience that you havespoken the truth?"
And she replied equally solemnly--
"I swear it upon mine honour and conscience."
"'Tis false from beginning to end," protested Wessex loudly.
Ursula made a low obeisance before my Lord High Steward. The crucifixwas once more held up to her and she kissed it reverently. With t
hatpious kiss she reached at that moment the highest pinnacle of hersacrifice--she gave up to the man she loved the very spotlessness of hersoul. For his sake she had lied and spoken a false oath--she had sinnedin order that he might be saved.
And even now she also reached the greatest depth of her own misery, for,as she told her tale before his judges and before _him_, she halfexpected that he would exonerate her from the odious accusations whichshe was bringing against herself.
The story which she had told had been in accordance with the Cardinal'ssuggestions, but she herself was quite convinced that Don Miguel hadfallen by a woman's hand. Wessex would never have hit another man in theback--that was woman's work, and she who had done it was so dear to him,that he was sacrificing life and honour in order to shield her.
Aye! more than that! for was he not acting a coward's part by allowingUrsula Glynde to sacrifice her fair name for the sake of a wanton?
And thus these two people who loved one another more than life, honour,and happiness, were face to face now with that terrible misunderstandingbetween them:--still further apart from each other than they had everbeen, both suffering acutely in heart and mind for the supposedcowardice and wantonness of the other, and the while my Lord HighSteward and the other noble lords were concluding the ceremonies of thatstrange, eventful trial.
"My lords," said Lord Chandois, once more rising from his seat, "youhave heard the evidence of this lady, and Robert Duke of Wessex havingput himself upon the trial of God and you his peers, I charge you toconsider if it appeareth that he is guilty of this murder or whether hehad justification, and thereupon say your minds upon your honour andconsciences."
We have Mr. Thomas Norton's authority for stating that my lords, thetriers, never left their seats, nor did they deliberate. Hardly were thewords out of my Lord High Steward's lips than with one accordfour-and-twenty voices were raised saying--
"Not guilty!"
"Then," adds Mr. Norton, "there was a cheer raised from the peopleinside the Hall which was quite deafening to the ears. Sundry tossedtheir caps into the air, and many of the women began to cry. My LordHigh Steward could not make himself heard for a long while, at which hebecame very wrathful, and, calling to the Serjeant-at-Arms, he bade himclear the Court of all these noise-makers."
There seems to have been considerable difficulty in doing this, for Mr.Thomas Norton continuously refers to "riotous conduct," and even to"contempt of the Queen's Commissioner." Cheers of "God save Wessex!"alternated with the loyal cry of "God save the Queen." The men-at-armshad to use their halberds, and did so very effectually, one or two ofthe more excited "noise-makers" getting wounded about the face andhands. Finally the suggestion came from Mr. Barham, the Queen'sSerjeant, that His Grace of Wessex should be concealed from the view ofthe populace, and, acting upon this advice, the Lieutenant of the Towerordered his guard to close around the bar, whilst a low seat wasprovided for His Grace. The object of this mad enthusiasm being thusplaced out of sight, the people became gradually more calm, and thenoise subsided sufficiently for the Queen's Serjeant to give forth hisfinal dictum.
"My Lord's Grace, the Queen's Commissioner, High Steward of England,chargeth all persons to depart in God's peace and the Queen's, and hathdissolved this Commission!"
"God save the Queen!" was shouted lustily, and then the great door wasopened and the people began quietly to file out.
The pale November sun had struggled out of its misty coverings, andtouched the pinnacles and towers of the old Abbey with delicate gleamsof golden grey. Slowly the crowd moved on, some of the more venturesomeor more enthusiastic townsfolk, the 'prentices, and younger men,lingered round the precincts to see the great personages come out and togive a final cheer for His Grace of Wessex.
The Hall itself seemed lonely now that the people had gone. The LordHigh Steward once more called on the prisoner, who had already risen assoon as his noisy partisans had departed.
As he had been impassive throughout the terrible ordeal of this trialfor his life, so he remained now that on every face before him he readthe inevitable acquittal. He had watched Ursula Glynde's graceful figureas, accompanied by the Cardinal de Moreno, she had finally made anobeisance before the judges, then had retired through the doors of theLord Chancellor's Court.
A great and awful disgust filled his whole heart. It was he now who wasconscious of the loathsome web, which had enveloped him more completelythan he had ever anticipated.
He saw his acquittal hovering on the lips of his peers. Lord Chandois'kindly face was beaming with delight, Sir Robert Catline and Mr. GilbertGerard were conversing quite excitedly: his own friends, Sir HenryBeddingfield and Lord Mordaunt, Lord Huntingdon and Sir John Williams,were openly expressing their intense satisfaction.
But for him, what did it all mean? An acquittal based on a lie, and thatlie told by a woman to save him!
But a lie for all that, and one which he could not refute, withouttelling the whole truth to his judges and branding _her_ publicly as amurderess and worse.
He, who had ever held his own honour, his pride, the cleanness of hiswhole existence as a fetish to be worshipped, now saw himself forced tobarter all that which he held so sacred and gain his own life inexchange. How much more gladly would he have heard his death-sentencepronounced now by his friend's kind lips. Death--howeverignominious--would have purified and exalted honour.
Mechanically he listened to Lord Chandois' speech, and mechanically heprotested. The web was tightly woven around him, and he was powerless totear it asunder.
"Robert Duke of Wessex and of Dorchester," said the Lord High Steward,"Earl of Launceston, Wexford, and Bridthorpe, Baron of Greystone,Ullesthorpe and Edbrooke, premier peer of England, the lords, yourpeers, have found you not guilty of this crime of murder."
"My lords," said Wessex in a final appeal, which he himself felt was ahopeless one, "I thank you from my heart, but I cannot accept thisdecision; it is based on a falsehood, the hysterical outpourings of amisguided heart, and . . ."
But already the Lord High Steward had interrupted him.
"My lord Duke," he said, "the tale this lady hath at last spoken in openCourt was one guessed at by all your friends; she hath not only followedthe dictates of her conscience, but hath taken a heavy burden from thehearts of your triers, and one which would have saddened many of us,even to our graves. Had it been my terrible duty to pass death-sentenceupon you, which had the lady not spoken I should have been bound to do,I myself would have felt akin to a murderer. We cannot but thank heaventhat Lady Ursula's heart was touched at the eleventh hour, and that youwere not allowed to sacrifice your honour and your life in so worthlessa cause."
"But I cannot allow you to believe, nor you, my lords . . ." furtherprotested the Duke.
"Nay, my lord, we only believe one thing, and that is that Your Graceleaves this Court this day with the respect and admiration of all men inthe land, with unsullied honour, and with stainless name. All else weare content shall remain a mystery betwixt Lady Ursula Glynde and herconscience."
"God save the Queen," added the Lord High Steward as he broke the whitewand.
"And," adds Mr. Thomas Norton, "thus ended the trial of His Grace ofWessex and of Dorchester, on a charge of murder, treason, and felony.Surrounded by his friends, cheered by the mob, the Duke left WestminsterHall a free man, but as I watched his face, meseemed that I saw thereonsuch strange melancholy and a hue like that of death. He smiled to mylord Huntingdon and spoke long and earnestly with my lord Rich. He hadmighty cause to be thankful to God and to his friends for his acquittal,yet meseemed almost as if he rebelled against his happy fate, and Ihereby bear witness that the blood of the Spanish envoy must still haveclung to His Grace's hands. In just cause or in unjust no man shall takeanother's life wantonly, and I doubt not but His Grace's conscience willtrouble him unto his death."
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