The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  The kneeling assemblage then arose, and loud shouts were raised for the King and his consort.

  The money being presented to his Majesty in a large silver salver, Henry took a handful of broad pieces, and cast them among the yeomen, who again shouted lustily.

  Sir John Bowes and his company escorted the royal pair to Doncaster, where they rested for the night at the ancient castle then standing on the hanks of the Don.

  IX. How the Archbishop of York made his Submission to the King.

  ANOTHER ceremonial, of far deeper interest to the young Queen than that previously described, occurred at Barnesdale, where Edward Lee, forty-eighth Archbishop of York, and the successor of Cardinal Wolsey, attended by upwards of three hundred priests, made submission to the King.

  Henry received him very coldly.

  “My lord Archbishop,” he said, “in the former insurrection, known as the Pilgrimage of Grace, you took an oath of fidelity to the rebels. Nevertheless, I pardoned you. Again I find you mixed up with treason and revolt. What have you to allege in your defence? — ha!”

  “I have been falsely accused, my liege — as all here can testify,” replied the Archbishop. “So far from supporting the insurgents, I solemnly denounced their proceedings.”

  “But you took no active measures to check them.”

  “My liege, I could not,” said the Archbishop, humbly. “I was made prisoner in my own palace, and was only released by the Earl of Hertford.”

  “Have you received any missive from Cardinal Pole?” demanded Henry, sternly. “Answer me truly.”

  “As I shall answer to heaven, my liege, I have not!”

  Henry’s brow still remained sombre.

  The Archbishop cast an imploring look at the Queen.

  “Sire, you need not doubt his Grace’s sincerity,” she said. “My uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, and the Bishop of Winchester, both vouch for his loyalty and zeal.”

  “Your Grace has a good advocate in the Queen,” said Henry, smiling. “Since she espouses your cause, it is won. You may thank her Highness for your restoration to favour.”

  The Archbishop’s looks bespoke his heartfelt gratitude.

  Any lingering feeling of displeasure that the King might have entertained, was removed by a present of six hundred pounds.

  At York, further contributions were levied by the rapacious tyrant, though heavy fines had already been imposed upon the city.

  X. York.

  No place had suffered in a greater degree from the suppression of the religious houses than York.

  Its glory had departed. Its splendid monasteries, its numerous hospitals, its churches and chapels, and the noble Abbey of St. Mary, had been demolished, and their large revenues appropriated by the King.

  All the shrines had been despoiled, vaults ransacked, and even graves desecrated in search of treasure. Stone coffins, which had contained the bodies of reverend fathers, were converted into hog-troughs.

  No wonder York, which was essentially a Catholic city, resented such usage, and rose in rebellion!

  When Henry entered the city, it was half-depopulated; while the many poor monks and nuns, who had been driven from the religious houses, and were now compelled to subsist on charity, gave it a most melancholy air.

  The sight of these sufferers profoundly affected Catherine, and she caused abundant alms to be distributed among them, at the risk of incurring her royal husband’s displeasure.

  Most sad of all was it to see the aged and infirm, who had now no place of refuge, since the hospitals that had formerly sheltered them were destroyed. By her benign influence over the King, the Queen was enabled to procure some alleviation of the general misery, and countless blessings were showered on her head.

  Alas! they availed her little.

  Catherine was charmed with the majestic Minster, and with the picturesque aspect of the ancient city, but her delight was marred by the sight of the many desolate places caused by the destruction of the monasteries and fanes.

  If the exterior of the Minster delighted her, she was struck with astonishment at the incomparable beauty and grandeur of the interior.

  When she first entered the magnificent structure, its superb windows were illuminated by the declining sun, and the light thus shed upon its pillars and arches produced a truly magical effect.

  As her eye swept down the long vista formed by the stately columns on either side of the nave, and rested on the statues of archbishops and saints, or on the scutcheons of kings, as she gazed at the glorious eastern window, she experienced a pleasure such as she had never before enjoyed, and, for a few moments, forgot all earthly things.

  Though not affected in the same degree, Henry was greatly impressed by the magnificence of the cathedral.

  Twice each day the royal pair heard mass in one of the chapels, and they also attended some grand religious ceremonials that took place during their stay in the city.

  A splendid sight it was to see them with their richly-attired attendants gathered within the choir on these occasions — the Archbishop, assisted by the Dean, officiating at the altar.

  Though erring, Catherine was devout, and she never performed her devotions with more fervour than in York Minster. How few of those who regarded her with admiration at such times, anticipated her sad fate!

  The royal pair resided at the magnificent archiepiscopal palace, and constant banquets were given in the great hall, accounted one of the finest in the kingdom.

  Having stricken sufficient terror, as he deemed, into his rebellious subjects, Henry now began to adopt milder measures. The country abounded, as we have said, with important Catholic families, and the heads of these ancient houses now flocked to York, and were very well received by the King, who invited them to all his entertainments.

  By this time, Catherine’s ascendancy over her imperious spouse had been completely established; he doted on her more than ever; granted all her requests, and strove to gratify all her tastes. Her influence over him was so manifest, that strong hopes were entertained by the Romanists that she would bring him hack to the old religion. Being herself of this opinion, Catherine sent a private message to the Duke of Norfolk, recommending him and Gardiner to meet the King at Lincoln on his return.

  Henry remained longer than he intended at York, because he expected a visit from his nephew, James the Fifth, of Scotland.

  He had despatched Adrian Culpepper to Edinburgh, with an invitation to the young King; hut James, distrusting his uncle’s good faith, and not caring to place himself in his power, declined to cross the border.

  This was a great disappointment to Henry, who had made splendid preparations for his nephew’s reception; and it was also a disappointment to Catherine, who wished to see the gallant young King.

  XI. Pontefract Castle.

  ON the summit of a rocky hill stood the proud old Castle of Pontefract.

  At the period of our history it was one of the strongest fortresses in the country. Its walls were flanked by seven towers, and its drawbridges protected by watch-towers. The walls of its donjon were of prodigious thickness.

  For the space of many centuries it stood the ornament and terror of the surrounding country. During the civil war of Charles I. it withstood three sieges, and was then demolished by the Parliamentary armies.

  Only the donjon and a few ruins are now left to tell of its former strength and magnitude, but with these ruins many strange and terrible historical recollections are connected.

  In the great castle hall, Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, was arraigned by his nephew, Edward the Second, condemned, and decapitated. “Within the guilty closure of its walls” the unhappy Richard the Second was horribly murdered. In the same bloodstained structure, “fatal and ominous to noble peers,” the Lords Rivers and Grey, with others, were put to death by the ambitious Gloster, afterwards Richard the Third.

  Pontefract Castle had dreadful dungeons, resembling oubliettes, into which the prisoners were let down through trap-doors, and sometime
s left to perish miserably. Still, with all these gloomy associations, it was a magnificent pile, and fitted for a royal residence. It had a noble hall, in which kings and barons had feasted; a chapel, remarkable for its beautiful Norman architecture; and a suite of grand state apartments.

  Under the protection of the castle, a considerable town had sprung up, and until lately it had boasted a wealthy monastery, a convent, and several chantries; but these were now destroyed.

  The haughty fortress looked over as fair a district as any in England — a lovely valley, skirted by woods, through which flowed the River Aire, with hills in the distance. From its walls the twin towers of York Minster could be descried.

  Nothing could be grander or more picturesque in appearance than the stupendous fortress as viewed from the valley of the Aire; and so thought Henry, as he approached it in this direction, late in the day on which he had quitted York. After contemplating it for some time in silence, he remarked to the Queen, who was riding by his side, “Marry! ’tis a kingly pile! What think you of it, Kate?”

  “May I speak truth, sire?” she rejoined.

  “Certes,” he replied; “I trust you never speak other than the truth.”

  “Then I will frankly own that I have a dread of Pontefract Castle. So many terrible deeds have been done within its walls, that I shall be afraid to sleep there. Look, sire! the setting sun seems to dye the towers with blood!”

  Henry laughed.

  “Tut! that purple light heightens their beauty. Have no fear; you will sleep sound enough, I warrant you — even if you occupy Richard the Second’s chamber.”

  “Not that room, sire, I entreat,” she exclaimed. “I should not dare to enter it.”

  “I did not think you were troubled with superstitious fancies, Kate,” cried Henry, surprised. “King Dickon’s room is the best in the state apartments, and on that account has been got ready for you, by my especial order; but since you like it not, you shall be lodged elsewhere.”

  He then signed to Adrian Culpepper, and bade him ride on to the castle, and cause another chamber to be prepared for the Queen.

  “Take care you choose one that is not haunted,” he added, with a laugh.

  “That will be a difficult matter, gossip; seeing that all the rooms in the castle are haunted,” observed Will Sommers. “I expect to make acquaintance with the ghost of Lord Rivers to-night.”

  “Thou art more likely to make acquaintance with a cudgel, knave, an’ thou showest not more discretion,” rejoined the King. “Away with thee, Adrian.”

  “With your Majesty’s permission, I will go with him,” said the jester; “and then I can choose a dormitory for myself.”

  “Thou shalt roost with the owls in the ruined Cluniac Priory on Monk Hill,” rejoined Henry. “Go, find the spot.”

  Meanwhile, Adrian had galloped off on his errand, and the jester followed as swiftly as he could.

  XII. Celestin and Paschal.

  THOUGH the town’s-folk of Pontefract had suffered as grievously as the citizens of York from the destruction of the religious houses, they gave a hearty welcome to the King and his lovely consort.

  The church bells of All Saints’ rang blithely. A procession, headed by minstrels, came forth to meet the royal pair, and every demonstration of loyalty was made, as they rode along the street leading to the castle — all the houses being decked with flags and banners, and other devices.

  As the cavalcade mounted the steep ascent, a salute was fired from the barbican, and at the moment when the King and Queen crossed the drawbridge, the royal standard was hoisted on the summit of the keep.

  The Earl of Effingham, governor of the castle, with the chief officers, received them at the gate, and after presenting the keys of the fortress on a velvet cushion to the King, marshalled the royal pair to the inner court, amid the braying of trumpets, and the thunder of cannon.

  Here the arquebusiers composing the garrison were drawn up, and the scene was so animated that Catherine quite forgot her fears. But they were revived as she entered the apartments, which had a very gloomy look — the once-splendid furniture being tarnished, and the arras faded. However, she was far enough removed from King Richard’s bed-chamber, which was at the further extremity of the corridor.

  A banquet was served in the great hall, in which Edward the Second had sat in judgment upon his nephew, but no one thought of that circumstance amid the festive proceedings.

  While the company were leaving the hall at the termination of the banquet, two quick-witted pages named Celestin and Paschal, overheard Adrian Culpepper say in a low tone to Lady Rochford, “I must see the Queen to-night. When the King has retired to rest, and all is quiet in the corridor, I will tap at the door of the ante-chamber.”

  “Do not come till midnight,” replied Lady Rochford in the same tone.

  And with a gesture of silence, she left him.

  The two pages stared at each other in astonishment, almost doubting that they had heard aright.

  However, they determined to satisfy themselves; and if their suspicion should be confirmed, they would be in possession of a secret, indeed — a secret involving the Queen’s honour.

  Catherine retired early, and left the King playing at gleek with Lord Effingham and Sir Anthony Browne.

  While bidding her good night, his Majesty laughingly hoped that her slumbers would not be disturbed by ghosts.

  At that moment the young spies detected a glance that passed between her and Adrian. The glance convinced them that the appointment would be kept.

  Henry, who was winning, remained at play for another hour, and was then ceremoniously conducted to “King Richard’s Chamber,” by the governor.

  As soon as the corridor was clear, the inquisitive pages concealed themselves behind the curtains of a deep bay window, almost opposite the Queen’s apartments.

  How anxiously they waited for midnight! When the appointed hour came, the stillness of the corridor was broken by a slight sound, and cautiously peering forth, they perceived a tall figure glide stealthily along.

  The person tapped softly at the door of the antechamber, as arranged, and was immediately admitted.

  The spies could not be mistaken. A light burning in the room enabled them to distinguish both Adrian and the Queen.

  As soon as the door was shut, they issued from their hiding-place.

  “What would King Hal say if he had seen what we have seen?” chuckled Celestin. “Shall we go rouse him?”

  “No, fool! we should gain nothing by that, — except, perhaps, a halter!” rejoined Paschal. “The discovery we have made will be a fortune to us, if properly used — as it shall be. The Queen can refuse us nothing, since a word about this midnight meeting would bring her and her lover to the block. Dost apprehend?”

  “Perfectly,” replied Celestin, with a slight laugh. “What shall we do next?”

  “Wait here till the lucky minion comes forth,” replied Paschal.

  And they again shrouded themselves behind the curtains.

  XIII. The fatal Meeting.

  WHEN Adrian was admitted, the Queen was in the ante-chamber.

  Alarmed by his looks, she signed to Lady Rochford not to leave her.

  “Why have you sought this interview with me, Adrian?” she asked.

  “I have come to remonstrate with you,” he replied, sadly, “on the dreadful imprudence you have committed in taking into your household the man of all others who ought to have been kept from it. I have just discovered that Francis Dereham is now your private secretary, under the assumed name of Hugh Tilney. The villain is so well disguised, that, although I have seen him often, I did not recognise him till to-day, when he accidentally betrayed himself to me. Oh, Catherine!” he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish; “this rash act may prove fatal to you!”

  “I could not help it, Adrian,” she replied.

  “Not help it?” he exclaimed. “Are you in the villain’s power?”

  “Listen to me, Adrian,” she rejoined. �
�It is time you should hear the truth. I will conceal nothing from you, painful as it is to me to make the confession. This man, as you know, was one of the Duchess of Norfolk’s pages. He was handsome and presumptuous. I was thoughtless — very thoughtless, for I was a mere girl, and I noticed him more than I ought to have done. Emboldened by my indiscretion, he ventured to declare his love.”

  “His love! Oh, Catherine!”

  “I ought to have repelled his suit with scorn, but I did not. I was spell-bound. Now I regard him with loathing; and, even then, I did not really love him — but I thought so.”

  “Proceed,” said Adrian, regarding her so sternly, that she trembled beneath his gaze.

  “Forgive me, Adrian!” she cried; “I did not wrong you, for our love did not then exist. When I told you my heart was free, I spoke the truth, as I speak it now. But I did not tell the whole truth. I kept back the incredible act of folly of which I had been guilty.”

  She paused. Adrian’s anguish was almost intolerable.

  “I am on the rack!” he cried. “Do not prolong my torture!”

  “Tell him what happened, — I cannot,” said the Queen to Lady Rochford. “Remember, I was scarce seventeen at the time.”

  “And bewitched by the most daring villain that ever breathed,” said Lady Rochford. “He would not be content till he had bound her to him indissolubly!”

  “What do I hear?” cried Adrian, half frenzied. “You were not wedded to him — ha?”

  “I was betrothed!” replied Catherine. “Now the terrible secret is out!”

  Adrian almost fell backwards, as if dealt a mortal blow.