The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Moyle Sherer

  CHAP. XIX.

  The extreme peril of the case, The peace of England, and our person's safety, Enforced us to this execution. _King Richard III._

  Among the petitioners who stood waiting for an audience of the LordProtector in the guard hall at Hampton Court, at that anxious periodwhich followed the many arrests and trials of persons implicated inthe conspiracy against his government, in the spring of 1655, was alady in deep mourning, who stood alone in the window niche of thatcrowded apartment, and gazed upon the sunny garden before her with anair of settled melancholy.

  It was a May morning, the fourth day of that month. Notwithstandingthat the air of every thing about the palace was solemn and grave, yetthe appearance of his Highness's life guards was very stately andimposing. The hum of their voices, and of those of the variousofficials who passed to and fro to the door of the presence-chamber,though not loud, was yet audible and confident; while the littleconversation on which the various groups of petitioners ventured wascarried on in suppressed tones, or low and anxious whispers.

  For three hours the lady remained in the same place, and kept her faceaverted from the busy hall, and fixed upon the trees without. At lastthere was a sudden stir and bustle, and when she turned round, she sawthe crowd going forth at the outer door; and an usher of the courtgave notice in a loud voice, that his Highness the Lord Protectorwould not hear any further suits that day.

  She moved instantly towards the door of the presence-chamber.

  "By your leave, gentlemen,--let me pass: my humble suit will notdetain his Highness a moment; and to-morrow will not----"

  "I understand you, lady," said a grey-haired officer, with a manlycompassion; "but his Highness has passed into his innerpresence-chamber, and is engaged with the great officers of state. Hewill not allow any one to approach him now; and he does not use to seeany private petitioners after. No one dare present himself at the doorof that chamber now; and we may not suffer you to pass."

  "Well, sir; but I will wait till the council is over, and then,perhaps, he will admit me. To-morrow will be too late," she added, andturned away her head.

  "Certainly, lady, you may remain awhile, till the council comes forth;and he never consults long with them; but if your suit touches any ofthe poor gentlemen about to suffer for the late treason, I fear thereis no hope of your success. He hath refused many well-supportedmemorials for some who were but slightly connected with the offence,and whose friends have great personal influence with himself. Indeed,he cannot pardon them, with safety to his government."

  "It is not for a pardon that I come, sir, it is only for leave to partwith a dear relative, who is sentenced to die as to-morrow; and I amdenied admission to him, without I bring an authority from the LordProtector himself."

  "In as far as I may serve you, lady, in this matter, I will surely doit." So saying, he crossed to a gentleman who sat at a table in theouter presence-chamber, the door of which was standing open, andconferred with him, giving the paper, with the prayer of her petition,into his hands. He returned, saying, that the secretary would presentit as soon as the council broke up, and then placed a chair for her inthe window near. In less than half an hour, the great officers of thecouncil came out, and crossed the hall--the guards standing to theirhalberds. The lady rose, as they passed, out of respect to theiroffices; and they, with grave bows, acknowledged that courtesy--notaware, perhaps, that she was only a trembling suitor for theirmaster's "Yes." But this was not given, as a matter of course, whenthe secretary asked it. The Protector questioned him closelyconcerning the aspect and manner of the lady, and ended by commandingher into his presence.

  She was ushered into the inner presence-chamber, the door closedbehind her, and she found herself alone before Cromwell. He stood onthe far side of a table, with one hand resting upon it, and hermemorial in the other. The table was covered with papers, and directlynear him was an ancient desk of ebony, with an hour-glass by the sideof it, and three or four books, one of which was a Bible. He wasdressed in a suit of black, and his costume would have been plainerthan any about the court but for the extreme richness of his Flemishlace collar and cuffs; but these were cut after a plain squarefashion, and not in the Vandyke pattern of Charles's reign. He avoidednoticing her obeisance, for she did not kneel; and, after aconsiderable pause, he raised his eyes slowly, and fixed them upon herwith a penetrating and a severe expression. It was a trying moment forKatharine Heywood,--for she was that lady; but she had been silentlylifting up her heart to God, and she returned his look with dignityand composure. She could not but be impressed with awe in the presenceof one so powerful; and there was nothing in his cloudy and gravedeportment calculated to relieve that feeling. At last he addressedher:--"Thou comest to us on the matter of this poor and deluded man,who hath fallen into the snares of Satan, and hath attempted to fightagainst the Lord. It is vain to petition us in this matter: we are tothis unhappy and distracted kingdom in the place of the angel of theLord; and we must not bear the sword in vain. As we are man, in so farwe are weak, poor, foolish, frail, blind, unstable, like unto thelight vane that turneth with every breath of wind; but, in that we arethe angel of this people, chosen of the Lord, set up in the place ofjudgment, our wisdom and strength, our counsels and actions, are fromabove, and we are strong, rich, wise, indestructible, discerning allthings; steady, fixed, constant in our purposes; immovable as a greatrock, that smileth at the madness of those waves that dash aroundit.--Do not interrupt me, woman. I know what thou wouldest say: I cantell thy thoughts afar off, and see tears before they come to theeyelids. I must not pity. He that hath covered my head in battleappointeth the doom of this troubler of Israel. His is the sceptre,and the sword is his. I am but the poor unworthy instrument by whomthey are borne. I am no more but a poor Jack of the clock-house, andstrike the stroke of righteous vengeance, even as that automatous toystriketh on the bell, being moved by the organs and machinery of theskilful constructor or contriver thereof. Thou understandest me? Ilike to speak plain, that my poor people may see what a very worm ofearth is every child of Adam; and how little store I set by all thebaubles and gewgaws of power and state. It is known how a whole nationdid weary my spirit with petitions to take upon me this grave andweighty office, which I would gladly have foregone, if that I mighthave declined the cross without sin. But such peace was not for me."During this strange address, Cromwell looked alternately at the paperin his hand and at Katharine Heywood; dropping his eyes on the former,and then suddenly raising them again, as if to catch some expressionof her countenance, which she would not willingly wear while his eyesrested on her: but there was about her a majesty sad and unmoved; theseriousness of her displeasure was grave; and she was fortifyingherself by mental prayer. The Protector perceiving this, abruptly andwithout a pause, changed his manner and tone:--"You are the wife ofthe condemned?"

  "Not so, my Lord, I am his cousin."

  "What is your name?"

  "Katharine Heywood, Sir: it is written on the petition."

  "What Heywoods?"

  "Those of Warwickshire."

  "Ha! Malignants--Malignants:--Sir Oliver was one of them: a staunchslave of that foolish and misguided man, Charles Stuart."

  "My father, sir, was a faithful subject of King Charles."

  "And you, woman----"

  "I obey the laws. By my sex and by my sorrows I have been taughtthankfulness for any government that brings peace."

  "Out of thine own mouth is thy rebel cousin condemned. How came itthat all his relations were not instantly arrested? But thus it is.Thus am I served by indolent and purblind knaves--the serpent and thewoman;--thus it ever was, and will be, the boldest treasons are everhatched by women. Where dost thou live?"

  "At Cottesmore, in Gloucestershire."

  "How long have you dwelt there, and with whom?"

  "Since the death of my father, I have lived in the family of anejected minister, named Juxon, a nephew of the bishop."

  Crom
well bit his nether lip, and passed his hand quickly across hisbrow.

  "I did not think that bluff old man was a plotter. They told me thathe was turned hunter again; but it is me that they would hunt. My soulis as a partridge on the mountains: they hunt for the preciouslife;--but," he added (recovering the tone which a gloomy and passingemotion had discomposed), "it is the Lord: it is he that hath calledme. I am his servant, and no weapon formed against me can prosper.Who are these that would disturb a peace which the Lord giveth, andkindle again the fires of a civil war which I have been commanded toextinguish? and so thou livest near this merry old hunter that wouldhave my life?"

  "My Lord, it is not so: the bishop meddleth not with any publicaffairs, and I have never seen him smile since the sad end of hisroyal master. No, sir, he doth only hunt for health and diversion ofhis mind, which is ever occupied at home in dull cares and gravestudies."

  "That soundeth true of him. I do remember that he was accountedhonest; and that, from his youth, he had a body comely and quick--aptfor that manly sport;--but still, 'The heart is deceitful above allthings, and desperately wicked: who may know it?'--How long is itsince thy cousin was at Cottesmore?"

  "He was never there."

  "Is this true?"

  "I would be sorry to utter any thing which might, by possibility, beproved mistaken; but, to my knowledge, he was never there."

  "And how long, then, is it since you have seen him?"

  "It is many years since I have seen him; nor for these two years haveI even heard of him."

  "He was an officer of the Parliament?"

  "He was, sir; and was made a colonel of horse, in the second year ofthose wars."

  "I remember it. Ere this, he might have written general, and baronetto boot; but he was hot, and wrong-headed."

  "'Tis better as it is: his heart is right,--and he hath less to answerfor."

  The eyes of Cromwell rested upon the countenance of the majesticKatharine with severity, and with a surprize that seemed to ask themeaning of words so strange and cold. But the tone in which they wereuttered, and the sudden mournfulness and abstraction of her gaze, toldhim that emotions, both strong and tender, were working in her bosom.

  "And your prayer, lady, is that you may be permitted to take leave ofyour cousin before his execution?"

  "That is my prayer."

  "It is not wise. I speak as to a Christian mind. Though none hathshown himself more bitterly my foe than this cousin of thine, yet hewas no assassin. He was, I know, for a warlike rising: his obscurelodging was found full of arms; and though he lived as frugally as hethat laboureth for a groat a-day, yet was a horse worth fifty pieces,and trained for the great saddle, found in the shed, behind the smallhouse where he lived. I have shown him all the favour in mypower:--the sentence and manner of his death are changed. His life isa forfeit to the weal of England. I am no man of blood, lady:--thesigning of death-warrants is no joy to me; but one example on ascaffold may save the lives of thousands. Lady, your visit will onlydisturb his last moments. I have cared for his soul:--a godly ministerdoth see him; and I learn that he doth exercise himself as a dying manshould. It seems that you have not seen him for many years:--he willnot expect thee--does not think of thee:--cousinship is not so close akindred. I cannot grant thy prayer."

  "My Lord, I am his nearest relative--his only relative now living inthe land. We were together in our youth. I would not fail him in thishour. At such a time, to feel that he is not forsaken of all men mustbe a comfort to the spirit. Besides, he may have parting words for hisdistant father, and parting words are precious. Oh, grant my suit,your Highness! on my knees I humbly ask it--I implore it. Oh, grant mysuit! I will not let you go till my poor prayer is answered."

  Katharine had approached, and fallen upon her knees, and in her handsshe had clasped the skirt of his dark cloak.

  "Lady, control yourself: I have a human heart--but duties are toosacred to be foregone for tears. I cannot grant your prayer."

  "Why not, my Lord? Oh, why this strict and stern refusal? Oh, deign totell me what makes you thus cruelly dismiss me?"

  "It were to commit evil against thy cousin's soul, and to defeat theends of public justice; I can tell by thy lofty eyes thou wilt carryhim the means of death."

  Katharine rose from her low posture with a look of reproof to thesuspicious usurper at once dignified and solemn.

  "Francis Heywood, my Lord, is of a nobler spirit than to tarnish hisbrave life by an end so mean, and hath too holy a trust in hisRedeemer's mercy to shrink from his appointed trial. But were heother, and I found him so, and with a poison cup at his lips, thisfriendly hand should dash it from them."

  "You speak of what you know not: the most valiant heart that ever beatmight yet shrink from the shame and dishonours of the scaffold."

  "Shame and dishonours! Where are they? 'Tis not the place or manner ofa death can make them; besides, the scaffold hath now become a dyingplace of kings, and meaner men may hold themselves ennobled bysuffering like end. I promise by all my love towards my gallantcousin, by all my truth, and all my hopes of heaven, to hold no wordof conference with him on any matters save our private love ascousins, and our common faith as Christians."

  Just at this moment a door leading to the wing which Cromwellinhabited slowly opened, and a lady, with a gracious but most pensiveface entered a little way and gently called him. He turned: thegloominess which had gathered over his brow at Katharine's last speechwas dissipated at the sound of her soft voice: he went to her, butbefore Katharine could address an appeal to her she had left thechamber; and Cromwell, returning to the table, took a pen, and wroteon the back of her petition an order for her admission to the Tower,and to the prison of Francis Heywood; then, with a grave and not anunkind look, he put it into her hand.

  She glanced at the writing:--"Add another word, my good Lord,--thebody:--Oh, grant me that! When the bloody axe hath done its work, letthe body be my care:--we grew together in our youth,--I would not havehis precious remains buried by executioners." Cromwell took back thepaper, and, without uttering a word, wrote the permission.