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The Historical Nights Entertainment, Second Series

R >> Rafael Sabatini >> The Historical Nights Entertainment, Second Series




He came to it at last, and, pausing, looked more closely. He was
thankful that there was not the need to touch it. The position of
the brown-haired head was such as to leave no doubt of the
complete success of his design. Her neck was broken. Lord Robert
Dudley was free to marry the Queen.

Deliberately Sir Richard stepped over the huddled body of that
poor victim of a knave's ambition, crossed the hall, and passed
out, closing the door. An excellent day's work, thought he, most
excellently accomplished. The servants, returning from Abingdon
Fair on that Sunday evening, would find her there. They would
publish the fact that in their absence her ladyship had fallen
downstairs and broken her neck, and that was the end of the
matter.

* * * * * *

But that was not the end at all. Fate, the ironic interloper, had
taken a hand in this evil game.

The court had moved a few days earlier to Windsor, and thither on
the Friday--the 6th of September--came Alvarez de Quadra to seek
the definite answer which the Queen had promised him on the
subject of the Spanish marriage. What he had seen that night at
Whitehall, coupled with his mistrust of her promises and
experience of her fickleness, had rendered him uneasy. Either she
was trifling with him, or else she was behaving in a manner
utterly unbecoming the future wife of the Archduke. In either
case some explanation was necessary. De Quadra must know where he
stood. Having failed to obtain an audience before the court left
London, he had followed it to Windsor, cursing all women and
contemplating the advantages of the Salic law.

He found at Windsor an atmosphere of constraint, and it was not
until the morrow that he obtained an audience with the Queen.
Even then this was due to chance rather than to design on the
part of Elizabeth. For they met on the terrace as she was
returning from hunting. She dismissed those about her, including
the stalwart Robert Dudley, and, alone with de Quadra, invited
him to speak.

"Madame," he said, "I am writing to my master, and I desire to
know whether your Majesty would wish me to add anything to what
you have announced already as your intention regarding the
Archduke."

She knit her brows. The wily Spaniard fenced so closely that
there was no alternative but to come to grips.

"Why, sir," she answered dryly, "you may tell his Majesty that I
have come to an absolute decision, which is that I will not marry
the Archduke."

The colour mounted to the Spaniard's sallow cheeks. Iron self-
control alone saved him from uttering unpardonable words. Even so
he spoke sternly:

"This, madame, is not what you had led me to believe when last we
talked upon the subject."

At another time Elizabeth might have turned upon him and rent him
for that speech. But it happened that she was in high good-humour
that afternoon, and disposed to indulgence. She laughed,
surveying herself in the small steel mirror that dangled from her
waist.

"You are ungallant to remind me, my lord," said she. "My sex, you
may have heard, is privileged to change of mind."

"Then, madame, I pray that you may change it yet again." His tone
was bitter.

"Your prayer will not be heard. This time I am resolved."

De Quadra bowed. "The King, my master, will not be pleased, I
fear."

She looked him straightly in the face, her dark eyes kindling.

"God's death!" said she, "I marry to please myself, and not the
King your master."

"You are resolved on marriage then?" flashed he.

"And it please you," she mocked him archly, her mood of
joyousness already conquering her momentary indignation.

"What pleases you must please me also, madame," he answered, in a
tone so cold that it belied his words. "That it please you, is
reason enough why you should marry . . . Whom did your Majesty
say?"

"Nay. I named no names. Yet one so astute might hazard a shrewd
guess." Half-challenging, half-coy, she eyed him over her fan.

"A guess? Nay, madame. I might affront your Majesty."

"How so?"

"If I were deluded by appearances. If I named a subject who
signally enjoys your royal favour."

"You mean Lord Robert Dudley." She paled a little, and her
bosom's heave was quickened. "Why should the guess affront me?"

"Because a queen--a wise queen, madame--does not mate with a
subject--particularly with one who has a wife already."

He had stung her. He had wounded at once the pride of the woman
and the dignity of the queen, yet in a way that made it difficult
for her to take direct offense. She bit her lip and mastered her
surge of anger. Then she laughed, a thought sneeringly.

"Why, as to my Lord Robert's wife, it seems you are less well-
informed than usual, sir. Lady Robert Dudley is dead, or very
nearly so."

And as blank amazement overspread his face, she passed upon her
way and left him.

But anon, considering, she grew vaguely uneasy, and that very
night expressed her afflicting doubt to my lord, reporting to him
de Quadra's words. His lordship, who was mentally near-sighted,
laughed.

"He'll change his tone before long," said he.

She set her hands upon his shoulders, and looked up adoringly
into his handsome gipsy face. Never had he known her so fond as
in these last days since her surrender to him that night upon the
terrace at Whitehall, never had she been more the woman and less
the queen in her bearing towards him.

"You are sure, Robin? You are quite sure?" she pleaded.

He drew her close, she yielding herself to his embrace. "With so
much at stake could I be less than sure, sweet?" said he, and so
convinced her--the more easily since he afforded her the
conviction she desired.

That was on the night of Saturday, and early on Monday came the
news which justified him of his assurances. It was brought him to
Windsor by one of Amy's Cumnor servants, a fellow named Bowes,
who, with the others, had been away at Abingdon Fair yesterday
afternoon, and had returned to find his mistress dead at the
stairs' foot--the result of an accident, as all believed.

It was not quite the news that my lord had been expecting. It
staggered him a little that an accident so very opportune should
have come to resolve his difficulties, obviating the need for
recourse to those more dangerous measures with which he had
charged Sir Richard Verney. He perceived how suspicion might now
fall upon himself, how his enemies would direct it, and on the
instant made provision. There and then he seized a pen, and wrote
to his kinsman, Sir Thomas Blount, who even then was on his way
to Cumnor. He stated in the letter what he had learnt from Bowes,
bade Blount engage the coroner to make the strictest investigation,
and send for Amy's natural brother, Appleyard. "Have no respect
to any living person," was the final injunction of that letter
which he sent Blount by the hand of Bowes.

And, then, before he could carry to the Queen the news of this
accident which had broken his matrimonial shackles, Sir Richard
Verney arrived with the true account. He had expected praise and
thanks from his master. Instead, he met first dismay, and then
anger and fierce reproaches.

"My lord, this is unjust," the faithful retainer protested.
"Knowing the urgency, I took the only way--contrived the
accident."

"Pray God," said Dudley, "that the jury find it to have been an
accident; for if the truth should come to be discovered, I leave
you to the consequences. I warned you of that before you engaged
in this. Look for no help from me."

"I look for none," said Sir Richard, stung to hot contempt by the
meanness and cowardice so characteristic of the miserable egotist
he served. "Nor will there be the need, for I have left no
footprints.

"I hope that may be so, for I tell you, man, that I have ordered
a strict inquiry, bidding them have no respect to any living
person, and to that I shall adhere."

"And if, in spite of that, I am not hanged?" quoth Sir Richard, a
sneer upon his white face.

"Come to me again when the affair is closed, and we will talk of
it."

Sir Richard went out, rage and disgust in his heart, leaving my
lord with rage and fear in his.

Grown calmer now, my lord dressed himself with care and sought
the Queen to tell her of the accident that had removed the
obstacle to their marriage. And that same night her Majesty
coldly informed de Quadra that Lady Robert Dudley had fallen down
a flight of stairs and broken her neck.

The Spaniard received the information with a countenance that was
inscrutable.

"Your Majesty's gift of prophecy is not so widely known as it
deserves to be," was his cryptic comment.

She stared at him blankly a moment. Then a sudden uneasy memory
awakened by his words, she drew him forward to a window embrasure
apart from those who had stood about her, and for greater
security addressed him, as he tells us, in Italian.

"I do not think I understand you, sir. Will you be plain with
me?" She stood erect and stiff, and frowned upon him after the
manner of her bullying father. But de Quadra held the trumps, and
was not easily intimidated.

"About the prophecy?" said he. "Why, did not your Majesty
foretell the poor lady's death a full day before it came to pass?
Did you not say that she was already dead, or nearly so?"

He saw her blench; saw fear stare from those dark eyes that could
be so very bold. Then her ever-ready anger followed swiftly.

"'Sblood, man! What do you imply?" she cried, and went on without
waiting for his answer. "The poor woman was sick and ill, and
must soon have succumbed; it will no doubt be found that the
accident which anticipated nature was due to her condition."

Gently he shook his head, relishing her discomfiture, taking
satisfaction in torturing her who had flouted him and his master,
in punishing her whom he had every reason to believe guilty.

"Your Majesty, I fear, has been ill-informed on that score. The
poor lady was in excellent health--and like to have lived for
many years--at least, so I gather from Sir William Cecil, whose
information is usually exact."

She clutched his arm. "You told him what I had said?"

"It was indiscreet, perhaps. Yet, how was I to know . . . ?" He
left his sentence there. "I but expressed my chagrin at your
decision on the score of the Archduke--hardly a wise decision, if
I may be so bold," he added slyly.

She caught the suggestion of a bargain, and became instantly
suspicious,

"You transcend the duties of your office, my lord," she rebuked
him, and turned away.

But soon that night she was closeted with Dudley, and closely
questioning him about the affair. My lord was mightily vehement.

"I take Heaven to be my witness," quoth he, when she all but
taxed him with having procured his lady's death, "that I am
innocent of any part in it. My injunctions to Blount, who has
gone to Cumnor, are that the matter be sifted without respect to
any person, and if it can be shown that this is other than the
accident I deem it, the murderer shall hang."

She flung her arms about his neck, and laid her head on his
shoulder. "Oh, Robin, Robin, I am full of fears," she wailed, and
was nearer to tears than he had ever seen her.

But, anon, as the days passed their fears diminished, and finally
the jury at Cumnor--delayed in their finding, and spurred by my
lord to exhaustive inquiries--returned a verdict of "found dead,"
which in all the circumstances left his lordship--who was known,
moreover, to have been at Windsor when his lady died--fully
acquitted. Both he and the Queen took courage from that finding,
and made no secret of it now that they would very soon be wed.

But there were many whom that finding did not convince, who read
my lord too well, and would never suffer him to reap the fruits
of his evil deed. Prominent among these were Arundel--who himself
had aimed at the Queen's hand--Norfolk and Pembroke, and behind
them was a great mass of the people. Indignation against Lord
Robert was blazing out, fanned by such screaming preachers as
Lever, who, from the London pulpits, denounced the projected
marriage, hinting darkly at the truth of Amy Dudley's death.

What was hinted at home was openly expressed abroad, and in Paris
Mary Stuart ventured a cruel witticism that Elizabeth was to
conserve in her memory: "The Queen of England," she said, "is
about to marry her horse-keeper, who has killed his wife to make
a place for her."

Yet Elizabeth persisted in her intent to marry Dudley, until the
sober Cecil conveyed to her towards the end of that month of
September some notion of the rebellion that was smouldering.

She flared out at him, of course. But he stood his ground.

"There is," he reminded her, "this unfortunate matter of a
prophecy, as the Bishop of Aquila persists in calling it."

"God's Body! Is the rogue blabbing?"

"What else did your Majesty expect from a man smarting under a
sense of injury? He has published it broadcast that on the day
before Lady Robert broke her neck, you told him that she was dead
or nearly so. And he argues from it a guilty foreknowledge on
your Majesty's part of what was planned."

"A guilty foreknowledge!" She almost choked in rage, and then
fell to swearing as furiously in that moment as old King Harry at
his worst.

"Madame!" he cried, shaken by her vehemence. "I but report the
phrase he uses. It is not mine."

"Do you believe it?"

"I do not, madame. If I did I should not be here at present."

"Does any subject of mine believe it?"

"They suspend their judgment. They wait to learn the truth from
the sequel."

"You mean?"

"That if your motive prove to be such as de Quadra and others
allege, they will be in danger of believing."

"Be plain, man, in God's name. What exactly is alleged?"

He obeyed her very fully.

"That my lord contrived the killing of his wife so that he might
have liberty to marry your Majesty, and that your Majesty was
privy to the deed." He spoke out boldly, and hurried on before
she could let loose her wrath. "It is still in your power,
madame, to save your honour, which is now in peril. But there is
only one way in which you can accomplish it. If you put from you
all thought of marrying Lord Robert, England will believe that de
Quadra and those others lied. If you persist and carry out your
intention, you proclaim the truth of his report; and you see what
must inevitably follow."

She saw indeed, and, seeing, was afraid.

Within a few hours of that interview she delivered her answer to
Cecil, which was that she had no intention of marrying Dudley.

Because of her fear she saved her honour by sacrificing her
heart, by renouncing marriage with the only man she could have
taken for her mate of all who had wooed her. Yet the wound of
that renunciation was slow to heal. She trifled with the notion
of other marriages, but ever and anon, in her despair, perhaps,
we see her turning longing eyes towards the handsome Lord Robert,
later made Earl of Leicester. Once, indeed, some six years after
Amy's death, there was again some talk of her marrying him, which
was quickly quelled by a reopening of the question of how Amy
died. Between these two, between the fulfilment of her desire and
his ambition, stood the irreconcilable ghost of his poor murdered
wife.

Perhaps it was some thought of this that found expression in her
passionate outburst when she learnt of the birth of Mary Stuart's
child: "The Queen of Scots is lighter of a fair son; and I am but
a barren stock."





VII. SIR JUDAS

The Betrayal of Sir Walter Ralegh



Sir Walter was met on landing at Plymouth from his ill-starred
voyage to El Dorado by Sir Lewis Stukeley, which was but natural,
seeing that Sir Lewis was not only Vice-Admiral of Devon, but
also Sir Walter's very good friend and kinsman.

If Sir Walter doubted whether it was in his quality as kinsman or
as Vice-Admiral that Sir Lewis met him, the cordiality of the
latter's embrace and the noble entertainment following at the
house of Sir Christopher Hare, near the port, whither Sir Lewis
conducted him, set this doubt at rest and relighted the lamp of
hope in the despairing soul of our adventurer. In Sir Lewis he
saw only his kinsman--his very good friend and kinsman, to insist
upon Stukeley's own description of himself--at a time when of all
others in his crowded life he needed the support of a kinsman and
the guidance of a friend.

You know the story of this Sir Walter, who had been one of the
brightest ornaments of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and might
have added lustre to that of King James, had not his Sowship--to
employ the title bestowed upon that prince by his own queen--been
too mean of soul to appreciate the man's great worth. Courtier,
philosopher, soldier, man of letters and man of action alike,
Ralegh was at once the greatest prose-writer, and one of the
greatest captains of his age, the last survivor of that glorious
company--whose other members were Drake and Frobisher and
Hawkins--that had given England supremacy upon the seas, that had
broken the power and lowered the pride of Spain.

His was a name that had resounded, to the honour and glory of
England, throughout the world, a name that, like Drake's, was a
thing of hate and terror to King Philip and his Spaniards; yet
the King of Scots, unclean of body and of mind, who had succeeded
to the throne of Elizabeth, must affect ignorance of that great
name which shall never die while England lives.

When the splendid courtier stood before him--for at fifty Sir
Walter was still handsome of person and magnificent of Apparel--
James looked him over and inquired who he might be. When they had
told him:

"I've rawly heard of thee," quoth the royal punster, who sought
by such atrocities of speech to be acclaimed a wit.

It was ominous of what must follow, and soon thereafter you see
this great and gallant gentleman arrested on a trumped-up charge
of high treason, bullied, vituperated, and insulted by venal,
peddling lawyers, and, finally, although his wit and sincerity
had shattered every fragment of evidence brought against him,
sentenced to death. Thus far James went; but he hesitated to go
further, hesitated to carry out the sentence. Sir Walter had too
many friends in England then; the memory of his glorious deeds
was still too fresh in the public mind, and execution might have
been attended by serious consequences for King James. Besides,
one at least of the main objects was achieved. Sir Walter's broad
acres were confiscate by virtue of that sentence, and King James
wanted the land--filched thus from one who was England's pride--
to bestow it upon one of those golden calves of his who were
England's shame.

"I maun hae the land for Carr. I maun hae it," was his brazen and
peevish answer to an appeal against the confiscation.

For thirteen years Sir Walter lay in the Tower, under that
sentence of death passed in 1603, enjoying after a season a
certain liberty, visited there by his dear lady and his friends,
among whom was Henry, Prince of Wales, who did not hesitate to
publish that no man but his father--whom he detested--would keep
such a bird in a cage. He beguiled the time in literary and
scientific pursuits, distilling his essences and writing that
stupendous work of his, "The History of the World." Thus old age
crept upon him; but far from quenching the fires of enterprise
within his adventurer's soul, it brought a restlessness that
urged him at last to make a bid for liberty. Despairing of
winning it from the clemency of James, he applied his wits to
extracting it from the King's cupidity.

Throughout his life, since the day when first he had brought
himself to the notice of a Queen by making of his cloak a carpet
for her feet, he had retained side by side with the dignity of
the sage and the greatness of the hero, the craft and opportunism
of the adventurer. His opportunity now was the straitened
condition of the royal treasury, a hint of which had been let
fall by Winwood the Secretary of State. He announced at once that
he knew of a gold mine in Guiana, the El Dorado of the Spaniards.

On his return from a voyage to Guiana in 1595, he had written of
it thus:

"There the common soldier shall fight for gold instead of pence,
pay himself with plates half a foot broad, whereas he breaks his
bones in other wars for provant and penury Those commanders and
chieftains that shoot at honour and abundance shall find here
more rich and beautiful cities, more temples adorned with golden
images, more sepulchres filled with treasure than either Cortez
found in Mexico or Pizarro in Peru."

Winwood now reminded him that as a consequence many expeditions
had gone out, but failed to discover any of these things.

"That," said Ralegh, "is because those adventurers were ignorant
alike of the country and of the art of conciliating its
inhabitants. Were I permitted to go, I would make Guiana to
England what Peru has been to Spain."

That statement, reported to James in his need, was enough to fire
his cupidity, and when Ralegh had further added that he would
guarantee to the Crown one-fifth of the treasure without asking
any contribution towards the adventure either in money or in
ships, he was permitted to come forth and prepare for the
expedition.


His friends came to his assistance, and in March of 1617 he set
sail for E1 Dorado with a well-manned and wellequipped fleet of
fourteen ships, the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke standing
sureties for his return.

From the outset the fates were unpropitious. Disaster closed the
adventure. Gondomar, the Ambassador of Spain at Whitehall, too
well-informed of what was afoot, had warned his master. Spanish
ships waited to frustrate Sir Walter, who was under pledge to
avoid all conflict with the forces of King Philip. But conflict
there was, and bloodshed in plenty, about the city of Manoa,
which the Spaniards held as the key to the country into which the
English adventurers sought to penetrate. Among the slain were the
Governor of Manoa, who was Gondomar's own brother, and Sir
Walter's eldest son.

To Ralegh, waiting at the mouth of the Orinoco, came his beaten
forces in retreat, with the terrible news of a happening that
meant his ruin. Half-maddened, his anguish increased by the loss
of his boy, he upbraided them so fiercely that Keymis, who had
been in charge of the expedition, shut himself up in his cabin
and shot himself with a pocket-pistol. Mutiny followed, and
Whitney--most trusted of Sir Walter's captains--set sail for
England, being followed by six other ships of that fleet, which
meanwhile had been reduced to twelve. With the remaining five the
stricken Sir Walter had followed more at leisure. What need to
hurry? Disgrace, and perhaps death, awaited him in England. He
knew the power of Spain with James, who was so set upon a Spanish
marriage for his heir, knew Spain's hatred of himself, and what
eloquence it would gather in the mouth of Gondomar, intent upon
avenging his brother's death.

He feared the worst, and so was glad upon landing to have by him
a kinsman upon whom he could lean for counsel and guidance in
this the darkest hour of all his life. Sitting late that night in
the library of Sir Christopher Hare's house, Sir Walter told his
cousin in detail the story of his misadventure, and confessed to
his misgivings.

"My brains are broken," was his cry.

Stukeley combed his beard in thought. He had little comfort to
offer.

"It was not expected," said he, "that you would return.

"Not expected?" Sir Walter's bowed white head was suddenly flung
back. Indignation blazed in the eyes that age had left undimmed.
"What act in all my life justified the belief I should be false
to honour? My danger here was made quite plain, and Captain King
would have had me steer a course for France, where I had found a
welcome and a harbour. But to consent I must have been false to
my Lords of Arundel and Pembroke, who were sureties to the King
for my return. Life is still sweet to me, despite my three-score
years and more, but honour is sweeter still."

And then, because life was sweet, he bluntly asked his cousin:
"What is the King's intent by me?"

"Nay, now," said Stukeley, "who shall know what passes in the
King's mind? From the signs, I judge your case to be none so
desperate. You have good friends in plenty, among whom, although
the poorest, count myself the first. Anon, when you are rested,
we'll to London by easy stages, baiting at the houses of your
friends, and enlisting their good offices on your behalf."

Ralegh took counsel on the matter with Captain King, a bluff,
tawny-bearded seaman, who was devoted to him body and soul.

"Sir Lewis proposes it, eh?" quoth the hardy seaman. "And Sir
Lewis is Vice-Admiral of Devon? He is not by chance bidden to
escort you to London?"

The Captain, clearly, had escaped the spell of Stukeley's
affability. Sir Walter was indignant. He had never held his
kinsman in great esteem, and had never been on the best of terms
with him in the past. Nevertheless, he was very far from
suspecting him of what King implied. To convince him that he did
Sir Lewis an injustice, Ralegh put the blunt question to his
kinsman in King's presence.

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