The chief officer appointed to the custody of the royal fortress, is termed the Constable of the Tower; – a place, in the words of Stowe, of “high honour and reputation, as well as of great trust, many earls and one duke having been constable of the Tower.” Without enumerating all those who have filled this important post, it maybe sufficient to state, that the first constable was Geoffrey de Mandeville, appointed by William the Conqueror; the last, Arthur, Duke of Wellington. Next in command is the lieutenant, after whom come the deputy-lieutenant, and major, or resident governor. The civil establishment consists of a chaplain, gentleman-porter, physician, surgeon, and apothecary; gentleman-jailer, yeoman porter, and forty yeomen warders. In addition to these, though in no way connected with the government or custody of the Tower, there are the various officers belonging to the ordnance department; the keepers of the records, the keeper of the regalia; and formerly there were the different officers of the Mint.

The lions of the Tower – once its chief attraction with the many, – have disappeared. Since the establishment of the Zoological Gardens, curiosity having been drawn in that direction, the dens of the old menagerie are deserted, and the sullen echoes of the fortress are no longer awakened by savage yells and howling. With another and more important attraction – the armories – it is not our province to meddle.

To return to Simon Renard and the warder. Having concluded his recital, to which the other listened with profound attention, seldom interrupting him with a remark, Winwike proposed, if his companion’s curiosity was satisfied, to descend.

“You have given me food for much reflection.” observed Renard, aroused from a reverie into which he had fallen; “but before we return I would gladly walk round the buildings. I had no distinct idea of the Tower till I came hither.”

The warder complied, and led the way round the battlements, pausing occasionally to point out some object of interest.

Viewed from the summit of the White Tower, especially on the west, the fortress still offers a striking picture. In the middle of the sixteenth century, when its outer ramparts were strongly fortified – when the gleam of corslet and pike was reflected upon the dark waters of its moat – when the inner ballium walls were entire and unbroken, and its thirteen towers reared their embattled fronts – when within each of those towers state prisoners were immured – when its drawbridges were constantly raised, and its gates closed – when its palace still lodged a sovereign – when councils were held within its chambers – when its secret dungeons were crowded – when Tower Hill boasted a scaffold, and its soil was dyed with the richest and best blood of the land – when it numbered among its inferior officers, jailors, torturers, and an executioner – when all its terrible machinery was in readiness, and could be called into play at a moment’s notice – when the steps of Traitor’s Gate wore worn by the feet of those who ascended, them – when, on whichever side the gazer looked, the same stern prospect was presented – the palace, the fortress, the prison, – a triple conjunction of fearful significance – when each structure had dark secrets to conceal – when beneath all these ramparts, towers, and bulwarks, were subterranean passages and dungeons —then, indeed, it presented a striking picture both to the eye and mind.

Slowly following his companion, Renard counted all the towers, which, including that whereon he was standing, and these connected with the bulwarks and palace, amounted to twenty-two, – marked their position – commented upon the palace, and the arrangement of its offices and outbuildings – examined its courts and gardens – inquired into the situation of the queen’s apartments, and was shown a long line of buildings with a pointed roof, extending from the south-east angle of the keep to the Lanthorn Tower – admired the magnificent prospect of the heights of Surrey and Kent – traced the broad stream of the Thames as far as Greenwich – suffered his gaze to wander over the marshy tract of country towards Essex – noted the postern gate in the ancient city walls, standing at the edge of the north bank of the moat – traced those walls by their lofty entrances from Aldgate to Cripplegate, and from thence returned to the church of All Hallows Barking, and Tower Hill. The last object upon which his gaze rested was the scaffold. A sinister smile played upon his features as he gazed on it.

“There,” he observed, “is the bloody sceptre by which England is ruled. From the palace to the prison is a step – from the prison to the scaffold another.”

“King Henry the Eighth gave it plenty of employment,” observed Winwike.

“True,” replied Renard; “and his daughter, Queen Mary, will not suffer it to remain idle.”

“Many a head will, doubtless, fall (and justly), in consequence of the late usurpation,” remarked the warder.

“The first to do so now rests within that building,” rejoined Renard, glancing at the Beauchamp Tower.

“Your worship, of course, means the Duke of Northumberland, since his grace is confined there,” returned the warder. “Well, if she is spared who, though placed foremost in the wrongful and ill-advised struggle, was the last to counsel it, I care not what becomes of the rest. Poor lady Jane! Could our eyes pierce yon stone walls,” he added, pointing to the Brick Tower, “I make no doubt we should discover her on her knees. She passes most of her time, I am informed, in prayer.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Renard. And he half muttered, “She shall either embrace the Romish faith, or die by the hand of the executioner.”

Winwike made no answer to the observation, and affected not to hear it, but he shuddered at the look that accompanied it – a look that brought to mind all he heard of the mysterious and terrible individual at his side.

By this time, the sun was high in heaven, and the whole fortress astir. A flourish of trumpets was blown on the Green, and a band of minstrels issued from the portal of the Coalharbour Tower. The esquires, retainers, pages, and servitors of the various noblemen, lodged within the palace, were hurrying to and fro, some hastening to their morning meal, others to different occupations. Everything seemed bright and cheerful. The light laugh and the merry jest reached the ear of the listeners. Rich silks and costly stuffs, mixed with garbs of various-coloured serge, with jerkins and caps of steel, caught the eye. Yet how much misery was there near this smiling picture! What sighs from those in captivity responded to the shouts and laughter without! Queen Mary arose and proceeded to matins in Saint John’s Chapel. Jane awoke and addressed herself to solitary prayer; while Northumberland, who had passed a sleepless night, pacing his dungeon like a caged tiger, threw himself on his couch, and endeavoured to shut out the light of day and his own agonizing reflections.

Meanwhile, Renard and the warder had descended from the White Tower and proceeded to the Green.

“Who is that person beneath the Beauchamp Tower gazing so inquisitively at its barred windows?” demanded the former.

“It is the crow scenting the carrion – it is Mauger the headsman,” answered Winwike.

“Indeed?” replied Renard; “I would speak with him.”

V. – HOW THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND WAS ARRAIGNED OF HIGH TREASON IN WESTMINSTER HALL; AND HOW HE MADE FOUR REQUESTS AFTER THE JUDGMENT

Closely confined within the Beauchamp Tower, and treated with great rigour, it was almost a satisfaction to the Duke of Northumberland to be informed, after nearly a fortnight’s immediate prisonment, that his trial would take place on the 18th of August. Though he anticipated the result, and had no hope of escaping the block, the near approach of death did not cast him down, but on the contrary served to reassure his firmness, which of late, shaken by his altered state of health, and intense mental anxiety, had in some degree failed him. The last few weeks had wonderfully changed his appearance. Heretofore, though past the middle term of life, he exhibited no symptom of decay. His frame was strong and muscular – his deportment lofty and majestic – his eye piercing as the eagle’s. He was now shrunken – bent – with the gait and look of an old man. On the intelligence above mentioned being communicated to him, he all at once shook off this feebleness. His eye regained its fire, his frame its strength and lofty bearing; and if his figure was wasted and his brow furrowed, it detracted nothing from his dignity. Aware that his enemies would sit in judgment upon him, he determined to confront them boldly.

When the day appointed for the arraignment arrived, the Duke prepared himself betimes. He was habited in a doublet of black velvet, and wore the collar of the order of the garter. His eldest son, John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, and the Marquess of Northampton, were to be tried with him, and on the morning in question the three noblemen met for the first time since their imprisonment. The meeting took place in a spacious chamber on the first floor, now used, as has been already observed, as a mess-room, but then as a hall in which the prisoners were separately introduced at stated intervals to take exercise.

Throwing his arms round his son’s neck, and with difficulty repressing his emotion, the Duke implored his forgiveness.

“For what, my lord?” demanded the young nobleman.

“For the great wrong I have done you in placing you in this fearful jeopardy,” answered Northumberland.

“You have done me no wrong, my lord,” replied his son. “My wishes were as strongly in favour of the cause as yours, and I am therefore as culpable as yourself. And as I should have been the first to congratulate you on its success, so I ought to be the last to reproach you with its failure.”

“Nevertheless the fault is mine, and mine only,” replied the Duke. “I was the originator of the scheme – the planner of the snare into which we have fallen – and if you perish, your death will be at my door.”

“Think not of me, father,” replied the young man. “The life I received from you, I will gladly lay down for you. If you desire my forgiveness you shall have it. But I ought rather to ask your’s. And, at all events, I entreat your blessing.”

“Heaven bless you, my son, and have mercy on us both,” exclaimed Northumberland, fervently. “If the humblest supplication could move our judges in your favour it should not be wanting. But I well know they are inexorable.”

“I would rather die a thousand deaths than you so demeaned yourself,” replied Warwick. “Ask nothing from them but a speedy judgment. We go to a condemnation, not a trial.”

“True, my lord,” added Northampton; “we have nothing to hope, and therefore nothing to fear. The game is lost, and we must pay the penalty.”

“Right, my lord,” rejoined Northumberland, embracing him, “and we will discharge it to the uttermost. Would that my life could pay for all.”

“Since it cannot be, my lord,” replied Northampton, “e’en let us meet our fate like men, and give our enemies no additional triumph. To see your grace so well reconciled to your fate, must encourage those who have lost so little in comparison.”

“I am so well reconciled to it,” replied the Duke, “that I scarcely desire to be restored to my former condition. And yet,” he added, sternly, “I would gladly enjoy my former power for an hour, to be avenged on one man.”.

“His name?” inquired the Earl of Warwick, quickly.

“Simon Renard,” replied the Duke.

A deep silence ensued, which was broken at length by Northumberland, who inquired from the officer in attendance if he knew aught of the Queen’s intentions towards Lady Jane Dudley.

“Her highness, it is said, is inclined to pardon her, in consideration of her youth,” replied the officer, “but her councillors are averse to such leniency.”

“They are my enemies,” rejoined the Duke – “Again my crimes are visited on an innocent head.”

At this moment, a small arched door near one of the recesses was opened, and a warder announced that the escort was ready to convey the prisoners to Westminster Hall.

Preceded by the officer, the Duke and his companions descended a short spiral stone staircase, and, passing under an arched doorway, on either side of which was drawn up a line of halberdiers, entered upon the Green. The whole of this spacious’ area, from Saint Peter’s Chapel to the Lieutenant’s lodgings – from the walls of the tower they had quitted, to those of the White Tower, was filled with spectators. Every individual in the fortress, whose duty did not compel his attendance elsewhere, had hastened thither to see the great Duke of Northumberland proceed to his trial; and so intense was the curiosity of the crowd, that it was with great difficulty that the halberdiers-could keep them from pressing upon him. On the Duke’s appearance something like a groan was uttered, but it was instantly checked. Northumberland was fully equal to this trying moment. Aware of his own unpopularity, – aware that amid that vast concourse he had not one well-wisher, but that all rejoiced in his downfall, – he manifested no discomposure, but marched with a step so majestic, and glanced around with a look, so commanding, that those who were near him involuntarily shrunk before his regards. The deportment of Northampton was dignified and composed – that of the Earl of Warwick fierce and scornful. Lord Clinton, the Constable of the Tower, and the Lieutenant, Sir John Gage, now advanced to meet them, and the former inquired from Northumberland whether he had any request to make that could be complied with. Before an answer could be returned by the Duke, an old woman broke through the ranks of the guard, and regardless of the menaces with which she was assailed confronted him.

“Do you know me?” she cried.

“I do,” replied the Duke, a shudder passing over his frame. “You are Gunnora Braose.”

“I am,” she answered. “I am, moreover, foster-mother to the Duke of Somerset – the great, the good Lord Protector, whom you, murderer and traitor, destroyed eighteen months ago. By your false practices, he was imprisoned in the tower you have just quitted; he was led forth as you are, but he was not received like you with groans and hootings, but with tears. He was taken to Westminster Hall where you sat in judgment upon him, and condemned him, and where he will this day testify against you. Tremble! perfidious Duke, for a fearful retribution is at hand. He, whom you have destroyed, sleeps in yon chapel. Ere many days have passed, you will sleep beside him.”

“Peace! woman,” cried Lord Clinton, interfering.

“I will speak,” continued Gunnora, “were they the last words I had to utter. Behold!” she cried, waving a handkerchief before the Duke, “this cloth was dipped in thy victim’s blood. It is now beginning to avenge itself upon thee. Thou goest to judgment – to death – to death – ha! ha!”

“Remove her!” cried Lord Clinton.

“To judgment! – to judgment! – to death!” reiterated the old woman with a wild exulting laugh, as she was dragged away.

Order being restored, the procession set forth. First, marched a band of halberdiers; then came a company of arquebussiers, armed with calivers. Immediately before the Duke walked the gentleman-jailor, who, according to a custom then observed towards those charged with high treason, carried the axe with the edge turned from the prisoner. On either side of Northumberland and his companions walked an officer of the guard, with a drawn sword in his hand. The rear of the cortege was brought up by two other bands of halberdiers and arquebussiers. Taking its course across the green, and passing beneath the gloomy portal of the Bloody Tower, the train entered an archway at the left of the By-ward Tower, and crossing the drawbridge, drew up at the head of the stairs leading to the river. Here several boats were in readiness to convey them to their destination. As soon as the Duke and his companions had embarked, the gentleman-jailor followed them, and stationed himself at the head of the boat, holding the gleaming instrument of death in the same position as before.

In this way, surrounded by the escort, and attended by a multitude of smaller vessels, filled with curious spectators, the prisoners were conveyed to Westminster. No sympathy was exhibited for the Duke’s fallen state; but, on the contrary, the spectacle seemed to afford more satisfaction to the observers than the gorgeous pageant he had so recently devised for their entertainment. Northumberland was not insensible to this manifestation of dislike, though he made no remark upon it; but he could not avoid noticing, with a sensation of dread, one boat following in his wake, as near as the escort would permit, in which was seated an old woman, waving a bloodstained handkerchief, and invoking vengeance upon his head. Many of the wherries pressed round her to ascertain the cause of her vociferations, and as soon as it was understood who she was, other voices were added to hers. On landing at the stairs near Westminster Hall, the escort first disembarked, and then the Duke and his companions, who, preceded by the gentleman-jailor in the same order as before, were conducted to the place of trial. In the midst of this magnificent and unrivalled hall, which William Rufus, who built it, affirmed was “but a bedchamber in comparison of what he meant to make,” was erected an immense scaffold, hung with black cloth. At the upper extremity was a canopy of state, embroidered with the royal escutcheon in gold; and on either side were twenty-seven seats, each emblazoned with armorial bearings woven in silver. The canopy was reserved for the Duke of Norfolk, Lord High Steward of England; the chairs for the different peers appointed to hear the arraignment of the prisoners. At the lower extremity was the bar. On entering the hall, the Duke and his companions were conducted into a small chamber on the right, where they were detained till the arrival of the judges.

After some time, they were summoned by an usher, and following the attendant through two long files of halberdiers, the Duke slowly but firmly ascended the steps of the scaffold. On arriving at the bar, he bowed profoundly to the assemblage, and every peer, except the Duke of Norfolk, immediately arose, and acknowledged the salutation. Drawing himself up to his full height. Northumberland then glanced sternly around the tribunal. Not one of those upon whom his gaze fell but – scarcely a month ago – had trembled at his nod. Wherever be looked, his glance encountered an enemy. There sat Arundel, Pembroke, Shrewsbury, Rich, Huntingdon, Darcy, – the abettors in his treason, now his judges. On the right of the Lord High Steward sat Bishop Gardiner, in his capacity of Lord Chancellor: on the left, Lord Paget.

Northumberland’s indictment having been read, he thus addressed the court: —

“My lords,” he said, “I here profess my faith and obedience to the Queen’s highness, whom I confess to have most grievously offended, and beyond the hope of pardon. I shall not attempt to say anything in my own defence. But I would willingly have the opinion of the court in two points.”

“State them,’” said the Duke of Norfolk.

“First then,” replied Northumberland, “I desire to know, whether the performance of an act by the authority of the sovereign and the council, and by warrant of the great seal of England, can be construed as treason?”

“Most undoubtedly, in your grace’s case,” replied the Duke of Norfolk; “inasmuch as the great seal whence your authority was derived was not the seal of the lawful Queen of the realm, but that of a usurper, and therefore no warrant.” Northumberland bowed.

“I am answered,” he said. “And now to the second point on which I would be resolved. Is it fitting or right,” he continued, glancing fiercely around, “that those persons who are equally culpable with myself, and by whose letters and commandments I have been directed in all I have done, should be my judges, or pass upon my trial at my death?”

“Grant that others are as deeply implicated in this case as your Grace,” replied the Duke of Norfolk; “yet so long as no attainder is of record against them, they are able in the law to pass upon any trial, and cannot be challenged, except at the Queen’s pleasure.”

“I understand,” replied Northumberland, bowing coldly; “and since it is useless to urge any reasonable matter, I will at once confess the indictment, entreating your Grace to be a means of mercy for me unto the Queen.”

Judgment was then pronounced.

The Duke once more addressed them.

“I beseech you, my lords,” he said, “all to be humble suitors for me to the queens highness, that she grant me four requests.” Most of the peers having signified their assent by a slight inclination of the head, he proceeded: —

“First, that I may have that death which noblemen have had in times past, and not the other. Secondly,” and his voice faltered, “that her highness will be gracious to my children, who may hereafter do her good service, considering that they went by my commandment, who am their father, and not of their own free wills.”

“Do not include me in your solicitation, my lord,” interrupted the Earl of Warwick, haughtily. “I neither ask mercy, nor would accept it at the Queen’s hands; and prefer death to her service. What I have done, I have done on no authority save my own, and were it to do again, I would act in like manner.”

“Rash boy, you destroy yourself,” cried the Duke.

“Proceed, my lord,” observed the Duke of Norfolk, compassionately; “your son’s indiscreet speech will not weigh with us.”

“Thirdly, then,” rejoined Northumberland, “I would entreat that I may have appointed to me some learned man for the instruction and quieting of my conscience. And fourthly, that her highness will send two of the council to commune with me, to whom I will declare such matters as shall be expedient for her and the state. And thus I beseech you all to pray for me.”

“Doubt it not, my lord,” rejoined Norfolk; “and doubt not, also, that your requests shall be duly represented to the Queen.”

“Add, if it please your grace,” pursued Northumberland, “a few words in favour of the unhappy Lady Jane Dudley, who, as is well known to many now sitting in judgment upon me, so far from aspiring to the crown, was by enticement and force compelled to accept it.”

The Duke then retired, and the Marquess of Northampton having advanced to the bar, and pleaded to his indictment, sentence was passed on him likewise.

His example was followed by the Earl of Warwick, who heard his condemnation pronounced with a smile.

“I thank you, my lords,” he said, when the sentence was uttered, “and crave only this favour of the Queen, that as the goods of those condemned to death are totally confiscated, her highness will be pleased to let my debts be paid.”

Upon this, he bowed to the tribunal and withdrew.

During the trial, an immense concourse had assembled in the open space in front of the hall, waiting in breathless impatience for the result. It was not till towards evening that this was known. The great doors were then thrown open, and a troop of halberdiers came forth to clear the way for the prisoners. A deep dead silence prevailed, and every eye was bent upon the doorway. From beneath it marched the gentleman-jailor, carrying the axe with its edge towards the prisoners. This was enough. The mob knew they were condemned, and expressed their satisfaction by a sullen roar.

Suddenly, the voice of a woman was heard exclaiming, “See ye not the axe? See ye not the edge turned towards him? He is condemned. The slayer of the good Duke of Somerset is condemned. Shout! Shout!”

And in obedience to her commands, a loud cry was raised by the mob. Amid this clamour and rejoicing, Northumberland and his companions were conveyed to their boat, and so to the Tower.