“I have already received my orders,” replied Ugo.
“On thy arrival there I will find means of secretly communicating with thee,” said Somerset. “None of us will appear until the right moment, and then only when least expected.”
“I understand, your Grace.” And with a profound obeisance to the lord protector and the council, he departed.
“That fellow is a double-dyed traitor,” observed Warwick; “but he is serviceable. Without him this conspiracy would never have been detected.”
“Strange that the admiral should place such faith in him,” observed Lord Russell. “Traitor is written in his countenance.”
“Is it your Highness’s intention to disclose this plot to the king?” inquired Southampton.
“No, my lord,” replied the protector. “My deeply-designing brother hath obtained such a hold upon his royal nephew’s affections, that there is no telling how he might act. His majesty must be kept in profound ignorance both of the plot and counterplot to the last. Any efforts he may then make to save his guilty uncle will be vain. To-morrow, my lords, we must all secretly assemble at the Tower.”
On this, the council broke up, but the protector and Warwick remained for some time longer in deep debate.
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Chapter IX
HOW THE KING WAS TAKEN TO THE TOWER BY THE ADMIRAL, AND WHAT HAPPENED THERE
The important day arrived which was to mar or make the admiral’s fortunes.
Though he had no misgivings as to the result of his daring project, and entertained no suspicion that he had been betrayed, he was weighed down by that extraordinary depression which is not unfrequently the forerunner of dire calamity. His slumbers had been disturbed by ominous dreams, and quitting his uneasy couch at an early hour, he occupied himself in writing many letters, which he subsequently sent off by trusty emissaries.
Amongst those to whom he wrote was the Princess Elizabeth, and his letter to her was full of passionate love. With out entering into particulars of his project, which it might not have been safe to communicate, he told her that she might soon expect to hear important news, and that he hoped, ere long, to be in a position to claim fulfilment of her promise.
This correspondence finished and despatched, he sent for the principal officers of his household, and gave them such instructions as he deemed expedient. Other necessary business occupied the early part of the morning. Before the hour had arrived when he had appointed to attend at Whitehall, his gloom and despondency had given way to ardor and impatience.
Clad in a suit of black armor, inlaid with gold, having a black plume in his helmet, and mounted on a powerful steed, richly caparisoned, he repaired to Whitehall at the head of an escort of some fifty or sixty well-armed and well-mounted men. A retinue so numerous would have excited astonishment and roused suspicion as to its object in anyone but the admiral, but he had been so long in the habit of moving about with an almost royal guard, that little surprise was manifested at the number of his attendants.
It was remarked, however, that the escort was more completely armed than usual, most of the men being provided with corslets, with steel skirts and morions, and all of them being furnished with arquebuses or demi-lances. Close behind his lord rode the treacherous Ugo Harrington, secretly exulting that his hour of vengeance was well-nigh come.
The day was raw and dull, a frost of some weeks’ duration having just broken up, and it seemed just possible that the king might put off his visit to the Tower on account of the unpleasant state of the weather. Any apprehensions, however, which the admiral might have entertained on this score, were dispelled by the appearance of Edward himself, who, wrapped in a purple velvet mantle, embroidered with gold, and lined and bordered with ermine, met him as he entered the palace.
Mounted on his milk-white palfrey, and defended by his well-lined mantle against the cold, Edward rode by his uncle’s side to the Tower. He was unattended by his own bodyguard, the admiral’s large escort appearing sufficient for his protection. Little did he anticipate the strange part he would be called upon to play; little did he think that he was being led almost as a captive to the Tower, and that it was his aspiring uncle’s intention forcibly to detain him there unless he complied with his wishes. On his part, the admiral was so eager to secure his prize, that he hurried on his royal nephew almost faster than was quite consistent with etiquette. An advanced guard cleared the way for them, so that no delay occurred. But though the admiral rode on thus rapidly, and compelled the king to keep pace with him, he did not fail to notice certain personages stationed at the corners of particular streets in the city, with whom he exchanged signs. Half an hour brought them to Tower-hill, and as the grim old fortress rose before them, Seymour’s breast beat high. Could he have foreseen what awaited him there—could he have suspected the snare laid for him—he would never have entered those gates, but, turning hastily about, and calling to his men to follow him, would have clapped Spurs into his steed, and ridden for very life. The grey walls of the fortress looked stern and menacing, but they had no terrors for him. Beside him were the tall wooden posts of the scaffold, but he would not even have noted them, had not the king called his attention to a dark figure standing beside them, remarking, with a shudder, that he thought it was the headsman.