“I will go with you, Sir John,” said Sir Thomas Seymour.
“And with your Majesty’s permission, I will repair to Greenwich, and advise the Princess Mary of your commands,” said Sir George Blagge. “I am assured she will hasten to obey them.”
“I am much beholden to you, sirs,” replied the king. “If Heaven shall grant me so much life, I look to see all three to-morrow. Let the whole of the council attend at the same time. Give me a draught of wine—and quickly, knave,” he added, to a cup-bearer near him. “I feel exceeding faint.”
“Saints grant that to-morrow be not too late!—his looks alarm me,” observed the Constable of the Tower, as he withdrew with Seymour and Blagge.
Contrary to expectation, Henry was somewhat better next day. He had slept a little during the night, having obtained some slight respite from the excruciating tortures he endured. Resolved to maintain his regal state and dignity to the last, he gave orders that as much ceremony should be observed at this his parting interview with his children as if it had been a grand reception. Causing the great cumbrous chair, which he now rarely quitted, to be placed beneath a cloth of estate embroidered with the arms of England, he sat in it propped up with velvet pillows, and wrapped in a long gown of white tylsent, flowered with gold, and lined and bordered with fur, and having wide sleeves. His head was covered with the embroidered black silk skull-cap, which he now customarily wore. On the opposite side of the chamber, in a chair of state, but not under a canopy, sat Queen Catherine, surrounded by Viscountess Lisle, Lady Tyrwhitt, and other ladies.
On the left of the king stood the Earl of Hertford, bearing his wand of office as great chamberlain. The pearled collar of the Garter with the George attached to it encircled his neck, and the gold band of the order was worn below his knee. He was magnificently apparelled in a doublet of white satin, embroidered all over with pearls of damask gold, with sleeves of the same stuff, formed down with threads of Venice silver. Over this he wore a cassock of blue velvet, embroidered with gold, and furred. Though not so strikingly handsome as his younger brother, Sir Thomas Seymour, the Earl of Hertford was yet a very noble-looking personage, with a fine cast of countenance, a tall, stately figure, and a commanding deportment. His eyes were dark and penetrating, but a slight contraction of the brows gave a somewhat sinister effect to his glances. His forehead was high and bald, his features regular and well shaped, the distinguishing expression of the face being gravity, tinctured by melancholy. He had none of the boldness of look and manner that characterized his brother, but more caution, and perhaps subtlety. His complexion was pale, and his beard somewhat thin. Hertford’s career had been one of uninterrupted success. By the king’s favor he had risen to greatness. On Henry’s marriage with his sister, Jane Seymour, he was created Viscount Beauchamp. Sent ambassador to Paris in 1540, in the following year he received the Order of the Garter. In 1542 he was appointed Lord Great Chamberlain of England for life. Two years later, in the war with Scotland, he accompanied the Duke of Norfolk to that kingdom with the title of Lieutenant-General of the North; and when Henry proceeded to the siege of Boulogne, he was named one of the four councillors intrusted with the care of the realm. Only a few months ago he had been made Earl of Hertford. But high as he had risen, the aspiring noble looked to rise much higher. His dreams of ambition seemed about to be fulfilled. Supreme power was almost within his grasp. His enemies were removed or crushed. Surrey had lost his head—a like doom awaited Norfolk. Soon—very soon must come the day when Henry would be called to his account. Then the boy Edward would mount the throne—but he, his uncle, his guardian, would rule in his name. What more the earl dreamed of may appear when we have occasion to sound the inmost recesses of his breast.