“The last defect might be easily amended, your Grace,” rejoined Edward, in a tone of pique, “though I cannot so readily give my uncle, Sir Thomas, my Lord of Hertford’s years and experience. But be it as ye will. Ye are the best judges of what is fittest for me. I heartily thank your Grace and the lords and gentlemen of the council for the care taken of me.”
Thus were Seymour’s hopes rudely dashed to the ground. But he was somewhat cheered by a significant look directed towards him by his royal nephew—a look that did not escape the vigilance of the lord protector.
“If I cannot be governor of his person, at all events I shall have unlimited influence over him in secret,” mentally ejaculated Seymour.
Their business over, the lord chancellor and the rest of the council retired. They were succeeded by the lords spiritual, headed by Gardiner, who, as chief prelate, walked first. Tunstal having departed with the council, the Bishop of Winchester was followed by Doctor Bonner, Bishop of London, and the long list of church dignitaries was closed by Doctor Bush, Bishop of Bristol.
Then came the lords temporal, foremost of whom was the Marquis of Dorset. The Earls of Oxford, Shrewsbury, Derby, and Sussex, succeeded. Each noble as he arose from paying homage, exclaimed with a loud and earnest voice, “God save your Grace!” Then came Lord Morley, Lord Dacre of the North, and the Lords Ferrers, Clinton, Gray, and Scrope. These were succeeded by the Lords Abergavenny, Conyers, Latimer, Fitzwalter, and Bray, with a multitude of others whom it would be tedious to particularize, neither can we call over the long roll of knights and esquires who subsequently vowed allegiance to their youthful sovereign.
Suffice it to mention that among those who thus swore fidelity to the new king were the Lord Mayor of London, and the aldermen and sheriffs in their scarlet robes.
It was while the civic authorities were yet in Edward’s presence, that he prayed them to tarry a moment, and, descending from the throne, besought his elder uncle to knight him.
Whereupon, the lord protector immediately drew his sword and dubbed the king; after which, the youthful monarch took his uncle’s sword, and, commanding the lord mayor to kneel, struck him on the shoulder with the blade with right good will, bidding him arise Sir Henry Hubblethorne.
Being a very portly personage, the lord mayor had much ado to get up again, but, having accomplished the feat, with considerable embarrassment he proffered his thanks to the youthful king, who could scarce forbear from laughing at his confusion.
Then the young monarch again gracefully ascended the throne. As soon as he faced the assemblage, they all cried out together, “God save the noble King Edward!”
The trumpets were then sounded.
Then the young king took off his cap with much majesty of action, and stood erect before them all.
Silence immediately ensued—a tag might have been heard to fall. Amidst this deep hush, in tones that vibrated through every breast, and stirred up the strongest feelings of loyalty and devotion, the young king said:
“We heartily thank you, my lords all. Hereafter, in all that ye shall have to do with us for any suit or causes, ye shall be heartily welcome.”
Once more the trumpets were sounded. Cannon replied from without. And so the ceremony ended.
A grand banquet followed, at which all the lords assisted—the queen-dowager sitting on the king’s right, and the lord protector on the left.
That night, and for some time afterwards, the whole of the council, upper and lower, with many of the nobles and knights and their attendants, were lodged within the Tower.
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Chapter V
HOW KING EDWARD VI. WENT FORTH BETIMES INTO THE PRIVY GARDEN OF THE TOWER.—HOW HE THERE ENCOUNTERED THE YOUTHFUL LADY JANE GREY, AND OF THE PROFITABLE DISCOURSE THAT ENSUED BETWEEN THEM
During the latter part of the reign of Henry VIII., the Tower had been little more than a strongly-fortified, well-garrisoned state prison. Its dungeons were crowded with sufferers from the terrible statute of the “Six Articles,” and with important state delinquents; but the grand apartments of the palace were closed, and the council chambers in the White Tower but rarely visited. Never, indeed, since the luckless Catherine Howard was brought to the block, had the ruthless monarch set foot within the fortress. Well might he avoid the Tower, for its very stones would have cried out against him! He could not have passed over the open space in front of Saint Peter’s Chapel, and have marked that blood-sprinkled spot, where, according to tradition, no grass will grow, without thinking of the two lovely women who had there been put to death, after vainly suing to him for mercy. He could not have looked around at the various towers girding the inner ward, without recalling the hundreds whom he had there immured. To him, the Tower must have been full of dreadful memories—memories of the noble, the wise, the good, the beautiful and once-beloved, whom he had held in durance in its cells, or delivered over to the headsman. If all those who had perished by his decrees, by the axe, or at the stake, could have been collected together on Tower Green, they would well-nigh have filled that spacious area. No wonder Henry, proof as he was against remorse, should shun the scene of his atrocities.