“God save Queen Mary!” cried the council.
A few dissentient voices were raised. But the Earl of Pembroke drew his sword, and cried in a loud voice, “As heaven shall help me, I will strike that man dead who refuses to shout for Queen Mary.” And he threw his cap in the air.
“Hear me,” continued Renard, “and learn that resistance is in vain. I hereby proclaim a free pardon, in Queen Mary’s name, to all who shall freely acknowledge her, excepting always the family of the Duke of Northumberland, who is a traitor, and upon whose head a price is set. I require your grace,” he added to Suffolk, “to deliver up the keys of the Tower.”
“They are here,” replied the duke, pointing to Magog who bore them.
“Do you yield, my lord?” cried Lord Guilford, passionately.
“It is useless to contend further,” replied Suffolk. “All is lost.”
“True,” replied Jane. “My lords, I resign the crown into your hands; and Heaven grant you may prove more faithful to Mary than you have been to me. In obedience to you, my lord,” she continued, addressing her husband, “I acted a violence on myself, and have been guilty of a grievous offence. But the present is my own act. And I willingly abdicate the throne to correct another’s fault, if so great a fault can be corrected by my resignation and sincere acknowledgment.”
“You shall not abdicate it, Jane,” cried Dudley, fiercely. “I will not yield. Stand by me, Cholmondeley, and these audacious traitors shall find I am still master here. Let those who are for Queen Jane surround the throne.”
As he spoke, he glanced round authoritatively, but no one stirred.
“Speak!” he cried, in accents of rage and disappointment. “Are ye all traitors? Is no one true to his allegiance?”
But no answer was returned.
“They are no traitors, my lord,” said Simon Renard. “They are loyal subjects of Queen Mary.”
“He speaks truly, my dear lord,” replied Jane. “It is useless to contend further. I am no longer queen.”
So saying, she descended from the throne.
“My lords,” she continued, addressing the council, “you are now masters here. Have I your permission to retire?”
“You have, noble lady,” replied Pembroke. “But it grieves me to add, that you must perforce remain within the Tower till the pleasure of her highness respecting you has been ascertained.”
“A prisoner!” exclaimed Jane, trembling. “And my husband, you will suffer him to accompany me?”
“It cannot be,” interposed Simon Renard, harshly; “Lord Guilford Dudley must be separately confined.”
“You cannot mean this cruelty, sir?” cried Jane, indignantly.
“Do not sue for me, Jane,” rejoined Dudley. “I will not accept the smallest grace at his hands.”
“Guards!” cried Renard, “I command you, in Queen Mary’s name, to arrest Lord Guilford Dudley, and convey him to the Beauchamp Tower.”
The order was instantly obeyed. Jane then took a tender farewell of her husband, and accompanied by Cicely and Cholmondeley, and others of her attendants, was escorted to the palace.
She had no sooner taken her departure, than letters were despatched by the council to the Duke of Northumberland, commanding him instantly to disband his army. And the Earl of Arundel was commissioned to proceed with a force to arrest him.
“I have a brave fellow who shall accompany your lordship,” said Renard, motioning to Gilbert, who stood among his followers.
“Hark’ee, sirrah!” he added, “you have already approved your fidelity to Queen Mary. Approve it still further by the capture of the duke, and, in the queen’s name, I promise you a hundred pounds in lands to you and your heirs, and the degree of an esquire. And now, my lords, to publicly proclaim Queen Mary.”
With this the whole train departed from the Tower, and proceeded to Cheapside, where, by sound of trumpet, the new sovereign was proclaimed by the title of “Mary, Queen of England, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith.”
Shouts rent the air, and every manifestation of delight was exhibited. “Great was the triumph,” writes an eye-witness of the ceremony; “for my part, I never saw the like, and, by the report of others, the like was never seen. The number of caps that were thrown up at the proclamation was not to be told. The Earl of Pembroke threw away his cap full of angels. I saw myself money thrown out of the windows for joy. The bonfires were without number; and what with shouting and crying of the people, and ringing of bells, there could no man hear almost what another said, besides banqueting, and skipping the streets for joy.”