life to Queen Mary!”
Forty-three years had passed since John Dudley had stood on Tower Hill, a boy of nine, frightened and bewildered, not daring to look at the man who was mounting the scaffold. Then he had vowed: “I will be a ruler of men.” And so he had been; he had risen from penniless orphan to be virtually ruler of England. He had started even lower than his father and he had climbed higher; but his steps had led him back to the same grim spot and it had taken him forty-three years—almost to the day—to complete his circuitous journey.
Even as he left the Gate House for the scaffold, he was wondering desperately if there was yet time to save himself. It had been such an arduous journey, and Ambition, his constant companion on that journey, would allow him no other. Love and Honor had to be cast aside to serve Ambition’s demands. Now Ambition reminded him that little mattered except that John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, saved himself and continued the onward march.
He was ready to abandon the Queen he had set upon the throne and swear allegiance to the new one. It mattered little if young Jane and Guildford went to the scaffold. There must be scapegoats. But if John Dudley lived he could start at once to rebuild the Dudley fortunes.
He was ready to lay before Mary’s councillors all the information he had; he would show her who were her enemies; he would serve her to the end of his days; he would renounce the Protestant Faith. All he asked in return was his life.
But it was too late. He had too many enemies who remembered his arrogance and envied his genius; he had never cared that people should love him, only that they should serve him. It was no use asking for their friendship now.
The bell was tolling. John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, such a short while ago the most powerful man in England, walked slowly to the scaffold and laid his head upon the block.
In the Beauchamp Tower, Robert listened to the bell’s tolling, to the shouts of the people; and he knew that his father was dead.
TWO
At Hatfield House the Princess Elizabeth lay in her bed. She was sick, her household declared, of a malady which afflicted her from time to time. This malady never failed to come to her aid at those times when she was uncertain how to act; and there had been many occasions when, by discreetly retiring to the comparative safety of her curtained bed, she had avoided a trying situation.
Bed was obviously the place for her at this time; so, obediently the malady returned.
A courier had brought a letter to her that morning; it was from the Duke of Northumberland. Her brother, the King, was, according to the Duke’s communication, urgently desiring to see his dear sister. “Your Grace should come with all speed,” said the message, “for the King is very ill.”
But the Princess, who had always instinctively bestowed her smiles in the right quarters, was naturally not without friends. Poor as she was and mighty as was Northumberland, she was the richer in friends.
Concealed on his person, the courier had another note for the Princess. It had been sewn in his shoe for safety, and when she read it Elizabeth saw that it had been written by a certain William Cecil, a man whom she believed to be her friend. “The King is already dead,” ran the note. “It is the wish of Northumberland to place Jane Grey and his son Guildford on the throne, and to seize the persons of yourself and your sister. To obey the summons would be to place yourself in Northumberland’s hands.”
And so to bed went the Princess Elizabeth, after penning a note to the Duke regretting that she was too ill to leave Hatfield.
She was in danger. She knew it. But when had she ever been far from danger? She thought of gentle Jane Grey whom Northumberland would make Queen of England. Poor Jane! What did she think of these honors which were to be thrust upon her? Jane was learned, but what was the good of erudition if cunning did not go with it? Jane was a puppet. She would be no more Queen of England than Edward had been King. Her fate had been decided on when she had allowed Northumberland to marry her to his son Guildford. It had been obvious to Elizabeth what would follow as