What happened at the
Jousts.
The first of May arrived; and though
destined to set in darkness and despair, it arose
in sunshine and smiles.
All were astir at an early hour within
the castle, and preparations were made for the approaching
show. Lists were erected in the upper quadrangle,
and the whole of the vast area was strewn with sand.
In front of the royal lodgings was raised a gallery,
the centre of which, being set apart for the queen
and her dames, was covered with cloth of gold
and crimson velvet, on which the royal arms were gorgeously
emblazoned. The two wings were likewise richly
decorated, and adorned with scutcheons and pennons,
while from the battlements of the eastern side of
the court were hung a couple of long flags.
As soon as these preparations were
completed, a throng of pages, esquires, armourers,
archers, and henchmen, entered it from the Norman
gateway, and took up positions within the barriers,
the space without the pales being kept by a double
line of halberdiers. Next came the trumpeters,
mounted on richly caparisoned horses, and having their
clarions decorated with silken bandrols, fringed with
gold. Stationing themselves at the principal
entrance of the lists, they were speedily joined by
the heralds, pursuivants, and other officers of the
tilt-yard.
Presently afterwards, the Duke of
Suffolk, who was appointed judge of the lists, appeared,
and rode round the arena to see that all was in order.
Apparently well satisfied with the survey, he dismounted,
and proceeded to the gallery.
Meanwhile, the crowd within the court
was increased by a great influx of the different members
of the household, amongst whom were Shoreditch, Paddington,
and Hector Cutbeard.
“Marry, this promises to be
a splendid sight!” said the clerk of the kitchen;
“the king will, no doubt, do his devoir gallantly
for the sake of the bright eyes that will look upon
him.”
“You mean the queen’s, of course?”
said Shoreditch.
“I mean hers who may be queen,”
replied Cutbeard; “Mistress Jane Seymour.”
“May be queen!” exclaimed
Shoreditch. “You surely do not think the
king will divorce his present consort?”
“Stranger things have happened,”
replied Cutbeard significantly. “If I am
not greatly out of my reckoning,” he added, “these
are the last jousts Queen Anne will behold.”
“The saints forefend!”
cried Shoreditch; “what reason have you for
thinking so?”
“That I may not declare,”
replied Cutbeard; “but before the jousts are
over you will see whether I have been rightly informed
or not.”
“Hush!” exclaimed Shoreditch.
“There is a tall monk eyeing us strangely; and
I am not certain that he has not overheard what you
have said.”
“He is welcome to the intelligence,”
replied Cutbeard; “the end will prove its truth.”
Though this was uttered in a confident
tone, he nevertheless glanced with some misgiving
at the monk, who stood behind Paddington. The
object of the investigation was a very tall man, with
a cowl drawn over his brow. He had a ragged black
beard, fierce dark eyes, and a complexion like bronze.
Seeing Cutboard’s glance anxiously fixed upon
him, he advanced towards him, and said in a low tone “You
have nothing to fear from me; but talk not so loud
if you value your head.”
“So saying he proceeded to another part of the
lists.
“Who is that tall monk?” asked Paddington.
“Devil knows!” answered
Cutbeard; “I never saw him before. But he
has a villainous cut-throat look.”
Soon afterwards a flourish of trumpets
was heard, and amid their joyous bruit the queen,
sumptuously arrayed in cloth of gold and ermine, and
having a small crown upon her brow, entered the gallery,
and took her seat within it. Never had she looked
more beautiful than on this fatal morning, and in
the eyes of all the beholders she completely eclipsed
her rival, Jane Seymour. The latter, who stood
on her right hard, and was exquisitely attired, had
a thoughtful and anxious air, as if some grave matter
weighed upon her.
While the queen’s attendants
were taking their places, Lord Rochford, accompanied
by Sir Henry Norris and the Earls of Surrey and Essex,
entered the lists. The four knights were completely
armed, and mounted on powerful steeds barded with
rich cloth of gold, embroidered with silver letters.
Each had a great crimson plume in his helmet.
They rode singly round the arena, and bowed as they
passed the royal gallery, Norris bending almost to
his saddle-bow while performing his salutation to
the queen.
The field being thus taken by the
challengers, who retired to the upper end of the court,
a trumpet was thrice sounded by a herald, and an answer
was immediately made by another herald stationed opposite
Henry the Seventh’s buildings. When the
clamour ceased, the king fully armed, and followed
by the Marquis of Dorset, Sir Thomas Wyat, and the
Lord Clifford, rode into the lists.
Henry was equipped in a superb suit
of armour, inlaid with gold, and having a breastplate
of the globose form, then in vogue; his helmet was
decorated with a large snow-white plume. The trappings
of his steed were of crimson velvet, embroidered with
the royal arms, and edged with great letters of massive
gold bullion, full of pearls and precious stones.
He was attended by a hundred gentlemen, armourers,
and other officers, arrayed in white velvet.
Having ridden round the court like
the others, and addressed his salutation exclusively
to Jane Seymour, Henry took his station with his companions
near the base of the Round Tower, the summit of which
was covered with spectators, as were the towers and
battlements around.
A trumpet was now sounded, and the
king and the Lord Rochford having each taken a lance
from his esquire, awaited the signal to start from
the Duke of Suffolk, who was seated in the left wing
of the royal gallery. It was not long delayed.
As the clarion sounded clearly and loudly for the
third time, he called out that the champions might
go.
No sooner were the words uttered,
than the thundering tramp of the steeds resounded,
and the opponents met midway. Both their lances
were shivered; but as the king did not, in the slightest
degree, change his position, he was held to have the
best of it. Courses were then run by the others,
with varied success, the Marquis of Dorset being unhorsed
by Sir Henry Norris, whose prowess was rewarded by
the plaudits of the assemblage, and what was infinitely
more dear to him, by the smiles of the queen.
“You have ridden well, Norris,”
cried Henry, advancing towards him. “Place
yourself opposite me, and let us splinter a lance together.”
As Norris reined back his steed, in
compliance with the injunction, the tall monk stepped
from out the line, and drawing near him, said, “If
you wish to prove victorious, aim at the upper part
of the king’s helmet.” And with these
words he withdrew.
By the time Norris had placed his
lance in the rest, the trumpet sounded. The next
moment the word was given, and the champions started.
Henry rode with great impetuosity, and struck Norris
in the gorget with such good will that both he and
his steed were shaken.
But Norris was more fortunate.
Following the advice of the monk, he made the upper
part of the king’s helmet his mark, and the blow
was so well dealt, that, though he did not dislodge
the royal horseman, it drove back his steed on its
haunches.
The success was so unequivocal that
Norris was at once declared the victor by the judge.
No applause, however, followed the decision, from a
fear of giving offence to the king.
Norris dismounted, and committing
his steed to the care of an esquire, and his lance
to a page, took off his helmet and advanced towards
the royal gallery, near which the Earl of Surrey and
Sir Thomas Wyat were standing talking with the other
dames. As Norris drew near, Anne leaned
over the edge of the gallery, and smiled at him tenderly,
and, whether by design or accident, let fall her embroidered
handkerchief.
Norris stooped to pick it up, regarding
her as he did so with a glance of the most passionate
devotion. A terrible gaze, however, was fixed
on the unfortunate pair at that moment. It was
that of the king. While Henry was careering in
front of the gallery to display himself before Jane
Seymour, a tall monk approached him, and said, “Look
at Sir Henry Norris!”
Thus addressed, Henry raised his beaver,
that he might see more distinctly, and beheld Norris
take up the embroidered handkerchief, which he recognised
as one that he had given, in the early days of his
affection, to the queen.
The sight stung him almost to madness,
and he had great difficulty in repressing his choler.
But if this slight action, heightened to importance,
as it was, by the looks of the parties, roused his
ire, it was nothing to what followed. Instead
of restoring it to the queen, Norris, unconscious
of the danger in which he stood, pressed the handkerchief
fervently to his lips.
“I am hitherto the victor of
the jousts,” he said; “may I keep this
as the prize?”
Anne smiled assent.
“It is the proudest I ever obtained,”
pursued Norris. And he placed it within his helmet.
“Does your majesty see that?”
cried the tall monk, who still remained standing near
the king.
“Death of my life!” exclaimed
Henry, “it is the very handkerchief I gave her
before our union! I can contain myself no longer,
and must perforce precipitate matters. What ho!”
he cried, riding up to that part of the gallery where
the Duke of Suffolk was seated “let
the jousts be stopped!”
“Wherefore, my dear liege?”
said Suffolk. “The Earl of Surrey and Sir
Thomas Wyat are about to run a course.”
“Let them he stopped I say!”
roared Henry, in a tone that admitted of no dispute.
And wheeling round his charger, he dashed into the
middle of the barriers, shouting in loud, authoritative
accents, “The jousts are at an end! Disperse!”
The utmost consternation was occasioned
by the announcement. The Duke of Suffolk instantly
quitted his seat, and pressed through the crowd to
the king, who whispered a few hasty words in his ear.
Henry then called to the Earl of Surrey, the Marquis
of Dorset, the Lord Clifford, Wyat, and some others,
and bidding them attend him, prepared to quit the court.
As he passed the royal gallery, Anne called to him
in an agonised voice “Oh, Henry!
what is the matter? what have I done?”
But without paying the slightest attention
to her, he dashed through the Norman Gate, galloped
down the lower quadrangle, and quitted the castle.
The confusion that ensued may be imagined.
All saw that something extraordinary and terrible
had taken place, though few knew precisely what it
was. Dismay sat in every countenance, and the
general anxiety was heightened by the agitation of
the queen, who, uttering a piercing scream, fell back,
and was borne off in a state of insensibility by her
attendants.
Unable to control himself at the sight,
Norris burst through the guard, and rushing up the
great staircase, soon gained the apartment to which
the queen had been conveyed. Owing to the timely
aid afforded her, she was speedily restored, and the
first person her eyes fell upon was her lover.
At the sight of him a glance of affection illumined
her features, but it was instantly changed into an
expression of alarm.
At this juncture the Duke of Suffolk,
who, with Bouchier and a party of halberdiers, had
entered the room, stepped up to the queen, and said-"Will
it please you, madam, to retire to an inner apartment?
I grieve to say you are under arrest.”
“Arrest!” exclaimed Anne; “for what
crime, your grace?”
“You are charged with incontinency
towards the king’s highness,” replied
Suffolk sternly.
“But I am innocent!” cried
Anne “as Heaven shall judge me, I
am innocent!”
“I trust you will be able to
prove yourself so, madam,” said Suffolk.
“Sir Henry Norris, your person is likewise attached.”
“Then I am lost indeed!” exclaimed Anne
distractedly.
“Do not let these false and
malignant accusations alarm you, madam,” said
Norri. “You have nothing to fear. I
will die protesting your innocence.”
“Sir Henry Norris,” said
the duke coldly, “your own imprudence has brought
about this sad result.”
“I feel it,” replied Norris;
“and I deserve the worst punishment that can
be inflicted upon me for it. But I declare to
you as I will declare upon the rack, if I am placed
upon it that the queen is wholly innocent.
Let her not suffer for my fault.”
“You hear what Sir Henry says,”
cried Anne; “and I call upon you to recollect
the testimony he has borne.”
“I shall not fail to do so,
madam,” replied Suffolk. “Your majesty
will have strict justice.”
“Justice!” echoed Anne,
with a laugh of bitter incredulity. “Justice
from Henry the Eighth?”
“Beseech you, madam, do not
destroy yourself,” said Norris, prostrating
himself before her. “Recollect by whom you
are surrounded. My folly and madness have brought
you into this strait, and I sincerely implore your
pardon for it.”
“You are not to blame, Norris,”
said Anne; “it is fate, not you, that has destroyed
me. The hand that has dealt this blow is that
of a queen within the tomb.”
“Captain Bouchier,” said
the Duke of Suffolk, addressing that officer, who
stood near him, “you will convey Sir Henry Norris
to the strong-room in the lower gateway, whence he
will be removed to the Tower.”
“Farewell for ever, Norris!”
cried Anne. “We shall meet no more on earth.
In what has fallen on me I recognise the hand of retribution.
But the same measure which has been meted to me shall
be dealt to others. I denounce Jane Seymour before
Heaven! She shall not long retain the crown she
is about to snatch from me!”
“That imprecation had better
have been spared, madam,” said the duke.
“Be advised, my gracious mistress,”
cried Norris, “and do not let your grief and
distraction place you in the power of your enemies.
All may yet go well.”
“I denounce her!” persisted
Anne, wholly disregarding the caution; “and
I also denounce the king. No union of his shall
be happy, and other blood than mine shall flow.”
At a sign from the duke she was here
borne, half suffocated with emotion, to an inner apartment,
while Norris was conveyed by Bouchier and a company
of halberdiers to the lower gateway, and placed within
the prison chamber.