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"In sooth he cannot bear to come and sit in judgment on one he hath
known so long and closely," said Richard; "but he hath bidden me to
come hither and remain so as to bring him a full report of all."

"How doth my Lady Countess take that?" asked Humfrey.

"I question whether the Countess would let him go if he wished it.
She is altogether changed in mind, and come round to her first love
for this Lady, declaring that it is all her Lord's fault that the
custody was taken from them, and that she could and would have
hindered all this."

"That may be so," said Humfrey. "If all be true that is whispered,
there have been dealings which would not have been possible at
Sheffield."

"So it may be. In any wise my Lady is bitterly grieved, and they
send for thy mother every second day to pacify her."

"Dear mother!" murmured Cis; "when shall I see her again?"

"I would that she had thee for a little space, my wench," said
Richard; "thou hast lost thy round ruddy cheeks. Hast been sick?"

"Nay, sir, save as we all are--sick at heart! But all seems well now
you are here. Tell me of little Ned. Is he as good scholar as
ever?"

"Verily he is. We intend by God's blessing to bring him up for the
ministry. I hope in another year to take him to Cambridge. Thy
mother is knitting his hosen of gray and black already."

Other questions and answers followed about Bridgefield tidings, which
still evidently touched Cicely as closely as if she had been a born
Talbot. There was a kind of rest in dwelling on these before coming
to the sadder, more pressing concern of her other life. It was not
till the slow striking of the Castle clock warned them that they had
less than an hour to spend together that they came to closer matters,
and Richard transferred to Cicely those last sad messages to her
Queen, which he had undertaken for Babington and Tichborne.

"The Queen hath shed many tears for them," she said, "and hath writ
to the French and Spanish ambassadors to have masses said for them.
Poor Antony! Did he send no word to me, dear father?"

The man being dead, Mr. Talbot saw no objection to telling her how he
had said he had never loved any other, though he had been false to
that love.

"Ah, poor Antony!" said Cis, with her grave simplicity. "But it
would not have been right for me to be a hindrance to the marriage of
one who could never have me."

"While he loved you it would," said Humfrey hastily. "Yea," as she
lifted up her eyes to him, "it would so, as my father will tell you,
because he could not truly love that other woman."

Richard smiled sadly, and could not but assent to his son's honest
truth and faith.

"Then," said Cis, with the, same straightforwardness, sprung of their
old fraternal intercourse, "you must quit all love for me save a
brother's, Humfrey; for my Queen mother made me give her my word on
my duty never to wed you."

"I know," returned Humfrey calmly. "I have known all that these two
years; but what has that to do with my love?"

"Come, come, children," said Richard, hardening himself though his
eyes were moist; "I did not come here to hear you two discourse like
the folks in a pastoral! We may not waste time. Tell me, child, if
thou be not forbidden, hath she any purpose for thee?"

"O sir, I fear that what she would most desire is to bestow me abroad
with some of her kindred of Lorraine. But I mean to strive hard
against it, and pray her earnestly. And, father, I have one great
purpose. She saith that these cruel statesmen, who are all below in
this castle, have hindered Queen Elizabeth from ever truly hearing
and knowing all, and from speaking with her as woman to woman.
Father, I will go to London, I will make my way to the Queen, and
when she hears who I am--of her own blood and kindred--she must
listen to me; and I will tell her what my mother Queen really is, and
how cruelly she has been played upon, and entreat of her to see her
face to face and talk with her, and judge whether she can have done
all she is accused of."

"Thou art a brave maiden, Cis," exclaimed Humfrey with deep feeling.

"Will you take me, sir?" said Cicely, looking up to Master Richard.

"Child, I cannot say at once. It is a perilous purpose, and requires
much to be thought over."

"But you will aid me?" she said earnestly.

"If it be thy duty, woe be to me if I gainsay thee," said Richard;
"but there is no need to decide as yet. We must await the issue of
this trial, if the trial ever take place."

"Will Cavendish saith," put in Humfrey, "that a trial there will be
of some sort, whether the Lady consent to plead or not."

"Until that is ended we can do nothing," said his father. "Meantime,
Cicely child, we shall be here at hand, and be sure that I will not
be slack to aid thee in what may be thy duty as a daughter. So rest
thee in that, my wench, and pray that we may be led to know the
right."

And Richard spoke as a man of high moral courage in making this
promise, well knowing that it might involve himself in great danger.
The worst that could befall Cicely might be imprisonment, and a life
of constraint, jealously watched; but his own long concealment of her
birth might easily be construed into treason, and the horrible
consequences of such an accusation were only too fresh in his memory.
Yet, as he said afterwards to his son, "There was no forbidding the
maiden to do her utmost for her own mother, neither was there any
letting her run the risk alone."

To which Humfrey heartily responded.

"The Queen may forbid her, or the purpose may pass away," added
Richard, "or it may be clearly useless and impossible to make the
attempt; but I cannot as a Christian man strive to dissuade her from
doing what she can. And as thou saidst, Humfrey, she is changed.
She hath borne her modestly and discreetly, ay and truly, through
all. The childishness is gone out of her, and I mark no lightness of
purpose in her."

On that afternoon Queen Mary announced that she had yielded to
Hatton's representations so far as to consent to appear before the
Commissioners, provided her protest against the proceedings were put
on record.

"Nay, blame me not, good Melville," she said. "I am wearied out with
their arguments. What matters it how they do the deed on which they
are bent? It was an ill thing when King Harry the Eighth brought in
this fashion of forcing the law to give a colour to his will! In the
good old times, the blow came without being first baited by one and
another, and made a spectacle to all men, in the name of justice,
forsooth!"

Mary Seaton faltered something of her Majesty's innocence shining out
like the light of day.

"Flatter not thyself so far, ma mie," said Mary. "Were mine
innocence clearer than the sun they would blacken it. All that can
come of this same trial is that I may speak to posterity, if they
stifle my voice here, and so be known to have died a martyr to my
faith. Get we to our prayers, girls, rather than feed on vain hopes.
De profundis clamavi."




CHAPTER XXXV. BEFORE THE COMMISSIONERS.



Who would be permitted to witness the trial? As small matters at
hand eclipse great matters farther off, this formed the immediate
excitement in Queen Mary's little household, when it was disclosed
that she was to appear only attended by Sir Andrew Melville and her
two Maries before her judges.

The vast hall had space enough on the ground for numerous spectators,
and a small gallery intended for musicians was granted, with some
reluctance, to the ladies and gentlemen of the suite, who, as Sir
Amias Paulett observed, could do no hurt, if secluded there. Thither
then they proceeded, and to Cicely's no small delight, found Humfrey
awaiting them there, partly as a guard, partly as a master of the
ceremonies, ready to explain the arrangements, and tell the names of
the personages who appeared in sight.

"There," said he, "close below us, where you cannot see it, is the
chair with a cloth of state over it."

"For our Queen?" asked Jean Kennedy.

"No, madam. It is there to represent the Majesty of Queen Elizabeth.
That other chair, half-way down the hall, with the canopy from the
beam over it, is for the Queen of Scots."

Jean Kennedy sniffed the air a little at this, but her attention was
directed to the gentlemen who began to fill the seats on either side.
Some of them had before had interviews with Queen Mary, and thus were
known by sight to her own attendants; some had been seen by Humfrey
during his visit to London; and even now at a great distance, and a
different table, he had been taking his meals with them at the
present juncture.

The seats were long benches against the wall, for the Earls on one
side, the Barons on the other. The Lord Chancellor Bromley, in his
red and white gown, and Burghley, the Lord Treasurer, with long white
beard and hard impenetrable face, sat with them.

"That a man should have such a beard, and yet dare to speak to the
Queen as he did two days ago," whispered Cis.

"See," said Mrs. Kennedy, "who is that burly figure with the black
eyes and grizzled beard?"

"That, madam," said Humfrey, "is the Earl of Warwick."

"The brother of the minion Leicester?" said Jean Kennedy. "He hath
scant show of his comeliness."

"Nay; they say he is become the best favoured," said Humfrey; "my
Lord of Leicester being grown heavy and red-faced. He is away in the
Netherlands, or you might judge of him."

"And who," asked the lady, "may be yon, with the strangely-plumed hat
and long, yellow hair, like a half-tamed Borderer?"

"He?" said Humfrey. "He is my Lord of Cumberland. I marvelled to
see him back so soon. He is here, there, and everywhere; and when I
was in London was commanding a fleet bearing victuals to relieve the
Dutch in Helvoetsluys. Had I not other work in hand, I would gladly
sail with him, though there be something fantastic in his humour.
But here come the Knights of the Privy Council, who are to my mind
more noteworthy than the Earls."

The seats of these knights were placed a little below and beyond
those of the noblemen. The courteous Sir Ralf Sadler looked up and
saluted the ladies in the gallery as he entered. "He was always
kindly," said Jean Kennedy, as she returned the bow. "I am glad to
see him here."

"But oh, Humfrey!" cried Cicely, "who is yonder, with the short cloak
standing on end with pearls, and the quilted satin waistcoat,
jewelled ears, and frizzed head? He looks fitter to lead off a dance
than a trial."

"He is Sir Christopher Hatton, her Majesty's Vice-Chamberlain,"
replied Humfrey.

"Who, if rumour saith true, made his fortune by a galliard," said Dr.
Bourgoin.

"Here is a contrast to him," said Jean Kennedy. "See that figure, as
puritanical as Sir Amias himself, with the long face, scant beard,
black skull-cap, and plain crimped ruff. His visage is pulled into
so solemn a length that were we at home in Edinburgh, I should expect
to see him ascend a pulpit, and deliver a screed to us all on the
iniquities of dancing and playing on the lute!"

"That, madam," said Humfrey, "is Mr. Secretary, Sir Francis
Walsingham."

Here Elizabeth Curll leant forward, looked, and shivered a little.
"Ah, Master Humfrey, is it in that man's power that my poor brother
lies?"

"'Tis true, madam," said Humfrey, "but indeed you need not fear. I
heard from Will Cavendish last night that Mr. Curll is well. They
have not touched either of the Secretaries to hurt them, and if aught
have been avowed, it was by Monsieur Nau, and that on the mere
threat. Do you see old Will yonder, Cicely, just within Mr.
Secretary's call--with the poke of papers and the tablet?"

"Is that Will Cavendish? How precise and stiff he hath grown, and
why doth he not look up and greet us? He knoweth us far better than
doth Sir Ralf Sadler; doth he not know we are here?"

"Ay, Mistress Cicely," said Dr. Bourgoin from behind, "but the young
gentleman has his fortune to make, and knows better than to look on
the seamy side of Court favour."

"Ah! see those scarlet robes," here exclaimed Cis. "Are they the
judges, Humfrey?"

"Ay, the two Chief-Justices and the Chief Baron of the Exchequer.
There they sit in front of the Earls, and three more judges in front
of the Barons."

"And there are more red robes at that little table in front, besides
the black ones."

"Those are Doctors of Law, and those in black with coifs are the
Attorney and Solicitor General. The rest are clerks and writers and
the like."

"It is a mighty and fearful array," said Cicely with a long breath.

"A mighty comedy wherewith to mock at justice," said Jean.

"Prudence, madam, and caution," suggested Dr. Bourgoin. "And hush!"

A crier here shouted aloud, "Oyez, oyez, oyez! Mary, Queen of
Scotland and Dowager of France, come into the Court!"

Then from a door in the centre, leaning on Sir Andrew Melville's arm,
came forward the Queen, in a black velvet dress, her long transparent
veil hanging over it from her cap, and followed by the two Maries,
one carrying a crimson velvet folding-chair, and the other a
footstool. She turned at first towards the throne, but she was
motioned aside, and made to perceive that her place was not there.
She drew her slender figure up with offended dignity. "I am a
queen," she said; "I married a king of France, and my seat ought to
be there."

However, with this protest she passed on to her appointed place,
looking sadly round at the assembled judges and lawyers.

"Alas!" she said, "so many counsellors, and not one for me."

Were there any Englishmen there besides Richard Talbot and his son
who felt the pathos of this appeal? One defenceless woman against an
array of the legal force of the whole kingdom. It may be feared that
the feelings of most were as if they had at last secured some wild,
noxious, and incomprehensible animal in their net, on whose struggles
they looked with the unpitying eye of the hunter.

The Lord Chancellor began by declaring that the Queen of England
convened the Court as a duty in one who might not bear the sword in
vain, to examine into the practices against her own life, giving the
Queen of Scots the opportunity of clearing herself.

At the desire of Burghley, the commission was read by the Clerk of
the Court, and Mary then made her public protest against its
legality, or power over her.

It was a wonderful thing, as those spectators in the gallery felt, to
see how brave and how acute was the defence of that solitary lady,
seated there with all those learned men against her; her papers gone,
nothing left to her but her brain and her tongue. No loss of dignity
nor of gentleness was shown in her replies; they were always simple
and direct. The difficulty for her was all the greater that she had
not been allowed to know the form of the accusation, before it was
hurled against her in full force by Mr. Serjeant Gawdy, who detailed
the whole of the conspiracy of Ballard and Babington in all its
branches, and declared her to have known and approved of it, and to
have suggested the manner of executing it.

Breathlessly did Cicely listen as the Queen rose up. Humfrey watched
her almost more closely than the royal prisoner. When there was a
denial of all knowledge or intercourse with Ballard or Babington,
Jean Kennedy's hard-lined face never faltered; but Cicely's brows
came together in concern at the mention of the last name, and did not
clear as the Queen explained that though many Catholics might indeed
write to her with offers of service, she could have no knowledge of
anything they might attempt. To confute this, extracts from their
confessions were read, and likewise that letter of Babington's which
he had written to her detailing his plans, and that lengthy answer,
brought by the blue-coated serving-man, in which the mode of carrying
her off from Chartley was suggested, and which had the postscript
desiring to know the names of the six who were to remove the usurping
competitor.

The Queen denied this letter flatly, declaring that it might have
been written with her alphabet of ciphers, but was certainly none of
hers. "There may have been designs against the Queen and for
procuring my liberty," she said, "but I, shut up in close prison, was
not aware of them, and how can I be made to answer for them? Only
lately did I receive a letter asking my pardon if schemes were made
on my behalf without my privity, nor can anything be easier than to
counterfeit a cipher, as was lately proved by a young man in France.
Verily, I greatly fear that if these same letters were traced to
their deviser, it would prove to be the one who is sitting here.
Think you," she added, turning to Walsingham, "think you, Mr.
Secretary, that I am ignorant of your devices used so craftily
against me? Your spies surrounded me on every side, but you know
not, perhaps, that some of your spies have been false and brought
intelligence to me. And if such have been his dealings, my Lords,"
she said, appealing to the judges and peers, "how can I be assured
that he hath not counterfeited my ciphers to bring me to my death?
Hath he not already practised against my life and that of my son?"

Walsingham rose in his place, and lifting up his hands and eyes
declared, "I call God to record that as a private person I have done
nothing unbeseeming an honest man, nor as a public person have I done
anything to dishonour my place."

Somewhat ironically Mary admitted this disavowal, and after some
unimportant discussion, the Court adjourned until the next day, it
being already late, according to the early habits of the time.

Cicely had been entirely carried along by her mother's pleading.
Tears had started as Queen Mary wept her indignant tears, and a glow
had risen in her cheeks at the accusation of Walsingham. Ever and
anon she looked to Humfrey's face for sympathy, but he sat gravely
listening, his two hands clasped over the hilt of his sword, and his
chin resting on them, as if to prevent a muscle of his face from
moving. When they rose up to leave the galleries, and there was the
power to say a word, she turned to him earnestly.

"A piteous sight," he said, "and a right gallant defence."

He did not mean it, but the words struck like lead on Cicely's heart,
for they did not amount to an acquittal before the tribunal of his
secret conviction, any more than did Walsingham's disavowal, for who
could tell what Mr. Secretary's conscience did think unbecoming to
his office?

Cicely found her mother on her couch giving a free course to her
tears, in the reaction after the strain and effort of her defence.
Melville and the Maries were assuring her that she had most bravely
confuted her enemies, and that she had only to hold on with equal
courage to the end. Mrs. Kennedy and Dr. Bourgoin came in to join in
the same encouragements, and the commendation evidently soothed her.
"However it may end," she said, "Mary of Scotland shall not go down
to future ages as a craven spirit. But let us not discuss it
further, my dear friends, my head aches, and I can bear no farther
word at present."

Dr. Bourgoin made her take some food and then lie down to rest, while
in an outer room a lute was played and a low soft song was sung. She
had not slept all the previous night, but she fell asleep, holding
the hand of Cicely, who was on a cushion by her side. The girl,
having been likewise much disturbed, slept too, and only gradually
awoke as her mother was sitting up on her couch discussing the next
day's defence with Melville and Bourgoin.

"I fear me, madam, there is no holding to the profession of entire
ignorance," said Melville.

"They have no letters from Babington to me to show," said the Queen.
"I took care of _that_ by the help of this good bairn. I can defy
them to produce the originals out of all my ransacked cabinets."

"They have the copies both of them and of your Majesty's replies, and
Nan and Curll to verify them."

"What are copies worth, or what are dead and tortured men's
confessions worth?" said Mary.

"Were your Majesty a private person they would never be accepted as
evidence," said Melville; "but--"

"But because I am a Queen and a Catholic there is no justice for me,"
said Mary. "Well, what is the defence you would have me confine
myself to, my sole privy counsellors?"

Here Cis, to show she was awake, pressed her mother's hand and looked
up in her face, but Mary, though returning the glance and the
pressure, did not send her away, while Melville recommended strongly
that the Queen should continue to insist on the imperfection of the
evidence adduced against her, which he said might so touch some of
the lawyers, or the nobles, that Burghley and Walsingham might be
afraid to proceed. If this failed her, she must allow her knowledge
of the plot for her own escape and the Spanish invasion, but
strenuously deny the part which concerned Elizabeth's life.

"That it is which they above all desire to fix on me," said the
Queen.

Cicely's brain was in confusion. Surely she had heard those letters
read in the hall. Were they false or genuine? The Queen had utterly
denied them there. Now she seemed to think the only point was to
prove that these were not the originals. Dr. Bourgoin seemed to feel
the same difficulty.

"Madame will pardon me," he said; "I have not been of her secret
councils, but can she not, if rightly dealt with, prove those two
letters that were read to have been forged by her enemies?"

"What I could do is this, my good Bourgoin," said Mary; "were I only
confronted with Nau and Curll, I could prove that the letter I
received from Babington bore nothing about the destroying the
usurping competitor. The poor faithful lad was a fool, but not so
great a fool as to tell me such things. And, on the other hand, hath
either of you, my friends, ever seen in me such symptoms of midsummer
madness as that I should be asking the names of the six who were to
do the deed? What cared I for their names? I--who only wished to
know as little of the matter as possible!"

"Can your Majesty prove that you knew nothing?" asked Melville.

Mary paused. "They cannot prove by fair means that I knew anything,"
said she, "for I did not. Of course I was aware that Elizabeth must
be taken out of the way, or the heretics would be rallying round her;
but there is no lack of folk who delight in work of that sort, and
why should I meddle with the knowledge? With the Prince of Parma in
London, she, if she hath the high courage she boasteth of, would soon
cause the Spanish pikes to use small ceremony with her! Why should I
concern myself about poor Antony and his five gentlemen? But it is
the same as it was twenty years ago. What I know will have to be,
and yet choose not to hear of, is made the head and front of mine
offending, that the real actors may go free! And because I have writ
naught that they can bring against me, they take my letters and add
to and garble them, till none knows where to have them. Would that
we were in France! There it was a good sword-cut or pistol-shot at
once, and one took one's chance of a return, without all this
hypocrisy of law and justice to weary one out and make men double
traitors."

"Methought Walsingham winced when your Majesty went to the point with
him," said Bourgoin.

"And you put up with his explanation?" said Melville.

"Truly I longed to demand of what practices Mr. Secretary in his
office,--not as a private person--would be ashamed; but it seemed to
me that they might call it womanish spite, and to that the Queen of
Scots will never descend!"

"Pity but that we had Babington's letter! Then might we put him to
confusion by proving the additions," said Melville.

"It is not possible, my good friend. The letter is at the bottom of
the Castle well; is it not, mignonne? Mourn for it not, Andrew. It
would have been of little avail, and it carried with it stuff that
Mr. Secretary would give almost his precious place to possess, and
that might be fatal to more of us. I hoped that there might have
been safety for poor Babington in the destruction of that packet,
never guessing at the villainy of yon Burton brewer, nor of those who
set him on. Come, it serves not to fret ourselves any more. I must
answer as occasion serves me; speaking not so much to Elizabeth's
Commission, who have foredoomed me, as to all Christendom, and to the
Scots and English of all ages, who will be my judges."

Her judges? Ay! but how? With the same enthusiastic pity and
indignation, mixed with the same misgiving as her own daughter felt.
Not wholly innocent, not wholly guilty, yet far less guilty than
those who had laid their own crimes on her in Scotland, or who
plotted to involve her in meshes partly woven by herself in England.
The evil done to her was frightful, but it would have been powerless
had she been wholly blameless. Alas! is it not so with all of us?

The second day's trial came on. Mary Seaton was so overpowered with
the strain she had gone through that the Queen would not take her
into the hall, but let Cicely sit at her feet instead. On this day
none of the Crown lawyers took part in the proceedings; for, as
Cavendish whispered to Humfrey, there had been high words between
them and my Lord Treasurer and Mr. Secretary; and they had declared
themselves incapable of conducting a prosecution so inconsistent with
the forms of law to which they were accustomed. The pedantic fellows
wanted more direct evidence, he said, and Humfrey honoured them.

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