CHAPTER XIX.

CONCERNING THE RIOTERS AND THEIR TRIAL AT THE GUILDHALL.

THE riot being suppressed, there was strict

search made for the agitators who had brought about the mischief, and for those who had made themselves conspicuous during the insurrection.

Lincoln, Studeley, Betts, and Bell were secured with very little resistance; yet, to the surprise of everyone, none could discover the retreat of Sherring, although diliIV.

gent search was made. Some surmised that he had been slaughtered in the fray, others that he had escaped by ship, whilst some few (themselves willing to turn traitors) ventured

to suggest his being in communication with

the Government to turn King's evidence.

However, all these suggestions proved incorrect, when, at length, the news arrived of his arrest that morning in Southwark, in company with Ambrose Quartermain; thus adding to the chain of evidence (connected with the latter personage), already sufficiently weighty to imperil his life..

12 *

Under strong escorts the rioters were conducted to the several gaols in London, whilst many were placed in the Tower, for the prisons were not of sufficient size to hold the vast number arrested, nearly every house in the City being invaded by the troops, to secure one or other of the inhabitants who had been in some way connected with the late disturbances. Strong bodies of cavalry patrolled the streets from the Tower Ditch to Lud Gate, and all was consternation and affright. Barriers and chains were drawn across the streets, and most of the shops were closed. So the day passed, and the order for trial was sent down to the City from Westminster.

On the 4th of May the trials were opened at Guildhall, according to the writ of Oyer and Terminer. The commissioners consisted of the Lord Mayor, the Earl of Surrey, and the Duke of Norfolk. The body of the court was crowded by the citizens, whilst the spot facing the bench, and raised some two or three steps from the ground, was left unoccupied, and was guarded by the officers of the court.

Vast crowds filled the streets from Newgate to Guildhall as the rioters passed along under a strong escort of cavalry, and it was with great difficulty the soldiers rode amidst the crowd.

The trial commenced, the prisoners arraigned, the indictment read, and the plea of "Not Guilty" put in.

CHAPTER XX.

QUARTERMAIN CONDEMNED.

AN upper chamber in the Wakefield Tower was allotted to Quartermain, and to this, on his arrival at the fortress, he was conveyed.

All communication with the Court was at once stopped by orders of Wolsey, and he had, therefore, no means of appealing to the King, either for a speedy trial, or to be made aware of the course of his imprisonment; and although many missives were penned by the anxious captive, all were detained by the lieutenant, Cholmondley.

The various circumstances of his life now rushed upon his over-excited brain, and seemed to bear him down to the lowest depths of despair. He thought of the narrative concerning his parentage related by Aubrey, considering whether it might be depended on, sometimes doubting and then again firmly believing every syllable.

Then came thoughts of the fair Alice Keble, and the now crushed hopes of his love. Then his sudden accusation and imprisonment, all mingling together, created a feverish excitement, added to which the oppression on his spirits brought on a general depression, and sickness was the result.

At length he was summoned (some six days after his incarceration) by the lieutenant to attend at Guildhall. A small body of cavalry awaited his coming on the green, and for the purpose of escorting him to the place of trial.

When they arrived at Guildhall, the prisoner was conducted to a small chamber, for the trials of the rioters were not yet concluded, and there left to his solitary

on.

The murmur of voices broke the silence at intervals, and the hours passed slowly The clatter of steeds might now and then be heard, or the clashing of the heavy swords against the hauberks of the soldiers in the courtyard below.

The day passed on slowly and wearily, yet the solitude of the prisoner remained unbroken, and the sun went down in all its glorious splendour, tinging with its golden glow the dark clouds of evening, as it grew

on apace, and cast deep shadows in the

chamber.

And now the night set in, and the chimes from the old churches sounded like funeral knells, and the heavy tread of the troopers, as they marched before the building, came harsh and grating to the listener's ear. At length the bright and wavering glare of torches illuminated the courtyard, and played and flickered on the steel cuirass and helms of the soldiers. Six men, in butchers' frocks, were then led out by a strong guard. When the crowd beheld these men, they wildly yelled with execration, and, amidst the terrible roar of many voices, the door of the prisoner's chamber was thrown open, and he was summoned to attend.

Following his guide through a small passage, they halted before an oaken door, at which appeared two officers of the court. After a short conversation, the prisoner was desired to proceed, and, passing beneath the arched doorway, he stood before his judges. Guildhall, in the olden time, was not so very elaborately finished, and therefore, although not destroyed by the Great Fire, was adorned at the rebuilding of the City with many rich and exquisite carvings, causing the imposing effect which at this period it presents. It then, however, could boast those huge giants, Gog and Magog, although, at that time, rudely carved in wood, very fierce and barbarous guardians of the good old city. The original Guildhall stood in Aldermanburybuilt by Edward the Confessor. The structure in King-street was erected in 1411.

*

The door by which Quartermain entered led out upon a platform, railed around, and guarded by soldiers. The whole body of the hall was densely crowded by the citizens, some of whom had climbed the pillars supporting the groined roof, and in this perilous position awaited the result of the investigation. At the eastern extremity another platform was erected, on which appeared the judges, knights, and gentlemen engaged in the proceeding, and a small portion of this, being divided from the rest, was allotted to the witnesses.

*These figures seemed designed as types of municipal power. Many such are found in the Judgment Halls of Germany:

The hall was illuminated by a body of hackbutt men carrying flambeaux, which lighted up the strange and rude carvings of the building in their fitful glare.

The trial commenced, but all the objects in the hall appeared to reel before the view of Quartermain as the indictment was read. The witnesses were then called. First, Nicholas Denis, who proved the delivery of a paper to the prisoner by one of the rioters then under sentence of death. The paperwas then read, and Denis proceeded to state how every particular there set down had been fulfilled by the actions of Quartermain. Next came the priest of Cardinal Wolsey, who had discovered the paper, and who also produced the writing which had occasioned the visit to Southwark. This

ran as follows:--

"One whom you assisted in the late rota lays now at the point of death. Before e spirit shall be called from hence, he sceketh to disclose a matter of importance.. If you have any anxiety to hear the recital, follow the bearer with speed."

"Who was this sick man ?" inquired one of the judges.

"The man," returned Quartermain, "was a poor idiot, named Aubrey.""

"Let him be sent for," continued: the inquirer. "We would hear this matter of importance."

A messenger was accordingly despatched, but soon returned, declaring that no sick man could be found.

Nicholas Denis was recalled, and ques tioned concerning whom he found in company with Quartermain. He accordingly stated that Sherring was that person, and as he had not entered the chamber, he, of course, had not seen the idiot. This was all he knew.

"'Tis enough," said the judge who had before spoken. "Ambrose Quartermain, what defence would you make? You'wro heard the whole of the evidence."

My lords," Quartermain answered, "the witnesses brought forth against me are correct in what they state regarding facts, yet greatly mistaken in the consequences they would adduce from them. is, therefore, my intention to appeal for

It

And now the judges retired, but soon returned, and silence reigned throughout the court. Yet, although the greatest anxiety was manifested by the concourse, the prisoner remained firm as the verdict of "Guilty" was returned, and sentence of death passed.

But then a loud, wild, and piercing shriek rent the air, and a female form lay upon the ground, as though the spark of life had fled. 'Twas Alice Keble, and by her side there knelt the priest, Fitz Aldwine, and the alderman, her father.

At length the last night before the time appointed for execution arrived. Quartermain had been grievously disappointed in his expectation of appealing to the King, for the orders of the Cardinal prevented any communication with the Court, and the law must, therefore, take its course. He must die within twelve short hours! On the battlefield he faced the grim adversary without dread; but to patiently await his approach, to be dragged to the place of execution, and legally murdered as a criminal before a brutal multitude, was more than he could bear. Thoughts of the past, the present, and the future crowded on his mind, and Reason trembled on her throne.

How quick the hours seemed to pass to the watchful prisoner in the dismal cell! No sound was heard to break the stillness of the night, no human voice to cheer the man who lay awaiting death. And time flew by, shortening the hours of existence. One, two, three, four, five short hours, and now but seven remain. Hark! the chimes sound again. Now but six hours remain, and day now begins to dawn, and already there is a stir within the tower walls.

The door of the cell was now thrown open. What could it mean? Surely the hour of death had not arrived..

"A visitor," said the gaoler, and a figure entered, wrapped in priestly vestments. Yet what should make that ray of joy on the wan face of the prisoner? What should make him rush so eagerly forward? and what should make them embrace so ten

mean? 'Twas the father had found his long-lost, mourned-for son: found now but to be lost again. Yet it gave pleasure to that old man's heart to see him once again, even if it were so near the grave.

CHAPTER XXI.

PLACENTIA.

IN a small chamber situated in the western wing of the old Palace of Plasaunce sat Catharine, Queen of England. The summer's sun shone brightly in upon her fair and graceful form, whilst the busy note of preparation resounded through the ancient building.

People hurried to and fro through all the various passages and halls, and trumpets sound merrily, and tabards beat, and clashing steel, and rustling silks, all pleasantly blended, and smiths and carpenters were busily employed erecting gorgeous platforms and pavilions. Wooden clouds, with brazen stars, and double-gilt suns, and silvered moon, and tigers fierce, with optics glazed and jaws distended. But hark! what step is that upon the oaken stair? It cannot be that of a stalwart yeoman. No, it's too soft, too light for that. No, it must be a woman's, perchance a waiting-maid's. It's too retiring for that. Yet, listen; the doors are now thrown open, and a gentleman usher appears, and with a low obeisance craves an audience for a person who waits without. Now he motions to some

one to proceed. Hark! that light footstep sounds again, coming on towards the chamber, and then a graceful figure enters. The usher closes the door, calls to a yeoman to keep guard without, descends the stair, and passes into the courtyard.

And the preparation for the coming mask went merrily on. Musicians in grotesque habits hurried to and fro, and blew preparatory fanfares on shawms and trumpets. And knights, Druids, Gogs, Magogs, Jupiters, Hopes, dragons, Jews, Neptunes, Floras, Bacchuses, Junos, sylphs, Robin Hoods, Friar Tucks, preparing for the pageant, crowded the courtyard, and the merry hum of voices made a right pleasant scene.

Amidst the strange concourse stood one before whom all bowed, and fell back to give him way. His dress consisted of a plain riding suit, and yet his majestic air bespoke him to be of royal descent. It was the King, Henry Tudor.

Whilst the King gazed upon the mummers, a priest, tall and finely formed, stepped hastily forward. He was clad in sacerdotal vestments, and, wnheedful of the busy throng, fell on his knees before the King.

"But know you the crime with which he is charged?"

"Indeed, he is pure from such blackhearted perfidy," the priest cried, wringing his hands with agony. "Grant him but

time to establish his innocence."

"I cannot," quoth the King. "Yet, stay; if within six days he can substantiate thy words, and fully prove his innocence, 'tis enough; but, if he faileth, the law must take its course."

With these words he turned away, and

“What mean these words?" quoth Henry. "Speak; declare whom thou would'st plead for ?" but the priest only cried the more for mercy, and again the King demanded the cause of his petition.

"My son! my son!" cried the priest. Oh, save him! Oh, save him! Indeed, indeed, he's innocent."

"What strange enigma is this?" quoth Henry, interrupting him. "Tell me thy name and that of him for whom you plead."

"My name is Cholmondley," replied the priest. "My title that of Wansted."

"How now!" cried the King. "The noble whose name thou claimest hath long since passed away."

"Listen to my prayer, my lord. brother to the murdered noble." "But thy son?"

I am

"Thirty years since my child was stolen from me, yet have I this morn discovered his existence. His name, or rather that which he now bears, is Ambrose Quartermain. Many letters hath he written to your highness."

"Can this be so?" quoth the King. 'Quartermain hath served me well. Yet the proofs of his iniquity and detestable treason were fully proved. I cannot save him. Would it were possible!"

"Oh, save him!". cried the priest. "If you have one spark of pity in your heart, save him from the cruel fate intended him. For thirty long and weary years I have seen him not until this day, and now found but to be lost again. Oh, spare him! spare him!"

ments, and there, kneeling at the feet of Catharine, he beheld fair Alice Keble supplicating for the life of Quartermain.

Half-an-hour subsequently, a stranger, masked, entered a small chamber where a scrivener was employed.

"Thou art busy, Master Clerk," the stranger said. "What art thou engaged upon ?"

"A free pardon for one Ambrose Quartermain. An old priest and fair demoiselle have been here, and this is the consequence."

"Good," quoth the stranger, and he departed. Yet, lifting his mask as he went out, he disclosed the features of Sir Michael de la Pole.

CHAPTER XXII.

NEWGATE.

FROM the halls of Plasaunce to the cells of Newgate.

In the cell of the condemned in the prison of Newgate, about the hour of noon, sat two persons, the first John Lincoln, the broker, the second a Carmelite friar.

"And what," quoth the friar—" what new and hidden crime is this that lays so heavy on thy conscience? Fear not to ease thy bosom by confession. Thy condemnation is now sealed, so that the revelation of a new crime cannot affect thee. The law will, by thy death, surely be appeased. Fear not then to confess."

"Fear! Twenty, nay, thirty years, this hidden crime hath weighed upon my soul; and though I would fain reveal it, some strong secret agency compels me to remain silent."