Chapter I

MONSIGNOR PRIULI was sitting over his books in his room in Cranmer's Tower, a day or two after the beginning of the New Year; but he was not attending to them.

There were a hundred things to occupy his mind. First there was the news from abroad. The Cardinal had had a letter from Philip two days before, and the Queen had sent on the letter she had received from Lord Wentworth, deputy-governor of Calais, and both contained formidable tidings. Newhavenbridge had fallen, Ruysbank was on the verge of catastrophe; Calais and Guisnes were threatened. There was a grievous insufficiency of men; for the troops in England were being drawn off to resist the French invasion in Scotland, and the loss of prestige that would follow England's expulsion from France was not pleasant to contemplate. The Archbishop had ordered public prayers.

Neither were Monsignor Priuli's home-prospects any more pleasing. The Cardinal had been accused of heresy in Rome and summoned to answer it; he had been deprived of his powers as legate a latere; and his official deposition and the substitution of the amiable but feeble Friar Peto in his place had only been prevented from reaching him by Mary's prompt action in seizing the papal messenger at Dover and suppressing the letters he carried. For some months that state of affairs had continued; the Cardinal had ceased to exercise his

The Queen's Tragedy supreme legatine powers, and now acted only as legatus natus and Metropolitan of the realm, but any day the blow might fall; a messenger might get through from Rome, and there would be no choice but to throw up the management of the troubled kingdom, and obey the summons.

It was reported by humourists that Monsignor Priuli had said more than once the mass ad postulandam gratiam bene monendi on behalf of the reigning Vicar of Christ.

The one bright spot in the prospect was the rumour that the Queen was pregnant; if this were true, as the Cardinal believed it to be, all else sank into insignificance; if it were not true, the view was darker still. It was certain that the Queen could not live many years longer; and her successor could be none other than the Princess Elizabeth. Of course this lady might be sincere in her profession of the Catholic Faith. Monsignor judged no man or woman hardly; but he would not have staked his eternal salvation on that sincerity, and was not inclined to stake even his temporal welfare.

The priest sighed, pushed away his Plato's Republic, rose and went to the little high window that looked out on to the river.

It was a clear winter-day, sunny and keen. The grey tower, where was the prison, was to his immediate left; and beyond and at his feet flowed the broad river, wrinkled and scrawled with currents. On the further side lay the low marshy land; the roofs of the palace and abbey rose up misty and romantic against the pale sky. Something in the view recalled him; and he went almost immediately back to his table, sat down and took up a letter that lay there, and read it again.

" Monseigneur, —

" I thank your lordship for your letter in answer to

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again mine; and your kindness in allowing me to wait upon you. It is a matter very private, and I was recommended to come to your lordship on it nearly two years ago, but I have had great sorrow, and the affair lay neglected. I pray God that the delay has done no harm. I shall be able to tell you, monseigneur, of all this, better when I come to you. I will present myself on Tuesday at ten o'clock. Your Lordship's most humble servant, Guy Manton, Lieutenant of the Queen's Guard at St. James' Palace."

Tne priest remembered Master Manton very well. He had spoken to him three or four years before at Lambeth, soon after the Cardinal's arrival in England, and had noticed him again particularly, once at Greenwich, besides seeing him at other times in an official way. He did not know he had been made lieutenant, and supposed this must have been done when honours were distributed on the previous Christmas Day. He wondered what this matter was on which Master Manton wished to see him; it would not be very important if it had been delayed so long.

It was now half -past nine. The priest had said mass in the presence of the Cardinal at seven o'clock, and had been at his books ever since. He would give himself a rest now, and walk about a little.

Half an hour later he tapped upon the door of the page's closet, and sent the boy downstairs to Morton's gateway to see if the gentleman were come. After five minutes he heard footsteps on the stone stairs outside, and stood up to receive his visitor.

It seemed to him as he gave his hand to Master Manton that the young man was considerably changed since he had last noticed him. He was thinner in the

The Queen's Tragedy face, there were little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his whole expression had lost the look of slight arrogance and self-sufficiency that had been there before. His bearing too was very quiet and modest, and contrasted oddly with his gorgeous dress, the impression offered by the long sword gathered in his left hand, and the great rowelled spurs on his boots.

" I must congratulate you, sir," said the priest, smiling pleasantly out of his black eyes. " I suppose it was on Christmas Day."

" Yes, Monseigneur. Master Rochester recommended me for it, when he was to be made Lord Chamberlain."

The voice too was quiet, and entirely without self-consciousness; and the priest had a distinct emotion of attraction towards this young man.

" Sit down, sir," he said. " It is an hour before dinner yet. You will dine with us? "

Guy shook his head.

" I am on duty at noon," he said. " I must not."

The priest nodded, settled himself in his chair and crossed his feet.

Then the other began.

" It is on the subject of a cypher, Monseigneur, that I wish to consult you. Master Norris gave me to understand that you had studied such things."

" I have a little skill in it," said Monsignor. " It has been my pastime."

" Well, sir, this is a letter in cypher that I took from one of the conspirators two years ago. I do not know whether you heard any tale of my adventure? "

Guy was perfectly self-possessed, but a little pale; and his eyes were keen and bright as he looked the priest straight in the face

Monsignor nodded gently.

" I heard a tale " he began.

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again

" This man had been my friend," went on the other without flinching. " I had warned him two or three times that now that I was in her Grace's service loyalty was before friendship. I forebore to follow him once when I might have laid hands on him. Then I caught him plotting again and gave him up.... I make no excuse, and ask none.... The paper that I took on him I kept to myself; I wished to make my way with it; to make some discovery that would bring me honour. I tried to read it; but could not. Then — then my — the fellow was put to the torture; I obtained from her Grace that he should be put upon his trial at once — he had been my friend, Monseigneur. He was tried and cast, and he was hanged a little after...."

The priest was looking discreetly into the fire now and was smiling gently. There was silence a moment; then without lifting his eyes he slid in a word.

" And the paper, Master Manton? "

" The paper, Monseigneur, I put away among my things. I had not — I put it away, Monseigneur..."

" I understand, sir," murmured the priest softly. " And then no doubt "

" Then I forgot it," said Guy, " or if I remembered it, it was only for a day or two. I found it again by chance last week, in one of my books that I had not opened for a long while — a Plautus, Monseigneur. I have begun to read the classics again lately. I looked at it a little, but could make nothing out.... Her Grace has made me a lieutenant now; I thought it my duty that it should be read — and if it is of no service to her Grace — and it is likely not to be — it can be destroyed and forgotten."

His voice, which had wavered once or twice, was steady again now, and the priest was not afraid to look up at him. He was even paler than he had been just now, but his closed lips were firm and his eyes downcast, as he

The Queen's Tragedy drew out a little folded paper and handed it across the table.

Monsignor took it without a word, unfolded it carefully and smoothed it out. It was about six inches square, with rough edges, and was written without breaks with half-a-dozen lines of letters and signs. He studied it carefully a minute or two in silence, then laid it on the table and looked across at the young man again.

" You must leave this with me, sir," he said. " As you say, it is probably of no importance. It does not seem to be a formal document of any kind."

" I know nothing," said Guy briefly.

" Where did the — the man carry it? " said the priest, avoiding his eyes again.

" It was with two other papers in a little leather pocket-book," answered the other without a tremor.

" Very well, sir; I will do my best. I will communicate with you. I may have to ask a question or two. And if after all it is of importance? "

' I shall follow your advice, Monseigneur. No one but your lordship and myself will know its contents — perhaps not even myself."

" Ah! but I shall tell you what I find. Forgive me, Master Manton; but even if you have no ambition left, you still have your duty."

There was a moment's dead silence. Then Guy's voice came hoarse and low, almost fierce.

" How did you know that, Monseigneur? "

The priest looked tranquilly at the fire as he answered.

"It is a priest's business, sir, to know such things, and to read hearts and faces so far as Almighty God permits. I knew you were in trouble when I saw you at Greenwich; in fact I said so to Friar Peto. And it is further my business," he added smiling, " to read cyphers. You told me so yourself."

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again

" And the ambition? "

" Ambition is a fever, Master Manton. You are in no fever now, but a chill, or perhaps I should rather say »

Guy laughed very softly, but without a trace of bitterness.

" You are perfectly right, Monseigneur. I have lost the fever — recovered, I should say. I do not know in what state I am now, but it may very well be a chill. And again, Monseigneur, how did you know it? "

The priest smiled still more.

" It was not hard, sir. You had no interest in your own promotion when you spoke of it; and an ambitious gentleman does not take to his classics again when he has left them off. Besides, you confessed you had once been ambitious. Is more wanted? "

Guy still looked at him with a curiously steady interest in his eyes.

" And do you understand why I did what I did? "

" Not yet, altogether, sir? '

" Will you hear my confession, Monseigneur? "

The priest bowed and made as if to stand up.

" One moment, Monseigneur, I would like to say a word first, so that I need not keep you so long. I approached the sacraments last Easter, and again at Christmas; I am trying to lead a good life — to be simple and tender " Guy paused a moment — " to be simple again. I am weary of the other. I have been a hard devil, as — as I meant to be. But — but the priest did not understand; he told me I had been right in what I did — and again at Christmas "

Monsignor bowed gently.

" Yes," went on Guy with an effort. " I do not say he was wrong. I do not know. God knows! But — ah! you understand, do you not, father? "

The Queen's Tragedy

" I think I understand."

" There were other matters beside what I did; he puffed them away; he told me they were venial. Perhaps they were so, but do you understand, father? "

" I understand that venial sins may torment a soul like hell," said the priest.

Guy stood up abruptly. His face had changed; he had no longer the appearance of careful self-control; he was smiling a little with parted lips and his brown eyes were wet and bright.

" Are you ready, father? Here? "

The priest pointed out a kneeling- stool against the wall, and stood up himself. Guy went across and knelt down by it; while Monsignor drew out of the drawer of his table a purple stole. He went across and sat down; and Guy, with his eyes fixed on the ivory crucifix, began his story.

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again

Guy was in his room a week later with Master Kearsley talking over the terrible news that had come last night of the fall of Calais, and of the arrival too late of the five hundred men whom the Queen had sent off to its relief.

He had found himself oddly drawn towards this silent bitter man during the last year of his life at Court; Dick was no longer bitter towards him; he would come up to see him sometimes, and sit for an hour or two almost without a word, gnawing his fingers and staring at the hearth; but neither had yet given his confidence to the other. Dick was a mystery to him, though his story was not; he had entered Edward's household as a man of thirty, and had been promoted on Mary's accession; it was understood that he had always been a very fervent Catholic who had concealed his opinions in the previous reigns. He appeared devoted in his sour way to Mary's cause, but met with no particular recognition from her.

Guy had been describing the talk he had heard downstairs of the preparations to be made to re-take Calais; every ward of London was to supply a couple of hundred men; and a good force was to set out in not less than three days.

Dick grunted.

" There will be no pains spared," observed Guy.

" Pains! " snapped Dick. " And of what good will they be? Without treachery it could not have been taken; and without treachery it will not be re- taken."

There was sense in this; Calais had been taken with suspicious suddenness and a yet more suspicious lack of mortality.

" Her Grace was out of her bed at six this morning,"

The Queen's Tragedy went on Guy, " and my lord Cardinal was with her again by seven."

Dick blew out his lips contemptuously and set his chin on his hands.

" They say it will break her heart," added the other.

Dick did not move or answer.

Tom Bradshawe looked in presently to say that there was a servant from Lambeth below with a letter. Should he come up, or would Master Manton come down? The letter was to be delivered into his hands.

Guy went down, and telling the man to wait, took the letter into a parlour to read it. It was from Monsignor Priuli.

" Master Manton," it ran, " I can do nothing with your matter. It is a very difficult one, and therefore it seems to me likely to be important. I have tried the usual methods in vain. It appears to me to be an affair of a key- word. That of course we have not; and without that it is desperate. It must be a word, sufficiently long, where no letter is written twice over; that is if they have followed that method as is usually done. If you know of any such that Master Brownrigg carried about him, or a ring or a paper or such-like, send it to me. He is likely to have carried it on him; if not, it will be an easily remembered word. I have tried near a hundred already, and with no success. But I do not yet despair. There are not very many such words; I have a little book that I made of them a year ago; for, as I told you, it is my pastime. I am thinking now that it may be Latin; that is usual when the writers are of various nations as in this case. I have tried all that I can think of, such as the names of those who had to do with the plot, but with no success."

The letter ended without signature.

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again

Guy was astonished at the serenity and zeal of the writer, considering the circumstances in which England now found herself. It seemed to him that Monsignor Priuli's description of cypher-solving as his pastime was a very inadequate phrase.

As regarded the request Guy was bewildered at the impossibility of complying with it. He never remembered having seen Stephen with a ring; there was not the faintest clue; and surely such key-words as Monsignor described must exist in endless numbers.

He wrote a line back, telling him that he had no evidence to offer; gave it to the servant and went upstairs again, to find Dick gone.

Ever since Guy's interview with Monsignor Priuli, he had been wondering at the acuteness of the man. His own character, only half-known to himself, had been laid before him in the little room in Cranmer's Tower with an astonishing and a convincing precision. He had told his own story obscurely and hesitatingly, answering now and again questions that appeared to him strangely irrelevant; then the priest had been silent for full a minute; then in a perfectly quiet and dispassionate voice he had stated his diagnosis.

The penitent was told that he had sinned against light. God had endowed him with the jewel of sympathy, and he had mistaken its nature; or rather he had wilfully desired other virtues that were not within his reach, and for their sake had sacrificed what he already possessed. This, the priest told him, was one of the most subtle dangers that the Evil one presented to the soul of man. There were some men born hard, uncompassionate, resolute, and self-centred. These were the souls that God set to be rulers. He was not one of them, and he had tried to be. Others were by nature

The Queen's Tragedy piteous, perceptive, and courteous; of this class was the penitent; it was these whom God ordained to be servants and lovers. The effect of a man's attempt to change the one nature for the other meant the ruin of fine qualities; such an one, as in this case, became brutal and passionate. He had the fire of the lover's nature, to inspire his actions, without the restraint of the ruler's continence.

As regarded the actual guilt involved in this instance Monsignor had said very little. He had named restlessness, ambition, and a perverted chivalry as the motives for his action. He had pointed out that the sin before God lay, not in handing Stephen over to justice — that act, inspired by other motives, might have been a magnificent sacrifice, acceptable to God — the sin lay in the vindictiveness, the wounded pride, the fury of self-advancement that had accompanied the act.

Then the priest had stopped dead a moment.

" Of the guilt now, I will say only this," he had gone on in his slight foreign accent, " that God's mercy is infinitely greater. That that mercy has fallen upon you is proved by your sorrow and change of mind. You have detested yourself — is it not so? That is good. Now you must love God instead. Amendment for you, my son, lies in the way in which you have already began to tread. Your ambition is slain by love; see that it has no resurrection. You must be tender now; tender towards your Saviour whom you have crucified; tender towards your neighbour whom you have offended; and tender towards yourself whom you have despised. Entreat for the gift of tears. If there be any towards whom you feel hardly, be zealous in the discerning of their virtues. And, as you yourself have said, you must be simple. You must take what God sends without deprecation; and do what

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again

He bids without fearfulness. You will take for your holy penance the Litany of the Holy Name of Jesus, which you will say upon your knees each day for one week."

By the time that Guy was seated in the wherry to take him home, he had capitulated to this shrewd priest who knew him better than he knew himself. There were points in what had been said to him that he did not yet fully understand; but he yielded now in these too. This man knew better than he.

His sense of the priest's skill was with him still, as he contemplated the bewilderment of the cypher. It seemed a hopeless task; but was any unravellment too complicated for Monsignor Priuli?

In the larger world, as the days went on, it became apparent that there were complications there too that needed shrewd heads and strong hands.

The country was sullen and furious at the loss of Calais; and resented it against the Queen. It was this cursed foreign marriage, they said, which they had always distrusted, that was at the root of the disgrace. Philip had embroiled them with France, in spite of his promises; it was that that had led to the fury of the assault on the English forts; that and the persecution which he had stirred up, and which always re-awakened when he was in the country, combined to set London smouldering with indignation against the Queen, which was not dispelled either by the rumours of her pregnancy, nor by the efforts she had made to re-take the forts. When Guisnes fell three weeks later the smoke nearly burst into flame.

Dick Kearsley appeared in hall one night with a great piece of plaister across his forehead. He scowled so

The Queen's Tragedy furiously at all who looked at him that he was asked no questions; but Guy found him following afterwards on the stairs up to his room.

They sat down together by the fire, and were silent. It was fully five minutes before Dick burst out —

" It was a foul knave who cursed her Grace in the park. The damned hound! But he will curse no more for a while. I cracked his head for him. Then his fellows came round, and I scarce got through on my horse."

Guy had learnt that Dick liked sympathy best when it was unexpressed; and said nothing. He was astonished a moment later.

" And her Grace has done all for them " Dick broke off abruptly, and spoke no more except by scowls and monosyllables.

Two days later Guy had a greater surprise still.

He was crossing the court on his way to hall for dinner, when a figure came swiftly out of the archway on his right, stopped and turned towards him. It was Monsignor himself, carrying a little leather bag.

Guy went forward and saluted him, and the priest took him by the arm.

" Come with me, Master Manton, to some private place. I have news for you."

There was no word spoken on the way upstairs, and it was not until the door of Guy's own room was shut, that the young man put his question —

" Yes," said Monsignor gravely.

He turned to the table, opened the bag and shook out the papers and a little leather-bound book. He selected two or three of the sheets, pushed the rest aside and drew up a chair.

" Prudential! " he said, as he sat down. " I have run her to earth."

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again

Guy looked at him in astonishment. The priest's face beneath its thick white hair seemed sharper than ever; his eyes were alight with some emotion, and his nostrils worked like a hound's.

" And is it a matter of importance? " asked the young man, sitting down opposite him.

Monsignor nodded.

" Wait," he said, " you shall have my adventures first."

He drew out one paper from the three before him, and pushed it to Guy.

It was a copy of the original paper, but the rows of letters seemed slightly rearranged, and were marked here and there in red ink.

" I attempted it in a score of ways," said the priest, " by Polybius his methods, by Trithemius, even by the scytale itself "

" Monseigneur " began Guy.

The priest went on relentlessly.

" I was convinced then, as I wrote to you, that it was written on a key-word; by which method each letter of the message is rendered by various other letters. You will observe presently, that the letter ' I ' is written first as ' X,' then ' Z,' then ' C ' "

" Monseigneur," cried the young man again.

" But to discover that we must have the key- word. — the priest leaned back and put his fingers together. " Now I tried a hundred from my little book here, as I told you; and with no success. Then I tried all such words as I could think of which might have to do with the conspiracy — such names as Ashton, Horsey, and the like. I told you, you remember, that no letter should recur in the key- word. If so, it is easier to discover, because "

Guy sighed desperately. It seemed to distract the

The Queen's Tragedy priest, for he drew out a little square of paper and pushed it across. It contained so far as Guy noticed, a solid block of letters, of which the top line was the alphabet written in its proper order.

" There is the key," went on Monsignor. " I tried all such words; and no success. Then I bethought me, as I wrote to you, that the word would likely be a Latin one; such as English and French and Scotch and Welsh would alike understand. It must be a simple word, such as they would remember too. I went through my dictionary and wrote down all such; there were not a great number, by God's mercy, such as would fulfil all the conditions. I attempted the names of countries — such words too as libertas — and at last I caught her among the gifts of the Holy Ghost; and by His guidance I doubt not."

He leaned across the table and pointed with a lean brown finger to the left-hand column of the key. Guy followed it down, below the letter A, and saw that it spelt the word Prudentia.

" Master Manton, there was God's finger in it. It is he hardest of all cryptographs; and very rarely used but in France. It was that that set me thinking."

" And the message " cried Guy.

There was a footstep at the door, then a tap and a brisk voice calling out.

" It is Master Norris," said the young man hastily rising.

Before he could answer the door was open, and Jack stood there. Monsignor Priuli made a movement to seize the papers, saw it was hopeless, and that he had betrayed himself by the action, and sat back again, smiling uneasily. Guy gave him a desperate look.

" Come in, Master Norris," said the priest. " You have caught us plotting. You are discreet, are you not? "

Master Manton Serves the Queen Again

Jack's face changed. He looked embarrassed.

" I beg pardon, Monseigneur. Yes, I am discreet "

" Come in, sir; you will understand presently how needful is discretion."

The Italian looked swiftly across at Guy, who understood the look. It was better that Master Norris' mouth should be sealed at once. He went to the door, motioned Jack within, then pushed the bolt.

" It is a matter of a cypher," he said as he came back. " I will tell you afterwards, Jack. Yes, Monseigneur? "

The priest looked quite serene again now, and more human than when he had come in five minutes before.

" Well; the message," he said genially, taking up the third paper. " I will read it to you. It is a note or two for Master — for the fellow who bore it, I should suppose of some message. The first three are dead fish, as I told you — they are too stale for our pan."

He lifted the paper nearer his eyes.

Guy was conscious of an extraordinary excitement. It was as if a voice was to speak from the dead. He stared fixedly at the priest's brown face, his black bright eyes, his thatch of white hair.

"'Item,' " read Monsignor with an intolerable deliberateness, " ' Master Arnold is to go to Abingdon next month.'

" ' Item: The arms to remain in their place.'

" ' Item: the King here waits for the truce end ' — I should suppose the King of France," went on the priest lowering the paper a little, " but that does not concern us now."

" Yes, Monseigneur," said Guy's voice hoarsely.

" Ah! Master Manton," said the Italian, looking sharply across at him, with an authoritative air. " I had forgot one thing. You remember our talk last month? "

The Queen's Tragedy

Guy bowed. The priest glanced at Jack who was sitting, staring at both with open mouth.

" I understand that you will follow my counsel in this matter? "

" I will, Monseigneur."

" For if you will not, I had best keep the last item to myself."

" I promise."

" And from you, Master Norris, I ask silence."

" I will keep silence, Monseigneur," muttered Jack.

" Well then " he lifted his paper once more:

" ' Item: The Princess E ' — that is the Lady

Elizabeth — ' will not hold to any promise she may make as to Religion. She has sworn this to Mrs. Ashley twice. She cannot have the crown else. She is of the new religion.' '

The priest laid the paper down, and looked across at the two young men.

In rebus aspens et tenuibus fortissimo, quaeque consilia tutissima sunt. Liv.