“It is false,” cried Northumberland, imperiously; “you shall all sign,—all! vile, perjured traitors that you are! I will have your hands to this paper, or, by God’s precious soul! I will seal it with your blood. Now, will you obey me?”
“Will you obey him?” demanded Renard, in a mocking whisper. “No!” answered Pembroke, fiercely.
“Guards!” cried Northumberland, “advance, and attach their persons.”
The command was instantly obeyed by the arquebusiers, who marched forward and surrounded them.
Jane fixed an inquiring look upon Northumberland, but she spoke not.
“What next?” demanded Pembroke, in a loud voice.
“The block!” exclaimed Jane, rising, while the colour forsook her cheek. “Oh! no, my lord,—no.”
“But I say yea,” returned the Duke, peremptorily. “‘Fore Heaven! these rebellious lords think I am as fearful of shedding blood as they are of shedding ink. But they shall find they are mistaken. Away with them to instant execution.”
“Your grace cannot mean this!” cried Jane, horror-stricken.
“They shall have five minutes for reflection,” returned the Duke, sternly. “After that time, nothing shall save them.’”
An earnest consultation was held among the council. Three minutes had expired. The Duke beckoned a sergeant of the guard towards him.
“You had better sign,” whispered Simon Renard; “I will find some means of communicating with her highness.”
“We have reflected,” cried the Earl of Pembroke, “and will do your grace’s behests.”
“It is well,” answered Northumberland. “Set them free.” As soon as the guard had withdrawn, the council advanced, and each, in turn, according to his degree, subscribed the despatch. This done, Northumberland delivered it to an officer, enjoining him to give it instantly to the messenger, with orders to the latter to ride for his life, and not to draw bridle till he reached Kenninghall.
“And now,” continued the Duke, addressing another officer, “let the gates of the Tower be closed, the drawbridges raised, and suffer none to go forth, on pain of death, without my written order.”
“Diable!” exclaimed De Noailles, shrugging his shoulders.
“Prisoners!” cried several of the privy-councillors.
“You are the queen’s guests, my lords,” observed the Duke, drily.
“Do you agree to my scheme now?” asked Renard, in a deep whisper. “Do you consent to Northumberland’s assassination?”