“Sundry papers that await your Majesty’s signature,” answered Davison. Elizabeth took up her pen and signed the warrant. Then she pushed it away from her and it fell upon the floor.
“Are you not heartily sorry to see this done?” she asked.
“I should be far from rejoicing in any one’s calamity,” replied Davison, “but the life of the Queen of Scots is so great a threat to the life of your Majesty that not to sign the paper would be a wrong to your whole realm as much as to yourself.”
“I have done all that either law or reason could require of me,” said the queen, “and now let me hear nothing further.”
Davison reported the scene to the council.
“She means the deed to be done,” said one, “but she has given no orders to carry out the warrant.”
“That is her way of dealing with her sea-captains,” said another. “Does she not provide them with ships and guns and soldiers, and does she not most willingly take a share of Spanish gold? But if a commander gets into trouble with Spain, she will say, ‘Did I not give orders to do no harm to my good friend Philip?’”
“Then must all ten of us give the final order,” said another. This was done. The warrant and the letter commanding the execution were sent.
About a week after the signing of the warrant, bonfires blazed and bells rang.
“The bells ring as merrily as if there were some good news,” said the queen. “Why is it?”