“For the present we are, Señor Don Felipe, but there’s no saying what we may come to, now the Prince, your master, is about to take us in hand, and teach us manners. Ere long, we shall have a padlock placed upon our mouths, I make no doubt. They say we are to have the Inquisition, and an Auto-da-fé once a month to purge us of heresy, and bring back the stray lambs to the fold. What with the Prince, your master, and Cardinal Pole, who is shortly expected, we are likely to have a pleasant time of it. Familiars of the Holy Office will become too familiar with us, and after a few months passed in secret cells, with red-hot pincers and the rack for recreation, we shall be burnt alive in the market places, shrouded from head to foot in a san benito, as I have myself seen done in your delightful city of Seville.”
“You are trying to frighten us by these horrid descriptions of red-hot pincers and the rack, Rodomont,” said Simnel. “But it won’t do. Such things will never come to pass in England.”
“Be not too sure of that, Nick,” rejoined Bittern. “You yourself may march at the head of a procession of penitents to Smithfield before the year is out.”
“May be I shall,” rejoined Simnel; “but if I am burned at the stake, you will bear me company. However, I refuse to believe that the Prince of Spain has any such fell designs as you calumniously attribute to him. Don Philip will give us an assurance to the contrary. Doubtless he is in his Highness’s confidence. I pray your lordship to contradict him. Give him the lie direct.”
“Set your mind at ease, Sir,” rejoined Philip. “The Prince is a good Catholic, but that you need not be told. But even his abhorrence of heresy will not induce him to interfere with the religious affairs of this realm, which belong, of right, to the Queen and the Church. You need not fear the establishment of the Inquisition.”
As the words were uttered, a passer-by, who had lingered to hear what was going forward, exclaimed, “’Tis he!” and then, hurrying on his way, speedily disappeared.
The exclamation troubled Philip, and he felt the necessity of instant departure.
“I am sorry I cannot longer continue this discourse, gentlemen,” he said, “neither can I accept Master Tyrrell’s hospitality. I bid you all good-night.”
And bowing to the party with a dignity that strongly impressed them, and prevented them from attempting to accompany him, he walked away with Osbert.
“My mind misgives me,” said Rodomont, looking after him. “Did I not feel sure the Prince must be on board the ‘Santissima Trinidada,’ I should think this haughty hidalgo was he. What an air he has!”