The Earl of Arundel was a dark-featured man of some fifty years of age; his black beard and moustache, worn in the Tudor style, was streaked with grey. A soldier, a statesman, a courtier of immense power and influence, he had steered his political barque with supreme skill through the stormy period of the English Reformation, when many greater than he, and more highly placed, had suffered shipwreck. Just now he was the acknowledged leader of the Spanish faction at Court, and no man stood higher than he in the favour of King Philip. To-day his sombre face had a marked expression of sternness, which underwent a sudden change as the Cardinal bent towards him and whispered something in his ear. Arundel was listening to the Cardinal with unwonted deference, and his grim features relaxed into a friendly smile as he made reply in low tones. From the bench where he sat Sir John's keen eyes had noted that both these illustrious judges were bending close, inquisitorial glances on the boy prisoner; he was evidently the subject of their secret discourse. "The Chancellor seems to be in a stern frame of mind to-day," whispered Sir John to Sir Philip Broke. "I have seen him look yet more fierce," replied the Master of the Rolls. "I was with him on the day when he arrested his brother-in-law the Duke of Northumberland, when the gleam of his dark eyes struck terror into the Duke's soul! But be of good courage, Sir John; mark how the Cardinal's gentle smile is thawing his icy reserve, and remember his Eminence hath promised Don Renard to give us all the aid in his power." "Thank God for that!" whispered Sir John in reply. Cardinal Reginald Pole, Archbishop of Canterbury, was perhaps the foremost Englishman of his age. An aristocrat of the finest type, with the royal blood of the Plantagenets in his veins, he was, above all things, an ecclesiastic of stainless life and reputation. Those who differed from him _toto cælo_ in religious matters were eager to acknowledge his incorruptibility and devotion to duty. Men remembered how boldly he had withstood the threats and cajoleries of King Henry VIII; how, later, he had shown a bold front to the Vatican itself, and to the most dreaded tribunal in the world, the "Holy Office"! There was something eminently pleasing and attractive in the face, bearing and physique of the great Cardinal. Notwithstanding his long sojourn in foreign lands, he was a typical Englishman. He wore his hair long—it hung in profusion on his broad shoulders, and, like his long bushy beard, was of a rich brown colour. His fine expressive face was somewhat colourless, but it was lit up by the deep-blue eyes of the Plantagenet race—eyes which at times gleamed with tenderness and pity. He was spare in body, and his hands were as small and as delicately shaped as those of a woman. The whispered conversation between the Chancellor and the Cardinal had come to an end, and for a moment a deep silence brooded in the Court.