“Madam,” he began, the hatred in his voice thinly veiled, “you are suspected of complicity in the conspiracy of Thomas Wyatt and also that of Sir Peter Carew and it is the Queen’s pleasure that you should be taken to the Tower while the matter be further tried and examined.”
At last the dreaded words had been spoken and her mind reeled under the shock whilst a short, sharp cry of terror was emitted by Kat who stood shaking, while gripping the back of a chair for support.
Terror constricted Elizabeth’s throat or was it, she thought crazily, a foretaste of the axe? Half remembered tales of that bloody place swooped like birds of prey into her petrified mind.
“I am innocent! Innocent of all charges,” she pleaded. “I am truly guiltless. Pray God the Queen’s Majesty will be a more gracious Lady unto me than to send me to so notorious and doleful a place!” she begged while the tears ran unashamedly down her thin cheeks.
Gardiner gazed at her without pity and with something akin to scorn on his lean, fanatical features. Without another word he turned and signalling the Council members to follow, left.
She remained standing as if turned to stone, her eyes fixed upon the closed door. Kat ran to her and threw her arms about her.
“Bess, Bess, what are we to do? O, God help us!” she cried.
At her words Elizabeth’s trance broke and she clung to Kat and sobbed.
Barely an hour later she learnt that even Kat was to be taken away from her. Kat who had been her only comfort through the last terrible months, the only one in the world whom she felt she could trust. With mounting terror she realised that she was to die alone with not even Kat to help her through her last agony. They clung to each other in those final moments, both believing that it would be the last time they should see each other alive.
Six of the Queen’s ladies were appointed to wait upon Elizabeth.
“Spies,” she thought. “My mother, too, they surrounded with spies, but they will learn nothing of me!” she vowed.
One hundred northern soldiers, usually employed guarding the wild border country, were sent to guard the palace and gardens and two Lords kept watch in the Great Hall all night. She slept little knowing that to-morrow she would sleep beneath the walls of the Tower from which few ever returned.
She remembered what she had heard of her mother’s imprisonment, of Kat’s tales of the horrible deeds which were committed in the dark, rat infested dungeons. She lay shivering with fear trying to pray for strength and courage to die as bravely as Anne had done, but prayers would not come—only stark, abject terror!
By morning she had regained some of her unquenchable spirit. Never would she betray her feelings before these spies of Mary’s. The Earl of Sussex and the Marquis of Winchester came to inform her that the barge was waiting and that the tide tarrieth for no man.
She glimpsed a tiny ray of hope. “The tide,” she thought, “the tide! If I could but gain a little time.”
“If I am denied permission to see my sister, may I not at least write to her?” she begged.
Winchester refused but Sussex, with a change of heart, agreed. Writing materials were produced and she sat down to write the most important letter of her life.
“If any did try this old saying that a King’s word was more than another man’s oath, I most humbly beseech your Majesty to verify it in me and to remember your last promise and my last demand, that I be not condemned without answer and due proof which it seems that now I am; for that without cause proved I am by your Council from you commanded to go into the Tower, a place more wonted for a false traitor than a true subject. I protest before God, who shall judge me truly, whatsoever malice shall devise, that I never practised, counselled nor consented to anything that might be prejudicial to your person any way, or dangerous to the State by any means. And therefore I humbly beseech your Majesty to let me answer afore yourself and not suffer me to trust to your councillors: yea and afore that I go to the Tower, if it is possible, if not, afore I be further condemned let conscience move your Highness to take some better way with me, than to make me condemned in all men’s sight afore my desert (be) known.
I have heard in my time of many cast away for want of coming to the presence of their Prince; and in late days I heard my Lord Somerset say that if his brother had been suffered to speak with him, he had never suffered; but the persuasions were made to him too great, and that he was brought in belief that he could not live safely if the Admiral lived and that made him give his consent to his death. Though these persons are not to be compared to your Majesty, yet I pray God as evil persuasions persuade not one sister against the other.”
Winchester was urging her to hurry so she hastily concluded.
“I humbly crave to speak with your Highness which I would not be so bold to desire if I knew not myself most clear as I know myself most true. And as for the traitor Wyatt, he might peradventure write me a letter, but on my faith I never received any from him. And for the copy of my letter sent to the French King, I pray God confound me eternally if ever I sent him word, message, token or letter by any means. And to this truth I will stand to my death. I humbly crave but only one word of answer from yourself.
Your Highness’s most faithfull subject that hath been from the beginning and will be to my end.
Elizabeth.
As she added her signature she knew that she had achieved her object. They had missed the tide. They would not take her through the streets for fear of a riot and to take her on the midnight tide would be suicide for them all so they would have to wait until morning.
Her letter met with no success for Mary flew into a violent rage.
“Would that my father had been alive, but for one month!” she raged at her hapless Council.
So for Elizabeth there was to be no reprieve.
At nine o’clock next morning Sussex and Winchester arrived again and this time there was to be no time-wasting!
To their relief the girl seemed to be resigned to her fate and to their summons answered.
“If there be no remedy I must needs be content.”
They led her out through the chill, deserted gardens to the river steps. Hopelessly she searched the palace windows but there was no sign of Mary, no sign of anyone. Desolately she remarked,
“I marvel at the nobility of this land who will suffer me to be led into captivity, the Lord knows whither for I do not.”
A small party awaited at the water steps, three of Mary’s ladies and three of her own, but search though she may she could see no sign of Kat. Theres was also her Gentleman Usher and two of her own grooms.
As they all embarked that cold Palm Sunday a fine rain began to fall. All the citizens had been exhorted to attend Church so that there was no one to see the removal of the captive Princess. Her spirits could not have sunk further. Chilled to the very bones she now lived the nightmare that had haunted her for months. She sat silently as the barge moved slowly down river. Nearly eighteen years ago they had rowed her mother to the same, final destination. Sunk in apathy Elizabeth was convinced that history was repeating itself: she too was to die on the scaffold as Anne had done—as too had the five ill-fated young men accused with her, including her own brother. Poor Katherine Howard had travelled this route to her death and Elizabeth shivered involuntarily as she remembered even now Kate’s pitiful screams. Tom Seymour had gone to his death in the Tower, followed by his brother Ned. The mighty Northumberland and two of his sons and but a few weeks ago her poor cousin, Jane Grey. Dreams of power and the Crown of England had proved the downfall of them all and now it was to claim her too.
She was pulled back into the present by the startled cries of the ladies and the oaths of the oarsmen. The fools had misjudged the tide after all! There was a desperate moment as the barge struck on the wooden starling of the bridge and was sucked into the tiderace and Elizabeth feared that her end by drowning was imminent as she clung to the wooden pole which supported the canopy. After a few minutes’ confusion they were carri
ed safely on. Through the needle-fine rain the grim, forbidding walls of the Tower were visible ahead.
Her racing heart missed a beat, there was no miracle that could save her now!
As the barge tied up at the Water Gate she became paralysed with fear. Traitor’s Gate, they called this gate and anyone who passed beneath the ugly teeth of the portcullis never came out alive. Summoning every ounce of courage she refused to land.
“I am no traitor,” she declared. “You have misjudged the tide and I shall be over my shoes in water,” she cried, clutching at any excuse.
Winchester, who had been halfway up the steps, turned back.
“Madam, you have no choice,” he told her bluntly but he did offer her his cloak.
She glared at him. “Thank you, no,” she replied. As she placed one foot on the slimy steps her courage seemed to return, “Here landeth as true a subject, being a prisoner as ever landed at these stairs and before God I speak it, having no other friend but Thee Alone!” she cried.
Winchester was not impressed. “If that be so then ’tis better for thee,” he remarked caustically.
She now appealed to the little band of soldiers and warders who were drawn up waiting to escort the party. The thin frail girl who should have been utterly beaten but in whose ailing body there still burnt the indomitable spirit of her ancestors.
“O Lord,” she cried, “I never thought to come in here as a prisoner and I pray you all good friends and fellows bear me witness that I come in no traitor but as true a woman to the Queen’s Majesty as any now living,” she stretched out her hands appealingly, “thereon will I take my death,” she finished.
From the ranks of these men a voice cried
“God Preserve Your Grace!”
She turned to the Lord Chamberlain, “Are all these harnessed men for me?” she asked.
“No, Madam, it is usual when any prisoner comes thither,” he answered but her courage began to desert her, the spark was dying.
“Yes, I know it is so. It needed not for me being but a weak woman.”
Her courage gave out entirely and she sank down upon the cold, wet steps; the very steps her mother had taken—she could go no further.
“Madam, you were best to come out of the rain for you sit unwholesomely,” a voice e advised her, it was the Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Bridges.
Mournfully she replied, “’Tis better sitting here than in a worse place, for God knoweth I know not, whither you will bring me.”
At her words her Gentleman Usher promptly burst into tears for the sight of his proud, beloved mistress reduced to utter despair was too much for him.
His tears brought back a little of Elizabeth’s strength.
“What do you mean to so uncomfortably use me?” she said sharply. His pity had stung her to life for a Tudor never accepted pity!
She rose and with all the dignity she could muster, climbed the remaining steps and walked on into that haunted prison.
Chapter Ten
They led her to the upper storey of the Bell Tower and at the sight of the rooms allotted to her her spirits sank still further. The stone floor was bare. Covering the damp, grey walls down which the water dripped, were faded and mouldy tapestries. The furniture was sparse and old and the only light came through the grimy, leaden panes of the small window from which she could see the squat shape of the Byward Tower and the Main Entrance.
A small fire burnt in the sooty hearth but it could do little to dispel the gloom and coldness of the room. She was so cold that her hands and feet were numb and she clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering, lest her jailors think they chattered from fear—which indeed they did. She could hear Winchester and the Lieutenant discussing the security of their prisoner. She took little notice until the more compassionate Earl of Sussex intervened.
“Pray do not be overzealous,” she heard him say, “remember the Lady Elizabeth is the King our master’s daughter. She is also the Queen’s sister, let us use such dealings that we may answer it hereafter, for just dealing is always answerable.”
“So,” she thought, “Master Sussex has one eye to the future.”
Winchester and the Lieutenant departed and Sussex moved to where she stood trying to absorb some warmth from the spluttering fire.
“Madam, several members of the Council are sorry for your trouble,” he began. “I myself am sorry that I have lived to see this day.”
She remained silent and he left her alone. She heard the key turn protestingly in the rusty lock. “All think solely of their own welfare,” she thought bitterly. Sussex might as well have said, “Take care, one day this prisoner may be your Queen,” for that, despite his show of compassion, was what he really meant. Her estimation of human nature reached its lowest ebb, she would never in her whole life trust a single person.
“My whole life—what there is left of it!” she thought ironically.
She sank to her knees beside the fire and despair swept over her. She was to die alone and friendless with no one to offer her a compassionate word. Her thoughts turned to her mother for Anne had faced this loneliness and despair, surrounded by spies, half-crazed with fear but she had gone to her death with her head held high.
“Mother,” her heart cried, “Mother have you deserted me also?” She cried out to Anne for help, blindly groping in the darkness for the hands that would give her the strength she needed but the only sounds in the room were the spluttering of the fitful fire and the steady drip of the rain against the window pane.
She cried in vain.
Perhaps there was no comfort Anne could bring her now, she thought, perhaps that restless spirit was trapped forever in some desolate place, waiting only for her daughter to join her beneath the cold flags in the chapel of St Peter ad Vincula here in the Tower. There was no hope now and she resolved to beg of Mary the final privilege of dying as Anne had done—by the hand of a swordsman sent from France and not by the axe!
*
She was to spend a week of mental torture before she was revisited by Gardiner and the Council. She was questioned closely regarding her removal to Donnington. She protested her innocence.
“I have never in my life been to Donnington,” she told them.
James Crofts was ushered into the room. He whom she was alleged to have discussed the move with.
“I have little to say to him or to the rest that are prisoners,” she answered. “My Lords, you do examine every mean prisoner of me,” she continued, “wherein methinks you do me great injury. If they have done evil and offended the Queen’s Majesty, let them answer accordingly.”
Then to her astonishment and that of the assembled party and to the fury of Gardiner, the Earl of Arundel fell to his knees.
“Your Grace saith true and certainly we are very sorry that we have troubled you about so vain a matter,” he declared.
She seized the chance. “My Lords, you do sift me very narrowly but well I am assured you should not do more to me than God hath appointed and so God forgive you all,” she said. Her last remark she directed at Gardiner and open enmity and hatred flashed between them.
Elizabeth was fighting for her life and Gardiner knew it.
The deputation left.
*
Mary continued with blind obstinacy the preparations for her marriage. She had promised that the trials of both Elizabeth and Courtney would be over by the time Philip arrived but it appeared that her sister had once again thwarted her. She had actually done nothing to incriminate herself. She was by far too clever, Mary thought bitterly.
Once again, as at Whitehall, Elizabeth’s tortured mind adjusted to her uncertain position. The weeks lengthened to a month and still there was no move made against her.
She loathed being confined to the dark, musty chambers and tentatively approached the Lieutenant to allow her to take some fresh air and exercise. At first she was only allowed to walk in the Queen’s Lodgings—those apartments where her mother had been imprisoned. The windows were
to be kept closed and she was instructed not to look out.
She could never forget that Anne had spent her last days on earth in these rooms. She pictured her as she walked the same floor, willing herself to hear Anne’s laughter and to picture her dark beauty seated in the chair which now stood before her. At times she could feel her mother’s presence close to her in those rooms as though Anne’s laughter came down to her over the years to be caught forever in the grey stones of her prison.
Another month passed and Elizabeth began to hope again. After having sorted out the petty difficulties arising over her meals for which she herself had to pay, her servants were allowed to bring in food and after her cook was installed meals at least became fit to eat. She was now allowed to walk daily in a small garden, the gates of which were locked as she entered and left. She enjoyed these walks as she usually had three small visitors. These were the small son of the Keeper of the Wardrobe and two little girls of about four years old, one of whose name was Susannah. They brought her little posies of flowers and she in return told them stories and patiently answered their questions for Elizabeth was very fond of children.
One day when the children came to her she could see from their flushed little faces that they were full of some secret conspiracy. After a great deal of whispering Susannah handed her a tiny bunch of keys which probably belonged to some old case which had long since been thrown away.
“For you to open the gates and go abroad,” the child informed her as she solemnly handed over the keys.
Elizabeth smiled down at her, touched by the gesture.
“Why, thank you,” she answered gravely with the hint of a smile. She bent down and kissed the child. “Would that it were so easily accomplished,” she whispered sadly. Taking the little girls by the hand she led them to a sunny corner and settling herself down on the grass began to tell them the story of St George.
She was a little perturbed next day when the children did not come. The following day also they did not appear. By the third day she began to feel some anxiety when she heard the little boy’s voice calling her. She looked around but could not see him. She followed the sound of his voice to a chink in the wall.
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