Bloody Tower Read online

  It did not matter that I was alone. The people were excited and happy, and my only worry was watching out for cutpurses. I had brought money to buy a pie or two, for I would miss dinner.

  I made my way to Aldgate, where there were flowers and faces at every window, but could not get near the gate itself for the heaving crowd. It was impossible to see anything, so I climbed on a barrel outside an inn, and looked across people’s heads. Trumpeters were posted on each side of the gate, and the Lord Mayor was already waiting, so I guessed the procession would not be long in coming.

  In fact it was ages. I grew hungrier and hungrier, but I knew if I got down to buy a pie, somebody else would take my barrel. There was a man close by who looked as if he’d like to knock me off and climb up himself.

  Just as I thought I might pass out from hunger, faint cheers from beyond the gate told us the Royal party was on its way. In the distance, I saw caps tossed high in the air. Then through the gate came soldiers, their armour and weapons gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The cheers grew louder, and trumpets sounded, so I guessed the Queen must be passing through the gate into the city, but I could still see nothing.

  “Will she come this way?” I asked a man who carried his small son on his shoulders. The child’s eyes were almost level with mine.

  “She might,” he replied, “or she might turn down towards Tower Hill.”

  It was clear I wasn’t going to see much from where I was, so off I jumped. I knew where I could get a good view. Two fat boys scrambled for my place and knocked the barrel over. I fought my way through the crowds and – oh, delight – in a narrow alley that runs down towards Tower Hill, I met a pieman who had been to refill his tray. I bought two meat pies, and stuffed one inside my pocket for later. The one I ate was so hot the gravy burned my mouth, but it tasted better than anything I have eaten for months!

  I hurried past the guards into the Lion Tower, and raced round shouting for Tom. Master Worsley caught me, but he was in a good mood, and let me go up the steps to the walkway below the battlements to watch the procession. Once he’d gone down to the gates, Tom climbed up beside me.

  When the Tower cannons began their thundering salute, we knew the procession was near. Soon we heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles. It echoed as the horses passed beneath the gatehouse, and we cheered as soldiers, nobles and gentlemen passed in all their glory. But if they were brilliant, they were nothing compared with the two shining Royal ladies. The Queen was dressed in purple and gold, so rich it glowed. Princess Elizabeth wore white and I thought she was so beautiful.

  I don’t know what possessed me. I knelt down and leaned over the edge of the walkway, which is dangerous in itself, and then I did what was, although I did not realize it, a far more dangerous thing. “My Lady!” I shouted. Tom gripped my ankle. “My Lady Elizabeth! I have something for you!” I was annoyed that I hadn’t brought the letter with me, but if she would only stop I could tell her about it. Before I knew what was happening, two guards grabbed me by the elbows and pulled me down from the walkway and away from Tom.

  My candle is dying. I must wait for sunrise to finish this. Mother said I should remember to tell my children about this day. No need. They will be able to read my diary – maybe!

  4th August 1553

  I am the luckiest person. In the excitement of yesterday, no word reached Father of what happened. When I shouted, I only had eyes for Princess Elizabeth, but Tom told me the Queen herself heard me. He said her head snapped round and she glared up at me, then spoke sharply to a noble at her side. He shouted to a guard, and that was when I suddenly found myself on the ground, my arms grasped so tightly that I fancy I can still feel the hands gripping me.

  One of them bellowed at me, but there was so much din from the procession that I couldn’t hear. He shouted again. “Answer me, girl! What is it you have for my Lady Elizabeth?”

  “N-nothing,” I stammered.

  “Take a look,” he said and, without warning, the other one opened my pocket and thrust his fist inside. If I had not been so frightened, I would have laughed, for his hand came out clutching a broken, dripping pie! He swore, and I wish I had remembered the words he used so I could tell Tom.

  “What’s that?” the first guard demanded.

  I have always been quick with my tongue, and for once my brain worked at the same speed. “It was a pie, for the Lady,” I said. “I thought she might be hungry, and now it is ruined!” I began to sob, most realistically. If they had asked why I did not have a pie for the Queen, I would have said something about how she would not want the people to see her with a meat pie in her hand, but they did not. Instead, they laughed so hard I thought I might laugh, too.

  Last night I thanked Almighty God that I had forgotten to take the letter with me.

  Later

  I am indeed lucky. Father told tales today of people on the streets who had called for the Lady Elizabeth. “Protestants,” William said, nodding and trying to look wise, but he is right for once. People feel very strongly, each about their own beliefs. “There are people who are angry that England will now return to the Catholic faith,” Father explained to Mother, but I know she does not care if England is Protestant or Catholic. She says we all worship the same God, and we should be allowed to do it in whatever way we wish. At least, she said that once, but Father was so angry that she will never say it again.

  We attend service at St Peter’s and, as that is within the walls of the Queen’s Tower, our services are as she ordains. I have never heard Father speak against the monarch’s wishes – not outside our house – and I do not suppose I ever will.

  Some of the Protestants Father spoke of were beaten by the Queen’s men, and some were taken away. Father said, “Much blood is going to be shed.”

  I do not agree. I believe Mary will be a good, kind ruler, for I heard that the first thing she did on entering the Tower was to free some of our Catholic prisoners – important men such as Bishop Gardiner and the Duke of Norfolk (who Father attends quite often, for he is ancient). The Yeoman Warder who told me about it said, “That lady needs all the good Catholics she can get.” But from the sound of the crowds today, the whole of England is Catholic once more. Anyway, the Queen will live in the White Tower while things settle down, and we are all safe here.

  7th August 1553

  All seems calm at home, but I think not for long! Mother has hired a girl for the day to help with the pickling. Sal is so busy showing off and letting the poor creature see who is in charge that she gets nothing done. I think sparks will fly soon. I hope so. When Mother is busy with Sal, she leaves me to my own devices. I am excused the task because my head aches and vinegar fumes worsen it. In truth I do not have a headache. ’Twas not really a lie – I almost feel I might get one.

  Later

  I walked with Tom by the river. We discussed what we will be doing when we are the same age as the Queen. By then I will have children as old as I am now. Tom says he will be Keeper of the Royal Menagerie. I laughed in his face. “I do not think,” I said, “that the great Master Worsley need fear his job will be taken by Tom – the son of John the Carter!”

  A rumour flying round the Tower says that the Lady Jane has written to Queen Mary begging for forgiveness. She must be so frightened, for the Queen has only to speak and Jane Grey will be doomed.

  8th August 1553

  The Catholic mass is said several times a day in the Queen’s chapel. Mary must be truly devout, and her knees must ache, as mine do on Sundays. Father has been asked to attend her twice, to assist her own physicians, but he will tell us nothing except that she is not as tall and slender as Princess Elizabeth, but dresses magnificently.

  While Father and William sat together tonight, I heard them saying that Northumberland will be going on trial for treason at Westminster and it is very likely he will be executed. Sal will be excited – Mother always lets her have the morning off for
executions. Father also said that he’d heard that the Queen will probably not condemn Jane.

  18th August 1553

  The Duke of Northumberland has been found guilty and, as a traitor, has been sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered, and to have his heart taken out of his body and flung in his face. The crowds love that kind of thing, but personally I think it’s disgusting. I was pleased that the Queen has been merciful and he is simply to be beheaded in three days’ time. I expect we shall all go.

  21st August 1553

  No execution. I don’t know why.

  22nd August 1553

  Execution day after all. I’ve found out it was delayed because Northumberland decided to give up being a Protestant and become Catholic. Perhaps he thought this might soften the Queen’s heart, but it’s had little effect. She did allow him a day to attend mass to do it, though.

  We got to the execution site on Tower Hill quite early. Mother brought the boys because there is a special place where Tower people may stand, which is reasonably safe. That is just as well, for there were thousands and thousands of people waiting to see the traitor die. And the racket! There were jugglers and minstrels and sellers of fruit and pies and ale. We did not buy anything because Sal and I carried a basket of food between us. I know there were pickpockets and cutpurses in the crowd, for every so often, a fight broke out to cries of “Thief!” Jack pointed to a beggar who frothed at the mouth. “Poor man,” he said. I laughed as the crowd chased him away, and told Jack the beggar was a cheat, who ate soap to make himself froth!

  We had to wait until Northumberland had been to mass and prayed for his soul, and the boys grew cross. It was a warm day, and they were hot and sticky. And the poor creatures could see nothing but skirts and breeches, except when big Geoffrey from the smithy sat Jack on his shoulders.

  When the prisoner appeared the crowd grew so angry that the soldiers had to keep them back by jabbing at them with the pointed ends of their halberds. As the Duke climbed the scaffold steps, the shouts of anger turned to demands for the executioner to get on with it and finish off the traitor.

  He prayed and made his speech – my, he did go on! Then he knelt on the straw and was blindfolded. He still muttered, and the blindfold slipped. He got up, it was retied, he knelt again and put his head on the block. The executioner limped forwards and raised his axe. Northumberland stretched out his arms and – chop! It was done. The executioner gripped the head by the hair and held it high, blood dripping on his white apron. I swear I saw the lips and eyes move. The head was shown at the four corners of the scaffold, and the executioner shouted, “Behold the head of the traitor!”

  The crowd went wild and fought forwards, wanting to dip bits of cloth in the blood that seeped through the boards of the scaffold. I did this at another execution once, with my kerchief, but some blood dripped on my head, which was disgusting, and has quite put me off.

  I used the kerchief to try to heal a horrible wart on my finger, but it did not work, and I had to let Father lay mouse flesh on it instead. Ugh.

  I wanted to stay on and watch for a while, but Mother said no, there was dinner to get ready and I could keep the boys amused at home.

  We followed the body as it was taken into St Peter’s to be buried. I suppose the head went to London Bridge, to be stuck on a spike as a warning to anyone else who fancied they might commit treason.

  It has just occurred to me that Guilford must have heard the crowds today – must have known that the final mighty cheer was in celebration of the death of his father.

  28th August 1553

  When Bishop Gardiner, who was freed by Queen Mary earlier this month, was imprisoned here, Father attended him so often that they became quite friendly. Now Gardiner has been appointed Lord Chancellor of England, so Father is feeling very important! I think it has given him dreams of becoming a Court Physician, although he does not say so. It is what I would dream in his place.

  31st August 1553

  All the talk is of how Lady Jane has been told that she and Guilford will stand trial, but she must not worry. She will, of course, be found guilty, but is assured that a royal pardon will follow straight away.

  Someone from the Mint – Master Lea, I think – dined at Master Partridge’s the other night, and Lady Jane was there. From what Master Lea has said (and gossip goes round the Tower very fast these days), she is very different to most fifteen year olds. She is powerfully strong in her faith – she will not become a Catholic – and fixed in most of her opinions. She expressed loyalty to the Queen, which I think is sensible, and she was not complimentary to the dead Duke. I should think not. He, along with Jane’s parents, has brought her to the state she is in now. She is, however, far more comfortable than many Tower prisoners. Two of them, Mr Man and Mr Gardiner (not the Bishop!), whose crime was stealing hawks, are to be put to torture as an example to others. That does not seem as bad to me as treason, and yet Lady Jane, who will be tried for treason, dines with the Gentleman Gaoler.

  7th September 1553

  Our birthday (Princess Elizabeth and me). I am now thirteen years old, and Elizabeth is twenty. By the time she was my age, her father had remarried four times and she was with her fourth stepmother, Katherine Parr.

  14th September 1553

  I am not allowed to move about alone at the moment. One after the other, important prisoners are being brought into the Tower, and Father says I should stay out of the way. I thought all this would be over once Mary was queen, but as some are freed, others are imprisoned. Catholic out – Protestant in. Today the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, who has talked too loudly against the Catholic mass, was brought in. He is being kept in the Garden Tower, which is not so bad, as he is almost sure to be allowed to walk in the Lieutenant’s garden. It’s much nicer than ours, which is all beans and onions and cabbages.

  27th September 1553

  The Queen is back here for the last few days before her coronation. Princess Elizabeth is here, too. I heard them arrive, but did not see them, for Mother has said that if I wish to watch the coronation procession, I must keep up with my housework and mend my best cap.

  They say that Mary keeps a close eye on Elizabeth. She is still a Protestant, although Mary is trying to make her change.

  I have taken out the Princess’s little letter from its hiding place, just to look at it. I even went down to dinner with it in my pocket, but I felt all hot, and almost guilty when Father came in. William asked if I had a secret, and started teasing me about Tom, which made Mother absolutely wild. Not with William – with me!

  29th September 1553

  The Queen will leave tomorrow for Whitehall, ready for her coronation. Father says I must stay on Tower Hill with the rest of the family and watch the procession leave. I begged to be allowed to go into the city, to be among the crowds, which would be much more exciting, but he said no, I am a young woman now and must be protected from unsavoury characters. I said Tom would protect me, but all that did was earn me a swipe from Mother. She missed, but did Sal gloat! I met Tom this morning anyway, when I took swill down for the pigs, and he cannot go tomorrow either because someone must stay with the beasts, and he is the lowest. He does not mind, as he will watch the procession leave. I remembered the day I stood on the wall and shouted for the Princess. That I will not do tomorrow. But, one day, I will find a way to give her the letter. If I could be sure she would be in no danger, I would simply send it to her with her page, who I see often around the Tower. I do not know what is in the letter, but I do know that her mother was known by all sorts of names, such as the Protestant Witch (and worse, William told me once, but he will not say what).

  Suppose the letter said something like, “If Mary gets the throne, take it from her”? If it were found, it would be a death sentence for Elizabeth. And it would have been my fault.

  All this thinking gives me a headache.

  30th September 1553

>   I could not go to Tower Hill today as I was taken ill last night. My head has been so sore, and I am still hot. Father says there is nothing much wrong. I wish he had my head. He would be sorry then.

  Tom sneaked in while the family were on Tower Hill, to tell me what he saw as the procession left. He twittered on about soldiers and armour and weapons until I wanted to slap him. “Tell me about the ladies,” I said. “There were many,” he said, “all finely dressed.” He also told me that Princess Elizabeth rode with one of her stepmothers, Anne of Cleves, and that the Queen wore a head-dress that shone like a crown. Not enough detail for my liking! Then he carried on about how the Master of the Horse had nodded to him, which is rot.

  Sal said that an acrobat balanced on the spire of St Paul’s. Can that be true? You can never tell with Sal. I should like to have seen it myself.

  1st October 1553

  Today the Queen is being crowned by Bishop Gardiner (who cannot be such a good friend of Father, as he did not invite him to the coronation) in Westminster Abbey. There is to be a great feast afterwards.