Читать книгу On the Trail of King Richard III - L. M. Ollie - Страница 10

Prince:

I do not like the Tower, of any place:

Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

Buckingham:

He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,

Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

Shakespeare –

The Tragedy of King Richard the Third

[Act III, Scene 1]

As she walked, Laura flipped through the Official Guidebook to the Tower of London, which she had purchased along with their tickets. ‘Ready for this, Gail?’

‘Sure. Bleak looking though, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a fortress and a prison. I don’t think it was meant to be pretty. Come on, let’s hurry and catch the next tour.’

*****

‘Good morning ladies and gentleman, boys and girls. I am a Yeoman Warder. One of thirty-eight Yeoman Warders who guard this Tower and call it home. I will be conducting you on a brief introductory tour of Her Majesty's Tower of London. Sometimes referred to as a Beefeater, I must tell you that I am not that fond of beef, and in fact, had a nice leg of lamb for my dinner last night.’ Several members of the tour chuckled.

‘On your right the Middle Tower which guards the entrance area outside the moat and the outer ward, which has a total of six towers and two bastions and abuts the Thames wharf to the south. Beneath you is the dry moat. At one time it was filled with water and I use that term loosely. It was, in fact, a giant cesspool which stunk to high heaven. It did, however, provide an excellent deterrent for those individuals who, for various reasons, wished not to use the usual entrance ways.’

‘To the left of you the Byward Tower; the gatehouse of the outer ward. Originally this Tower was fitted with a wooden drawbridge which could be drawn up in times of trouble. As you walk through, take note of the portcullis. The wooden gallery which you see above was constructed in the early part of the 16th century.’

Taking the lead, he drew his audience along the causeway and through the archway between the two turrets which together formed the Byward Tower. Just beyond, he halted, and waited patiently for everyone to come through.

‘We are now between the inner and outer walls. The inner wall is forty feet high and there are thirteen towers built into it. The first tower you will notice is the Bell Tower, one of the oldest and most secure of all the towers. At various times it has been a prison for such notable individuals as Princes Elizabeth, who later became Queen Elizabeth the First, Sir Thomas More, Bishop John Fisher and the Duke of Monmouth. Begun by King Richard the First, it has been called by various names over the years; the Belfry Tower, the Curfew Tower and the Red Tower. Because of its proximity to the River Thames, it is built on a base of solid masonry five metres above the original river level and the tower itself is eighteen metres high and contains two floors.

‘As we approach Traitors Gate ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you that you have entered the Tower of London voluntarily and will be leaving, no doubt, in a few hours. The same may not be said of many of the individuals who came through, under Traitors Gate and climbed those stairs.

‘The Lady Princess Elizabeth was conducted to the Tower through this gate on Palm Sunday, 1554. She was a young girl of twenty years but, despite her youth, she was a strong-willed young woman. Climbing up a few steps, she promptly sat down in the pouring rain and refused to go further, insisting that she was not a traitor and did not deserve this fate. It took a considerable amount of coaxing before she finally allowed herself to be escorted to her lodgings in the Bell Tower. To get there she would have had to pass beneath the Bloody Tower behind you.

‘Originally called the Garden Tower, it received its more ominous name in Tudor times because of its association with the two Princes, the sons of King Edward the Fourth who, legend has it, were murdered in this tower by order of their uncle, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, later King Richard the Third.

‘The Bloody Tower houses a fully functioning portcullis which weighs two tonnes. Before a windlass and pulley system was installed in 1848, thirty men were required to raise and lower it. There were originally two such gates installed in the inner and outer gateway. Unlike the other towers here, the Bloody Tower is square and serves as the gateway into the inner ward. It has had its share of famous prisoners as well, including Sir Walter Raleigh, Sir Thomas Overbury, Archbishop Thomas Cranmer and the infamous Judge George Jeffreys.

‘To the right the Wakefield Tower which housed the Crown Jewels until 1967. Its most famous prisoner was King Henry the Sixth who died there in 1471 under mysterious circumstances. The bridge above connects St. Thomas's Tower to the upper floor of the Wakefield Tower. Now, if you will follow me, we shall go through the entrance way here, note the portcullis above, and you will receive your first clear view of the White Tower.’

The cobblestones beneath the Bloody Tower were hard and uneven and Laura was grateful that they both had worn sensible shoes. The land rose dramatically then as the great central Keep came into view.

‘Construction on the Tower of London was begun by William the Conqueror shortly after his victory at the Battle of Hastings. For those who do not remember their history, that was in 1066. The White Tower was the first structure built. It is ninety feet high and measures one hundred and eighteen feet by one hundred and seven feet. It got its name during the reign of King Henry the Third when he ordered the exterior whitewashed prior to the arrival of his bride, Eleanor of Provence in 1236. For most of its nine hundred year history, it had been the tallest building in London.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I will leave you now to wander about the Tower grounds at your leisure. Take particular care with the Tower Ravens please. They are a carnivorous bird with a keen appetite for fingers, so beware.’ He did his utmost to sound suitably foreboding. Several tourists did laugh however, probably because they had not as yet seen a raven, nor had an opportunity to appreciate its size and evil demeanor.

‘The ravens have been in evidence at the Tower since its inception so they feel they have a right to be here and are, in fact, encouraged to do so, since legend has it that without the ravens the Tower will fall and the kingdom with it. It is just a legend of course but, just to make sure, the birds’ wings are clipped but, I might add again for your safety, not their beaks nor their talons. Should you have any questions, please ask and I shall endeavor to answer them for you.’

A middle aged man next to Gail whispered to his wife out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Martha, ask the man where William the Conqueror put the toilets.’

*****

Laura eased herself down onto a wooden bench, lit a cigarette and watched as Gail turned full circle, taking in a much as she could but, as yet, not understanding very much of it. ‘Well, where do you want to start Gail?’

‘It's bigger than I thought.’

‘Eighteen acres, I think, with more history per square inch than anywhere else in England. If you want to see inside the Bloody Tower, we best do it now, before this place gets too crowded.’

‘The two Princes, I thought they were smothered or something, so how did it get the name Bloody Tower?’ Gail asked as they hurried along.

‘That name came later. During their time it was called the Garden Tower because it looked out over the Constable's garden. If the two boys were murdered there, and it’s doubtful, they certainly didn't meet a bloody end. It’s all typical Tudor propaganda. The same nonsense that gives Richard a withered arm, hump on his back, all that rubbish. I, for one, find it very hard to believe that Richard would have housed the boys there. It's just too close to the exit. Anyhow, must pay my respects to Sir Walter, patron saint of smokers.’ Laura grinned wickedly as they took their place in line.

Sir Walter Raleigh's prison had been faithfully recreated, furnished at it may have been in his day and included a portrait of the man himself. The fireplace was certainly large enough to have heated the room and included a bread-oven on the right-hand side. A few of the original floor tiles attested to the palatial accommodation offered to prisoners of rank.

‘Where do you think we should go now?’ Gail whispered as she relinquished her place to the press of tourists behind them.

‘How does the Wakefield Tower sound?’

‘Isn’t that where King Henry the Sixth was murdered?’

‘Yes,’ Laura replied gleefully.

‘Right,’ Gail snapped, ‘and afterwards we can go and have scones and jam.’

Laura turned on Gail in a flash. ‘What's wrong?’

‘Knowing what I know about Henry's death, I think this is going to be a sad experience, that’s all.’

‘After everything you’ve heard, I'm surprised. But, you don't have to go. I'll meet you back here in half an hour.’ Laura began to turn away.

‘No, I want to go,’ Gail said hurriedly as she clutched Laura’s arm.

‘Good, because I’d hate you to miss out on seeing one of the oldest parts of the Tower.’

Together they walked down towards the gate under the Bloody Tower, through it and across to the stairs leading up to St. Thomas's Tower on the right-hand side of Traitors Gate.

*****

They wandered through the two rooms, the first stripped of its wall coverings to reveal the construction techniques used so long ago. The second room, however, was decorated as it might have been when this portion of the Tower comprised part of the royal apartments.

Having viewed the tower from every angle, they stood poised at the entrance to the bridge which connects St. Thomas’s Tower to the Wakefield Tower. Without saying a word, but giving each other looks which spoke volumes, they proceeded across to the magnificent vaulted beauty of the Wakefield Tower.

Here, too, attempts had been made to restore the tower to its original medieval appearance. There were several striking features including a replica of a throne, resting on a raised dais. Painted gold, with a fleur-de-lis pattern, it seemed a little out of place but, Laura reasoned that perhaps it is was not beyond the realm of possibility that King Henry did have something like this in his prison. Two golden lions lay in front of the chair as foot rests but no amount of decoration could make the chair comfortable to sit upon. Two huge, wrought iron candelabras, ablaze with real candles stood on either side of the throne, while above, a massive iron ring held numerous slots in which small electric bulbs burned where once candles would have been employed.

But the most arresting feature was the chapel. Beautifully decorated, with a tile floor and stained glass window, it was small but lovely. Brightly painted wooden screens either side of the narrow entrance way separated the chapel from the octagonally-shaped room, so Laura was required to bend forward to read the plaque set into the floor in front of the altar – By tradition Henry the Sixth died here May 21, 1471. Laura read this aloud but when she turned, Gail was nowhere to be seen. Wandering around a bit, Laura found her sitting on a stone seat in one of the recesses, gazing out the window.

‘Have you noticed anything unusual?’ Gail said as she turned to look at Laura.

Laura frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ It was obvious that Gail was uneasy.

‘We’re the only people in this room, and have been for several minutes. Don't you think that's rather odd?’ Gail rose then and walked past Laura to the centre of the room and stopped, staring at the chapel. Laura joined her and the two of them stood in silence while the sounds of the outside world seemed to drift away, leaving them cocooned in a realm of imagination.

‘Do you know what a misericord is?’

Gail shook her head.

‘The name is derived from the Latin, misereri - to pity, and cor – heart; to show pity, compassion or mercy. It’s a dagger, a very special dagger made of the finest steel, encrusted with gems and worked all over with Christian symbols. It was long, slender and extremely deadly. During the Crusades, each knight carried his own blade, but not for use in battle. Hidden away on his person, the misericord was only revealed long enough for it to be blessed by a priest during the Mass which always preceded any encounter with the infidel. Should a knight be badly wounded in battle, his misericord would be used by his companion to deliver the coup de grâce rather than allow him to fall into enemy hands. It was, if you like, a form of consecrated murder, blessed and sanctioned by the Church.’

Gail stared at Laura, her face a mask of horror and fascination. ‘Go on,’ she said in a hushed whisper.

Laura took a deep breath. ‘It’s my belief that Richard Gloucester committed ritualistic murder here, in this room, using a single, deadly dagger - a misericord - cunningly crafted into the shape of the cross so as to ensure the thrust and sanctify the wound.’

‘Oh my God,’ Gail said, catching her breath.

Then the spell was shattered as two rambunctious boys entered the room, stopped and shouted in unison. ‘Cool.’

Laura and Gail moved back towards the window recess. They sat quietly, watching the boys as they explored the room but by the time their parents joined them, the children had seen enough and were on their way again, out and down the vice, leaving their parents behind. With just a cursory glance about them they, too, hurried out. As their footsteps and muttered conversation faded, Laura, Gail and Henry's prison were once more enveloped in silence.

Gail rose quietly and wandered off a few feet before turning, to face Laura. ‘Even knowing all the reasons why, Richard still shouldn't have done it. And, if you think he’s going to get off lightly because he might have killed Henry using some sort of religious ceremony or something, you're wrong. It's still murder.’

‘All right,’ Laura said, turning in her seat slightly to look out of the window. ‘Then let's forget the misericord idea and go with the version universally accepted for nearly five hundred years - Shakespeare, Henry the Sixth, Part Three, Scene Six. Or, how about some twisted Shakespeare? Richard came into the room - this room: “Hi Henry old bean, I've got good news and bad news. First, here’s the bad news - your son, Edouard, is dead; I killed him. And the good news is - you’re going to join him”.’

‘Will you stop,’ Gail said, feigning shock, but at the same time trying hard to suppress a grin. ‘King Henry was a nice man.’

‘Right,’ Laura said. ‘He was a great guy but a terrible king. Richard didn't kill him because he was a nice person you know. Put yourself in Richard's shoes. It was Henry's government, notably Queen Margaret and her Lancastrian supporters, who killed Richard's father, his brother, and an uncle. Richard could never forget the indignities done to the bodies. The heads were cut off and displayed at York, his father's decorated with a paper crown for heaven's sake. I think Richard's love for his father was motivation enough to do the deed. He probably would have loved to have done Margaret of Anjou a major injury too, but of course, that sort of thing wasn't done in those days.

‘Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, but did you know that Richard's father died on Wakefield Green and his brother on Wakefield Bridge? Henry died here in the Wakefield Tower. Richard must have been aware of the significance of the name Wakefield. To kill him here became an act of unparalleled revenge; the venue deliciously apropos.’

‘Stop it Laura, you’re giving me goose bumps.’

‘Sorry, but you see Richard had a duty to perform and he did it. I’m not suggesting for a moment that he enjoyed it, but in the final frame it wasn't a case of will I or won't I. He had no choice. The strength of his brother's reign depended upon the wholehearted support of everyone and, once the son was dead, there was no point in keeping the father alive. I think, too, that Richard probably despised Henry for allowing the monarchy to degenerate to such an extent that the country was being run by the Queen and her minions. Henry's preoccupation with the ethereal while his kingdom went to hell in a handcart would have only angered someone of Richard's temperament who saw power as a living force, to be wielded, not wasted.’

They sat quietly then while a steady stream of tourists arrived, looked around briefly and proceeded on. Finally, gathering her things together, Laura stood up. ‘Are we ready to go Gail?’

‘Yes, I guess so.’

They exited one at a time down the spiral staircase, or vice, to the lower level then outside to the pathway which led from the gate of the Bloody Tower back up the incline to the White Tower. The walk was not only slightly steep, but they were hedged in on both sides by walls, the one on the right now in ruins.

‘I know you feel sorry for Henry, but look, he was well taken care of while he was here and I don't think he chaffed one bit against his lost of freedom. He had every comfort, which is more than can be said for most of the prisoners kept here.’

Turning around to face the patch of green just in front of the Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad Vincula, Laura pointed. ‘There’s the spot where three queens died. Two were King Henry the Eighth’s wives and the third was a tiny, frightened girl of sixteen. More victims were to follow for various reasons, but mostly to do with the “King's Displeasure”. The Chapel there became a yawning pit into which were thrown the remains of many otherwise decent human beings who dared to defy the Tudor regime. Between 1540 and 1640, more people were tortured here then at any other time in history. That’s the Tudor age, not Plantagenet.’

Gail was drawn to the spot where a simple plaque marked the site of the scaffold.

‘Very few people were executed here,’ Laura continued. ‘Most died on Tower Hill which was more public and a lot more entertaining for the masses. Five women did die here though.’

‘Tell me about them,’ Gail said her voice low and sad.

Laura began to tell Gail, in horrific detail, the deaths of Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard, Lady Rochford and Lady Jane Grey. She left the best to last. ‘Margaret of Clarence, Countess of Salisbury, was executed in 1541. Margaret was the daughter of our very own George, Duke of Clarence. She was an old lady in her seventies by then but that didn't stop Henry the Eighth. Why he felt that it was necessary to execute an old woman is beyond me, but as usual, it had something to do with treason. She didn't make it easy for him, though. Apparently she refused to put her head on the block since that was what traitors did so the poor executioner ended up hacking at her neck and shoulders before the decapitation was finally accomplished.’

Gail just turned and fixed Laura with a steady gaze.

Laura smiled wickedly. ‘See, Richard wasn't that bad. At least he didn't go around butchering old ladies. Hey, don't blame me, I'm just telling the story.’

‘Where do you get all this stuff?’ Gail asked in mock disgust.

‘It's a hobby,’ Laura replied nonchalantly. ‘You have to admit it’s interesting though. Not the usual cut and dried - excuse the pun - material we studied in our history books.’

’You know what you're doing, don't you? All this talk of the Tudors is suppose to soften me up for what Richard did here. Well, it's not working. I want to hear about the Princes. Come on.’ Laura watched as Gail walked resolutely towards a rank of benches resting in shadow on the west side of the White Tower. She hesitated briefly before joining her.

‘Don't you want to see more of the Tower first? I know, let's see the Chapel and have a quick tour through the White Tower, which is filled with armour mostly then we can go and have lunch. Over lunch, we can get back to the Story. Okay?’

Gail eyed Laura briefly then agreed. Together they walked the short distance from the site of the scaffold to the Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad Vincula. As Laura approached the door, she rummaged in her bag for her notes regarding the Chapel and its “inhabitants”.

‘Before we go in, can I read something here about the Chapel which, I think puts this particular building in context with its surroundings and with other churches we’ll see during our travels? This is what Lord Macaulay in his History of England wrote: -

In truth there is no sadder spot on earth than this little cemetery. Death is associated, not, as in Westminster and St. Paul's, with genius and virtue, with public veneration and with imperishable renown; not, as in our humblest churches and churchyards, with everything that is most enduring in social and domestic charities; but with whatever is darkest in human nature and in human destiny; with the savage triumph of implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the cowardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen greatness and of blighted fame.

Laura sighed. ‘And yet, for all that, it’s a very pretty place especially since it’s been restored to something like its original glory.’

Inside, the Chapel was indeed magnificent. The sunlight poured through the latticed windows and fell on simple pews of English oak. As Laura and Gail were confronted by the wonders of the interior with its wealth of memorials, it became obvious to them that this was a special place, yet they were alone. The west door, which had closed behind them, cut off all sounds of the outside world and, as the two of them stood, transfixed, utter silence descended.

Laura was staring at a brass plaque which named, in order of internment, the most notable individuals buried in the Chapel when she realised that Gail had moved elsewhere. Laura was loathed to break the silence and disturb the almost mystical spell with which the Chapel held her, so in a very low whisper she said, ‘You know, it's strange that no one else has come in. You don't suppose that maybe we shouldn't be in here?’

‘Well, we aren't going to touch anything but, just in case, we’d better hurry and see as much as we can. Where are the queens buried?’

‘At the altar, I think.’

‘How many people are buried here do you suppose?’

‘Based on the Chapel’s records it’s been estimated that there was somewhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand individuals buried here.’

‘What?’ Gail practically shouted in surprise.

‘Remember, the Tower was home to a lot of people over hundreds of years; Yeoman Warders and their families, blacksmiths, zoo keepers, the workers and their families in the mint and the armouries. The list goes on and on. When a new floor was laid in the later part of the nineteenth century, it was discovered that there was no more room and that some of the more recent interments were barely two feet below the surface. Queen Victoria was informed and, in accordance with her wishes, many of the bones in the nave were placed in new coffins and reburied in the crypt. With new bodies going down all the time, many of the older coffins had been broken and their contents scattered. It must have been quite a mess.’

Before Gail could respond, the door to the outside slowly opened and a Yeoman Warden appeared. ‘I am sorry ladies, but the Chapel is only open to visitors at specific times. I must ask you both to please follow me out through this door, immediately.’

He wasn't angry. In fact he was very polite, but there was a slight hint of exasperation in his voice. He was waiting for them just beyond. Simultaneously they both offered their sincere apologies and then hurried on their way towards the White Tower, with Gail in the lead. They were almost around the north-east corner before Gail stopped and breathed a sigh of relief.

Laura chuckled. ‘What do you think he was going to do, chop off our heads?’

‘Well, you never know. Tourists found Headless - Illegal Chapel Invasion Suspected.’ Gail spread both arms wide, imagining the evening news report in vivid colour.

‘Get a grip,’ Laura said, smiling broadly. ‘He let us go, didn't he?’

‘Yes, but this is the Tower of London and we’re still inside it. He has our full description and when we try to leave, well …’

‘I hate to rain on your parade sis but, according to the Guidebook, the last person to die by the axe was Lord Lovat, in seventeen forty-something. Chances are, in this day and age, they’ll just put you up against a wall and shoot you which would be a lot less messy, although perhaps not nearly as entertaining.’

‘Ha-ha, very funny.’

‘Come on, I’ll buy you a nice cup of coffee to help settle your nerves. There’s a place close by, I think.’

Despite its diminutive size, the kiosk which butted up against the inner portion of the south wall offered an excellent choice of both hot and cold drinks, flavoured coffees and desserts. Wooden benches, set within the recess of the wall gave them an excellent vantage point from which to view the White Tower. A perfect spot, it would seem, to discuss the horrific events which culminated in Richard’s ascension to the English throne.

Laura set her coffee cup aside while she extracted the notes from her bag. Glancing at them briefly, she looked up, straight at Gail. ‘Before we can talk about the two boys, we have to discuss Richard's seizure of the throne. We left the Story with all the principal characters in London, young Edward housed in the Tower, the Queen and her remaining children in sanctuary at Westminster. You had best hold on, because we’re about to hit some rough water.’ Laura took a deep breath and began.

‘When Richard was proclaimed Protector on the 10th of May, he was riding a wave of popularity. He was the most powerful noble in the realm and commanded the respect of his peers. Everyone was looking forward to the reign of Edward the Fifth, with Richard continuing to act as advisor in Council. In actual fact, as Mancini states, he set his thoughts on removing, or at least undermining, everything that might stand in the way of his mastering the throne.

‘Richard had two powerful Wydvilles - Rivers and Grey - safely tucked away. Next on the list was Sir Edward Wydville, who commanded the fleet. On Richard's insistence, Council denounced Wydville as an enemy of the state and ordered the fleet to return to port, while at the same time issuing a reward for his capture, dead or alive. The fleet did return, minus two ships, one carrying Sir Edward and a portion of the royal treasure, to France.’

‘And that money was used to finance Henry Tudor’s invasion, right?’ Gail said.

‘You are exactly right. By this time I think Richard was getting pissed off, because he seized the estates of Rivers, Grey, Dorset plus lesser members of the Wydville family and proceeded to redistribute the property among his supporters. This was highly illegal, but then again, it would appear that Richard wasn’t particularly bothered by legal niceties. This redistribution of Wydville wealth was meant to ensure absolute loyalty from those closest to him and men such as Buckingham, Northumberland and Howard benefited handsomely.

‘Although Hastings continued to serve as Lord Chamberlain of England and Governor of Calais, he didn’t receive anything like the goodies that Buckingham received. It seems obvious therefore that Richard realised that Hastings would not support him in a bid for the throne since he had made it abundantly clear on several occasions that his loyalty lay with young Edward, the son and heir of his good friend and former King, Edward the Fourth. It soon became apparent to Richard that Hastings was now an obstacle to his ambitions and would have to be removed.’ Laura cleared her throat suggestively.

‘Hastings,’ Gail muttered. ‘I almost forgot. Okay Laura, this is one death which I insist Richard take the blame for. Shakespeare couldn’t have been that far off the mark.’

‘He wasn’t. In fact, Shakespeare's version of the dramatic arrest and execution of Lord Hastings is both compelling and horrible and, historically speaking, fairly accurate I think. This was Richard’s kill, no question.’ Laura paused, took a sip of her coffee and then continued.

‘Here are the facts. Richard called a meeting of Council for the morning of the 13th of June - a Friday by the way - summoning Buckingham, Hastings, Bishop John Morton, Stanley, Rotherham, Lord Howard and his son Thomas to the White Tower. Shortly after nine o’clock Richard arrived, all smiles and good humour. As the story goes, he requested some strawberries from Bishop Morton's garden then left the room, leaving the others to carry on with business. He returned to the Council chamber one and a half hours later a changed man.’

‘One and a half hours?’ Gail was surprised. ‘What was he doing all that time?’

‘Screwing up his courage, I guess. I doubt if he really wanted to do Hastings an injury, but being the Political Realist he was, he had no choice. By now even the most moderate of historians agree that he was going for the throne. And time was running out. This was the thirteenth and Edward's coronation was set for the twenty-second, moved forward two days by Richard earlier.

‘What happened inside the Council chamber is pure speculation but it’s certain that Richard denounced Hastings as a traitor. He even went so far as to accuse Morton, Rotherham and Stanley of plotting with the Queen and Mistress Shore against him and his position as Protector. Actually, only plots against a king can be called treason but, again, Richard chose to ignore that fact. When Richard banged on the table, the room was filled with armed guards who had obviously anticipated the signal. Hastings, Stanley, Rotherham, and Morton were arrested on the spot. It is said that Richard told Hastings that he had better see a priest at once and confess his sins, because he wasn't going to dine until he knew his head was off. Certainly Hastings had very little time to prepare himself, perhaps minutes, as he was dragged from the White Tower outside to the Green next to the chapel and executed, probably with a sword. There was no time to get a proper block, so a piece of building timber lying nearby was used. The really tragic part is that young Edward may have seen the execution since parts of the royal apartments overlooked the Green and all the commotion might well have attracted his attention.

Gail sighed. ‘You know, I'm beginning to think that Richard was not a very nice man.’

‘You've had enough then?’ Laura suggested, sensing Gail's unease.

‘No, I want to hear it all. Let me get two more coffees.’ She jumped up. ‘Want a slice of carrot cake? It looked delicious.’

‘Sure, after what we have been talking about a slice of something seems appropriate.’

Gail groaned. ‘That’s sick Laura, very sick.’

When she returned a few minutes later she busied herself arranging their snack between them then settled down expectantly.

‘Okay?” Laura questioned. ‘Stop me though if you don't want to hear any more, but remember, try to keep everything in perspective.’

Gail just nodded her head as she concentrated on opening her little parcel of cake.

‘With all opposition in Council either dead or imprisoned and the rest scared witless, Richard turned to the next order of business; securing the younger prince, nine year old Richard, Duke of York who was still in sanctuary with his mother. When Council met on the sixteenth, Richard made it clear that the boys should be together, that Edward missed his brother's company and that it was improper to crown the King without his brother being there. Naturally, Council agreed. Archbishop Bourgchier was detailed to speak with the Queen, assuring her of the Protector's good office and loving regard. The fact that the Abbey was surrounded by Richard's men was not lost on anyone either. Fearful that sanctuary would be violated by force of arms, the Archbishop appealed to the Queen to see reason. He knew that Richard wanted the child out of sanctuary come hell or high water, so he employed every method of persuasion possible, promising anything rather than risk going back to Richard empty handed. Against all her basic instincts, the Queen was finally persuaded, entrusting the boy into the Archbishop's care with the understanding that he would be returned to his mother immediately after the coronation.

‘Needless to say, young Richard was handed over to his uncle who promptly escorted him to the Tower, where he was reunited with his brother. For a short time the two boys were happy together but Richard soon ordered them moved into more isolated apartments where they could be carefully monitored.

‘Now, one small piece of business yet. George, Duke of Clarence's son, Edward, Earl of Warwick, just eight years old but a possible threat to Richard's plans. Although barred from succession by reason of his father's attainder in 1478, Richard knew that such decrees could be overturned by parliament. The boy's claim to the throne was technically stronger than his if push came to shove so to avoid possible embarrassment, Richard had the child put into the custody of his wife Anne, where he was kept neatly out of sight.

‘Now, time to take stock. All direct heirs to the throne were in his power; execution warrants were on their way north, Hastings was no more, the Council was terrified and likely to do exactly what it was told and, troops of northerners would soon be arriving. So far, so good, except the coronation date - June twenty-second - days away now, and the city was rapidly filling with people intent upon attending the coronation and the opening of Parliament. It was time to act.

‘On the seventeenth of June, Richard cancelled the Parliament scheduled for after the coronation and then cancelled the coronation altogether, or rather postponed it indefinitely which is practically the same thing. Between the news of the cancellations and the fact that northern troops were not far away, London exploded with rumour and speculation.

‘June twenty-second - Edward's coronation day - but instead Richard had Dr. Ralph Shaa, the brother of the Mayor of London, read a proclamation which basically stated that, since the late King Edward the Fourth was a bastard, conceived in adultery, his sons were unfit to claim the throne. Dr. Shaa went on to suggest that since Richard, Duke of Gloucester and Protector of the Realm was “the undoubted son” of York, his claim to the throne was legitimate and, in the best interest of England.’

‘Oh boy,’ Gail said, shaking her head. I hope Richard's mother didn't hear that.’

‘She heard, all right. She was in London for the coronation of her grandson after all. To say that she was furious with Richard would be putting it mildly. According to Vergil she being falsely accused of adultery, complained afterwards in sundry places to right many noble men, whereof some yet live, of that great injury which her son Richard had done her.

‘This was a pretty disgusting trick on Richard's part. It shows you the extent of his ambition in that he was willing to publicly slander his own mother to obtain the crown. To add insult to injury, the Duchess of York was famed for her piety and had actually become a Benedictine nun. She may well have contacted her youngest son and made her displeasure known, because Richard quickly abandoned that tack for another.

‘Basically, Richard put forward the notion that his brother Edward's marriage to Elizabeth Wydville was invalid, since Edward had pre-contracted a marriage with a Lady Eleanor Butler prior to Elizabeth coming on the scene. Such a promise of marriage was considered binding on both parties and if true, Edward's subsequent marriage would indeed be considered invalid and the issue of such a marriage would be considered bastards. Robert Stillington, Bishop of Bath and Wells apparently broke this news to Richard at a very opportune moment and, naturally, Richard ran with it, although there appears to be absolutely no truth to the story. Certainly such an important issue should have been considered before a suitably constituted ecclesiastical court. Richard didn’t order such a court, probably because he knew that there was insufficient proof. The Lady Butler had conveniently died years before so Stillington remained the only source of the story and most people chose not to believe him, suspecting his motives.

‘It soon became apparent to Richard that the pre-contract story would not, of itself, do the trick so he drove the nail deeper. On the twenty-third of June, the Duke of Buckingham addressed the Mayor, aldermen and chief citizens of London on Richard's behalf. Buckingham's strategy was multi-faceted. He started out by attacking Edward the Fourth's government and the major role played by the upstart Wydvilles He then went on to suggest that, not only was Edward's marriage invalid, based on the knowledge of a pre-contract with the Lady Butler, but his subsequent marriage to Elizabeth Wydville was itself invalid on three counts.

‘First of all, the King had been bewitched, seduced into marriage without the consent of the lords of the realm. Secondly, the marriage took place in secret without the banns being proclaimed as required and thirdly, the ceremony took place in a private chamber, not in the Church. No doubt Buckingham threw in Elizabeth's low degree of birth, too. Based on all this, he stated, the King and Elizabeth Wydville had lived in sin and adultery against all the laws of the Kingdom and the Church and therefore the children of such a relationship must be declared bastards and barred from any claim to the throne.

‘Reminding the commons that George, Duke of Clarence's attainder precluded his son from any claim, Buckingham concluded that at the present time no certain and incorrupt blood of the lineage of Richard, Duke of York was to be found, except in the person of Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Pressing the point, Buckingham went on to describe Richard's history of good government in the north, his blameless morals, which I might add, seemed to be a sticking point with Richard. It’s all reminiscent of modern politics in a way, isn’t it? Having delivered his speech, Buckingham withdrew and left them to ponder the situation.

‘All the talk in the world mattered little when the Council reviewed the situation. Fear and self-preservation were first and foremost in their minds. Coupled with the knowledge that a government ruled by a child would be a disaster, many opted for Richard in the hope at least that he would provide the strong, central government everyone wanted so desperately. The Council voted unanimously to offer the crown to Richard, declaring the throne majestic vacant and Richard’s for the taking which, technically speaking, throws the concept of usurpation out the window.’ Laura shrugged. ‘If anything, it was more a coup d'état.

‘On the twenty-sixth of June all the lords gathered at Baynard Castle and formally offered the crown to Richard who, after feigning some initial reluctance, agreed. By way of a postscript, the day before Richard was publicly declared king, Rivers, Grey, Haute and Vaughan were beheaded at Pontefract.’

Gail groaned. She watched abstractly as Laura packed her notes away then suddenly realised what she was doing. ‘You can't stop now; what about the two boys - the Princes in the Tower?’

‘That’s a topic I’m easing into very carefully.’ She finished the last of her coffee then lit a cigarette, leaned back and regarded Gail evenly. ‘It’s difficult to talk about the princes since it’s not one hundred percent certain that the two skeletons found in 1674 are the remains of Edward and Richard, although the evidence is pretty conclusive.’

Gail reeled back in her seat and stared at Laura in open surprise. ‘What skeletons?’

Laura smiled. ‘In 1674, two skeletons were found in a very unlikely place. The Chapel of St. John the Evangelist in the White Tower was, at one time, connected to the royal apartments by an external tower. By 1674, this building was in such a shocking state that King Charles the Second decided to remove it. The foundations of the tower, estimated to be about twenty feet square, went very deep. It was during excavations, at a depth of ten feet, that a wooden wardrobe chest was discovered. Inside were found the skeletons of two small individuals - children. It was said that the taller of the two skeletons lay on its back while the smaller one lay face down on top. It was immediately assumed that they were the remains of Edward the Fifth and his younger brother Richard, Duke of York. What better place to bury them in secret then beneath stairs meant for the private use of royalty?

‘Fragments of velvet were found with the bones which strongly suggests that the remains were indeed the children of King Edward the Fourth since only individuals of such high rank were allowed to wear velvet under the restrictive laws of the land, plus velvet was imported then and very expensive. Between say 1400 and 1674, there were no prisoners unaccounted for in the Tower other than the two princes, so it’s reasonably safe to assume that these two small, slender skeletons were the remains of Edward the Fifth and his brother, Richard.’

Laura paused then and looked directly at Gail. ‘Not much fun, is it, when you’re dealing with children? Hastings and all the rest, adult games played by the nobility, one against the other, like a chess match. I very much doubt if the common people of England could have cared less if men like Rivers, Hastings, et cetera were weeded out now and again, but the murder of innocent children, that’s quite another matter. Infanticide has never been accepted by any civilised society, then or now.

‘The bones were eventually placed in a white marble coffin and interred by order of King Charles at Westminster Abbey. In 1933, the tomb was opened and the remains examined. The teeth were used to determine age at time of death. The results were consistent with children who died between the ages of twelve to thirteen years and nine to eleven years of age.

‘Assuming the older skeleton was Edward the Fifth, he was definitely not a happy camper. Examination of the skull revealed that the child probably suffered from osteomyelitis which is an infection of the bone tissue. Both sides of his lower jaw were badly infected, indicating that he suffered from swollen and inflamed gums which would have caused considerable pain. Chances are then he was not in very good health and was probably miserable most of the time. Could this be the reason why he was hidden away in Ludlow, so far away from court? The disease would remain chronic without treatment so it’s likely that Edward would not have ruled very well or, for very long. If the true state of his health was known, would it be reason enough to block his assumption to the throne? Did Richard learn the truth at Stony Stratford and decide then that Edward was unfit to rule?

‘If young Edward was in poor health it puts a whole new complexion on the issue. The various paintings which show the two boys as angelic may be a far cry from the truth. Edward, at least, was probably what we would call a spoiled brat, raised to the purple in a Wydville controlled environment. The younger boy was still in his mother's keeping, which again would be predominately Wydville. Remember too, Richard didn't know either of them well. We aren't taking about an uncle/nephew scenario with Richard playing with them, bouncing them on his knee or something. Richard had spent most of the past ten years in the north while the boys were growing up. He saw them maybe twice, and that's all.’

‘So, what are you saying?’ Gail asked.

‘I'm saying that Richard may well have felt nothing for the boys and that’s significant. When you’re dealing with murder you have to ask yourself the same question Cicero did - Cui bono? - who profits? Not even the most die-hard Ricardian will deny that Richard would profit the most if both boys died by whatever means. Until conclusive evidence to the contrary is revealed, we have to put Richard at the top of the list of suspects.’

‘Where he belongs,’ Gail snapped.

‘Perhaps,’ Laura sighed. ‘Anyhow, sorry to put you through all this, but when we go in there,’ she nodded towards the White Tower, ‘it’s best to know a few facts. If you’re ready, let's go.’

Again, they made their way through the gate under the Bloody Tower although this time Gail stopped to admire the portcullis and the massive wooden and iron reinforced doors. She paused too, to look back towards the Thames and Traitors Gate. What thoughts raced through the minds of those unfortunate individuals as they walked through this gateway, prisoners? Gail went back over a few names; Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard, Sir Thomas More, Princess Elizabeth. Then, Gail's mind caught on young Richard, Duke of York, running ahead of all the adults in his eagerness to see his older brother who had been proclaimed King.

‘Just a minute, I want to check something.’ Laura continued on to the north-west corner of the White Tower, looked east briefly before turning back. ‘There’s just a small queue waiting to see the Crown Jewels. If you want to have a look, I think we should go now.’

‘Good idea.’

As they slid into line, Laura whispered to Gail. ‘Most of the royal treasure was broken up and sold by Cromwell during the Commonwealth so there are very few pieces dating from before the mid-seventeenth century. To keep in step with the Story, only one piece, the gold Anointing Spoon may have been seen by Richard during his coronation and, since pearls were added by William and Mary in sixteen-something-or-other, it’s no longer original. The other piece to watch out for is the Imperial State Crown which contains two magnificent stones; Edward the Confessor's sapphire and an uncut balas ruby which, legend says, Richard wore in his crown, well coronet, at Bosworth.’ Laura smiled as she nudged Gail. ‘One thing is certain, Richard had good taste. The jewelled coronet was worth a fortune, and he wore it atop a gilded helmet. Reason enough for someone to knock his block off, I would think.’

*****

By the time they exited the magnificent display, they were both in a state of shock. ‘Beats a trip to Tiffany’s, don’t you think?’ Laura said, blowing her cheeks out in wonder and delight.

Gail laughed as she fell in step beside Laura and together they followed the path that ran along the eastern side of the great central Keep towards the wooden steps leading upwards to the first floor of the famous White Tower.

As she climbed, Laura flipped through her volume of notes. On the landing just outside the main entrance, she paused and pulled Gail to one side. Turning to face the river, she produced a rumpled sheet of paper on which she had drawn a sketch of the placement of the various buildings as they might have appeared five hundred years before. ‘Before we go in, have a look at this. All this open, grassy area between the White Tower and the walls was once the Royal Ward. The entrance was via the Coldharbour Gate just around the corner on the west side of the White Tower. All that’s left of it are a couple of stone circles in the grass. Where we’re standing now was the site of the building beneath which the skeletons were found.’

Gail studied the sketch in amazement. She had no idea that there were so many buildings contained in such a relatively small space. ‘So, Richard lived here?’

‘I doubt it. Before he became king he rented the house of a wealthy merchant - Crosby House. The hall portion still exists by the way. He also stayed at Baynard Castle, the ancestral home further along the Thames although his mother may have been in residence there from time to time so it wasn’t an ideal location for intrigue. Once king of course, he could sleep wherever he wanted to and he probably did.’ She smiled suggestively. ‘Come on, let’s see inside.’

Within, the White Tower contained a wondrous collection of armour and weapons displayed in glass cases. Laura was most impressed by the display of armour for horses, and stood a long while admiring a life-size reconstruction of a war-horse dressed in full armour, carrying a knight also suitably attired for war and accompanied by infantry dressed in leather and chain mail.

‘What would you do if you saw this come charging down at you?’ Laura said, looking up at the massive horse with its glittering head armour and chest plate.

‘Get out of the way, I suppose.’

‘And beyond the reach of the mace or sword too, I bet. You know, something like this would work a treat on flat, dry ground but if that horse hit a bog or had to jump over a wall or something, all that armour would be worse than useless. No wonder so many knights were captured or died horrific deaths on the battlefield.’

Finishing their tour at the north-east corner, they proceeded up to the second floor, taking care on the narrow, tapered steps.

‘This spiral stair or vice is the biggest and goes from the very top to the very bottom of the tower complex,’ Laura said halfway up. ‘For security reasons it was placed on the other side of the entrance way to prevent the bad guys from getting upstairs easily. This is also the only tower that’s round.’

Arriving on the second floor level, Laura was at great pains to remind Gail that originally there was no floor above. The ceiling of the royal apartments rose through two levels in a grand Romanesque style, with a mural gallery encircling the outer walls at the level of the present third floor. The vice brought them into what was called the Great Chamber. Turning to her left Laura guided Gail a few steps along the eastern wall and then halted before a small closet cut into the wall in an 'L' shape. ‘We’re in the private royal apartments and this is a garderobe.’

‘What’s that?’ Gail asked peering in.

‘The toilet - the loo,’ Laura started to laugh. ‘Just like we learned in school, out and down the side of the tower; but at least you had some privacy. It was somebody's job to keep the system flushed with fresh water regularly. Or, here they may have used chamber pots which would be emptied by servants. I didn't research medieval plumbing, I'm afraid. Anyhow, the only fireplace on this floor is here, midway along the eastern wall, so this must have been the living area which makes sense since the Chapel is there, on the other side. This chamber would have been divided and sub-divided into smaller, private areas by wooden partitions and screens. This is where I think the Princes were kept, for some of the time anyhow. Their sister, Elizabeth - Henry the Seventh’s queen - died here in 1503, on her birthday which is kind of sad.’ Laura sighed. It was hard to imagine with all the military hardware on display.

Laura was eager to pass through the archway into the Chapel of St. John the Evangelist. Gail was immediately captivated by its simple beauty. They stood for a while admiring one of the oldest and finest specimens of early Norman architecture still in existence. Unlike the rest of the White Tower, the Chapel escaped the addition of the upper floor, so they were able to imagine the concept of the lofty ceiling and mural gallery which once graced the other chambers. Although small by any standard, the Chapel conveyed a sense of strength and grace. Its twelve massive, circular stone pillars separated the space into two side aisles with the body of the fane rising to a vaulted ceiling.

‘This place has so much history,’ Laura whispered. ‘Throughout the Middle Ages it was the chapel used by the sovereign when at the Tower and it was here too that those chosen to be Knights of the Bath kept their all night vigil before being knighted by the king prior to his coronation. Now, I have something really interesting to show you.’

Leaving the Chapel through another doorway in the south-west corner, Laura positioned herself at the top of a spiral staircase. ‘The external tower I mentioned stood just outside here. This vice spiralled down to the first floor but didn’t open onto that floor like it does now, but either continued down to ground level through the external tower or, more likely, there was a set of regular stairs within that tower which took you the rest of the way to the ground.

‘It was under those stairs at a depth of ten feet that the chest, containing the two skeletons was found.’

‘Okay,’ Gail said, trying to understand what Laura was getting at.

‘You know how far we are from the Bloody Tower. If the two skeletons were indeed the remains of the two Princes, then it would be quite a trick to get those bodies from way over on the outside of the Palace Ward, through Coldharbour, to their final resting place. What I’m suggesting is that the Princes were killed on this floor, probably in the royal apartments next to the Chapel. Their bodies were then taken along the same route we came, out the door here and down. The chances of being seen would be virtually nil if the entrances into this external tower were watched and the view from the Great Hall obscured by a screen or something. If it was done late at night, there wouldn't have been a problem.’

‘Unless,’ Gail said, turning to face Laura, ‘the Princes were confined in the Bloody - I mean the Garden Tower - then escorted across the Green and, as you said through the Gate late at night and murdered on the ground floor of this external tower.’

‘Possible I suppose, but surely someone would have seen them, and their escort. Over three hundred people lived here at that time.’

‘That depends,’ Gail said, warming to the idea. ‘Suppose the boys were told that they were going to see their mother secretly in the Tower Chapel. They would have to be very quiet, perhaps wear cloaks to disguise themselves and then, once inside the external tower, before they had a chance to climb the stairs, they were murdered. Everything would be prepared in advance; even the wardrobe chest would be there, waiting for them, the grave under the stairway dug. That way, no bodies needed to be carried anywhere. They walked to their deaths.’

‘And the hair at the back of my neck is standing up. Gail, you just might have hit on a very distinct possibility.’

‘Now tell me. Did Richard order the murders?’

Laura turned away and walked slowly back towards the Chapel. Gail watched her every movement but stayed where she was, waiting. Time seemed to stand still as Laura stood with her back to Gail, deep in thought.

‘Richard ordered the executions of five men to gain the throne. He was tired, sick to death with the struggle, and the need. He had something in mind for those boys, but I can't believe it was murder.’

‘Sorry, you're not convincing me,’ Gail said, turning her head to the side, biting at her lower lip.

‘That's probably because I haven't convinced myself. Let's see the rest of the Tower. We can discuss the Princes later, if you don't mind, when we can focus our complete attention. We’re running short of time if we want to see the basement here and the Beauchamp Tower.’

Gail thought for a moment then agreed, but as Laura moved past her towards the Great Hall, Gail took her arm and whispered. ‘I want to know, tonight, over dinner, who killed them or else I’ll jump all over your bed until you do.’

‘But, I thought you were going to tell me,’ Laura said laughing. ‘As I said, I’ll give you all the information possible, but you’re going to solve the case. This is the Great Hall by the way,’ she said, as she moved along, looking both to the left and right. Gail let go of her in exasperation. ‘There’s no fireplace here so there must have been a central hearth or a series of braziers perhaps but, the loos are up here at the end; two of them - no waiting. And there’s another half-way up the vice in the north-west tower. This Hall was where all the entertainment took place and was probably the site of the council meeting which ended so abruptly with Hastings' departure. Richard may have watched the execution from here.’

Laura waited for Gail to catch up before moving towards the vice. As Laura began to descend, Gail hesitated. ‘I guess you don't want to bother with the upper floor?’

‘Not today,’ Laura said, stopping on the stair to smile up at Gail before she turned abruptly and made her way down to the dungeon of the White Tower.

She stood back and watched as Gail issued from the vice. ‘Sorry I can't come up with skeletons hanging about or prisoners chained to the walls, moaning for water.’

‘Doesn't look much like a dungeon to me,’ Gail huffed as she regarded the freshly whitewashed walls and modern electric lighting.

‘From what I’ve been able to find out, the real nastiness was carried out in a subterranean crypt beneath the sub-crypt of the Chapel. Come on, I’ll show you.’ Laura led the way through the first compartment of the Tower on the eastern side, heading south towards an archway which led into the crypt, now largely featureless except for the massive barrel-vaulted ceiling. Laura stood on a wooden floor which strongly suggested a level below, since elsewhere the floor was flagstone. The infamous subterranean torture chamber lay, Laura reasoned, beneath her feet. She shivered.

‘This is how Father John Gerard described his experience when he was tortured in 1597. He was led down into the torture chamber through subterranean passages lit by candles.’

It was a place of immense extent and in it were arranged divers sorts of racks, and other instruments of torture. Some of these they displayed before me, and told me that I should have to taste them. They then led me to a great upright beam or pillar of wood, which was one of the supports of this vast crypt.

‘What happened to him?’

‘He was strung up for a while, suspended in iron gauntlets by his wrists. Apparently he was a fairly heavy man and tall too so they had to dig away the soil from beneath his feet to ensure that the full weight of his body was brought to bear. He must have suffered terribly but steadfastly refused to reveal any information. He managed to escape eventually.

‘Actually, the rack was the most commonly use instrument of torture although after the wreck of the Spanish Armada in 1588, the Tower acquired an almost inexhaustible supply of manacles, which became popular. Then there was the peine forte et dure, or pressing to death, although it wasn’t actually considered a torture device.’

‘Excuse me, being pressed to death wasn't a form of torture?’

‘Well, no, not exactly. The peine forte et dure was the only device recognised by common law. It wasn't used as a means of torture; more a means of quasi-judicial murder, or from the victim's perspective, suicide.’

‘Oh well, that's all right then. And here I thought maybe someone was going to get hurt or something.’

Laura couldn't help but laugh. ‘The idea, you see, was that the estate of a man who died under torture could still pass to his heirs whereas if he was put on trial and subsequently convicted or signed a confession and was then executed, everything would pass to the Crown. It was preferred over starvation, since it was quicker and considered more humane. Actually it was often the victim’s family who did the pressing.’

Gail grimaced.

‘If you don't like that, there’s always the “Cell of Little Ease” or Oubliette as it was called. It was a dungeon so small that it was impossible to either stand upright or lie down. It did little to improve posture, believe me.’

Gail made a sound like a shiver, crossed her arms and backed out of the room. ‘Did any women suffer here?’

‘Yes, one I know of, during the reign of Henry the Eighth, but you don't want to know.’

‘Come on, tell me.’

Laura paused a moment, sighed then proceeded. ‘Okay, I will because her story needs to be told. She was a very brave lady, not famous or anything, but she died a horrible death rather than betray others. Anne Askew was her name and her crime was her belief in the new Protestantism. We have to remember that even though King Henry the Eighth replaced the Pope as head of the new Church of England, he was still in every sense of the word a Roman Catholic. Anne’s beliefs were heretical, and it would seem that she tried to influence Henry’s last wife, Catherine Parr. Anne was racked so savagely while they were trying to force her to name her fellow sectarians that she was unable to walk and had to be carried, strapped to a chair, to be burned at the stake in Smithfield.’

Laura wandered off a few paces to allow the enormity of such a crime sink in. A hush fell. No one disturbed them. Finally she turned and faced Gail. ‘If we decide between us that Richard ordered the murder of the two boys, that's fine. But if so he did it for all the right motives - self-preservation, for the good of strong government, for his wife and young son. He did it because he hated the Wydvilles and what they represented. He did it because he couldn’t stand by and see the throne of England ruled by such upstart commoners who had no idea of majesty. Against his supposed crimes, we have men like Henry the Eighth who tortured, maimed and murdered to satisfy a lust for power. Not one or two, but dozens - perhaps hundreds. Here were housed instruments of infinite and unspeakable terror. A legacy from the father passed on to the son and then in turn to his daughters - Bloody Mary and Elizabeth.

‘There you go again,’ Gail growled, ‘trying to absolve Richard of his crimes by suggesting that future kings and queens were even more barbaric. But, you’re forgetting one very important thing.’

‘What's that?’

‘He killed children.’

‘There’s no proof. And besides, even if he did, they were very dangerous children.’

‘But children, nevertheless.’

Gail moved away then to explore further, leaving Laura behind in deep and troubled thought. After a few minutes, Laura caught up with her on the western side, just as she threw a coin into a well.

‘I'm sorry,’ Laura sighed. ‘You're right. I’m going to have to keep everything in perspective. But I still don't believe that he killed those kids.’

Gail turned and faced Laura straight on. ‘Don't you?’

*****

Laura stretched out, luxuriating in the simple comfort of being able to sit and relax. Covent Garden spilled out around her, so she people-watched for a while through half-closed lids, seemingly unaware of Gail’s mild agitation. Suddenly she turned, focusing her attention. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’

‘No. Come on, you promised. We left the Story with Richard being proclaimed king, right? What happened then?’

Laura sighed and proceeded to extract her notes from her bag. She was tired, but now that Gail had actually seen the Tower, had developed a sense of the place, it was time to finish it. It took her a few minutes to find her place while Gail waited; a portrait of patience as she idly sipped her wine. Finally Laura began.

‘Although Richard's reign technically began on the twenty-sixth of June, it wasn't until July sixth that the actual coronation took place and what an event it was. Under the circumstances you’d think he would have opted for a small, private ceremony but it was one of the most splendid of all mediaeval coronations, right down to the cloth of gold and a mantle of purple trimmed with ermine.’

‘Well, I guess he felt he had to look the part.’

’He looked the part all right, but the Londoners weren't buying. Despite the magnificent display and the large number of nobles assembled, the atmosphere was ripe with tension and resentment. No one was about to say very much though with the Duke of Northumberland's troops just outside the gates and the city dotted with men in Richard's livery.

‘Actually, poor old Dickie started his reign at a decided disadvantage. Not only were the circumstances a subject of gossip and dissatisfaction, but quite frankly, he didn't look like a king, at least compared to his brother. Edward the Fourth was a big man, fair of face with chestnut coloured hair, a regal bearing and a winning smile. He was totally charming and made a habit of stopping and chatting with the common folk who adored him and forgave him everything. Richard had none of these qualities.

‘We know even today how important looks are for any public figure, particularly a politician. To win hearts and minds for that matter, you had to have charisma. I think Richard had it, but at a personal level, one on one, but I doubt if he was able to project himself sufficiently well to deflect the fear, suspicion and down right hatred which surrounded him. He may have seen himself as the sole legitimate heir of the House of York and the throne of England, but what did others see?

‘After the ceremony in Westminster Abbey, a huge banquet was set out in Westminster Hall. It lasted five and half hours, if you can believe it. Archbishop Bourgchier anointed and crowned Richard King of England but he didn’t attend the party afterwards. Makes you wonder what thoughts raced through his mind as he placed the crown on Richard's head. All the promises he made to Elizabeth Wydville regarding the safety of the two Princes. He must have been sick with worry, knowing the two boys were so closely guarded in the Tower.

‘There were a few other absentees at the banquet too including Richard's mother and Buckingham's wife, Katherine Wydville who was ordered by her husband to stay at home.’

‘I don't suppose Elizabeth Wydville even received an invitation.’

‘No, she was off the guest list too. A day or two after the coronation, Richard and Anne went to Greenwich Palace and then on to Windsor. The northern troops were sent home, much to the relief of the Londoners and life resumed its normal pace or at least it appeared to. Rumours regarding the fate of the two Princes persisted, however. Shortly after Richard left the city to begin his grand tour of the country, the boys ceased to be seen altogether.’

‘He killed them before he left London?’

Raising a warning finger, Laura paused. ‘Remember, no one knows for sure what happened to the Princes. Many sources have suggested that Richard had the boys murdered before he left London. Shakespeare wrote it that way but there’s evidence enough to suggest that they were still alive then. For one thing, More states that a fellow by the name of Miles Forrest was assigned to guard the two Princes shortly after Richard’s departure. Forrest was a northerner, had a criminal record and was totally loyal to Richard.’

‘Oh, oh,’ Gail said, the tone ominous.

Laura looked up and smiled. With her chin resting in both palms and her body leaning slightly forward, Gail was all attention. Laura just hoped she was listening carefully because this was one version which, although plausible, left Laura decidedly uneasy.

Just as Laura was about to begin, their meals arrived. Rearranging her note book, Laura continued between mouthfuls. ‘On the seventeenth of July, Richard appointed Sir Robert Brackenbury, Constable of the Tower with the specific task of seeing to the safekeeping of the two boys. Brackenbury was also totally loyal to Richard. He had been Treasurer of the Household in the North, working his way into Richard's confidence after years of service. He was apparently considered to be an honourable man although he also seemed incapable of seeing anything wrong in his royal master, and in fact, died with Richard at Bosworth. Brackenbury took his job seriously, no doubt realising the potential risk posed by the two Princes in the Tower.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Richard must have realised that attempts would be made to free the boys; spirit them away to the Continent perhaps. They were a focal point for rebellion and Richard could ill afford to allow Tower security to be a casual affair. Short of ensuring that the two Princes were closely watched and surrounded by men of proven loyalty to him, Richard seemed content to let matters rest. The boys might have lived if their mother hadn't stirred up trouble, plotting against Richard and inciting rebellion. In a sense, she sealed their fate.’

‘Do you really think Richard would have let the boys live out their days in the Tower? Not much of a life?’

‘I don't think he actively sought their deaths. Keeping them out of public view as he did, he probably subscribed to the belief that, out of sight was out of mind, and hoped that his good government would eventually persuade those against him that he made the better king after all. Seems reasonable to me, but as I said, Liz Wydville just couldn't leave it alone.

‘In late July, while at Minster Lovell, Richard was informed of a plot to evacuate the Princesses from Sanctuary and send them overseas in the belief that, with the female line safely out of reach, Richard would think twice about doing away with his nephews. Elizabeth Wydville reasoned that if a marriage could be arranged for the eldest daughter, Elizabeth of York, to a suitable prince willing to fight to regain his wife's inheritance and naturally a throne too, she would find herself back in power.’

‘It's almost as if she thought her sons were already dead,’ Gail said sadly.

‘Perhaps she did. They were certainly held so securely in the Tower that they might as well have been. It would have been not only a waste of time, but dangerous too, to have attempted to rescue them so she may well have supposed them lost.

‘Anyhow, Richard sent a note to John Russell, now acting as Lord Chancellor, basically instructing him to look into what became known as the “Sanctuary Plot” and arrest any conspirators. Russell was only partially successful since the rebels fled abroad and Elizabeth and her daughters remained safely out of reach in sanctuary.

‘As Richard continued his progress north, he must have had time to think. When he reached Gloucester he sent for a John Green, another trusted retainer, and gave him specific orders, sending Green, according to More’s account, unto Sir Robert Brackenbury, Constable of the Tower, with a letter and credence that the same Sir Robert should in any wise put the two children to death.’

‘No,’ Gail said firmly, ‘I can't imagine Richard would be stupid enough to write a letter. Hope the weather's nice, oh and PS, please murder the two boys for me. That just doesn't make sense.’

Laura smiled indulgently. ‘The letter would be carefully worded and Green would carry “credence”, perhaps something personal of Richard's like a ring or something that Brackenbury would recognise. Green would advise Brackenbury of Richard's intentions verbally, nothing written. Anyhow, Brackenbury refused to do the job and Green was forced to return to Richard having failed in his mission.

‘The Duke of Buckingham was with Richard in Gloucester at this time. Sir Thomas More suggests that Richard told Buckingham of his decision to do away with the Princes and that Buckingham was appalled. He had helped Richard to gain the throne but the murder of the boys was going too far. Anyhow, they had a dreadful argument. Pleading urgent family business, Buckingham quit Richard's presence and returned to his holdings in the Welsh Marshes.

‘Richard continued his journey north, arriving at Warwick Castle on about the eighth of August. Green met him there and told him of Brackenbury's refusal. Richard should have been furious but instead, More paints a picture of him sitting on the loo muttering, “Whom shall a man trust? Those that I have brought up myself fail me, and at my commandment will do nothing for me.” Shades of Henry the Second, will no one rid me of this turbulent priest.’

Gail nodded. ‘Thomas Becket.’

‘Yes. Anyhow, a page heard all this and suggested that Sir James Tyrell might be just the man Richard was looking for. Tyrell was one of Richard's confidential servants. He had escorted Richard's mother-in-law to Middleham way back in 1473, had been knighted after the Battle of Tewkesbury, acted as Archbishop Rotherham's jailer in June and was currently Richard's Knight of the Body, which basically meant that he slept outside the bedroom door to ensure that his master was not disturbed. Totally trusted by Richard, he was still just a dog's body and knew it. More suggests that Tyrell was jealous of Ratcliffe and Catesby, two relative new comers who were enjoying rewards which he felt he deserved. Tyrell craved advancement, revenge on his rivals, a special place just for him at Richard's side and, who knows, the keys to the executive washroom and a parking spot close to the door.’

Gail's head shot up.

Laura began to laugh. ‘Sorry, thought I’d throw that in for comic relief.’

‘Get on with it,’ Gail huffed.

Laura took a sip of wine before continuing. ‘September eighth had been selected for the investiture of Richard's son, Edward of Middleham, as Prince of Wales. According to both More and Vergil, Tyrell was sent to London to collect the necessary robes and wall-hangings for the ceremony to be held in York. A perfect cover-up, if you will excuse the pun, for Tyrell's true intentions in London.

‘More's account of events suggests that Tyrell rode to London in company with a John Dighton who was Tyrell's own horsekeeper, a big, broad, strong knave. More also states that Tyrell carried a note from the King to Brackenbury, “by which he was commanded to deliver to Sir James all the keys to the Tower for one night, to the end he might there accomplish the King's pleasure”. This Brackenbury did, no doubt aware of Tyrell's intentions, but powerless to stop him.

‘More's description of the death of the two Princes is graphically detailed, which to me suggests that his tendency to poetic license exceeded his grasp of reality. But, here it is. Tyrell engaged Forrest and Dighton to help him. Around midnight, his two accomplices came into the chamber and suddenly lapped them up among the clothes, so bewrapped them hard into their mouths, that within a while smothered and stifled, their breath failing, they gave up to God their innocent souls into the joys of Heaven, leaving to their tormentors their bodies dead in the bed. Which, after that, and after long lying still, to be thoroughly dead, they laid their bodies naked out upon the bed and fetched Sir James to see them.’

Gail uttered a low groan as she leaned back in her seat, her eyes averted as she slowly shook her head. Laura watched her, concerned. This was old news to Laura. She had read a great deal on the subject, both fact and fiction, but for Gail this account was her first real introduction into the realm of actual possibility. She was not dealing with a Shakespearean play here but a concerted stab at historical fact. She sat quietly, head bowed, obviously thinking things through. Laura waited. Finally, she raised her head while at the same time drawing both hands close to the edge of the table, forming them into two tight fists.

‘Tell me something,’ she said, staring at Laura. ‘If, for the sake of argument, Elizabeth of York had been taken from sanctuary to Europe and married to Henry Tudor, would Richard have considered it a disaster? If the two boys were alive in the Tower, it seems to me that they would be more of a threat to Tudor, then Richard. I mean, I doubt if Tudor would be interested in fighting for his bride if he had to hand over the rewards of his victory to Elizabeth's brother, Edward. It doesn't make sense. Besides, you said that Richard was experienced in the field of battle so he would have welcomed the chance to prove his valour in hand to hand combat, and win the throne officially.’ She shrugged. ‘Why kill the boys?’

Laura smiled. ‘And that, my dear, is the logic behind the pro-Richard camp and, on the surface it makes a lot of sense. The redoubtable More not only decided that Richard was some kind of monster but he also assumed that he was incredibly stupid, which he was definitely not. In his haste to lay the blame at Richard's feet, he produced a morality play with holes in it big enough to run a double-decker bus through.

‘Elizabeth of York was the female heir to the throne. For Tudor to marry her, she would first have to be declared legitimate, and in doing so, both her brothers would regain their claim to the throne in preference to her. It would be in Richard's best interest to ensure that both boys remained in excellent health, but naturally, closely guarded as I said before. Closely guarded and bastardized, that was the way Richard wanted it. Tudor, on the other hand, would only succeed if those boys where declared legitimate and dead.’

Gail smiled as she rubbed her hands in glee. ‘I knew Richard didn't kill his nephews.’ She was positively expansive now, having helped prove Richard instantly innocent of the crime.

Laura was bewildered. ‘Excuse me just a minute. Are you forgetting the ruthlessness of the man? What about Hastings, Vaughan, Rivers? If Richard could murder without trial, then don't you think that at least he was a force to be reckoned with? Why are you so sure that he didn't kill the Princes?’

‘I'm not,’ Gail said, ‘but I hate the idea of someone like More, years after Richard's death, going around saying with impunity and no doubt Tudor support, that Richard was a child killer, a deformed monster, et cetera. It isn't fair and besides, logic has determined for us that Richard was an unlikely candidate. I remember studying Henry the Seventh in school. He was a cold, calculating, suspicious man. Wasn't he the one that instituted the Court of the Star Chamber - political terror wrapped in a cloak of legalese?’

‘All right,’ Laura said, taking a different tack. ‘Who did kill the boys?’

‘I don't know for sure,’ Gail said with a wicked smile on her face, ‘but, I think you’re about to tell me.’

They were on their main course by then; their waiter expertly removing dishes in such a manner that their conversation went totally uninterrupted. They ate in silence for awhile, each savouring the food and the chance to think through what had been discussed so far. When Gail looked up, Laura was sitting there with chin in hand, elbow resting on the table, staring vaguely in the direction of Gail's plate. She had given up on her salad and had in fact moved it away, allowing more room for her notes. Helping herself to a bread stick, she took a bite then waved it in the air.

‘Okay, so let's assume that Richard left London with the knowledge that the two Princes were safely tucked away in the Tower under close guard. They were apparently seen afterwards, playing in the Lieutenant’s garden. Let's assume also that Richard had decided to put off whatever plans he may have had for them until he returned to London in a couple of months or so, after he had secured the realm and won over the hearts of the people. Declared bastards, they were no threat to him and rescue or escape was impossible.’

Placing her right hand on top of her notes, fingers spread, Laura continued. ‘What we need,’ she said, ‘is someone else with a good motive for wanting to murder the two Princes. Note I said murder, as in “cause a scandal”. A murder so foul and inhuman that it would make otherwise loyal, trustworthy men switch their allegiance. We have to think in terms of a deed so nasty that it could be spoken of only in hushed whispers behind closed doors; rumours and whispers sufficient to rock the very foundations of a kingdom and destroy a monarchy.

‘We would need someone positively evil, unnaturally cruel and malicious and,’ she added, tapping her first finger on her notes for emphasis, ‘extraordinarily ambitious. A gamesman capable of running with the hare or the hounds and able to wait, bide his time, then strike at the appropriate moment. Someone who would be eloquent enough and most of all, capable enough to tell the “big lie” and get away with it? He would need to be handsome and charming too so as to draw others in easily; like a spider might a fly.’

Laura paused, reached into her bag, extracted a cigarette and lit it while Gail watched her every move, knife and fork poised in the air, the remainder of her meal momentarily forgotten. Leaning back, Laura prepared to enjoy her cigarette, seemingly oblivious to Gail as she idly watched a couple pass by on their way out of the restaurant. The cigarette was more than half finished before Gail could stand it no longer.

‘Who do you think?’

‘Come on, Gail. There aren't that many characters on the stage. Who must it be? Who would have the personal power, the opportunity, the trust; all the things necessary to get close to those boys? I’ll give you a clue. He killed for his own ambition, not another's.’

Laura watched dispassionately as Gail shifted through the possibilities. ‘Buckingham,’ she said triumphantly.

Laura smiled and nodded. ‘Bingo - Henry Stafford, second Duke of Buckingham.’ Then her face clouded. ‘You know, he was a strange man. The more I read about him the less I like him. Arrogant and vain, he was unpopular at court during King Edward's reign and stayed more or less in the background until recent events. It was Buckingham who saw to Hastings execution; Richard wasn't even there.

‘Richard left on his tour around the tenth of July, but Brackenbury wasn't appointed Constable of the Tower until the seventeenth, so who was in charge in between? On the fifteenth, Buckingham was made Lord High Constable of England which meant that he was responsible for all the fortifications and defences of the realm. All the strongholds came under his jurisdiction, including the Tower of London.

‘Now, John, Lord Howard, was also very ambitious. He apparently wanted the title of Duke of Norfolk which just happened to belong to young Richard, Duke of York. It seems obvious that he hoped to regain his hereditary rights through Richard once he was on the throne. John Howard was a powerful man politically but hot-tempered, violent and cruel by nature. A most curious entry appears in his household books on May the twenty-first, 1483. It has to do with six men working for three days, three beds, sacks of lime, nails and lengths of timber.

‘There may be absolutely no connection whatsoever with the Princes but let's try a scenario. Suppose those men were busy doing something else besides making three cheap beds and whitewashing walls, which the entry suggests. Suppose that Buckingham approached Howard in that week after Richard left London and told him that Richard wanted the boys dead at the first opportunity. Howard had received his reward from Richard on the twenty-eighth of June and was now not only Duke of Norfolk but also hereditary Earl Marshall of England. As I said, the title of Duke still technically belonged to the younger Prince and was not really up for grabs unless …

‘Unlike Richard, perhaps Howard felt that it wasn't enough to just lock the boys away so when Buckingham approached him, he was eager to help, thinking he was doing Richard a favour as well as following orders. Besides, he had fought long and hard to achieve his new title and he wasn’t about to let a bastardised brat of a ten-year-old spoil things for him.

‘There’s no firm evidence that Buckingham accompanied Richard on the royal progress. In fact, his name is conspicuously absent from the list of guests present at a dinner in the King's honour at Magdalen College, Oxford.’

‘So, you're saying Buckingham stayed on in London?’ Gail asked.

‘Yes, but for the life of me I can't understand why Richard would allow a loose cannon like Buckingham out of his sight; and then to appoint him Constable of England? There's got to be something wrong here. Despite all his recent service to Richard, Buckingham was a closet Lancastrian. His grandfather had died fighting against the House of York at Northampton during the summer of 1460, for heaven's sake. Royal blood flowed thick in Buckingham's veins too and he had ambition enough for half a dozen men, plus a strong young male heir.

‘Remember, Brackenbury didn't come on the scene until the seventeenth. Buckingham was appointed High Constable on the fifteenth. It’s my contention that, with or without Howard's help, Buckingham arranged the death of the two boys sometime between the fifteenth and seventeenth of July, probably late at night and perhaps as you’ve suggested. He didn't join up with Richard in Gloucester until the twenty-ninth and that was when they had the argument. Anti-Richard types suggest it was because Richard told Buckingham that he was thinking of murdering the boys, or had already murdered them. It could just as well have been the other way around.’

‘Richard would have been furious,’ Gail said, shaking her head.

‘That would be the understatement of the week, but what could he do? The deed had been done and by his most trusted adviser, friend and confidant. Frankly I think Buckingham had the whole thing planned right from the start, just after King Edward died. Become Richard's friend, help destroy the Wydvilles, put Richard on the throne, discredit him by murdering the Princes and then, when he left Richard in a huff, he began to plot against him, which culminated in open rebellion later that year. When he arrived at his estates in Wales, guess who was there?’

‘Mrs. Buckingham?’

Laura laughed. ‘John Morton, Bishop of Ely. Remember, he was one of the men arrested in Council when Hastings was accused of treason? He became a prisoner under the care of Buckingham. He even asked to be Morton’s jailer which, in itself, is suggestive.

‘Now, Morton was a nasty bit of work. Sly, secretive, a lover of intrigue, he hated Richard with a passion. Soon Buckingham and Morton were busy scheming together. I doubt if Buckingham told Morton the truth about the Princes. Besides, Morton would want to believe that Richard murdered them because that was just what was needed to undermine Richard, both as a man and a king. Morton must have rubbed his hands in glee. There’s no doubt that Morton masterminded the events that followed. Poor Buckingham ended up being dragged along when Morton made it clear that he would support Henry Tudor and not him in a bid for the throne. Buckingham was faced with a dilemma then. His claim to the throne was much stronger than Henry's, but without support, and he couldn't expect much in the way of help after his recent attachment to Richard, his chances of success were virtually nil. Perhaps, he reasoned, once Richard was gotten rid of he could step forward, show his pedigree and bump Henry off, literally and figuratively.’

Gail chuckled.

‘Well, you’d have to be smoking funny cigarettes to believe that a man like Buckingham would have been happy putting Elizabeth Wydville's daughter on the throne, or Tudor. Tudor's branch of the royal tree was on the wrong side of the blanket, to put it politely, so I can't imagine Buckingham accepting such a sow's ear on the English throne.

‘Anyhow, Morton and Buckingham made their way to London and had a wee chat with Henry Tudor's mother, Margaret Beaufort. A deal was struck. Buckingham would help put Henry on the throne, Henry would marry Elizabeth of York and everyone would live happily ever after. In the meantime, rumours were circulated that the two boys had been murdered by order of their uncle. Everyone assumed that that was Richard, of course, although Buckingham was their uncle too. Neat, aye?’

‘And when did Elizabeth Wydville find out and who told her?’

‘I would imagine that that job fell to Margaret Beaufort. Again, it’s the good news, bad news scenario. First the bad news; your sons are dead, Richard killed them but, the good news is that your daughter will marry my son and be a Queen.

‘Well,’ Laura said, leaning back in her chair and lighting another cigarette, ‘how did you like that story?’

‘I feel sorry for Elizabeth Wydville.’

‘Don't,’ Laura said flatly. ‘She had her chance and she blew it. So many people hated her and her cool aloofness, her counterfeit regal bearing. Buckingham did. He hated her so much that killing her sons would have been easy for him. He might even have enjoyed it.’

‘You make him sound like a monster.’

‘He was. Do you know what Richard said of Buckingham when he heard of his defection? He called him; “the most untrue creature living”.’

Gail turned her wine glass around and around, thinking. ‘Why didn't Richard denounce Buckingham? Why didn’t he let the whole world know up front that it was Buckingham who murdered the Princes?’

‘Well, at first I doubt if Richard believed him and that was probably why he sent Green down to London. Green returned with the horrible truth that the boys were missing, but no one knew what happened to them or where they were, alive or dead. Brackenbury may have delayed telling Richard in the hope of finding the boys before anyone knew. Can you imagine his panic when he took office only to find his two charges missing? And I think that's important. The boys were missing; the concept of murder probably never entered anyone's head. Children don't get murdered.’

‘But everyone believed that Richard did murder them.’

‘Now you have it; Shakespeare, More, how pleased they would be because now we have a true morality play. Richard's draconian treatment of everyone from the dowager Countess Elizabeth Howard way back in his early twenties, right through to Hastings' execution without trial; all the birds were coming home to roost. He had dared and succeeded at the most unlawful, disgusting and frankly, bloody crimes. As a result he was universally feared and even hated. Everything he had ever done was for his own gain, even where the Church was concerned. Kill two young boys? If it meant that he could feel more secure on the throne - sure. That people believed that he was capable of such a crime - most certainly.

‘Like his long dead brother, George, Richard became the instrument of his own destruction. Whether or not he murdered the Princes in the Tower became academic. The fact that most people believed he did was all that was important. And, no one knew better than Buckingham just how vulnerable Richard was in that regard.

Laura sighed as she pushed her notes aside. ‘Anyhow, we’ll have lots of time to talk about this during our travels. That’s enough. At the risk of being told I drink too much, I think I’ll have a nice glass of port.’ Smiling broadly at Gail, she signalled their waiter. Gail recovered just in time to add a dish of spumoni ice cream to the order before the waiter hurried away.