February 12th, 1554
The Long Road to London
In typical Princess/woman fashion, Elizabeth wasn’t even ready to begin the trip on the morning of the 12th. So I had some debating to do; whether to actually go see the beheading of a Queen, or sit out the whole thing, thirty miles away.
In the end, curiosity won the day.
Steve and I did the distance in minutes, and soon found a good vantage point on the outer wall of the Tower.
They did Dudley first; led through a huge screaming crowd, his head bowed, his arms held by a man at each side. His normal clothing had been stripped to loose shirt and britches. When they pulled him onto the scaffold, I noticed he stood barefoot, his toes wet and muddy. He seemed to shake from head to toe, and although the morning proved actually quite chilly, I’m sure his nerves were the reason.
Kneeling on the wooden platform, he extended his hands above his head, and leant forward to put his neck on the large darkened block.
Then a shimmering sound of the swing of the wide-bladed axe.
Bam; head bouncing about like an over-aired soccer ball.
We stood about for a bit while they threw buckets of water over the platform, and brushed the mess away. Then, slowly, they led Lady Jane Grey out to the stage. I couldn’t help misting up a bit. I mean, we’d shared moments, even if they’d been contrived ones.
Again, one single stroke dispatched her, arms twitching for a split second, then falling limp at her sides.
“Who’s next?” Steve asked.
“I think that’s all for today,” I said, my mind not really on the scene in front of me.
“No, I mean, which one will be next to put their head on the block? Elizabeth?”
“It can’t be, she rules for years, I’ve seen the Cate Blanchett movie.” I managed a dry smile.
“But what happens if history changes once we’re here?”
“It can’t, I’ve proven that before; we can’t change anything.”
But Steve seemed determined to push his point. “You didn’t prove it, you only think you did. What happened with Arthur may have just been coincidence.”
I know I teared up more. “But no matter what I did to help the situation, Prince Arthur still died.”
“But it was a contagious disease, Richard. Half the country caught it, how could you have stopped it?”
I gave his question a fair bit of thought. “So we might still be Sam Becketts, and have work to do for Elizabeth?”
“Maybe. When does she start as Queen?”
“Now that I don’t know, because if I did, I’d just run away to Europe for a year or two, and come back in time for the coronation. It could be ten days, it could be ten years. I didn’t study this period of time.”
Steve nodded. “I know what you mean.”
“DeVere?” came a voice from down below.
“It’s Fakenham,” I said to Steve, then looked over the edge of the parapet. “Yes?”
“I have new orders.”
Two minutes later we were out of the cold breeze, and into the warm of his old office at the Tower. The room had been stripped bare; when the Queen had moved to Westminster, all his books and papers had obviously followed.
“Two prominent heads have gone to ground,” Fakenham began. Steve and I stood wondering what would come down the pipe. “Sir Peter Carew is missing, supposed fled to mainland Europe, and Baron Exeter is under extreme suspicion too, considering he harbored the bitch we beheaded today.”
My ears pricked up at the mention of Exeter’s name. “Our job to bring them in, sir?”
But Fakenham shook his head. “I don’t want trials. They’ll only put more pressure on Mary to punish Elizabeth, and we both know she’s innocent.”
“So what do you want from us?”
“I just want you to scour the countryside, find ringleaders, and kill them.” He handed me a sheet of parchment. “There are sixteen names here, and where they live, where they were last seen. As Renard would say; you have carte blanche.”
I walked with new vigor, almost having a bounce to my step that hadn’t been there for quite some time, but as I walked out of his office, I couldn’t help feeling something wasn’t quite right with the whole mission.
The same evening, as we neared Ashridge House, I began to feel ill, then clutched my belly in pain, my ears ringing, then, just as I’d done months before, I doubled over and vomited.
By the time I’d gotten to my room, I almost had to be carried. I sent Steve for some brandy, as it had done the trick before, but when he returned, he looked as white as I felt.
“What’s wrong?” He handed me a note, already opened. “What’s this?”
“Just read it,” he said. “Read it out loud.”
“The mission from Fakenham is a ruse. He wants you out of London. They conspire to behead Bessy. Wait here for instructions. Z.”
I looked at him. “Where did you get this?”
“A woman gave it to me, just now, downstairs by the drink closet.”
“Then we need to question her.”
“She vanished.”
“Well, we’ll have to chase her down.” I suddenly felt much better. “She’ll be here somewhere.’
“No, Richard, you don’t understand. She disappeared, like a vampire.”
“Lady Jane!” I enthused. “Bright eyes, pale complexion, freckles?”
But to my disappointment, he shook his head. “No, this woman looked darker, perhaps even of Romany descent; possibly the most beautiful gipsy I’ve ever seen.”
“Busty?”
He nodded, his widened eyes telling me more.
I had but one thought. “Abigail.”
And then of course, I had to tell Steve about Abigail’s help back in 1501. By the time I’d brought him up to date, I felt as good as new again, stomach back to normal.
“But how would she know we were here?” he asked.
“More to the point,” I sipped my brandy, although it proved now for purely cosmetic reasons. “How the heck did she know about our mission? I mean, we just got it an hour ago, and yet she knew.”
“And why sign it Z, like we did the Renard letters?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I don’t know, but I’m all for staying here for a couple of days, ‘getting ready to travel’, and see what pops up. I don’t think we should hurry to get on with this ‘mission’.”
“That works for me.”
So we stayed at Ashridge under the guise of readying ourselves for our mission, and watching Elizabeth delay her journey to London.
We practiced our archery in the grounds, fenced together and with some of Elizabeth’s guard, then sipped brandy into the wee hours.
Then, at last, as a deputation of soldiers arrived to labor the point, Princess Elizabeth announced herself ready to travel.
Except she’d chosen an open carriage in February; I feared for her life at every moment.
And the journey took days instead of the hours it should have. It seemed to be more of a procession of innocence than a journey. She wore a dress of white and cloth of gold, and waved at everyone who lined her route.
The expression on her face was a brave attempt at innocence and love of her people, but I could see the fear and trepidation behind the mask. Elizabeth believed she travelled to her death.
So, despite Fakenham’s mission, we rode at her side, watching the crowd, just as I’d done for Queen Mary six months before.
When we arrived at Westminster, the word had spread of her journey and the crowds were ten deep at the side of the road. The cheers morphed to chants of “‘Princess Elizabeth”, and “God Save.”
I entered the palace at her side, but the guards refused to allow her to enter court.
“I seek, my sister the Queen,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.
But again and again the refusal came. In the end she asked for writing materials, and wrote a letter.
I looked over her shoulder, pacing back and forth. As she finished, she scrawled a zigzag pattern to the bottom, where she carefully signed it. “I will have no words added to this missive that are not mine,” she said firmly.
I marveled at her fortitude and astuteness at such a pressured time.
The servant promised to deliver it directly into Queen Mary’s hand, then Elizabeth got shown to rooms in another wing of the palace.
It came as little surprise when a deputation from the Privy Council arrived the next day with an arrest warrant; Princess Elizabeth would be taken to the Tower.
“Damn if the letter from ‘Z’ wasn’t right,” I said to Steve as we watched her protest her innocence.
“But we can’t fight it on our own.”
“No.” A plan formed quickly. “But we can influence.”
“Oh, a ‘Not the droids you’re looking for’ kinda thing?”
“Exactly.”
We started to make plans.
After an afternoon talking about it, our course seemed clear. We’d begin with the higher-up members of the delegation, having a ‘vampire’ word with as many as we could. The message would be simple and clear; Elizabeth is innocent of all charges of treason, and she had not conspired against her sister, the Queen.
The next day, still barred from seeing her sister, Elizabeth climbed on a large rowboat, and got taken to the Tower. With tears in my eyes, I watched her walk calmly through Traitor’s Gate and upstairs into the large cell. She had a bed, a desk, and a single chair.
Against every grain of fiber in my body, and despite every effort of ours, Princess Elizabeth was now firmly under arrest, in the Tower of London.
As the guards walked away, I checked the door myself; locked.
But of course, Fakenham found us on the premises, and demanded to know why we hadn’t left on our assignment.
“We just did our last duty for the Princess,” I said, watching his every expression. I’d seen Tim Roth in “Lie To Me”, I knew about micro-expressions, the tell-tale signs of stress and lies. “We’ve kept her under our own arrest for months. We’re just making sure nothing if anything went awry, then it could not be blamed on us.”
“And now you have done your duty to the princess, it is time to do it for your Queen.”
“You know she’s innocent, don’t you?”
“I do, but the Privy Council will conduct a full investigation.”
“But she didn’t do a thing!” I almost roared at him.
Fakenham looked very annoyed, but I didn’t care.
“Calm yourself, Sir Richard,” he said, his eyes darting from side to side. I felt Steve’s hand on my arm, and realized I’d reached for my sword. “Are you the Queen’s man, Sir Richard, or do you now play for Elizabeth?”
Well, of course, the question hit the wrong chords with me. I knew who I sided with, but couldn’t tell Fakenham the probable future course of history. That might have lost me my head.
“The Queen, of course.” I bowed slightly. “There is no conflict within me.”
“Good. Justice must be seen by the public, Richard.” Fakenham stepped back from us. “For there to be punishment, we must show the crime. And for the crime to be shown, we must show the head of the plot.”
“But she has not been contacted.” My words were firm, yet contrite.
“When the ringleaders are executed, Elizabeth will be set free. I guarantee it.”
I wished I could have placed my trust in his words, but knowing he too would be subject to Queen Mary’s machinations, I knew I could not.
“We leave for Exeter in the morning,” I said, hoping he’d be convinced.
“Good day, gentlemen.” Fakenham bowed, turned, and left us standing.
“So do we leave for Exeter?” Steve asked as we watched Fakenham’s retreating figure.
“Let’s have an ale or two at the King’s Head, and discuss it,” I said.
But before we got close to the inn, I became already aware we were being followed; clumsy, amateur, but there all the same.
“What do we do?” Steve asked.
“We assume they’re reporting back to either Fakenham or Renard, and we make a big show of leaving town tomorrow, horses; the whole shebang. We ride until we lose our tails, then we follow them back to their lair.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
The landlord greeted us warmly, obviously looking for some payment on our always available rooms, and handed me a small note.
“Woman delivered it, sire. Pretty one, too.”
“Let me guess, gipsy, pretty one?”
He nodded. “Dresses as a lady, but aye, she looked gypsy-ish. Very pretty.”
This time, a wax seal sat on every fold. I opened it carefully, not wanting to tear it.
“Your tails are Fakenham’s. He’s allied with Renard. Leave by the back door very early tomorrow. Operate in DEEP disguise. I will lead your tails out of town. Z.”