The Tudor Triangle

Chapter 28: To and from the Tower of London

13th of November, 1553

London

The moment I awake in Camberwell a heaviness floods me, until I feel as if my blood is made of stone.   He is not sleeping beside me; I am alone.  I must rise, wash and dress for a ritual that only brings me pain.  Mother will again counsel me to be strong, even though the Tower of London awaits me. I start the journey on a day that holds much significance for my future.

The cold outside cuts through me like an axe and does little to improve my mood. I arrive at my destiny, and wind my way through the vast site.  The dankness and smell of putrid water seems to linger in the air and chokes my lungs.  It is a strange place: a castle that has seen the glories and processions of Kingly coronations.  Yet it is also an imposing prison, which harbours hopelessness and torture.  Two Tudor Queens have been executed on Tower Green. Too many people have lost their head on nearby Tower Hill. Monarchs have arrived with noise, pomp and splendor, whilst some poor condemned souls floated silently under traitors gate. No doubt many have looked back across the Thames and wondered if they would ever live under another roof, or if the executioner would claim their mortal life.

Now I am here, there are no extravagant fanfares to mark the arrival of Robert Dudley's wife. He is no longer the son of the most favoured courtier of Edward VI. Instead he is a traitor to Mary Tudor, a woman so worn down by years of sadness and tragedy that one wonders how she will bear the weight of the crown at all.  She has shown no Catholic mercy to my husband, and the agony of the last few months have stripped me of the lightness I cradled so carelessly in my youth.   

I pass a cracked mirror, and what I see startles me, for I do not look young anymore.  Is my hair losing its honey colour and fading into brown?  My once-bright eyes are now bloodshot from hours of crying. I can barely eat a thing, so my plumpness has withered away.  I am constantly worried. Would these things have happened to me anyway? Or has John Dudley's ambition cost me my bloom? But I cannot blame him. Any anger I harboured is replaced by sympathy for him, which I had not thought possible.  For the mightiest of men are always brought low by the deathbed. He has taken the journey that awaits us all, and by doing that he has reached some redemption in my heart.  

Robert is in the Beauchamp Tower, and so is comfortably housed. He has servants, his dogs and good food. But he would trade all of this for the one thing the Tower will not give him; his freedom. A nobleman such as he is not made for confinement.

The man guiding me sweeps his arm in wide semi-circles so that the lamp is swinging around. I take a step back for fear of catching fire. He smiles and nods towards the door.  I swallow hard and stand wringing my hands, feeling the brittleness of my bitten nails.  Taking a deep breath, I undo the latch. A silent prayer is sent up to God: 'Oh please let me find my husband in good mind.'

The door swings open and disappointment floods me.  I can see through the first room that Robert is sat round a small table with John, his eldest brother. They are playing dice and the smell of ale is overpowering. The men look up to me and I fix on a big smile.

Robert scrapes his stool back, knocking over the game.

"Robert!" John complains as he regathers their idle amusement.  

My husband smiles and staggers towards me. "My dear Amy!"  He sweeps down into a deep bow and loses his balance so that I have to catch him.  His weight nearly topples me too. Great guffaws of laughter ring through the room.

I help him up, and despite everything I am pleased to have him near and to hold him.

"See how happy we are to be housed in such regal apartments." He sweeps his hand in a dramatic gesture. The bitterness of his voice saddens me.