It was pleasant riding through the City, and the journey always delighted him. He was proud of this country which one day, he believed, he would rule. He was determined to bring great good to it; his head was full of a hundred notions; that was why one of his greatest pleasures was to talk with his dear friend—the man whom he admired perhaps above all others. “Men such as he made England great,” he told his sister, Elizabeth, and his eyes would be full of dreams when he spoke. “When he talks to me, he shows me the world. He ought to have a fine ship of which he is captain. Would that I could accompany him on his voyages of discovery. But, alas, I am a boy and he is a prisoner. None but my father would keep such a bird in a cage.”

Along the banks of the Thames stood the gabled, tall-chimneyed houses of the rich, with their pleasant gardens running down to the water. He felt daring, riding out almost alone; but he was determined never to be a coward; he would never have his garments padded against the assassin’s dagger, he told himself. Better to die than remind everyone who looked at him how much he feared death.

When he was King he would give encouragement to bold seamen, and if they disagreed with him on state policy he would shrug aside such a disagreement. He would never restrict his adventurers.

He smiled as he looked ahead to where the great fortress, palace and prison, dominated the landscape.

Many a man had passed into its precincts with the sense of doom in his heart. There on Tower Hill many and adventurer had taken his last look on the world; the grass of Tower Green was stained with the blood of Queens.

Yet he thrilled to look at it—the gray walls with their air of impregnability, the bastion and ballium, the casemates, the open leads, the strong stone walls, the battlemented towers. There was one particular tower he sought—for there his friend was imprisoned at this time—the Bloody Tower.

Henry felt a shudder of distaste as he entered the gate; the guards, who knew him well, saluted, well aware whither he was bound. He had their sympathy; there were many in London who were not pleased to be ruled by the man from Scotland; but Henry seemed no foreigner; clearly he defied his father, in as much as he had made a friend of one of his father’s prisoners.

Henry passed through to the Inner Ward. The wall which bounded this was crowned by twelve mural towers. Now the original fortress lay before him, with its ditch under the ballium wall. Here was the Keep, the Royal Apartments, and the Church of St. Peter ad Vincula among other impressive buildings.

Entering the Bloody Tower Henry climbed the staircase to an upper chamber in which, near a small window a man was seated at a table writing busily. For some seconds he did not notice the Prince. Henry watched him, and his anger was almost like a physical pain; he always felt thus when he called on his friend.

The man looked up. His was one of the handsomest faces Henry had ever seen. Not handsome as men such as Robert Carr were. There was strength in the prisoner’s face; arrogance perhaps, something which implied that years of imprisonment could not quell his proud spirit.

“My Prince,” he said; and rose from the table. He walked rather stiffly. The damp cold of the Tower was notorious for seeping into the bones and ruining them.

That such a man should suffer so! fumed Henry inwardly.

“I have come again,” he said.

“And none more welcome.”

“How is the stiffness today?”

“It persists. But I believe I am more fortunate than some. You know I have my three servants to look after me.”

“And your wife?”

“She is at Sherborne Castle with the children.”

Henry was about to speak; but he could not bring himself to do so. He had unpleasant news, but he must break it gently.

He took the arm of the man and led him to the table. How tall he was, how splendid still, though he was past fifty; his face was bronzed with tropical sun, for this was a great traveler; even now as a prisoner he was fastidious in his dress, and there were jewels in his jacket which must be worth a large sum. His hair was well curled; Henry knew that it was the task of one of his servants to attend to this every morning early before his visitors arrived; for Sir Walter Raleigh was visited by the great and famous even though he was a prisoner in the Tower.

“How goes the ship which you are making for me?” asked Henry.

Sir Walter smiled. “Come and see it. She’s a beauty. Would to God I could have her copied full size and set sail in her.”

“And would to God I could go with you. Perhaps some day …”

Ah, thought Henry, if I were King, my first duty and pleasure would be to free this man from prison.

“Life is full of chances,” Raleigh told him. “Who shall say where you and I will be, a year, a week, a day from now?”

“I promise you—” began Henry impetuously.

But Raleigh laid a hand on his arm: “Make no rash promises, Your Highness. For think how sad you would be if you were unable to honor them.”

Here in the upper chamber of the tower, Raleigh had come to adopt an avuncular attitude toward the Prince. He looked forward to his visits; he admired this boy as much as he despised his father; when he talked to him and reminded himself that this could be the future King of England he ceased to fret for the days of his glory when a woman had sat on the throne, a woman who had become a victim of his charm and had shown him the way to fame and fortune.

He led Henry to the model of the ship, and for half an hour they talked of ships. Raleigh was a man who had been richly endowed; few had ever possessed such gifts and in such variety. He was a poet, an historian, a brilliant statesman as well as an inspired sailor, with a flair for oratory. When he talked of the sea his words were golden; his eyes glowed for a few minutes and Henry could delude himself that the model he held in his hands was sailing the seas and he and Raleigh commanded her.

He almost forgot the unpleasant news he had to give, for Raleigh must be prepared. Not yet, he told himself. Let us enjoy this hour together first.

And later the sailor became the historian and explained to Henry how he was progressing with the history of the world which he was writing; and when he talked of the Spaniards the fire of hatred shone from his eyes.

Henry knew something of political intrigue and he believed that it was largely due to Spain that his friend was a prisoner. Spain hated Sir Walter Raleigh and was uneasy while such a man was free to roam the seas. How different life in England had been under the Queen. Elizabeth had defied Spain; James, loathing the very thought of conflict, wished to placate that country. He wanted to be at peace, to read the books he loved, to pamper his young men; the only battles he enjoyed were verbal ones.

Men such as Raleigh were no longer Court favorites as they had been in the old Queen’s day.

James had known, even before Elizabeth’s death, that Raleigh was against his accession and had him marked down for an enemy. Raleigh had plenty of them in England; it was inevitable for one who had so enjoyed the Queen’s favor and at one time had been her leading man. He had risen to the peak of power; it was natural that many should long to see him fall to the depths of humiliation.

His great fault was his impetuosity, coupled with his arrogance. He had believed that he might do what others dared not. When he had seduced Bess Throgmorton he had lost the Queen’s favor, because she could not endure that he should pay attention to any woman but herself. And a scandal that had been, with Bess pregnant and that other Bess, the all-powerful Gloriana, sending for him and insisting that he right the wrong he had committed and make an honest woman of her namesake.

And his Bessie had been a good wife, always beside him in his misfortune. Their son Walter was a fine boy and little Carew had been born in the Tower, for Bess had her apartments there with him that she might look after him as she swore his servants could not; and there she planned indefatigably to bring about his release.

He told Henry now that he was fortunate … for a prisoner, as he led the way on to the walk along the wall, which he was allowed to use in order to enjoy a little fresh air and exercise.

“How many prisoners enjoy such a privilege?” he asked. And Henry knew that he was eager to show him his new experiments in the hut at the end of the walk which he had been allowed to use for his scientific work.

Inside the hut was a bench on which were several substances in tubes and bottles.

“I’m working on an elixir of life,” he told the Prince. “If I perfect it, it may well be that people will be living many more years than they do at present.”

“You should have a fine mansion in which to work—not a hut,” said Henry.

“This serves its purpose. My remedies are becoming well known.”

“The Queen said that she had heard your balsam of Guiana was excellent.”

“I am honored. That balsam is much admired. Only yesterday the Countess of Beaumont, walking in the Tower, saw me on my walk and asked me to send her some.”

“Oh, you should be free. It is so wrong that my father should keep you here.”

“Hush! You speak treason. Why, my Prince, one little word can turn a free man into a prisoner. It is well to remember it. Tell me, what of the new beauty?”

“Carr?”

“I hear he is most handsome and struts about the Court in fine feathers.”

“He is most sumptuously clad now.”

“And the King delights in him. Well, the way seems smooth for him. A rich wife, I’ll warrant, who can bring him great estates and a great title…. Is aught wrong?”

“There is something I have to tell you, Sir Walter.”

“It disturbs you. Do not tell it.”

“But I must. I came to tell it.”

“And is it so bad then that it must be thrust aside?”

Henry nodded. “It is very bad. Walter, do you care very much for Sherborne Castle?”

Sir Walter had turned slightly pale though this was scarcely noticeable, so bronzed was he.

When he spoke, his voice was harsh. “Sherborne Castle? Why, that and my land about it is almost all I have left. I have consoled myself that if, by a royal whim, it should be decided that my turn has come to walk out to Tower Hill, Sherborne Castle and my lands will prevent my wife and sons from becoming beggars.”

Henry looked appealingly up at this man whom he so admired; then making a great effort he said: “My father had decided that Carr must have a great estate. He has offered him Sherborne Castle.”

Sir Walter did not speak; he went to the door of the hut and stood for some seconds on the Walk, staring at the gray walls and battlements.

Henry came out to stand beside him.

“If he had never come to Court, if there had not been an accident in the tiltyard—” Henry began.

Then Raleigh turned to smile at him.

“And if I had not been born, I should not be standing here now. Dear boy, do not say, If this and If that. Because that is life. I am robbed of my possessions. But remember this: I have already suffered a greater loss. My freedom. Yet I continue to live and work.”

Then they went together along the Walk, into the upper chamber of the Bloody Tower.

Never to either of them had it seemed so hopeless a prison.


THE CHILD BRIDE

Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk, had taken time off from Court to visit his country estates, and he had a very special reason for doing so. Thomas Howard, like most of the members of his family, was a very ambitious man; they regarded themselves as the leading family and secretly believed themselves to be as royal as the Tudors and Stuarts. In the past many of them had not hesitated to make this known—to their cost. Suffolk believed he had learned wisdom through the misfortunes of his ancestors; his own father had gone to the scaffold because he had plotted to marry Mary Queen of Scots, and with such an example in the family, Suffolk had no intention of acting so foolishly.

His wife, Catherine, was with him; she did not care for life in the country but she was ready enough to be there on this occasion.

They sat together in the gracious room with the mullioned windows overlooking the parklands; and the expression on their faces showed a certain smugness. This expression was visible on the face of their companion, another member of the Howard family—in fact one might say the head of the House. This was Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton.

Northampton, a man well advanced in years, for he was nearer seventy than sixty, was at this time one of the most powerful men in the country. He had been playing the intricate game of politics so long that he performed with great skill, and in spite of his age he had no intention of relinquishing one small part of his power if he could avoid it.