Walsingham's spy network had once again proven its worth. His secret agents had intercepted one of Rome's word-of-mouth emissaries, a Jesuit priest called Ridolfi. The priest had been captured returning from a furtive meeting with Mary, Queen of Scots. Spain's unlucky messenger was being held deep in the Tower of London.
That night, the Lord Chamberlain visited Father Ridolfi's dark, damp dungeon. When the overweight Jesuit priest stubbornly declined to answer Burghley's questions, he became irritated with him. Summoning two guards, Burghley had the man dragged along a subterranean passageway and thrown into the torture chamber.
The Tower's lieutenant, William Waad smiled as Ridolfi landed at his feet. Waad never cleaned his teeth. As a result those that were left had turned green, giving the Tower's lieutenant a particularly unpleasant smile. Now you are delivered unto me, it said, here begins a time you will long regret.
Fighting back a sickly claustrophobic panic, Ridolfi looked around the vast room. Every inch of its bloodstained stone floor was crowded with torture instruments: The wheel, the rack, the water bag and the hot pincers.
Callused hands hauled Ridolfi to his feet and began fastening him onto the rack. Soon he lay suspended, legs tied to a fixed bar at the bottom end, wrists strapped to a movable bar above his head.
Burghley turned to Waad. "I'm in a hurry, use the stone."
"Aye, milord," said Waad. He nodded to his henchmen who forced a large, sharp-edged stone under Ridolfi's spine.
Burghley raised his hand like a priest. Two bulky guards set their shoulders to the turnstile levers. Dry axles groaned. The guards strained with all their might. Ridolfi's futile attempt to utter a comforting prayer quickly tailed off into frantic agonized gasping.
In pale-faced desperation, he tried concentrating on the chamber's ancient candleholders as they cast eerie flickering shadows against the damp walls. But the pain had taken on a life of its own, one which would not be denied. Soon, it was almost past bearing.
Waad bent close and yelled into Ridolfi's ear. "Confess your sins, father! Shall we stretch you out longer? Confess before you greet your maker!"
Ridolfi screamed in agony as his cracking joints began to dislocate. The unyielding stone burrowed into his back like a live thing, compounding the unfortunate man's sufferings.
"Confess! Or you'll be meeting your maker in two parts!"
"Enough, enough, for pity's sake," Ridolfi screamed hoarsely. Waad looked to the Lord Chamberlain, standing impassively, his face a mask, one hand still raised as if in benediction. Almost regretfully, Burghley lowered his hand. The two guards eased off on the turnstile levers. Ridolfi's body slumped down onto the rack. He gasped for air, wheezing painfully. Burghley stepped forward and bent close to whisper into the priest's ear.
"Tell me your business with Mary, Queen of Scots, and I don't want to hear any nonsense about spreading the Word."
"I am to marry her...to a young nobleman of royal blood...strengthen her claim to the throne."
"And what of the woman who presently occupies that throne, Elizabeth our blessed Queen?"
"She is to be kidnapped...and burned, along with the other heretics."
Burghley raised his hand, and the two guards threw themselves against the bar, jerking Ridolfi back into the air with savage cruelty.
"Aaah! Aaah!" the unfortunate priest screamed as his weakened joints snapped apart.
Burghley nodded, and the guards let Ridolfi's ruined body fall back down onto the rack. "You must of course, die for your treacheries. You'll find this process somewhat less painful if you refrain from speaking disrespectfully of our beloved monarch. Now, the name of the Scottish whore's unfortunate suitor."
Ridolfi opened his mouth to speak but only a deep, blubbery shudder escaped his lips. With a thin smile, Burghley leaned closer.
"Come man, we haven't slit your tongue yet. Tell me the name of the traitorous suitor who seeks Mary's hand."
With the last of his remaining strength, Ridolfi sobbed out, "Thomas Howard."
-:-:-
Edward looked through the narrow window in Thomas's cell. By standing on tiptoe, he could just see across the Tower of London's moat to the river Thames below. Turning from the window, he walked over to where his cousin sat on the small bed.
Acting on Burghley's advice, Elizabeth had summoned Thomas to London and ordered him thrown into the Tower. The prisoner had recognized his cell in the Cradle Tower immediately. Thomas's father, the second Duke of Norfolk, had occupied it before his execution in 1553. Thomas was sure that the coincidence was far from accidental.
Walking over to the bed, Edward sat down next to his cousin, "The charge is high treason. Why did you just come here when the Queen sent for you?"
Thomas turned to Edward with a question of his own, "Why should I run from her Majesty? She knows I mean no treason. Our nearness of blood..."
"Speak lower. It is not Elizabeth but Burghley who seeks your fall."
"That upstart?"
Edward nodded. "In every great house, he pays at least one servant to spy on his master."
"May all the plagues light upon him."
"Amen to that, but until then, Burghley grows fat on our noble family's misfortunes."
"But didn't he make his fortune from bribes and wine monopolies?"
"Those too, but above all, the Master of Wards is master at bleeding his wards dry."
"That's not what I've heard."
"What have you heard?"
"Why, that my cousin is given to overspending."
"Malicious gossip."
"You didn't squander your inheritance?"
"No, of course not. Burghley encourages his wards to spend over freely. Then he settles the debts by selling our lands to himself for trifling sums, through middlemen."
"The Court's full of such rascals, made proud by their purses." Thomas shook his head dismissively, "Burghley's not fit to hold my stirrup."
"True," Edward conceded. "But you must take him seriously."
"Why should I, pray?"
"Why? Why? Why, because Thomas, you're the richest man in England. What happens to your estates if, God forbid it, you should be executed for treason?"
"Forfeit to the Crown..." murmured Thomas, dismayed at the turn their conversation was taking. "But before then there must be a trial."
"No trial. No jury, save Burghley."
"What!" Thomas shouted.
Lifting a warning finger to his lips, Edward stood up and crossed to the door. As he listened for eavesdroppers in the corridor, Thomas continued in lower tones, "Am I to be condemned without the course of law?"
Edward
