‘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
