by Tracy Borman
The softly rasping voice made her start. She looked back at him, tears now streaming down her cheeks. He held out his hand and she bent to kiss it. His fingers were icy cold.
‘My brains are broken,’ he said. ‘’Tis a torment to me that I still draw breath. I wish that God had stopped it long before now.’
Frances knelt at his feet, still clasping his hand in hers. ‘You must not lose faith,’ she whispered. ‘The King may yet grant you a pardon – as he seems likely to do for Lord Somerset.’
Raleigh’s mouth lifted into a faint smile. ‘Ah, but my offences are far greater than his – and those of his pretty wife. He will not allow me to escape the axe a second time.’ He closed his eyes again and leaned back in his chair. Frances had just begun to wonder if he had fallen asleep when he gripped her hand. ‘I am sorrier than I can say, my dear.’ His eyes misted as he looked at her. ‘That I failed in my enterprise is torment enough to me, but knowing I have ruined the fortunes of you and many others in the attempt is more than I can bear.’
Frances pressed her lips to his fingers again. ‘You must not plague yourself with such thoughts. We knew the risks as well as you did, but were driven by a desire to rid ourselves of this heretic king and the evil that surrounds him. You acted in God’s name and it grieves me sorely that He did not smile upon your endeavours.’
Raleigh’s mouth twisted. ‘I can no longer see God’s hand in any of this. For years, this country has been divided, each side claiming to know His will. And what has it brought us but misery and bloodshed?’
Frances felt a pang at hearing him speak the same thoughts that had plagued her these past few weeks. ‘We can only keep faith in our hearts and pray that one day He might show us His purpose.’
‘I think that day is closer for me than it is for you, my dear,’ he replied, with a sad smile. ‘Our friend Bacon tells me that my trial is imminent. That faithless wretch Yelverton has all the arrangements in place and waits only for the King to name a date. With the Spanish ambassador at court, it cannot be long now. James will not wish to appear irresolute in front of his new ally.’
Frances opened her mouth to reply, but fell silent.
‘In my weakness, I even appealed to the King’s beloved angel,’ he continued. Frances struggled to hide her dismay. ‘I deserve your censure. I should never have stooped so low and I despise myself for such cowardice. The marquess’ – he placed a scornful emphasis upon the word – ‘delighted in rejecting my suit and made sure that Gondomar heard of it. That man is the devil himself.’
‘I know the truth of it all too well,’ Frances replied. ‘I pray that God may soon rid us of his presence.’
Raleigh squeezed her hand but said nothing. They knew her prayers were likely to go unanswered, and Frances had seen enough since her return to court two months before to convince her that Buckingham’s hold over the King was stronger than ever.
‘Bacon is hopeful that my sentence may be commuted to beheading,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘Though I should be thankful that I may be spared a traitor’s death, terror still grips my heart. For many nights now, I have lain awake, imagining how it will be. Sometimes I think I can feel the blade against my neck. I cannot—’ He broke off, his breath coming in rapid gasps and his eyes wide with fear. Frances reached out to him, and he clutched at her hand with trembling fingers. ‘You must help me, Frances,’ he whispered.
‘I would do anything,’ tears pricked her eyes again, ‘but the King would never heed my word – or my husband’s. He listens only to Buckingham, and his own foolish pride.’
‘It is not your words I ask for,’ Sir Walter replied softly, his gaze intensifying.
Frances held her breath.
‘It was not so long ago that you prepared a . . . remedy for Prince Henry. Of course, God saw fit to claim him before you could administer it. But it would be a shame to waste it, would it not?’
She stared at him, aghast. ‘The tincture was destroyed long ago,’ she replied truthfully. An image flitted before her of Thomas pouring it into the fire. She could still remember the acrid stench that had filled their chamber.
‘Ah, but the mandrake I supplied was enough to make several more of the same potency,’ he persisted. ‘I am sure that a woman with your skill would not have discarded such a jewel, knowing that the root has the power to heal as well as to kill.’
Frances tried to protest but the words died on her lips.
‘I beg of you, please do this for me. I lack the courage for what I must face,’ he urged, his eyes now wild with fright.
She longed to wrench her hand from him and run far from there. If she supplied Raleigh with the means to take his own life, he would surely be damned for all eternity. And if her part in it were discovered, she would be hanged as a witch – Buckingham would make sure of that. Her herbs had only ever been used for good. Although she had plotted to murder the prince with the tincture of mandrake, God had stayed her hand. Even though the King’s son had worked to destroy her and those she held dear, to take a life was a sin.
An image came unbidden into her mind of a man lying on a pallet bed in a dungeon not far away. She tried to push it from her, but it seemed to grow so sharply into focus that it was no longer Raleigh’s face before her but Tom’s. He was smiling sadly at her as he replaced the stopper on the tiny glass phial. I cannot let you forfeit your life for me. She tried to swallow as his words sounded in her ears. She had begged him to let her save him from the horror that lay before him. Just a few drops of the tincture would have been enough to stop his breath, robbing the executioner’s knife of its gruesome task of gouging out his entrails and performing all manner of tortures before his head was smitten off. She had replayed their whispered conversation so many times since that night, wishing she had had the strength to persuade him. But in her heart she knew there was nothing she could have said or done. Tom would never have allowed her to risk her own life by giving him a swifter, kinder death. He had loved her too much.
‘Please.’
Sir Walter’s voice brought her back to the present. He was staring intently at her, his eyes imploring. How could she deny him the same mercy she would have performed for Tom? She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer. Then, opening them, she gave the slightest of nods. Raleigh pressed his lips to her hand once more and sank back in his chair.
‘Raleigh will appear before the privy council tomorrow.’ Thomas’s expression was grave.
Frances had waited for this moment for more than two weeks now, not wanting to deliver the potion to Raleigh until his fate was absolutely certain. There could be only one verdict and Bacon had warned that the King would want to see the sentence swiftly carried out.
‘The lieutenant of the Tower has written to the King. He says that Sir Walter is too sick to travel to Westminster.’
Frances looked at her husband sharply. ‘What ails him?’
‘A fever, apparently. Sir Allen reports that he has not eaten for three days and has now fallen into a delirium.’
Frances considered this. Sir Allen Apsley had been appointed at Buckingham’s behest the previous year. He was unlikely to do Raleigh a favour by exaggerating his condition.
‘James will not hear of it,’ her husband continued. ‘He says it is all a ruse by Raleigh to escape his fate. Buckingham encourages him in this view, of course.’
Frances thought of her old friend suffering alone in that grim fortress. He had appeared frail enough when she had last seen him. If he was as sick as Apsley reported, her potion might not be needed after all. But she could not risk waiting, particularly as James was not minded to. She must go to the Tower tonight.
‘The King will not want to be denied his prey,’ Frances murmured, almost to herself.
Thomas nodded, grim-faced. ‘He seems to take pleasure in the prospect of sending a sick old man to his death.’
Should she tell him? She had almost done so upon her return from the Tower, but fear of implicating him had prevented h
er. This was a burden she must carry alone. Besides, the task was now less fraught with danger. If Raleigh was known to be gravely ill, few would think to question it if God were to claim him before the King’s justice could.
Frances moved to sit by her husband. ‘We must keep faith that God will wreak his vengeance – in this world or the next.’
CHAPTER 26
21 October
As she turned under the archway and mounted the steps to the green, Frances tried to push away the thought that this once great adventurer, the hero of the old Queen and the scourge of her successor, would breathe his last in a matter of minutes. It seemed impossible, somehow. He had always been so full of life – of hope, too, despite living under the threat of execution for fifteen years.
When she reached the edge of Raleigh’s garden, she looked up at the tower, its turrets silhouetted against the night sky. There was no sign of life within. Perhaps God had already taken him. She prayed that He had, though instinct told her he still drew breath.
Her pulse throbbed in her ears as she began to mount the steps. She saw that the yeoman was not at his post. He must have moved inside the lodging to shelter from the cold. She knocked lightly on the door and waited, her breath misting in the air. Everything was silent within. Slowly, she lifted the latch and pushed open the door, expecting to see the guard asleep. But the room was in darkness. She waited, straining her ears for any sound from the chamber beyond. Nothing. Summoning her courage, she took a step forward and reached for the handle. But just as her fingers closed over the cold iron ring, a hand gripped her wrist with such force that she cried out. There was an answering groan from Raleigh’s chamber, then silence.
‘Sir Walter does not usually receive visitors at this hour.’
The silken voice was so close to her ear that she could feel his breath. She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare and looked desperately about her, as if trying to find some means of escape. He took a step closer, his arm brushing against her back. Her breath was coming so quickly that she feared she might faint. Then he released his grip and there was a loud bang as he flung open the shutter. At once, the parlour was illuminated by the fragile light of the waning moon. Frances tried to turn but he pressed her against the door so that her head twisted painfully away from him.
‘What is your business here, Lady Frances?’
There was no mistaking his voice this time. A moment later, he released his grip and she turned to see Buckingham standing before her. He eyed her with faint amusement, as if he had caught a child stealing a comfit from the palace kitchens.
‘Where is the yeoman?’ she demanded, hoping to distract him while she tried to order her thoughts.
The marquess waved his hand dismissively. ‘I have relieved him of his duties for the evening. Some jewels are of such value that they should not be entrusted to others, as I advised His Majesty.’
‘You are very assiduous, my lord,’ she replied sardonically. ‘Surely Sir Allen would have been happy to oblige.’
‘I have no doubt of it. But the only means to be certain of an outcome is to perform the task oneself, is it not, my lady?’
His eyes glinted in the gloom. Frances held his gaze but did not answer.
‘Now we have established why I am here, perhaps we could turn our attention to you.’
Frances thought quickly. ‘I had heard that Sir Walter was ill and hoped to observe his symptoms so that I could seek a remedy from the court apothecary.’
Buckingham raised an eyebrow. ‘Clearly I am not alone in my assiduity. Did you not think that the King might have assigned someone to attend to his prisoner?’
Frances gave a shrug. ‘It hardly seemed likely, given that he will soon have him put to death.’
Buckingham eyed her. ‘If you wished to observe Sir Walter’s symptoms, then why did you not do so during daylight hours? It is very late for a lady of your status to be out alone.’
‘I have been ill myself and was obliged to keep to my chambers all day,’ Frances countered. ‘But I felt better after some sleep so resolved to come at once, rather than wait until tomorrow when Sir Walter will no longer be able to receive visitors.’
Buckingham nodded slowly. She knew he suspected her, but was determined to give him no reason to detain her.
‘May I see Sir Walter now?’ she asked curtly. ‘I do not wish to delay my return to Whitehall any longer.’
The young man wrought a heavy sigh. ‘I wish that I could sanction it, but the King’s orders were very clear. I am to admit no one to Raleigh’s chamber tonight – not even his wife. She has made such a nuisance of herself today with her weeping and wailing. I wonder that she did not rouse the poor man from his bed.’
‘But I seek only a few moments with him, my lord,’ Frances persisted, her fingers closing over the tiny glass phial in her pocket.
Buckingham spread his hands. ‘I wish I could oblige you. But I am sure you would not want me to defy a royal command. These are treacherous times, Lady Frances, and His Grace must be given no cause to doubt those who serve him. Your husband knows that all too well.’
Frances bit back a remark, determined not to let him provoke her into saying something she might regret.
‘Then I will bid you goodnight,’ she said, and curtsied. She stepped forward but he moved to block her path.
‘The King can trust you, can he not, my lady?’ he murmured. ‘Only I have heard rumours that you were once a prisoner here – under suspicion of witchcraft, no less.’
Frances tasted bile but maintained her composure. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing he had riled her. ‘For a short time, yes. But I was soon acquitted. Perhaps Sir Walter will enjoy a similar outcome.’
Buckingham let out a bark of laughter. There was another groan from Raleigh’s chamber. Frances glanced towards it, desperate to run inside and press the tincture into his hands. But instead she turned slowly back to face the marquess.
‘Do not worry, my lady. I will take good care of him,’ he said, with a slow smile.
Frances did not reply, but walked briskly towards the door. She had just lifted the latch when he spoke again.
‘I will not trouble the King with news of your little . . . excursion,’ he said softly. ‘Not unless it becomes necessary, of course.’
Frances paused, her hand still on the latch. ‘Goodnight, my lord,’ she replied, then closed the door quietly behind her.
Frances glanced at the clock on the fireplace. A quarter past three. For almost an hour now her ears had strained for the shouts of the crowds gathered on the Strand.
‘Lady Frances?’
She turned quickly back to Anne, her face flushing. ‘Forgive me, Your Grace. I am but poor company today. What did you ask?’
The Queen gave a knowing smile. ‘I am glad you came. The hours pass so slowly here some days, though I much prefer it to the ceaseless prattle of court.’ She glanced towards the window. ‘Sir Walter is a little behind his time, is he not?’
Frances nodded tightly but said nothing. He had been summoned to appear before the privy council that morning. If Buckingham had not prevented her from delivering the precious tincture to him last night, he would have been spared the humiliation of answering the charges against him – not to mention the long journey through the streets of London, which must have been an ordeal in his enfeebled state.
‘You must not blame yourself, my dear,’ Anne said kindly. ‘You did everything you could to save him from this.’
‘I cannot bear to think that he will go to his grave believing I had forsaken him,’ Frances replied miserably. ‘If it had not been for that devil—’ She stopped short, remembering the conversation they had had about Buckingham more than three years earlier.
Anne smiled. ‘You may speak freely here. I harbour no prejudice, so far removed from the heart of affairs.’
‘But Your Grace once spoke in favour of Buckingham. I would not wish to cause offence.’
‘I observed only that t
he young marquess may not be all that he seems,’ Anne replied. ‘That is very different from cherishing any affection for him.’
‘And yet you said he could be our salvation,’ Frances persisted. ‘I have puzzled over your words ever since.’
With an effort, the Queen rose to her feet and limped slowly to the window. She stood there in silence for some time, leaning heavily upon the gilded frame as she gazed down on the street below.
‘I would not say anything to place you in danger, Lady Frances,’ she said at last. ‘I ask only that you do not allow prejudice to blind you to what Buckingham is – to what he may be.’
Frances looked at her sharply. ‘My opinion is based upon his treatment of me – of my husband too. I bear no man ill will unless he has deserved it.’
Anne held up her hand in a placatory gesture. ‘I know what you have suffered at his hands, my dear. It is little wonder that you look upon him as a mortal enemy. But the same snake that has bitten you may sink its poison into one more deserving. My husband should have a care.’
Frances reeled at her words. That Buckingham was a threat to any who challenged his power, she could readily believe. That he posed a danger to the King himself seemed impossible. James was the source of all his authority, his riches. It would surely be madness to plot against him. He would stand to lose everything.
She opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment a loud cheer rose up from the Strand. The Queen turned back to the window at once, and Frances hastened to join her. In the distance, towards Westminster, she could just discern a cavalcade making its slow progress along the street. In the centre was a carriage, flanked on every side by mounted riders.
As it drew closer, Frances saw that the windows were draped with heavy black cloth. She had been surprised that the King had granted Raleigh’s request to travel to his hearing by carriage, rather than barge, knowing that this would attract more attention. If James hoped to limit his prisoner’s exposure to the adoring crowds, though, he would be disappointed. Raleigh had pulled back the drapes and was graciously waving his thanks to the people who lined his route back to the Tower. From this distance, Frances could not see the expression on his face, but she judged from the cheers and shouts of ‘God save you!’ that he was smiling.
