The Murder in the Tower: The Story of Frances, Countess of Essex

a bed in those days. She was big with child, he remembered; Charles was to be born three months later.

“You are astir early,” she had say. “Why so?”

He had smiled at her, the excitement in him rising so that he, usually calm, found it difficult to control. “That I may kill a prime buck before noon.”

He did not tell her that he was going in search of a Jesuit priest who Alexander Ruthven had told him would be at Gowrie House. This Jesuit, Ruthven had informed him, was in possession of a bag of Spanish gold and was clearly up to no good since, of a certainty, he had been sent from Spain to spread sedition throughout the Protestant land of Scotland.

As he rode out to the hunt James promised himself a pleasant reward of Spanish gold and, what pleased him almost as much, a discussion with the Jesuit. There was little he enjoyed so much as spirited conversation, and theological differences were a delight to him.

Slipping away from the party, and taking with him only a young gentleman of his bedchamber named Ramsay, he made his way to Gowrie House where the Earl of Gowrie and his younger brother Alexander Ruthven were waiting to meet him. Food and wine had been prepared for him and he fell to with enthusiasm, for he was hungry; but he was soon demanding to be taken to the Jesuit. Young Alexander offered to take him and led the way up spiral staircases to a chamber, circular in shape, which James guessed to be the prison-hold of the Gowries; and as the heavy, studded door swung behind him and Alexander, he looked about for the Jesuit. The man was not there; then James noticed a small door in the chamber, but, before he could speak, Alexander had locked the great door and drawn his sword.

James faced the young man and saw murder in his face. His first emotion was anger at his stupidity rather than fear for his life. He had known he was trapped, and that the Gowries had brought him here to murder him.

And they would have murdered him, but for great good fortune. He had been a friend to Ramsay, and Ramsay was ready to risk his life in his service. There had not been many like him; so what good luck that Ramsay had been with him that day! The boy, being anxious because of his disappearance, had prowled about the house searching for him and, hearing his master’s cries, found a way of forcing the turnstile and making his way to the circular chamber by means of a private door. He had arrived just in time, for Ruthven had the advantage, and there would certainly have been murder that day at Gowrie House but for Ramsay.

Several of Ruthven’s servants, who had been warned to keep all away from the chamber, came hurrying through the private door after Ramsay, and joined in the fight. For some minutes James and his servant held off Ruthven and his; and, seeing how evenly matched they were, one of Ruthven’s servants declined to help his master, declaring that he wanted no part in killing the King.

Marr and Lennox, who had been with the hunt that day, missing the King, came on to Gowrie House and, hearing them galloping up, James managed to reach a window and shout down: “Treason! I am murtherit!”

Lennox found a ladder and climbed it; but it was not until the Earl of Gowrie and Alexander Ruthven had been killed that the King was rescued.

“And that, Robbie,” James ended, “was the Gowrie Plot, and it happened in Scotland; and then when I came to England my enemies took a turn with the gunpowder.”

He could see that Robert’s attention was forced. Poor laddie, he would have to learn to concentrate.

“Concentration, mannie, is the secret of acquiring knowledge; did ye know? Train the mind not to wander, however dull the road, however pleasant the meadows by the wayside may seem. ’Twas a lesson I learned early in life. I shall have to give you lessons in the art.”

“Your Majesty has given me so much.”

“And now your mind is on brocade and velvet, eh? And your old gossip tires you with his talk of bloody murder. Give me your arm, lad. We’ll away and choose the velvet for your jacket and breeks. And we’ll see that there’s no delay in making them.” He rose to his feet and for a moment swayed uncertainly, till he leaned heavily on Robert. “But dinna fret yourself for the Queen. She won’t love you, boy, but she’ll no harm you. The Queen’s a good woman, though between ourselves, boy, I’ve often thought her a frivolous one. Now … velvet and brocade … satins and silks. We’re going to make Robbie Carr a proper man of the Court.”

Prince Henry rode out of the Palace of Whitehall and turned eastward. He was soberly dressed and took with him only one attendant, for he was eager not to be recognized. His visits to the Tower were becoming more and more frequent and he did not want them to be commented on lest his father should forbid them. Had James done so, Henry would still have found some means of visiting his friend; he could be stubborn when he believed himself to be in the right, but he was not one to court trouble.

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