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
