alarmed by the sound of footsteps.
“This way, mistress.”
One of the men pushed her forward, and before her dazed eyes appeared a short, spiral staircase, down which they led her.
Now they were in the gloomy dungeons below the great Tower. Foul odors from the river were stronger here.
“Oh God,” she prayed, “let me die here. Let me die for the Faith. Willingly I will give my life. Let me not bring disgrace on the Faith. Let me be strong.”
Now the sickening stench of stale blood assailed her nostrils. She had no doubt to what place they were taking her. Misery seemed to haunt it. She fancied she heard the screams of men in agony. Did she really hear them, or were they the ghostly echoes of forgotten men?
She was pushed into the chamber—that dread chamber, the sight of which sickened the hearts of the bravest men.
She fell against a stone pillar from which hung the hideous instruments whose uses she could only guess, except that she knew they were made to torture men.
Two men had come toward her—two of the most brutishlooking men she had ever seen. Their eyes betrayed them—their glittering, cold, excited eyes. Those eyes betrayed too a certain lewdness in their thoughts; it was as though they spoke and said: “Ha! Here we have a woman!” These two men were Chancellor Wriothesley and Solicitor-General Rich, whom she had seen at her trial.
She was aware that this was to be one of the most important cross-examinations which had ever taken place in this room, for not only were the Chancellor and the Solicitor-General present, but there also was Sir Anthony Knevet, the Lieutenant of the Tower.
She looked at him appealingly, for he had not the cruel, animal look of the other men, and it seemed to her that there was sympathy in his eyes, as though they meant to convey the message to her: “I am not responsible for this. I but obey orders.”
The Chancellor spoke first. He had seated himself at the table on which were writing materials.
“You wonder why you are brought here, madam?” he said.
“I know why people are brought here. It is to answer questions.”
“You are clever. I can see that we need not waste time with explanations.”
The Solicitor-General had turned to her. “You will answer my questions, madam.”
“Do not weary yourselves with asking me questions,” she said. “I have answered them, and I shall not change those answers. I believe that the body of Christ…”
Rich waved a hand. “No, no. That is settled. You are a heretic. We know that. You have been sentenced, and that case is closed.”
“It is for another reason that you are brought here,” said Wriothesley. “You were not alone in your heresies. You must know the names of many people who support that erroneous belief for which you are going to die.”
“How should I know what goes on in the hearts and minds of others?”
“Madam, you are very clever. You have read too many books… far too many books. But do not waste your cleverness on us. We do not want sly answers. We want
“Names?”
“The names of those who attended your meetings, who read those books with you.”
“I cannot give you names.”
“Why not, madam?”
“If I could say with certainty that such and such a person believes as I do…even so Iwould not give a name.”
“It would be wise not to be saucy. We are less patient here than in the Guildhall.”
“That I understand. Many may hear your words in the Guildhall. Here, you may say what you will.”
“Madam, you are a lady of gentle birth. I do not think you realize the importance of your visit to this chamber.”
“I know, sir, why you have brought me here,” she said. “Here you bring men to suffer torture. I did not know that you brought women. I understand now that it is so.”
“You are insolent, Madam. Have a care.”
Wriothesley signed to the two men, who came forward. They were professional torturers; their faces were blank; they were devoid of all feeling, as all must become who ply such a horrible trade.
They had seized her by the arms, and Wriothesley put his face close to hers.
“I do not think even now that you fully understand what will happen to you if you are obstinate. You have heard of the rack, no doubt, but you have no notion of its action.”
“I can imagine that,” she answered; she hoped that he did not see her lips moving in prayer, forming that one word which made up her desperate plea: Courage.
“Take her to the rack,” said the Solicitor-General. “Mayhap the sight of it will bring her to her senses.”
She was dragged across the room and her eyes perceived that instrument which none could look on without a shudder. It was shaped like a trough, at the ends of which were windlasses; in these, slots had been cut in which oars could be placed in order to turn them, and about them were coiled ropes to which the wrists and ankles of the
