old Roman walls, guarding the eastern approach to the capital. Mayhew couldn't prevent a shiver running up his spine.
'Complete your rounds,' he said sharply, overcompensating in case the guard had seen his weakness. 'We must ensure that the White Tower remains secure against England's enemies.'
'And the prisoner you are charged to guard?'
'I will attend to him.' Mayhew pressed a scented handkerchief against his nose to block out the stink of the city's filth caught on the wind. Sometimes it was unbearable. He hated being away from the court where the virtues of life were more apparent, hated the boredom of his task, and at that moment hated that he was caught on the cold summit of the White Tower when he should have been inside by the fire.
He cast his eye around the fortress where pools of darkness were held back by the lanterns strung along the walkways among the wards. The only movement came from the slow circuit of the night watch.
The Tower of London was an unassailable symbol of England. Solid Kentish ragstone formed the bulk of the impregnable White Tower, protected by its own curtain wall and moat, with a further curtain wall and thirteen towers guarding the Inner Ward beyond. Finally, there was the Outer Ward, with another solid wall, five towers, and three bastions. Everything valuable to the nation lay within the walls-the Crown jewels, the treasury, the Royal Mint, the armoury, and England's most dangerous prisoners, including Mayhew's personal charge.
As he made his way down the stone steps, he was greeted by the clatter of boots ascending and the light of another lantern. William Osborne appeared, his youthful face and intelligent grey eyes unsettled. Mayhew contemptuously wondered if he now regretted giving up his promising career in the law to join the Queen's Service out of love for his country, not realising what would be asked of him.
'What is it?' Mayhew demanded.
'A disturbance. At the Traitors' Gate.'
Where the river lights were heading, Mayhew thought. 'The gate remains secure, and well guarded?' he asked.
Osborne's face loomed white in the lamplight. 'There are six men upon it, as our Lord Walsingham demanded.'
'And yet?'
Osborne's voice quavered with uncertainty. 'The guards say the restraining beam moves of its own accord. Bolts draw without the help of human hand. Is this what we always feared?'
Pushing past him with irritation, Mayhew snapped, 'You know as well as I that the Tower is protected. These guards are frighted like maidens.' For all his contempt at his colleague's words, Mayhew's chest tightened in apprehension.
Walsingham said it could never happen, he reminded himself. He told the queen ... Burghley ...
Trying to maintain his decorum, he descended to the ground floor with studied nonchalance and stepped out into the Inmost Ward. The whitewashed walls of the Tower glowed in the lantern light.
'Listen!' Osborne's features flared in the gloom as he raised his lantern to illuminate the way ahead.
The steady silence of the Tower was shattered by a cacophony of roars and howls, barks, shrieks, and high- pitched chattering. In the Royal Menagerie, the lions, leopards, and lynxes threw themselves around their pens, while the other exotic beasts tore at the mud of their enclosures in a frenzy.
'What do they sense?' There was a querulous tremble in Osborne's voice.
Scanning the Inmost Ward for any sign of movement, Mayhew relented. 'You know.'
Osborne winced at his words. 'Are you not afraid?'
'This is the work we were charged to do, for queen and country. Raise the alarm. Then we must take ourselves to the prisoner.'
Within moments, guards raced to their positions under Osborne's direc tion. Venturing to the gate, they peered beyond the curtain wall to where the string of lanterns kept the dark at bay.
'Nothing,' Osborne said with relief, his voice almost lost beneath the screams of the animals.
Mayhew kept his attention on Saint Thomas's Tower in the outer curtain wall. Beyond it was the river, and beneath it lay the water entrance that had become known as Traitors' Gate, after the enemies of the Crown who had been transported through it to imprisonment or death. The guards had disappeared inside, but there was no clamour.
After five minutes, Osborne's relief was palpable. 'A false alarm, then. Perhaps it was only Spanish spies. With the country on the brink of war, they must be operating everywhere. Yes?'
A guard emerged from Saint Thomas's Tower, pausing for a moment on the threshold. Mayhew and Osborne watched him curiously. With an odd, lurching gait, he picked a winding path towards them.
'Is he drunk?' Mayhew growled. 'His head will be on the block by noon if he has deserted his post.'
'I ... I do not ...' The words died in Osborne's throat as the guard's path became more erratic. His jerky movements were deeply upsetting, as if he had been afflicted by a palsy.
Mayhew cursed under his breath. 'I gave up a life at court for this.'
As the guard neared, they saw his hands continually went to his head as if searching for a missing hat. Despite himself, Mayhew reached for the knife hidden in the folds of his cloak.
'I am afraid,' Osborne whispered.
'Do you hear music?' Mayhew cocked his head. 'Like pipes playing, caught on the breeze?' As he breathed deeply of the night air, he realised the foul odour of the city had been replaced by sweet, seductive scents that took him back to his childhood. A tear stung his eye. 'That aroma,' he noted, 'like cornfields beneath the summer moon.' He inhaled. 'Honey, from the hive my grandfather kept.'
'What is wrong with you?' Osborne demanded. 'This is no time for dreams!'
Mayhew's attention snapped back to the approaching guard. As he entered a circle of torchlight, Mayhew saw for the first time that something was wrong with the guard's face. Revolted yet fascinated, he tried to see the detail behind the guard's pawing hands. The skin was unduly white and had the texture of sackcloth. When the hands came away, Mayhew was sickened to glimpse large dark eyes that resembled nothing so much as buttons, and a row of stitches where the mouth had been. An illusion, he tried to tell himself, but he was left with an impression of the dollies the old women sold in Cheapside at Christmastime.
'God's wounds!' Osbourne exclaimed. 'What has happened to him?'
Before Mayhew could answer, a blur of ochre and brown burst from the shadows with a terrible roar, slamming the guard onto the turf. Claws revealed bones and organs, and tearing jaws sprayed viscera around the convulsing form. But the most chilling thing was that the guard did not utter a sound.
He could not, Mayhew thought.
The lion's triumphant roar jolted Mayhew and Osborne from their shock.
'The beasts have escaped the Menagerie!' Mayhew thrust Osborne back towards the White Tower, where they ordered the guards who remained within to bar the door and defend it with their lives.
On the steps, Osborne rested one hand on the stone and bowed his head, fighting the waves of panic that threatened to consume him.
Mayhew eyed him contemptuously. 'When you volunteered to become one of Walsingham's men, you vowed to deal with the great affairs of state with courage and fortitude. Now look at you.'
'How can you be so hardened to this terror?' Osborne blinked away tears of dread. 'When I stepped away from my quiet halls of study, it was to give my life in service to England and our queen, and to protect her from the great Catholic conspiracy ... and the ... the Spanish . . .' He swallowed. 'The threats on her life from those who wish to turn us back to the terrible rule of Rome. Not this! I never foresaw that my soul would be placed at risk, until it was too late.'
'Of course not,' Mayhew sneered. If the common herd knew the real reason why England has established a network of spies the envy of all other nations, they would never rest in their beds. Do not fail me. Or the queen.'
Osborne steadied himself. 'You are right, Mayhew. I act like a child. I must be strong.'
Mayhew clapped him on the shoulder with little affection. 'Come, then. We have work to do.'
They had only climbed a few steps when a tremendous crash resounded from the great oak door through which they had entered the Tower. Flashing a wide-eyed stare at Mayhew, Osborne took the steps two at a time. As they raced along the ringing corridors, Osborne asked breathlessly, 'What is coming, Mayhew?'
'Best not to think of that now.'
