of this court, my lord,’ he declared, hand on his chest, then raised his glass aloft. ‘To the Marquess of Buckingham!’ The words echoed into silence and Frances darted an anxious glance around the company.
‘To the marquess.’ The heavily accented voice came from the dais. Gondomar had risen to his feet and was holding his glass towards the assembled company. He gave a slight bow as his gaze fell upon Buckingham, then brought the wine to his lips.
The other dignitaries on the dais followed suit and, before long, the toast was repeated by everyone in the room, Frances and her husband included. For once, she was gratified to see how the King’s favourite preened as he acknowledged the gesture. Then, without troubling to take his leave of Kate, he strutted slowly from the hall. Only when he was out of sight did Bacon turn to Frances and flash a brief conspiratorial smile.
CHAPTER 25
5 October
As the boat drew level with the landing stage, Frances reached into her pocket and clasped the note. Pressing some coins into the oarsman’s palm, she climbed onto the platform and hastened towards the Byward Tower. The guards looked at her askance and lowered their halberds as she approached. This gate was usually reserved for the King and his family.
Frances held out the letter. The elder of the guards frowned but she saw his expression change as he recognised the seal. Anne had needed no persuasion to write it. She was as sympathetic towards Raleigh’s plight as Frances was. Frances watched as he read it, then carefully refolded it.
‘You must show this to the yeoman at the Bloody Tower,’ he said, as he handed it back. ‘I presume you know the way, my lady.’
Frances nodded and walked past them as calmly as she could. It was only a short distance to Raleigh’s lodgings and she could see a light glowing from the upper window. She passed under the archway, the spikes of the portcullis above silhouetted against the grey sky. The huge edifice of the White Tower loomed into view on the left and she shuddered, quickening her pace.
As she neared the steps that led up to the Bloody Tower, Frances breathed in the faint scent of myrtle. Glancing down, she saw that Raleigh’s garden was sadly neglected. The basil plants had long since withered and died, and the once neatly laid-out beds were now a mass of weeds. Only the hedge that encircled it still thrived, but it had grown unkempt. Bacon had told her that Raleigh had devoted many hours to the garden’s cultivation. He was unlikely to be allowed such liberty again.
Feeling suddenly weary, she climbed the steps to his lodging. After she had shown the yeoman Queen Anne’s letter, he nodded her through. When the door had closed behind her, she paused, inhaling the familiar aroma of tobacco and wood smoke. The apartment smelt damp, too, and was colder than she had remembered it. Neither was there any sign of the servants who had attended Raleigh throughout the long years of his incarceration. Everything was as still and silent as a tomb.
With mounting apprehension, Frances stepped quietly into the parlour. A meagre fire flickered in the grate, and on the table next to it was a plate of stale-looking bread and cheese. Neither had been touched. Turning, her breath caught in her throat as she saw Raleigh seated on the same high-backed chair she remembered from her many visits here. His eyes were closed and he was so still that she feared he might be dead. He seemed to have shrunk into himself. His once ruddy face was pale and wan, and his cheekbones showed beneath his waxen skin. Frances turned towards the window and brushed away a tear. He must not see her grief when he awoke.
‘I am a pitiful sight, am I not?’
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