her place to the press of tourists behind them.
‘How does the Wakefield Tower sound?’
‘Isn’t that where King Henry the Sixth was murdered?’
‘Yes,’ Laura replied gleefully.
‘Right,’ Gail snapped, ‘and afterwards we can go and have scones and jam.’
Laura turned on Gail in a flash. ‘What's wrong?’
‘Knowing what I know about Henry's death, I think this is going to be a sad experience, that’s all.’
‘After everything you’ve heard, I'm surprised. But, you don't have to go. I'll meet you back here in half an hour.’ Laura began to turn away.
‘No, I want to go,’ Gail said hurriedly as she clutched Laura’s arm.
‘Good, because I’d hate you to miss out on seeing one of the oldest parts of the Tower.’
Together they walked down towards the gate under the Bloody Tower, through it and across to the stairs leading up to St. Thomas's Tower on the right-hand side of Traitors Gate.
*****
They wandered through the two rooms, the first stripped of its wall coverings to reveal the construction techniques used so long ago. The second room, however, was decorated as it might have been when this portion of the Tower comprised part of the royal apartments.
Having viewed the tower from every angle, they stood poised at the entrance to the bridge which connects St. Thomas’s Tower to the Wakefield Tower. Without saying a word, but giving each other looks which spoke volumes, they proceeded across to the magnificent vaulted beauty of the Wakefield Tower.
Here, too, attempts had been made to restore the tower to its original medieval appearance. There were several striking features including a replica of a throne, resting on a raised dais. Painted gold, with a fleur-de-lis pattern, it seemed a little out of place but, Laura reasoned that perhaps it is was not beyond the realm of possibility that King Henry did have something like this in his prison. Two golden lions lay in front of the chair as foot rests but no amount of decoration could make the chair comfortable to sit upon. Two huge, wrought iron candelabras, ablaze with real candles stood on either side of the throne, while above, a massive iron ring held numerous slots in which small electric bulbs burned where once candles would have been employed.
But the most arresting feature was the chapel. Beautifully decorated, with a tile floor and stained glass window, it was small but lovely. Brightly painted wooden screens either side of the narrow entrance way separated the chapel from the octagonally-shaped room, so Laura was required to bend forward to read the plaque set into the floor in front of the altar – By tradition Henry the Sixth died here May 21, 1471. Laura read this aloud but when she turned, Gail was nowhere to be seen. Wandering around a bit, Laura found her sitting on a stone seat in one of the recesses, gazing out the window.
‘Have you noticed anything unusual?’ Gail said as she turned to look at Laura.
Laura frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ It was obvious that Gail was uneasy.
‘We’re the only people in this room, and have been for several minutes. Don't you think that's rather odd?’ Gail rose then and walked past Laura to the centre of the room and stopped, staring at the chapel. Laura joined her and the two of them stood in silence while the sounds of the outside world seemed to drift away, leaving them cocooned in a realm of imagination.
‘Do you know what a misericord is?’
Gail shook her head.
‘The name is derived from the Latin, misereri - to pity, and cor – heart; to show pity, compassion or mercy. It’s a dagger, a very special dagger made of the finest steel, encrusted with gems and worked all over with Christian symbols. It was long, slender and extremely deadly. During the Crusades, each knight carried his own blade, but not for use in battle. Hidden away on his person, the misericord was only revealed long enough for it to be blessed by a priest during the Mass which always preceded any encounter with the infidel. Should a knight be badly wounded in battle, his misericord would be used by his companion to deliver the coup de grâce rather than allow him to fall into enemy hands. It was, if you like, a form of consecrated murder, blessed and sanctioned by the Church.’
Gail stared at Laura, her face a mask of horror and fascination. ‘Go on,’ she said in a hushed whisper.
Laura took a deep breath. ‘It’s my belief that Richard Gloucester committed ritualistic murder here, in this room, using a single, deadly dagger - a misericord - cunningly crafted into the shape of the cross so as to ensure the thrust and sanctify the wound.’
‘Oh my God,’ Gail said, catching her breath.
Then the spell was shattered as two rambunctious boys entered the room, stopped and shouted in unison. ‘Cool.’
Laura and Gail moved back towards the window recess. They sat quietly, watching the boys as they explored the room but by the time their parents joined them, the children had seen enough and were on their way again, out and down the vice, leaving their parents behind. With just a cursory glance about them they, too, hurried out. As their footsteps and muttered conversation faded, Laura, Gail and Henry's prison were once more enveloped in silence.
Gail rose quietly and wandered off a few feet before turning, to face Laura. ‘Even knowing all the reasons why, Richard still shouldn't have done it. And, if you think he’s going to get off lightly because he might have killed Henry using some sort of religious ceremony or something, you're wrong. It's still murder.’
‘All right,’ Laura said, turning in her seat slightly to look out of the window. ‘Then let's forget the misericord idea and go with the version universally accepted for nearly five hundred years - Shakespeare, Henry the Sixth, Part Three, Scene Six. Or, how about some twisted Shakespeare? Richard came into the room - this room: “Hi Henry old bean, I've got good news and bad news. First, here’s the bad news - your son, Edouard, is dead; I killed him. And the good news is - you’re going to join him”.’
‘Will you stop,’ Gail said, feigning shock, but at the same time trying hard to suppress a grin. ‘King Henry was a nice man.’
‘Right,’ Laura said. ‘He was a great guy but a terrible king. Richard didn't kill him because he was a nice person you know. Put yourself in Richard's shoes. It was Henry's government, notably Queen Margaret and her Lancastrian supporters, who killed Richard's father, his brother, and an uncle. Richard could never forget the indignities done to the bodies. The heads were cut off and displayed at York, his father's decorated with a paper crown for heaven's sake. I think Richard's love for his father was motivation enough to do the deed. He probably would have loved to have done Margaret of Anjou a major injury too, but of course, that sort of thing wasn't done in those days.
‘Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, but did you know that Richard's father died on Wakefield Green and his brother on Wakefield Bridge? Henry died here in the Wakefield Tower. Richard must have been aware of the significance of the name Wakefield. To kill him here became an act of unparalleled revenge; the venue deliciously apropos.’
‘Stop it Laura, you’re giving me goose bumps.’
‘Sorry, but you see Richard had a duty to perform and he did it. I’m not suggesting for a moment that he enjoyed it, but in the final frame it wasn't a case of will I or won't I. He had no choice. The strength of his brother's reign depended upon the wholehearted support of everyone and, once the son was dead, there was no point in keeping the father alive. I think, too, that Richard probably despised Henry for allowing the monarchy to degenerate to such an extent that the country was being run by the Queen and her minions. Henry's preoccupation with the ethereal while his kingdom went to hell in a handcart would have only angered someone of Richard's