The Constable of the Tower by W. Harrison Ainsworth

But the gloom that had so long hung over the blood-stained fortress, making it an object of dread to all who gazed upon it, was now for a time dispelled. Sounds of revelry and rejoicing, as we have shown, were once more heard within its courts. All the state apartments in the palace—a structure that, unfortunately for the love of antiquity, has totally disappeared—were decorated anew, and thrown open. The court was now held at the Tower, and such was the throng of visitants brought thither by the circumstances, that every available chamber in the fortress had an occupant, and many chambers—and these none of the largest—had several.

But not only were there more guests within the palace and in the different lodgings connected with it, but the military force ordinarily maintained within the Tower was trebled. These precautions were taken for the security of the young king’s person. Not that any rising on the part of the citizens was apprehended; but such was the course usually adopted at that time on the accession of a monarch to the throne. Thus, in addition to the nobles and their retinues, the Tower was so crowded with archers and arquebusiers that it was wonderful where so many persons could be bestowed. The bastions bristled with cannon, and the ramparts were thronged with men-at-arms. Yeomen of the guard paraded within the outer ward, while troops of henchmen, sergeants of office, clerks of the king’s house, marshals of the hall, ushers and sewers of the hall and chamber, minstrels, and serving-men, in rich and varied liveries, were collected in the courts of the palace, or at various points of the wide inner ward. Within and without, all was stir and animation. And if the hapless prisoners still languishing in the dungeons did not share in the general rejoicing, they did not interfere with it, since none save the gaolers troubled themselves about them.

Early on the morning after Edward’s arrival at the Tower, while the extraordinary bustle just described prevailed throughout the fortress, the object of all this unwonted stir was walking, almost alone, in the privy garden attached to the palace Garden and palace have long since disappeared, but at that time the former occupied a large triangular space between the Lanthorn Tower, the Salt Tower, and the Well Tower, and being enclosed by the high ballium wall, had a very secluded air. It was pleasantly laid out with parterres, walks, a clipped yew-tree alley, and a fountain, and boasted two or three fine elms, and an ancient mulberry tree. But it must be recollected that it was now winter, and consequently the place was not seen to advantage: the trees were leafless, the water in the fountain congealed, the clipped alley covered with hoar-frost. Whenever the Tower was used as a royal residence, the privy garden was reserved exclusively for the king. Edward, therefore, had no reason to apprehend intrusion while taking exercise within it.

Notwithstanding the fatigue and excitement of the previous day, Edward quitted his couch long before it became light, and having finished his devotions, and heard a homily from his chaplain, which occupied some time, he repaired by a private passage, and attended by a single gentleman of the chamber, to the palace garden, where he supposed he should be undisturbed. The diligent young monarch, who never wasted a moment, did not seek this quiet retreat merely for the purpose of exercise, but, while walking to and fro, employed his time in studying the Institutes of Justinian, while another ponderous tome, namely, the venerable Bracton’s treatise, “De legibus et consuetudinibus Angliœ,” was borne by his attendant for occasional consultation. Wrapped in a velvet gown, lined and bordered with sable, Edward did not seem to feel the cold half so much as his attendant, but continued to pore upon his book as unconcernedly as if it had been a morning in June, sometimes moving very slowly, and occasionally coming to a standstill, if a passage perplexed him.

The person with him, whom he addressed as John Fowler, had nothing very noticeable in his appearance. He was short and stout, by no means ill-favored, and wore a reddish sugar-loaf beard. Fond of good cheer, he had usually a ruddy, jovial look, and a droll, good-humored expression of countenance; but his face was now pinched with cold, and his nose, large, knobbed, and mulberry-colored, was literally blue with cold, and he had much ado to prevent his teeth from chattering. He did not dare to utter a complaint, and, as a matter of course, was obliged to stop whenever his royal master stopped, and keep up his circulation in the best way he could. While Edward was buried in Justinian, how Master Fowler longed to be back at the great fire in the hall, heaped up with logs, which he had so recently quitted! how he promised to solace himself for his present suffering by a deep draught of mulled sack, and a plentiful breakfast on pork-chine, roast capon, and baked red-deer! Fowler had occupied the post he now filled during the late king’s lifetime. Much trusted by the lord protector, he was placed near Edward in order that all the young king’s doings might be reported to his uncle. Whether Fowler merited the confidence reposed in him by his employer will be seen hereafter.