The warder of the Tower, first frightened by the drama of her arrival—which Elizabeth had milked to its utmost, seating herself on the watergate steps and refusing to go in out of the rain—became yet more alarmed when she sank into a fear-filled despair, which was even more convincing than her theatrics. They allowed her to walk in the warder’s garden, inside the safety of the great walls, but then a little lad peeped through the gate with a posy of flowers and the second day he was there again. By the third day the queen’s councillors in their fear and their malice decided that it was not safe to allow her even the relief of that exercise, and she was returned to her rooms. She prowled up and down like the lion that I had named her for, and then she lay on her bed and looked up at the tester for long dull hours, saying nothing.

I thought she was preparing herself for death and I asked if she would want to see a priest. She gave me a look that had no life in it at all, she looked as if she was dying from her eyes downward. All her sparkle was drained from her, all that was left was dread.

‘Did they tell you to ask me?’ she whispered. ‘Is he to give me extreme unction? Is it to be tomorrow?’

‘No!’ I said hastily, cursing myself for making matters worse. ‘No! I just thought you might want to pray for your safe deliverance from here.’

She turned her head to the arrow-slit window, which showed her a glimpse of grey sky and allowed a breath of cold air. ‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘Not with the priest that she would send me. She tortured Jane with the prospect of forgiveness, didn’t she?’

‘She hoped she would convert,’ I said, trying to be fair.

‘She offered her life in return for her faith.’ Her mouth twisted in contempt. ‘What a bargain to make with a young girl. Serve her right that Jane had the courage to refuse.’ Her eyes darkened again and she turned her face to the counterpane on the bed. ‘I don’t have that courage. I don’t think like that. I have to live.’

Twice in the time that she was awaiting her trial I went to court, to collect my clothes and to gather news. The first time I briefly saw the queen, who asked me coldly how the prisoner was faring.

‘See if you can bring her to a sense of penitence. Only that can save her. Tell her if she confesses I will pardon her and she will escape the block.’

‘I will,’ I promised. ‘But can you forgive her, Your Grace?’

She raised her eyes to me and they were filled with tears. ‘Not in my heart,’ she said softly. ‘But if I can save her from a traitor’s death I will. I would not see my father’s daughter die as a criminal. But she has to confess.’