I had been savagely taken from my home some three weeks now and escorted by guards to the Tower. I had denied the charges many times under torture but my accusers were unrelenting. England was no longer a safe place to live at least not for those who still believed in the Church of Rome. There were pockets of believers dotted throughout the realm; we met every month or so, generally undercover of darkness. We were lucky to have Mass celebrated before I was arrested. Someone in my household had tipped the authorities; fortunately the priest escaped.

The cell is small and dark; only one small window high up on the wall provides some daylight but at this time of year the skies are heavily clouded and light is limited. Rats are my only companions during the long days and nights. I’ve asked for ink and paper but they have been refused. Although the cell stinks I am now getting used to the smell. The door turns the creaks open on the heavy hinges.

‘Your food,’ sneered the warden. He was average height with several teeth missing which made his words whistle as he spoke. He had a slight stoop which made him appear off balanced. I had thought on a number of occasions that I could easily over-power him.

‘Thanks.’

‘Place it down here,’ he said as he eyed me carefully. He threw the tray with the bowl of colourless porridge and a cracked beaker of water. The contents spilt across the tray; he laughed as the liquids merged with each other.

I said nothing; I glanced at the tray and then back to his amused face. What makes another man want to treat another in this way?

‘Tell me, why don’t you just reject the old church and you could go free?’

He appeared to genuinely want to know my opinion. I was about to say something when an officer entered my cell and the warden nodded and left.

‘I see your food has not been presented to your accustomed standard my lord.’

‘It is nothing. Have you come to tell me when I shall be executed?’ I enquired. I studied his face to see if my fate was to be sealed.

‘I have been sent with authority to pardon you if you will reject the old church.’

‘What old church?’

‘You know quite well,’ insisted the officer.

‘I shall never reject the church of Rome.’

‘Then I have no alternative but to inform you that you will be executed tomorrow morning.’ With that he turned and left the cell.

The pale light of dawn tried to penetrate the darkness of my cell. I had not slept but I was at peace. The door opened and I was taken along a narrow passage; the air became fresh and cold as we approached the an open door. I stepped out into the courtyard and saw the executioner standing on a rough wooden platform. The courtyard was empty apart from a few soldiers on duty, my family and friends were absent. As I climbed the steps a raven lifted effortlessly from one of the towers it glided down over the stage of execution called out and flapped its wings and disappeared.

I knelt beside the block. I waited for the axe. I closed my eyes.

A shout from the far end of the courtyard echoed off the walls. ‘Wait! Wait!’ I was dragged to my feet. ‘Take him to the Great Hall. Do not look relieved my lord, you will wish your head had been severed from your body.’