“No . . . no . . . much later.”
“Let us say it was in the summer of 1483. Richard of Gloucester knew that he must kill his nephews to make the crown secure for himself.”
“The crown was secure. He had proclaimed them bastards.”
“We are going to make our confession, Tyrrell, if we are going to save your son. In that summer Richard of Gloucester sent a certain John Greene to the Tower with a note for the Constable, Sir Robert Brackenbury, with the order that he should put the Princes to death. Sir Robert was an honest man who refused to do it. Richard was furiously angry. ‘Whom can a man trust?’ he cried and one of his pages answered: ‘I know, Sire, one whom you can trust.’ And he gave him your name.”
“This is false.”
“Remember your son’s life is in danger. You were a very ambitious young man at that time. You were jealous of the favor Catesby and Ratcliffe enjoyed from the King. You were eager to curry favor with Richard who ordered Brackenbury to give you the keys of the Tower for one night. So you, a nameless page before that time, sprang into favor because you were ready to do the King’s bidding after Brackenbury refused.”
“I am a sinner,” said Tyrrell. “I would be counted a murderer, but this is not true. I was no nameless page. I was a trusted servant of the King. I had received my knighthood at Tewkesbury in 1471. I was the King’s Master of Henchman and Horse. I will confess . . . but I must confess the truth.”
“You will make the confession you are told to make.”
“But this is foolish. It does not carry conviction. Do you say King Richard sent a note to Brackenbury ordering him to murder the Princes and that he refused? If that were true how could Richard have allowed him to live after such a thing? Brackenbury was an honest man. No one ever denied that. Yet he remained Richard’s friend. He died beside him at Bosworth Field.”
“We are not concerned with Brackenbury’s death. Only with your confession.”
“You would have me say that which is false.”
“Did you arrange for the murder of the Princes in the Tower?”
“I did.”
“And did your henchmen Miles Forrest and John Dighton perform the deed?”
“They did.”
“And were the Princes smothered in their beds?”
Tyrrell put his hands over his face. “Their deaths were quick,” he said. “Poor innocent children, they knew nothing of what was happening. The felt no pain. They had to die. Their deaths may have saved the lives of thousands.”
“True.”There was a certain warmth now in the cold voice of the stranger. “It was necessary. A hideous deed but out of evil good can come. It had to be, Tyrrell, it had to be. Now you arranged for their deaths, did you not?”
“I did.”
“Tell the story as it happened. We disagree on but a few details. Never mind. They can be put right. It happened earlier than you say.”
“I know when it happened. I am perfectly clear about that.”
“You are being recalcitrant and there is very little time left for us. It is a matter of whether you want to save your son’s life.”
“I see that the guilt is to be shifted to King Richard.”
“The guilt was King Richard’s. He had taken the crown . . . usurped it from his nephews.”
“He believed them to be bastards.”
“Oh come. They were a threat nevertheless and he decided to remove them. It was as we have said. Brackenbury refused and you took over the Tower for a night. Forrest and Dighton obeyed your orders. The children were stifled and buried under a stairway in the Tower.”
“It does not agree with the facts. I am the only one of King Richard’s faithful servants who has been able to live successfully during the present reign. People will say: Why was this so? It could only be that although I served Richard well I also performed a great service for King Henry.”
“The confession of a man just before death will convince them that you speak the truth.”
“How can I be sure that my son’s life will be saved?”
“The King is not a bloodthirsty man. He does not like to shed men’s blood and only does so when it is for the good of the country.”
“And mine is for the good of the country?”
“Traitors cannot be allowed to live.”
“I took no part in Suffolk’s rebellion.”
“You are judged guilty.”
“Not for this . . . for another crime of which I was only an instrument used to carry it out.”
“The death of the two young boys in the Tower doubtless saved a civil war which could have cost the country thousands of lives . . . and its prosperity. That has been avoided. And no one must be allowed again to rise in their name.”
“Ah,” said Tyrrell. “I begin to understand. When it is proved that they are dead none will rise in their name, and I can prove that they are dead by telling the truth.”
“What you consider to be the truth would not save your son.”
“It would prevent men from impersonating the Princes.”
“You know what is required. It is for you to choose.”
“I will make the confession.”
“As is desired?”
“As is desired,” said Tyrrell.
The next day Sir James Tyrrell was taken out to Tower Green and his head laid on the block. He died with the comfort of knowing that he had saved his son’s life.
The following day Thomas Tyrrell was found guilty of treason but his sentence was delayed and finally he was freed and his estates were not confiscated.
John Dighton, who had been named as one of the men who had taken an active part in that mysterious murder, was not hanged but kept in the Tower. After a while he was freed although he too was alleged to have confessed to his share in the murder of the Princes.
Nothing had been written down about the confession, but a few weeks after the death of Tyrrell the King let it be known that Sir James Tyrrell had made a confession that the Princes had been murdered in the Tower on the orders of Richard the Third and that Tyrrell and his manservants had played a part in it.
The news was gradually allowed to seep out, almost as though no great effort was made to bring it to the notice of the people.
John Dighton, who had made a lucky escape from death, was one of those chosen to circulate the story, which he did.
Lord William de la Pole and Lord William Courtenay remained the King’s prisoners; but Suffolk, the leader of the hoped-for insurrection, was merely exiled to Aix.
The King liked it to be known that he was not vindictive. It was not the will of a just king to shed blood in anger. He wanted all men to know—and this was an obvious truth—that he only did so when expediency demanded that he should. If a person was a menace to the Crown—and the Crown of course meant Henry—then it was often wiser to remove that man. He did not want revenge. He wanted peace and prosperity during his reign. It was what he strove for. He wanted a secure throne for his House and that was the best thing possible for England.
In time people began to accept the story of the death of the Princes in the Tower. They had been murdered by Richard the Third who was emerging as something of a monster. It was amazing how little interest people felt for what did not actually concern themselves. No one picked up any discrepancies in the story. No one asked for instance why that good honest man Brackenbury, who was alleged openly to have refused to help his master commit murder, should have continued to be the friend of the King whom he had admired and beside whom he died fighting at Bosworth. No one asked why Tyrrell should have been the one to lose his head when he had played no part—at the least a very small one—in Suffolk’s treason and why Suffolk should get off with exile.
Nobody cared very much. Nobody wanted risings and rebellions. The Princes were dead. Murdered by their wicked uncle. It had all happened long ago and most people who were concerned in it were dead.