We are taken by guards early on this cold, grey morning and lined up outside the precincts of the tower. Guildford, who I have not seen since we were taken from the Royal apartments is here with his brothers, Ambrose and Henry. The man who was Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, is also here, looking dishevelled, his white beard dark and unkempt and his eyes cold, like dead fish. He sees me and immediately lowers his eyes to the ground and I sigh and shake my head. I wonder if he too will renounce the true faith and deny God in favour of the Romish church.
I look over to Guildford who is looking thin and wasted, his hair lank and somewhat dirty. He glances at me and tries to smile, a rather crooked, pained look but I feel for him, this man I was forced to marry but has done me no ha
