The Tower Ravens
The first time Jude Pilkington visited the Tower of London he was just a lad of six. His parents took him to the famed London fortress on the bank of the River Thames in hopes of instilling in their son an appreciation of British history, but the impressionable boy was frightened by much of what he saw there. Who could blame a six-year-old for being afraid of traitor's gate, the torture instruments displayed in the Lower Wakefield Tower, the execution block or the story of the murdered princes in the Bloody Tower? Oddly enough, what he feared most was not the more macabre aspects of the Tower's past but the black plumed birds that had free rein of the grounds.
"What are those crows doing here?" the child asked his parents.
"They're not crows, darling," his mother replied. "They're ravens, and they live here."
"Why don't they just fly away?"
"They can't fly. Their wings have been clipped. You see, there's a legend that claims if the ravens ever leave the Tower of London, both it and the British Empire will fall."
"But they're just birds. How can they destroy our country by flying away?"
"Like I said, it's just a legend—like tales about dragons and leprechauns."
As the family made its way to William the Conqueror's White Tower, one of the ravens crossed the young boy's path. He stopped and stared at the bird, who, in turn, stared back at him. Unable to fly, the raven hopped toward him. Frightened by the black bird, Jude tried to hide behind his mother's legs.
"Don't be afraid," Beatrix Pilkington told her son. "He just wants to make friends with you."
"I don't like him," the boy cried.
The bird hopped closer; it was less than a foot away. Its black eyes bored into Jude's blue ones, causing the child to tremble.
Taking pity on his son, Rex picked him up in his arms and said to the bird, "Sorry, he doesn't have any food for you."
"We'd better hurry if we want to see the Line of Kings," Beatrix declared.
Normally, Jude would have asked a dozen questions about the attraction, but rather than inquire what the Line of Kings was, he stared silently over his father's shoulder at the raven who watched the little boy and his parents disappear in a crowd of tourists.
For weeks after his visit to the Tower of London, Jude woke in the middle of the night crying.
"Another nightmare?" Beatrix asked her son when she went into his room to comfort him.
The boy nodded his head and wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hands.
"The ravens again?"
Another nod of the head.
"They're just birds," Beatrix explained for the third time that week. "They don't hurt anybody. They wouldn't be allowed out of their cages if they did."
"That bird ... it wanted to say something to me."
"That's silly!" his mother exclaimed, giving him an affectionate hug. "Unless you're Dr. Doolittle, you can't talk to animals, and that includes the Tower ravens."
Beatrix saw no harm in the ominous black birds, but then she saw them through the eyes of an adult. To her son, they were a menacing presence, a dark harbinger of doom and destruction; for if just one of those ravens managed to escape its medieval boundaries and venture out into modern London, everything he knew and loved would be destroyed.
* * *
In the years that followed, Jude grew up and put aside his childhood fears. Oh, there were still things that frightened him—terrorism, war and disease, to name a few—but he was no longer afraid of the dark, the boogeyman, ghosts or the Tower ravens.
After finishing school, he joined the Royal Air Force; and while training in Scotland, he met and fell in love with Haley MacPherson. The two married, and Jude looked forward to a life similar to the one his parents had led. He and Haley would save their money and buy a house midway between London and Edinburgh, possibly in Yorkshire. There they would raise a family and grow old together.
Unfortunately, fate often has ideas of its own. The couple were married three years when Haley learned she had a medical condition that prevented her from having children.
"There are several options available to us," she told her husband. "We could hire a surrogate."
"True," he agreed. "Or we could adopt. But we're young yet. Why don't we put off making that decision for a few more years? That way I can have you all to myself a little longer!"
For one reason or another, the subject of adoption never came up again. Jude and Haley enjoyed life as a childless couple, travelling extensively. They were celebrating Jude's fortieth birthday in Paris, when Haley collapsed as they walked hand in hand down the Champs-Élysées. By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, the forty-five-year-old woman was dead. Sudden cardiac arrest was the explanation. A malfunction of the electrical system of the heart had ended her life without warning. It might just as well have ended her husband's, too.
For the next two years, although continuing to serve in the RAF and doing his duty for queen and country, he lived the life of a lonely, grieving widower.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Beatrix inquired during one of his regular visits home.
"You mean a woman?"
"Yes. You're still a relatively young man, and Haley has been gone for two years already."
"I'm not interested in getting married again."
"Your mother isn't talking about marriage," Rex chimed in, sharing his wife's concern for their son's solitary state. "We just feel you ought to get out more and enjoy yourself. Haley wouldn't want you to shut yourself away from the world."
Jude found it oddly amusing that so many living people professed to know what the dead would have wanted.
"I'm fine, really. I've been taking some classes."
"In what?" Beatrix asked.
"British history. Right now, I'm studying the Plantagenets. I'm already up to Henry IV."
"It sounds fascinating, but wouldn't you like to have a companion in your old age?"
"Yes, and I thought I'd found one, but she was taken away from me."
Tears filled Beatrix's eyes, and she turned her head away.
Her son continued in a lighter vein, "You can blame yourselves for my preoccupation with history. After all, it was the two of you who insisted on taking me to Hampton Court Palace, Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London when I was a kid."
"Speaking of the Tower," Rex said, "I read they're looking for someone to serve as yeoman warder. Why don't you apply? You've got enough time in the service, and you meet all the qualifications."
"I'm sure there are hundreds lining up for the job."
"So? It doesn't hurt to apply. What have you got to lose?"
* * *
When Jude received a letter from the Historic Royal Palaces, he assumed it contained an acknowledgement of his application and a polite rejection. He was therefore pleasantly surprised when he read that he was given an interview for the position and even more surprised when he was accepted into the training program.
"What we're looking for," the Chief Yeoman Warder told him, "is someone with a good personality and a colorful delivery, a bit of an actor, in other words."
"I've always gotten on well with people," Jude admitted, putting aside false modesty.
Apparently, the chief agreed with him because Jude was selected as the newest recruit. Like most occasions at the Tower of London, the admittance of a new trainee is met with pomp and ceremony. Once the tourists leave at the end of the day, the new warder is sworn in on Tower Green, taking an oath of allegiance that dates back to 1337. Afterward, all the warders retire to the pub where the Chief Yeoman Warder toasts the trainee's health from a 1725 ceremonial punch bowl.
Then came the difficult part. When he was admitted into the training program, Jude was given a binder that contained detailed information about the Tower and told to study it from cover to cover.
"I've got to learn nine hundred years' worth of history," he told his parents on his next visit, "which I must do in my spare time. During the day I follow one of the other warders around in order to learn all the posts. Next week I'll need to take a first aid course."
"When will you be able to conduct a tour on your own?" Rex inquired.
"First, I have to pass a test given by the gaoler. Then I'll be questioned by the governor and the chief, and I'd better get the answers right or I'll be out of the program."
"How do you think you'll like living in the Tower of London?" Beatrix asked, having complete faith in her son's ability to succeed.
"The apartment will be small, but it's just for me. Imagine looking out your window in the morning and seeing the White Tower. On the downside, I'll have to get used to being locked in at night. Like Cinderella, I'll have to be in by the time the clock strikes twelve or wait until the next morning. Other than that, it'll be like living in a small community. The Tower's got its own postman, doctor, a church and even a pub."
"It wouldn't be London if it didn't have a pub!" his father laughed.
After a pleasant evening with his parents that included one of his mother's home-cooked meals, Jude was ready to return to his own home.
"I've got to do a few hours of studying before I turn in," he announced. "I'm still a little bit fuzzy on the subject of the crown jewels."
"Do they really expect you to learn nearly a thousand years of history?"
"Yes, and to condense as much of it as I can into a one-hour tour," Jude laughed.
He then kissed his mother and father goodbye and, taking a container of leftover pot roast, he headed for the door.
"The next time you see me," he said, "I'll either be a bona fide beefeater or I'll be looking for a suitable position elsewhere."
* * *
The next week, at the Yeoman Warders Club, the other warders raised a tankard to their newest member.
"Congratulations on passing the test," one of the senior guards said. "How did your first tour go?"
"Don't remind me!" Jude cried in mock horror. "I can't believe I told those tourists from Boston that Oliver Cromwell was Henry VIII's chief minister!"
"Thomas Cromwell, Oliver Cromwell ... close enough."
"I don't think we've met yet," the newest member said, extending his hand toward the older man.
"The name's Winton. Barnaby Winton. I'm the ravenmaster here at the Tower."
"You want to hear something funny? My parents brought me here when I was six, and a raven scared the hell out of me! I had nightmares for weeks afterwards."
"I guess you won't become one of my assistants any time soon."
"You have assistants?"
"Three of them. Taking care of those birds is no easy job. I have to let them out first thing in the morning, feed them, clean their cages and then tuck them in at night. Still, I love all eight of them like they were my own pets."
"Eight? I thought there were only six ravens."
"Six is the number required to satisfy the old legend, but we keep two extras as spares since sometimes one manages to get out."
As the clock chimed 9:30, several of the warders put down their tankards and said goodnight to their companions. It was time for them to get ready for the Ceremony of the Keys, a long-standing ritual in which the Tower's front gate is secured and the keys are put in the Queen's House for safekeeping.
"I'd better be going, too," Barnaby said. "I've got to be up at the crack of dawn to take care of my birds."
"And I've got a busy day ahead of me," Jude added. "I have to move my belongings into my new digs."
* * *
Dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the St. Andrew's cross of Scotland, Jude carried cardboard boxes of clothes, books, food and house wares up the narrow staircase to his flat. When he unpacked his wedding photograph, tears came to his eyes.
"I miss you," he sobbed softly, his fingers tracing the outline of Haley's face.
Suddenly, one of the Tower ravens appeared on his windowsill. It seemed as though it were staring in at him. Poe's classic poem came to mind.
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door," he recited from memory. "This it is and nothing more."
Then Jude glanced at the clock and hurriedly placed the framed photo on his dresser. He had to conduct a tour in an hour and wanted to bathe before dressing. Forty minutes later, he donned his blue "undress" uniform and headed toward the Byward Tower where he would meet his first group of the day.
"Welcome to Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress, the Tower of London," he called to a crowd of tourists standing in front of the starting point sign. "For the next hour, I'm going to be your guide."
With the pressure of passing a test behind him, everything went smoothly, not only for his first tour of the day but for all subsequent tours as well. He was even able to keep his Cromwells straight. After bidding farewell to his last group, he headed back to his flat to finish unpacking his clothes.
This is the last of it, he thought with relief as he opened the box containing additional yeoman warder uniforms.
Most were identical to the one he wore that day, differing only in the weight of the fabric: lighter fabrics for summer, heavier ones for winter. At the bottom of the box, carefully wrapped in protective plastic, was his red and gold dress uniform, which was to be worn only on state occasions.
Six thousand pounds for a uniform, he thought as he gingerly removed the garment from the box. At that price I'd better keep it in its protective covering.
The temptation to try on the uniform to see how he looked in it was too great to be avoided. He took off his street clothes and slipped on the red tights, the red and gold coat, the white ruff and the iconic black hat with its red, white and blue ribbons. When he was fully dressed, he turned to admire himself in the full-length mirror on his closet door.
Now I look like a beefeater! he thought with pride.
Moments later, a wave of dizziness passed over him. Perspiration beaded on his brow, his ears began to ring, and he found it difficult to breath.
Am I having a heart attack?
A sudden crash sounded as one of the Tower ravens smashed through the windowpane. The bird, apparently uninjured after breaking through the glass, stood on the floor next to him.
"What the bloody hell?"
The bird quickly grew in size and assumed the shape of a woman. Jude stared at the bewitching features of the dark-haired beauty in Tudor attire.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Anne Boleyn."
Moments later, the yeoman warder passed out on the floor, still dressed in his red and gold uniform.
When Jude came to, he was disoriented, unable to remember what had happened to him. He knew it had something to do with a bird, but—suddenly, he recalled the bizarre events with total clarity. Yet there was no raven, no ghost of an executed queen. His eyes went to the window; the glass was intact.
I must have imagined the entire episode. Or, more likely, I passed out and dreamed it.
He chose to believe the latter, which he considered the lesser of two evils. Given the fact that he had been too busy to eat all day, it wasn't too surprising.
After rewrapping his uniform in its plastic bag and hanging it in his closet, Jude decided to walk past Tower Bridge to a restaurant at nearby St. Katherine Docks. He was waiting for the server to take his order, when in walked Barnaby Winton, accompanied by a young woman.
"You here by yourself?" the ravenmaster asked.
"Yes. Won't you both join me?"
"Don't mind if we do. This is Blair, my daughter."
After the introductions were made, the waiter arrived and took their order.
"Do you live here in London?" Jude asked Blair.
"No. I live in Edinburgh. I'm a professor at the university."
"I've been to Edinburgh many times. I was stationed in Scotland when I served with the RAF."
"It's a beautiful city, especially the Old Town section. On those rare occasions when I have free time, I walk the Royal Mile from Edinburg Castle down to Holyroodhouse Palace."
"You don't mind having to dodge the throngs of tourists?"
"I actually enjoy the crowds. I watch them going in and out of the shops and the pubs, always taking photos with their phones. What I like most are the street performers. In one afternoon, I saw a bagpiper, a folksinger, a man dressed as William Wallace and a woman dressed as a Victorian era ghost."
Mention of the ghost caused Jude's smile to quickly fade. Barnaby, believing the sudden change in his fellow warder's mood was brought about by a painful memory of his dead Scottish wife, tried to change the subject.
"I saw you conducting a tour this morning. One of my ravens followed you as you walked along your route. It certainly seemed to have taken a liking to you. I've never seen ravens behave in such a way before."
"Please, let's not talk about those birds," Jude said with an embarrassed laugh.
"Why?" Blair asked. "Don't you like the ravens?"
"As I told your father, my parents took me to the Tower when I was six, and after hearing the prophecy about the collapse of the empire, one of the birds got a little too close to me for comfort."
"You don't need to worry about that silly chestnut of a story," the professor said. "It's simply not true."
"I know it's only an old legend, but to a six-year-old ...."
"That's just it. It's not an old legend as you yeoman warders continue to claim," she explained, giving her father an accusatory glare. "According to research, the ravens weren't brought to the tower until the 1880s, and then they were only used as macabre props to entertain the tourists. Best as anyone can tell, the so-called 'prophecy' began after the war. During the London bombings one of the ravens wound up in the Stag Brewery. The bird served as a sort of air raid siren at the brewery, warning the workers when he sensed an enemy plane approaching. From there, the story morphed into one where the raven had saved London and eventually became the Charles II prophecy about the potential fall of the empire."
"It makes you wonder how much of what we think of as history is really true," Jude commented.
"According to Napoleon, 'History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon.'"
Moments later, the food was delivered, and all three people agreed it was time to eat, not to debate the accuracy of legends and history.
* * *
After a pleasant evening, Jude said goodnight to his dinner companions and walked back to his flat. Despite being physically tired, he was unable to sleep. He got out of bed and went to his computer to check his email. After replying to messages from his parents and several old air force buddies, he began reading through various articles on the Tower ravens.
He clicked on a link that brought him to a website dealing with the symbolism of ravens and crows. Ravens, he discovered, were generally thought to be symbolic of freedom since they are free to roam the earth, able to walk on ground, swim in water and fly in the air. Many cultures also believe that ravens are a symbol of eternal life, the link between heaven and earth. Similarly, crows were believed to escort human souls to the hereafter.
That's more disturbing than the Tower ravens legend, he thought.
Yawning, he turned off his computer, stood up and walked toward his bed. Again, a raven crashed through his window, sending shards of glass raining down on his floor. As had happened earlier in the day, the bird turned into a woman wearing a kirtle, corset, gown and head-dress from the sixteenth century.
"I must be dreaming," Jude groaned, turning away from the sight of the doomed queen. "Either that or I've lost my mind."
"You are of sound mind, I assure you."
"What exactly are you?"
"Although I appear to be one of the Tower ravens, I am in reality the spirit of Anne Boleyn. You, good sir, are one of the few people in the world today who is capable of seeing me. I knew that when you were brought here as a boy."
"It was you who frightened me all those years ago?"
"My intention was not to cause fear. I wanted only to ask your help. I've waited for centuries for someone like you to come along and then decades for you to return. I almost gave up hope that you would. And here you are," she concluded with a smile.
"What can I do to help you?" Jude asked.
"Set me free."
"But Barnaby lets you out of your cage every morning, and you're free to roam the grounds."
"I want you to set my soul free. Under normal circumstances, it would have ridden with the raven to its final destination, but this raven, like all those in the Tower, had its wings clipped, rendering it unable to fly. As long as the bird is earthbound, so is my soul."
"Why are you here in the first place?"
"This was where I was executed. When the swordsman separated my head from my body, my soul was trapped here."
"What about the others? Catherine Howard? Lady Jane Grey?"
"They, too, were imprisoned here after being beheaded, as were Catherine's lady-in-waiting, Viscountess Rochford; my sister-in-law, Jane Boleyn; Margaret Pole, the seventy-year-old Countess of Salisbury; and Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. All of us are victims of the Tudors' ire."
"So, there are six of you. Are you all ravens?"
"As is William, Lord Hastings, executed on the command of Richard III."
"Do they want to be set free as well?"
"Yes, but I'm here on my account, not theirs."
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
"To set me free, you must take the raven to the block and behead it."
Jude woke at the crack of dawn. The unbroken window was proof that his visit from Henry VIII's second wife had been nothing more than an incredibly vivid dream. When he got out of bed and looked out the window, he saw Barnaby Winton heading toward the ravens' cages.
Those damned birds! he thought as a shiver ran down his spine. Why can't I just get them out of my mind?
Since the Tower of London would not be opened to tourists until nine o'clock, Jude grabbed a quick cup of coffee, dressed in casual clothes and headed outside for an early morning walk on the grounds. With no clear destination in mind, he strolled around the perimeter of the White Tower. His path eventually brought him to Tower Green, long believed to be the sight of scaffolds where those important prisoners of state were executed, rather than on Tower Hill where most condemned prisoners lost their lives. His eyes traveled from the execution memorial to the nearby royal chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula, where the remains of those beheaded on Tower Green were buried.
The body of Anne Boleyn is in there. But where is her soul? he wondered.
As though in answer to his question, he saw a raven hop toward him from the direction of the cages.
"Shoo! Go away. Leave me alone!" he cried.
"Are my birds bothering you?" Barnaby called.
Embarrassed, Jude replied, "It seems no matter where I go, I run into one of them."
"They're just birds, no different from the pigeons and sparrows you find outside these walls. They just got a bad rep from Edgar Allan Poe."
"I suppose they have."
"Well, you'd better get used to having them around if you want to remain a yeoman warder. The legend may not have any truth in it, but these birds are popular with the tourists. I don't see them getting evicted any time in the near future."
"Poor Anne," Jude said under his breath.
"What's that you said?" Barnaby asked.
"Nothing. Just talking to myself."
The ravenmaster gave him an odd look and then headed back to his house where his wife would have his breakfast waiting.
* * *
Although the Tower of London normally closed its gates to the public at half past five, there was a special ninety-minute twilight tour scheduled on Sunday night. Since these tours were limited to a small group of visitors, only one yeoman warder was needed, and the guides took turns conducting them. That night, the duty fell on Yeoman Warder Pilkington.
Dressed in his blue uniform, Jude met thirty-four tourists at the welcome center on Tower Hill at seven in the evening. Unlike the normal daytime tours, the after-hours access primarily centered on the Tower's darker past. Jude took his group to traitor's gate, the torture exhibit, the Bloody Tower and the scaffold site.
The twilight tour finished at the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula. As Jude related the history of the royal chapel, he was keenly aware that Anne Boleyn, the beheaded queen, was lying buried nearby.
"That concludes our twilight tour of Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress, the Tower of London. As you follow me out the door, please be careful. There is a slight step, and I wouldn't want any of you to fall."
He stood at the door as the tourists filed out, ready to give a hand should one of them trip. As two American women walked past him, he overheard part of their conversation.
"He didn't have to kill her," one said. "Why didn't he simply divorce her like he did Catherine of Aragon?"
"I don't feel a bit sorry for her," her companion argued. "She was a schemer who turned the king against his rightful wife. When Henry abandoned her for Jane Seymour, she got exactly what she deserved."
Jude smiled, thinking the two women probably learned about British history by watching The Tudors.
He waited until all thirty-four people had walked through the main gates before heading back to his flat. The exhausted yeoman warder had just removed his uniform when he saw the raven outside his window.
Not again!
A moment later, the glass shattered and the raven flew into the room.
"I heard what those women were saying about me," Anne said after assuming human form. "History has treated me unfairly."
"History has a way of doing that."
"I never wanted to be queen. All I ever wanted was to be Henry Percy's wife, but that was never meant to be. The king's eye fell on me, and my fate was sealed, for he was a man who would not be denied what he wanted. I tried to put him off, but he was persistent. Nothing I could say or do would deter him."
"So, you eventually became his lover even though you knew he was married."
"How was I, a young girl, to fight off the king of England?" Anne cried.
"Yet you wouldn't settle for being his mistress, like your sister did."
"You suppose I should have given in to the king, without regard to honor. How like a man to think that!"
"At least you wouldn't have been executed when he tired of you."
"If Elizabeth had been born a boy or if the male child I miscarried had been born alive, I would never have fallen from the king's favor. Make no mistake about it; my only crime was that I did not give Henry a son."
Suddenly the queen's shoulders sagged, and she put her hands to her face.
"I did nothing wrong," she wept, "and yet I have been kept prisoner here at the Tower for nearly five centuries! Is there no one who will show me mercy? No man capable of a tiny spark of compassion?"
Jude felt his heart ache with sadness for the beautiful queen. Not since the death of his wife had he been so moved.
"I will help you," he declared.
"You will?"
Although her eyes glistened with tears, her face glowed with hope.
"Do it now," she pleaded. "Take the bird outside and chop off its head on the block."
"Now? But it's ...."
"Now! Before you change your mind. Please!"
Jude nodded his head and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, Anne was gone. The raven hopped toward him. As he leaned forward, it jumped into his arms, as though eager to meet its end.
* * *
The ravenmaster sat opposite the Resident Governor and the Chief Yeoman Warder at the pub.
"The night after he passed his test, he told me of an incident that happened when he was a boy," Barnaby Winton recalled. "His parents brought him here to the Tower where one of the ravens frightened him so badly, he had nightmares for weeks."
"That's ridiculous!" the chief cried. "The man was a corporal in the RAF, a decorated officer, for more than twenty years. I don't think he would let a bird terrify him!"
"He lost his wife, didn't he?" the governor asked.
"Yes," the chief replied. "Two years ago."
"Maybe he hasn't been able to get over it."
"When I discovered him with the dead bird," Barnaby explained, "he was carrying on about having to execute the raven so that the queen's spirit could finally be set free."
"Queen?" the governor asked. "What queen?"
"Anne Boleyn. He told me the raven went to his apartment on three occasions, each time it turned into the executed queen. According to Jude, she was being kept prisoner here at the Tower in the body of a raven. She could only be freed when the bird was beheaded."
"The poor man's gone off," the chief said.
"No doubt about it," the governor agreed.
"What a damned shame," Barnaby declared. "He was such a nice, likeable chap, too."
"We don't want word of this getting out," the governor said. "Yeoman Warder Jude Pilkington will be quietly relieved of his duties and sent to hospital."
"The other warders are bound to ask questions."
"And all they will be told is that he fell ill. No one outside this room is to know about the dead bird or Mr. Pilkington's wild ravings. Is that understood?" the chief asked, looking directly at the ravenmaster.
"My lips are sealed," Barnaby answered.
The following morning, Jude was gone from the Tower of London, and a new raven had been placed in the dead one's cage.
* * *
As Beatrix Pilkington walked out of her son's hospital room, she bravely fought back her tears. After six months, there had been no change in his condition.
"He seemed so happy to get the position at the Tower of London," she said. "What could have happened?"
"If we only knew what caused his break with reality, we might be able to help him," the psychiatrist explained. "But I don't suppose we'll ever know as long as he remains in a catatonic state."
The Pilkingtons left the hospital, but their son remained on his bed, cut off from the world around him. Yet in the dark recesses of his mind, he could still feel the warm blood of the unfortunate bird on his fingers and see the imagined look of triumph in Ann Boleyn’s dark eyes. He remained convinced that the enchanting Tudor queen had bewitched him into releasing her spirit by appealing to his sympathies and that he had unwittingly played right into her hands.
"I've waited more than four hundred years to have my revenge on this damnable country," she said. "And now, thanks to your help, I will bring this mighty edifice to the ground, and with it, England itself!"
From amidst the rubble of the demolished Tower, he observed the fall of London. He watched in horror as the Shard toppled over as though brought to its knees, the Tower Bridge collapsed into the Thames, "The Gherkin" exploded and showered the surrounding area with broken glass and "The Walkie-Talkie" keeled over with a deafening din. The destruction spread and gathered momentum. Every home, shop and landmark in the city was leveled. The wronged queen's hunger for vengeance did not end there. Throughout the kingdom, cities fell like dominos: Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Liverpool, Bristol, Newcastle.
"It's all my fault!" his brain screamed. "When I killed that poor bird, I betrayed my family, my fellow yeoman warders and, worst of all, my country."
But there was no one to hear his silent, heatfelt apology, for his mind was trapped in a private hell of his own creation, one that had its inception the day a six-year-old boy visited the Tower of London, saw one of its famed ravens and learned of a false prophecy that gave him nightmares from which he could not now awaken.
Salem empathizes with the raven over the bad reputation it got from Poe's poem. In Poe's story The Black Cat, the poor animal has its eye gouged out by its alcoholic owner and is later hanged from a tree. Talk about nightmares!
