The flagstones were cold and damp. A thin bed of straw provided John with the only comfort he could ask for. Seated in the corner of the cell, John looked up to the small hole in the wall that poorly acted as a window with iron bars preventing any escape. Apart from the cracks at the edges of the door to his cell, the window provided the only amount of scant light there was. John leant his head against the stone wall and felt the condensation on the stone beginning to soak into his brown hair. His clothes were enough to protect him from the chill. But his arse was cold.

  How was it, he ruminated, that a cell can remain cold in the hot autumn? Is there a form of unearthly evil that permeates through these stones and holds back the love of God’s sunlight? Could the cold evil in here be the despair that haunts the occupants within? Horrific. How long must I remain here?

  John had a calculating mind. He had counted the days since his incarceration. He watched the sun set and rise many, many times. With a small piece of chalk he had found in another corner of his small chamber, he began noting the days past. Notches trailed across the walls… So far, John surmised that he was imprisoned for seventy five days within the Tower of London.

  Two and a half months in darkness…

  John suddenly released his breath and it was a shuddering sound. It shook his body and his mind alike.

  Am I going to die? Please, let that not be the case…

  He could still remember it. In the month of August, John was in the Mortlake market, seeking numerous herbs to use during his experiment. He was so close. He was close to achieving his goal to fulfil the Royal Decree.

  He required the herbs to calm his mind, to accentuate his thinking and ensure his calculations were infallible. They had to be. John was sought after to calculate the nativities of the Queen, her husband Philip and her half-sister, the Princess Elizabeth. Such an endeavour demanded great precedence and as such, John disregarded all other projects to complete this great task. If anything, John respected the monarchy. They were, in his eyes, appointed by the God-Above-All to rule over the masses of England. John ignored all requests for his talent and retreated into his mind to work.

  But there was one who consistently badgered him for his advice. A man of his age, George Ferrys. He was concerned that his wife was unfaithful to him and had pestered John to discern whether his fears were based on truth or panic. John had agreed to a sum to assist the man, but that was before the request by the Queen herself came. John apologised to George and returned his money forthwith. George was angered by this. But John paid him no mind and resumed his work.

  When John found all the herbs he required, he made his way back home with a skip in his step. He had never been given such an opportunity like this before. Finally, he could show his worth and prove to one and all that he and his sciences were forces to be reckoned with. The courtiers would bow before him now. No one, save for the Tudors, will ever question his power.

  He turned a corner onto the street he lived on to be confronted by a troop of guards. They saw him and moved straight for him.

  John had no idea what this meant, so he stood his ground. It was then that he saw George Ferrys standing with them. He pointed at John and shouted.

  The guard came upon him and wrestled the surprised John to the ground. John shouted for the meaning of such mistreatment. A hard cuff across his head cajoled him to silence. John saw George standing back with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. John flailed his feet at George to try and kick him, but failed as he was dragged away.

  John was shackled and hauled like a sack of grain across London. He was thrown into a cart and held down by guards. But he did not go quietly. He did not accept the mistreatment like a defanged lion.

  John yelled and shouted. He kicked and writhed.

  But as much noise as he had made, that counted for nothing against the strength of the five men in his charge.

  They crossed the river and arrived at the Palace of Westminster. John looked up and stared at the great building. The home of all law and order in the land. John was lifted from his cart and taken by more guards, all who were armed, into the building. They marched down various corridors until they stopped outside a pair of closed doors. They pushed them open and John was led inside.

  John knew exactly where he was. All he had to do to discern that he was standing in the Star Chamber, was by looking up at the ceiling and at the engraving of a painted golden star.

  He glanced down the vast chamber and saw a row of men seated at a long table at the end of it.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  They were dressed in black robes. They were the Privy Council, the common-law judges who presided over all serious cases, civil and criminal.

  Sitting in the middle of the judges was an old man whom John knew very well. Edmund Bonner. His eyes were hard and lacking any warmth. His face was like stone. In fact, he looked more like a gargoyle than a man. He was the Catholic Bishop of England.

  An empty chair was called for and John was forcefully seated before the Council.

  The distance between himself and the Council was wide and made John feel quite small.

  John battled to keep his wits about him and under the greatest control.

  Questions were made, all pertaining to the accusations made by Master George Ferrys.

  The accusation of witchcraft. John denied this instantly.

  The accusation that John consorted with the Devil. John denied this too.

  The accusation that John was attempting to enchant the royal family through the means of his calculations pertaining to their birth calendars. John flatly denied this too.

  Bonner remained silent throughout it all. Then he leant forward and spoke.

  “Do you believe in God, Master Dee?” he asked with a deep voice that belied his age.

  “I do.” John said. “I believe in the one True God. He rules over all the creations that he made and the planets and stars. He is master to us all and we are masters of ourselves.”

  Bonner leant back. He looked at John. Then outside at the window.

  “You understand that if you have lied, that your soul is damned to Hell for perjury. It is an evil place where fools who join with monsters find no mercy.”

  “I know. I am an intelligent man. I will not endanger my soul in such a manner.”

  Bonner raised his eyebrow. “We shall convene upon your claims against those of Ferrys. It will take time. You shall be confined to the Tower until then. You are guilty, until you are proven innocent. We shall look to God to give us an answer. Be it in His wisdom to save you, He shall provide it to us. If not, you will be put to death by the stake.”

  Bonner waved his hand pitilessly and John was taken away. The swift trip to his imprisonment had ended and John’s traumata had begun.

  Back in his cell, John placed his hand on the wall and considered his mortality. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to share the fate of the hundreds of Protestants who fell under the claw of the Star Chamber and that merciless bastard Bonner. He could still hear their screams as the flames licked and bit at their flesh. How the heat melted their skin and boiled their blood. The smell of singed hair stinging his nose and their howls for mercy piercing the heavens. John refused to die that way.

  If I must, he thought hastily, I will take my own life. I cannot die in such a way. I will swallow my tongue. I will take a guard’s sword and run myself threw with it. Suicide shall send me to Hell, but I will not die to flames. I cannot. Oh, when will they release me from this torment? Am I innocent? Or guilty? What will it be? What?!

  John stood up and walked to the cell window to watch the clouds.

  The clouds, ever present and never wavering. Never dying. If only I could not die…

  The thought of dying. He had encountered it many times. At his father’s deathbed, his friends’, the burnings… But he never considered his own.

  Memento Mori; ‘Remember that you must die’. I must die. I will die. I’m no fool to that… But I have so much left to do. I have so many discoveries and goals to achieve. How many great texts and books are out there in the world? Gathering dust and remaining hidden from man, hidden by ignorance? My purpose cannot be ended by the foolish notions of little men! No! No, it cannot! It will not!

  A rapping upon the cell door snapped John back from the brink of his musings. He rose to his full height and allowed whoever was at the door to enter. The door opened and two guards, the same ones who had detained him two months prior, stepped inside. One of them took out a key and unlocked the shackles from John’s wrists and feet.

  “You are pardoned without penalty.” the guard said. “The Bishop has ruled out the possibility that you are a warlock and has decreed that you are free to leave with us.”

  If John had fallen prey to the inflictions of sodomy, he could have kissed the guard right there and then. He was free. But he held himself back and thanked the guards instead. He was led out of his cell and along the dark corridor. The moans of prisoners echoed all around him and John wished that the guards would quicken their pace so they could leave that accursed place.

  As they exited the Tower and crossed the main courtyard of the fort, they came across a group of guardsmen escorting a fellow prisoner. John stared. The prisoner was none other than George Ferrys.

  Like John, Ferrys was bound in shackles and his mouth was gagged.

  He locked eyes on John and his eyes widened. He began crying out against his bondages and tried to reach for John. But the guards pulled him away and John watched on as Ferrys was hauled into the dark shadowy maw of the Tower.

  “He was accused and condemned for perjury. His sentence will be carried out tonight.” the guards told him.

  John said a quick prayer for Ferrys. He knew fully well that the poor man was going to need it.

  The gates clanged shut behind John as he stood on the road in front of the Tower. He took in a deep breath and sighed loudly. He smiled.

  He had cheated death. He had beaten the Council and survived. He was free at last. Free to enact what he had now decided to do.

  Turning towards to London’s southern half, John made great strides. He had a lot of work to do. Before all of this had happened, his goal was to acquire true knowledge of the world. That was a worthy prize.

  But now… what was the point of acquiring all knowledge if he did not have enough time to do it? So that is what he shall do… make time.

  He shall discover a way to defeat the first and last enemy of mankind. He shall discover the secrets of eternal longevity and defeat Death itself.