Some Danger Involved by Will Thomas Page B

worst drinkers and bruisers in all of London.”
     
    We rode an omnibus down Whitechapel Road back to Aldgate. Barker stopped and looked about the Jewish quarter, as if testing which way the wind blew. He dawdled a bit, leading me into one shop or another, chatting with proprietors; some knew him and others did not. Finally, we reached the foot of the Minories, where we found our next destination, the Tower of London.
    There were two constables at the entrance to the Tower, and a gatekeeper. The latter was one of the yeoman warders that guarded the Tower. His uniform was not the bright red-and-gold worn on special occasions but the red-trimmed navy uniform known as “blue undress.” In his early sixties, he had the bushy white side-whiskers befitting his office. He seemed to know Barker.
    “Hello, sir,” he said. “Good to see you again. The Chinaman is not with you?”
    “No,” Barker replied. “Regrettably, he has left my employ. This is my new assistant, Mr. Llewelyn.”
    “Suh!” The old soldier tugged at the brim of his round hat in greeting.
    “I wonder if one of you could give my assistant a tour, while I speak with the yeoman porter. If possible, I’d like us to meet in the old observatory in an hour or so.” A sovereign or two passed discreetly from Barker’s hand to the warder’s.
    “Very good, sir.” He turned and waved to two others, who came forward. At this point, Barker and I were led our separate ways.
    In one hour, the warder brought to life the stories of Shakespeare and the histories I had read. These were the stairs where Richard the Third had crept, this the hall where Henry the Eighth had walked, and here was the tower that William the Conqueror had built on old Roman ruins. So much history was here, and such pathos. I was shown to a cell where the little princes had been confined, and where Lady Jane Grey had spent her final hours. Sir Walter Raleigh, Anne Boleyn, and Elizabeth the First all were imprisoned here at one time or other.
    The warder showed me through the armory, where suits of armor and weaponry of all sorts hung by the thousands. I conjectured that this was what had first brought Barker to the Tower. Then I saw the British crown jewels, in their heavily guarded cage, including the infamous Koh-i-noor, all 106 carats of her. Finally, I was led to the northeast corner of the White Tower, which once housed the old observatory.
    “Best for last,” the warder said, putting his arm out of the window. There was a flapping sound, and when he pulled in his arm, a large black raven was on his wrist. He brought the bird to me. It cocked its eye at me, reminding me of Harm.
    “I am the raven master here,” the fellow explained. “As you know, legend has it that the Tower and England itself will fall if the ravens ever leave the Tower. We always keep a dozen or so with their wings clipped. Richard here is an exception. He showed up one day with a damaged foot, which we set to rights. He’s stayed ever since.”
    “Why do you call him Richard?” I asked.
    “Because he walks with a limp, like Richard the Third. I didn’t have the heart to hurt him any further.”
    Barker and the yeoman porter came in, and the raven took the opportunity to fly out the window. Both men were walking with their hands behind them, like old friends. The porter, master over all the guards in the Tower, was a powerfully built man with salt-and-pepper whiskers cut in a perfect square.
    “Ah, Thomas,” Barker said. “Excellent. I brought you up to see the view. You can see all of Aldgate from here. There is the High Street and Petticoat Lane. There is where Fenchurch and Leadenhall split, and that large building in the distance is the Bank of England, with Saint Paul’s looking over its shoulder.”
    “It’s an incredible view,” I agreed. From here the City still looked medieval, with narrow streets and low buildings.
    “It’s one of my favorite spots in all of the Tower,” the porter said.