The heraldic statues on the pathway down to the privy stairs seem to be stalking my every step on this portentous journey. Their cold, stony eyes give me the impression that they are grinding their gaze into my very bones. They appear as if they are gloating in witnessing my disgrace and so when we finally arrive at the river and I am helped into the barge by one of my grooms I sigh for the relief of being finally out of their ghastly glare. The noblemen who are to accompany me on the short journey to the Tower follow me. I know escape is not an option, but it does not stop the survival instinct in me wishing to jump back on to the stairs and start running for my life. For the first time my mind has acknowledged with trepidation the notion that there is a possibility I may not be returning from the Tower alive.