The silence frightened him, not least because he was alone with his thoughts, and it was his thoughts that scared him the most. His eyes had worked their way around the cell time and time again, searching for something he could use to break his shackles. But there was nothing. Davenant thought that it wouldn't be long until he heard the wrought iron gates creaking open and heavy footsteps thundering along the corridor outside his cell. Cromwell's men would soon discover that he had lied to them. He started to pray, appealing for Elizabeth's safety and his own salvation, and that was when he heard the footsteps approaching. Davenant knew he was for it this time: no escapes, no trickery, no bribes, just the rack, manacles and the grip of the torturer. He buried his head into his chest as the pounding rhythm of the footsteps drew closer. He suddenly found himself sobbing. Despite the horrors in London, the terrifying escape through the Thames and incarceration in the Tower, this was the first time he had been truly afraid.
