As you have perhaps, already learned from your own previous research from the back of British Cereal boxes, Guilford Dudley was brought to the Tower of London as a prisoner after the fall of his wife, Queen Jane's brief rule. He was very thankful that he was put in a separate cell. He was quite certain that if she took anymore of his shoes, he might be forced to rip the hair from her head. Granted, his boots were quite fetching, he was really quite taken with them himself. They went so well with his green hose, and showed off his sexy codpiece. A little out of style perhaps, but that's beside the point, it was Guilford's prerogative to dress as he would. Although Queen Mary had given him the choice between death and conversion back to Catholicism, Guilford knew that it wasn't really an option open to him, as Father Ambrose had already told him that his form of worship was no longer welcome in the Church. Guilford didn't understand why people were so distracted by his throwing of pewter mugs and screaming followed by vomiting in the nearest lady's hat. Guilford had already attempted to explain his charismatic approach to worship, but had found himself doused in holy water and tossed out the back door by a rather burly altar boy. So Guilford found himself with no choice but to approach the scaffold with all the dignity available to a man who had already wet himself in front of a large crowd of spectators.
Mounting the scaffold, Guilford turned to face the black hooded Executioner. "Do you forgive me, my lord?" the man somberly inquired.
"GOD'S TEETH!" Guilford howled in response "You are about to chop off my head! I'm probably not going to live through this; I don't think many people have before. Now, do you really want me to forgive you, or is it just idle curiosity?"
The executioner backed away. "Just curiosity" he stammered before turning his back and wiping a furtive tear from his eye. "Why is everyone so mean to me?" he sobbed quietly to himself before helping himself to Dr. Feckenman's hat as a hankie. The dismayed Doctor patted the weeping man on the back, before leading Guilford to the block.
"Hold on a minute!" Guilford spouted as he watched his reflection in the blade of the axe "I have to regurgitate my breakfast! I think the morning ale I had didn't mix well with the sardine and hard cheese sandwich I won at craps from one of the guards- talk amongst yourselves, I won't be but a moment."
While Guilford kneeled over and made some horrible retching noises, the Executioner and Dr. Feckenman turned to each other and engaged in a pleasant gentlemanly chat about the weather, and the traditional techniques for beheading a vomiting man. "So," Dr. Feckenman questioned the Executioner, "What exactly happens when you behead a vomiting man? Does it spew out everywhere? Or is it like chopping open a newly boiled haggis?" Before the Executioner could give his learned reply, the retching sounds ceased. Guilford bounded to his feet.
"I'm ready!" his rather muffled voice announced. Later spectators would note that at this, his last and perhaps greatest moment, Guilford seemed to have undergone some form of metamorphosis. His complexion had turned waxy and orange, and a brown stem-like object protruded from the top of his skull. Some called it the work of the Lord; others said it was a pumpkin. Whichever the case, Guilford gingerly placed his portly head upon the block and gave the Executioner the go ahead.
"I say!" said the Executioner, "He doesn't look at all well." Dr. Feckenman shrugged and signaled that all was ready.
Swish! Thunk! With the thud of the axe, Guilford's head rolled away and into the crowd. A faint chuckling sound was heard by some coming from the body, but in all the rush to recover the delinquent head, few took notice. The head however had rolled to the feet of nearby myopic fruit vendor, who mistaking it for one of his wears, set it on his cart and rolled away. Two men, remarking on the amazingly un-bloody state of Guilford's remains, tossed his body onto a corpse cart, and rolled it off to a quiet room to be forgotten about.
As soon as the two men left the room, Guilford's blond head popped out from under his lacy- yet masculine- collar. "SUCKERS! HA!" He cackled, before bounding out of the room, and sashaying out the front gate of tower with the rest of the departing rabble.
"Hope you enjoyed your visit sir!" Shouted one of the warders as the crowds departed "See you a the next beheading! Have a lovely evening then!"
Cavorting down the dusty main, Guilford set his entire being, head and all, towards his next adventure.
