There are no myths or legends connected with the building of London's great fortress, the clear light of history beats upon the erection of its walls. It was built by William the Conquerer, not as a protection for the city, but as a proof of his dominating power over the subdued but possibly troublesome citizens. Part of the Roman wall which encircled the city was removed, and the tower rose into being upon the easternmost corner of Saxon London, right on the shore of the River Thames, the great highway from the sea. Various additions were made by succeeding monarchs down to Edward III., until it assumed the shape we now see it, with the solid Norman keep in the centre, an inner wall with twelve towers, protected by a strong outer wall surrounded by a deep moat. Only four gateways gave entrance to the fortress, and those were strongly guarded by towers. Any enemy attempting to enter from Tower Hill had to force his way across three branches of the moat, with three successive towers before he could reach the inner wall of the citadel. There were three gateways from the river, a small postern gate for the use of State visitors, the main water gate, which earned the ominous title of Traitor's Gate, due to the frequent arrival of State prisoners, and another entrance east of the Traitor's Gate. Owing to its immense strength it was more commonly used by the Kings during times of civil war, when from behind its bastioned walls they could bid defiance to the surging mobs outside. John, Edward II., Henry VI., and Edward IV. all retreated there for safety during their troublous reigns, but it is with Richard II., the boy-King, that we associate one of the most dangerous episodes in the eventful life of the city. One midsummer day in 1381 a frenzied mob of countrymen swarmed on Tower Hill, demanding, with no uncertain voice, a redress of grievances. Within the Tower there was great hesitation, the councillors of fifteen-year-old Richard vacillating between a sally with force upon the ill-armed peasants and a granting of their just demands. With something of the insistence of the market-women of Paris when they swarmed up to the gates of Versailles, the savage crowd gained admittance into the Tower, searching for their supposed enemy, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who, as the chief lawyer in England, represented the men who enslaved and starved them. Seizing the poor old man, they dragged him out to Tower Hill, and, with their summary judgment, cut off his head then and there. The story of how Richard saved the situation at Smithfield after the death of Wat Tyler is well known. Nothing now remains of the palace where the Plantagenet Kings held their Court. It was situated between the White Tower and the Wakefield and Lanthorn Towers. Scarcely used after the reign of Henry VII., save for three days previous to the Coronation procession through the city, it was completely demolished in the reign of William and Mary, every fragment being removed.