by C. J. Sansom
I stared past him into the cell. At first I could make no sense of what I saw, it seemed that a gigantic pendulum had been brought to the cell and set swinging under the window. Then I saw it was Radwinter. He had taken the two beds and set them one on top of the other. He had removed his shirt and, like Broderick, had twisted it into a noose, tied one end to the window and the other round his neck. Then he had jumped from the bed. He had broken his neck, his head was bent at an unnatural angle. His face was hideous, his mouth open and smeared with blood, half his teeth gone. I fell back against the doorjamb, my legs gave way and I slid to the floor.
The fat turnkey had run across to the window. Now he ran back to the door. ‘Billy!’ he yelled. ‘Billy!’ Running feet, and a moment later the other turnkey joined him in the doorway.
‘Oh, Hell!’ he cried. ‘We’ll be in the shit for this.’ He went over and looked at Radwinter, then turned back to the fat man. ‘You know the beds should be fixed to the floor where there’s a high window!’
‘I’ve been trying to get the workmen in for months! How the fuck did he get the beds across with his hands in that state?’ I saw Radwinter’s hands, dangling at his side, were torn and bloody, his fingernails gone. I shuddered and looked away.
‘They should have given him the rack,’ young Billy said, ‘instead of pissing about with his teeth. He couldn’t have done it then. Fuck! He’s still swinging, he can only just have jumped!’ He grabbed one of Radwinter’s legs, bringing the body to a halt.
‘Why did he do it?’ the fat man said in a tone of outrage.
‘They were taking him back for another go tomorrow.’
‘He did it for shame,’ I said quietly. ‘For him this would have been the ultimate shame. So much for torture bringing the truth.’
THE DEPUTY WARDEN CAME, watched Radwinter cut down and his body taken away. ‘And we got nothing out of him,’ he muttered angrily. But then he had had nothing to give, I thought. He had not killed Broderick. Broderick, Jennet Marlin, Oldroyd, now Radwinter. What a harvest of lives that box of documents had reaped. And how many would Catherine Howard’s dalliance cost?
I sat alone in the cell, through another day, another night. Outside the rain slashed down, hissing, dripping. When it grew dark I found myself looking nervously into corners, as though Radwinter’s tormented spirit might appear there. But there was nothing, no sense of him. As the hours passed my hopes ebbed and flowed with the tide on the river outside, I thought, Barak will come, or there will be some message to give me hope. Surely he could have got to Hampton Court and back by now, on the river? If he did not come, what would they do to me tomorrow? My head swam as I thought of all the abominable things I had heard they used in the Tower: the rack, the vice, hot irons. I had been a fool to think for a moment I could lie to Sir Jacob. I thought of Radwinter’s bloodied mouth. In a bleak moment at the darkest hour of the night I wondered wildly whether Barak and Tamasin might have fled to avoid questioning about the Queen. I cursed myself for such stupidity, Barak would not let me down. Then the dawn came again, light at the window from which a piece of Radwinter’s shirt still hung.
THE TURKEYS CAME for me early in the afternoon. They watched me carefully lest I might struggle, but I knew there was no point and let them lead me away without resistance. I felt light-headed, as though my spirit might fly from my body.
They took me down a flight of stairs, then along a dark passage. They halted before a wide, solid door. The fat turnkey knocked. I looked at the dark old wood. My heart was thumping hard now, making me feel more faint than ever. The door was opened and they led me inside. The turnkeys released my arms and quickly stepped outside again.
It was a big, windowless room with smoke-blackened walls. A large brazier in an alcove put me momentarily in mind of a blacksmith’s forge, as did the big bull of a man in a leather apron standing looking at me, hands on hips. A heavyset boy in his late teens was tending the brazier’s coals. Then I saw the rack with its straps and wooden wheels in the corner, the row of instruments – pincers, pokers, knives – hanging on hooks, and I felt my head spin. Beside me was a big metal bin and on top, among the ashes of old coals, small white objects gleaming. I realized these were Radwin-ter’s teeth, and my legs gave way.
The big man grabbed me as I fell, and sat me in a wooden chair. He sighed, as I might at the sight of a badly copied document. ‘Take deep breaths,’ he said. ‘Just sit there and breathe slowly.’
I did as commanded, staring at him dumbly. His expression was frowning. I saw his apron was smeared with old blood. ‘Got the thin knife heated, Tom?’ he asked over his shoulder.
‘Yes, Father. Coming along nicely.’ Over the big man’s shoulder the boy gave me a nasty smile.
‘Got your breath back?’ the big man asked.
‘Yes. Listen, please, I—’
‘Over here then, Tom.’ And before I could react the big man pulled me up and held me while the boy tore off the new doublet Tamasin had brought and then my white shirt. The big man stepped away and studied me. There was no mockery at my shape, only a cold professional interest.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Chains.’ And again before I had time to react they grabbed the irons holding my wrists together and hauled my arms up, looping the chain through a hook in the low ceiling. I was left dangling, my toes only just touching the floor. The gyves bit into my wrists, the one that had already rubbed my right wrist raw causing excruciating pain. I shouted out.
The big man stood looking at me. He had an impatient expression on his heavy features now. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’re not going to piss about, we want answers quickly. What do you know of relations between Francis Dereham and the Queen?’
‘Nothing,’ I shouted out. I thought, I could stop this if I mentioned Culpeper’s name, tell what I knew of him and the Queen. Or could I? Might that just goad them on?’
‘Come on,’ the big man growled. ‘You know better than that!’
‘Torture is illegal in England!’ I cried out. It made the torturer’s face crack into a grin.
‘Hear that, Tom?’ he said. ‘The soft-skinned fool thinks this is the torture! Oh no, that’s just the hanging up to put you in position. Show him, Tom.’
The boy came forward. In one hand he held a thin knife, the point red-hot. In the other a tiny vice with a screw to turn it. He held them up for me to see. ‘We’ll have some teeth out with the vice,’ his father said. ‘Break them, mind, not pull ’em out by the roots. That’s worse. Then we’ll have that knife under your fingernails.’
My head was clear now, horribly clear, the earlier faintness gone, though it was hard to breathe with my arms stretched above me. ‘Once more,’ the torturer said in tones of heavy impatience. ‘What do you know of the Queen and Francis Dereham?’
‘Nothing. Please listen, I —’
I hadn’t learned yet, I hadn’t learned how speedily they moved. The big man grabbed my head between meaty hands and nodded to the boy. My mouth was forced open, I tasted the boy’s sweaty hands, then felt metal in my mouth. There was a sharp crack and a terrible pain coursed through every nerve in my head. I felt blood seep onto my tongue. The pain went on and on, receding and returning in crashing waves. The boy held up the vice and I saw a gleam of white.
‘Now,’ the big man said again. ‘Dereham, or it’s the knife under the nails. We’ll do nails and teeth turn about.’
‘I – I—’ I was gurgling, half mad with pain. ‘I don’t —’
The father nodded, and the son raised the knife to my pinioned hands.
Chapter Forty-four
HE STOPPED. A fraction of an inch away, the heat searing my finger. A high-pitched creak told me the door had opened and through waves of pain and terror I heard voices, recognized a harsh mutter, Sir Jacob Rawling’s voice. The door closed again. I looked wildly round, groaning and spitting blood. The fat turnkey had come in and was standing by the torturer, looking at me with mild interest. The big man nodded to his son and the hot knif
e was pulled away. I felt myself lifted up and wondered if this was the start of some new horror, but they only pulled the chain holding my arms off the hook, then lowered me to the floor. I stood unsteadily. The big man looked at me, a faint smile on his meaty face.
‘Your lucky day. We’ve to stop; you’re to go back to your cell.’
I staggered and spat out blood and a fragment of tooth. The boy had broken off a big molar in the side of my lower jaw. The fat turnkey reached out a hand to steady me. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s get you back. Here’s your shirt and doublet.’ He helped me pull the torn clothes round my shoulders, then led me half-dazed from the chamber.
‘What happened?’ I asked as he walked me back. My voice sounded thick, my mouth was still bleeding. I had been proud of my teeth, I had had nearly a full set.
‘You’re to be taken to Archbishop Cranmer at Hampton Court. I don’t know where he’ll keep you, because he hasn’t a gaoler any more, has he? Billy and I are in trouble about that,’ he added lugubriously.
We turned the corner into the central area and there, standing by the desk with young Billy, I saw Barak. My heart leapt. His manner was quite different from the day before, he looked confident and energetic. At least, till he saw me. Then his jaw dropped.
‘Jesu!’ he shouted. ‘What have you done to him? You fucking arseholes —’
‘Now, none of that!’ the fat turnkey admonished. ‘He was taken to the torture on Sir Jacob’s orders. My advice to you is to get him out of here before the Archbishop changes his mind.’
‘There’s a whole boatload of new captives coming in soon,’ Billy told him.
‘Just as well we’ll have the cell, then.’
Barak took my arm. ‘How many teeth did the arseholes pull?’
‘Just one.’
‘Let’s get out. We’ve a long boat journey. It’s raining, but I’ve got your coat and a blanket. And your things.’ He took out my dagger and purse and Cranmer’s seal that had been taken off me when I arrived. He handed them to me, then looked at the turnkeys. ‘Can you get these irons off?’
‘All right.’ The fat man selected a key from his ring and, bending down, released my feet and left wrist. When he came to the manacle on my right wrist, though, the tight one, the key would not turn. ‘Damn thing, it’s stiff.’
‘Try spitting on the key,’ Barak said. The turnkey did as he suggested, but with no result.
‘Looks like you’ll have to keep it on, matey.’
Barak bent and studied the manacle. ‘It’s rusty. I could probably get that off with tools at home.’ He turned to the gaoler. ‘But he can’t go before the Archbishop dragging a three-foot length of chain. Can you get the padlock off?’
The round gyve was connected to the chain by a stout little padlock. The gaoler grunted and went over to a bundle of little keys hanging from the wall. He opened the padlock, the chain falling to the floor. All the time I had been looking on dumbly, licking my cracked and swollen lips, but now I burst out weeping uncontrollably, my sobs echoing round that terrible chamber. Barak took my arm and led me gently through the barred door, up the stairs and through the Great Hall. I was past caring whether the soldiers saw my wretched state. I asked no questions; it was all I could do to stumble along.
We descended the steps of the White Tower, then I felt grass under my feet, rain on my head. We stopped walking at last and I looked up. We were by the Watergate again. A wherry stood there, a soldier and a boatman in Cranmer’s livery sheltering under the arch. Beyond, the heavy rain made the Thames water hiss and boil.
‘He’s hurt, take care,’ Barak told the boatman.
They helped me in and the boatman took the oars. Barak wrapped the blanket round me as we pulled out into the water. A hand to my throbbing jaw, I looked at the wide river. A large barge swept past us, sculling into the Watergate. Sitting inside was a cargo of bedraggled gentlemen and ladies, their fine clothes streaming water, surrounded by soldiers. My eyes widened as I saw Francis Dereham, no longer proud and arrogant but shrinking against the side of the boat, his face white as chalk. I also recognized some of the Queen’s ladies, and then I saw Lady Rochford in the midst of them, staring at me with wide terrified eyes. Seeing my bloodied face, she began screaming and tried to stand up. Someone pulled her back down. The shrill sound faded away as the barge passed under the arch. I sat staring after it.
‘Why is Lady Rochford there? Has she been arrested?’
‘Looks like it. Perhaps they know about Culpeper.’
‘If they don’t now,’ I said grimly, ‘they will soon.’
‘This means we’re safe,’ Barak said eagerly.
‘Yes. Culpeper’s doings will come out now anyway. What we know ceases to matter.’
‘What will happen to the Queen?’
‘The axe, I’d think. Poor silly girl.’ The tears welled up again, and I wiped at my face with my sleeve, wincing as I brushed my damaged jaw.
Barak looked at me anxiously.
‘Are you fit to go before Cranmer?’
‘I must know what he wants.’ I took a deep breath. ‘You did it then, you got to him?’
He nodded, droplets flying from his soaking hair. ‘I went to the Guildhall first and saw your friend Master Vervey. You were right: the day you were taken, one of Rich’s men came and told the council you were under arrest, they’d be advised to drop the case and drop you. They were scared silly to hear their lawyer was in the Tower. They’ve agreed to drop the case against Bealknap on the basis each side pay their own costs. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m past caring.’ I sighed. ‘You were right after all about that. I have paid for my obstinacy.’
‘Then I went back to Whitehall, tried to get permission to visit Cranmer at Hampton Court. But there was no chance, the place is sealed off. My Whitehall contact told me the Queen’s under arrest there, though that’s not generally known yet. I don’t think I could have got there but for an old friend of yours.’
‘Who?’
He smiled. ‘Master Simon Craike.’
‘Craike?’
‘I was hanging about the corridors, looking in an ill-humour no doubt, when he came up and asked what the matter was. I told him about your arrest. And what you suspected about Rich. He was horrified. He said he hated Rich and he owed you one, and wrote me out a letter to take to the Chamberlain’s office at Hampton Court.’
‘But the deputy warden told me a servant of Craike’s said he’d overheard me telling Dereham to bed the Queen—’
Barak laughed. ‘I can just see you saying that.’
‘So Rich set that up without reference to Craike.’
‘He’s not such a bad old arsehole, even if he does like to have women beating him. He said to tell you how sorry he was for everything.’
‘So Craike came right in the end. And you saw Cranmer?’
‘His secretary. Jesu, things are buzzing at Hampton Court, I had soldiers with me all the time. I told him the story. He went in to see the Archbishop, then came back with an authority to fetch you from the Tower.’ He looked at my face again. ‘I worked as quick as I could, I had no sleep last night.’
‘I will never forget this, Jack.’ My voice shook. ‘Thank you.’
THE BOAT ROWED steadily on through the rain. I huddled inside my blankets as we passed Westminster and Lambeth Palace. I looked up at the Lollards’ Tower. ‘Radwinter is dead,’ I said. ‘He hanged himself yesterday, in the cell.’ ‘Good riddance,’ Barak said bluntly.
‘I felt sorry for him at the end.’
‘You feel sorry for too many folk. That’s your trouble.’
‘Perhaps. How is Master Wrenne?’
‘Better. I’ve had the old Moor up to see him.’
‘Guy?’ My face lightened at the thought of my old friend.
‘He looked at my leg, says it’s nearly mended. He says Master Wrenne was exhausted, but he should be up again in a few days with rest and good food.’ His face became serious. ‘I asked him h
ow long Master Wrenne might have. He said, only months, and his pain and weariness will get worse.’
‘I pray we find his nephew.’
‘Why shouldn’t we?’
‘He’s a northerner and a religious conservative. You remember I said they showed me Bernard Locke before they executed him?’
‘Ay.’
‘I asked him if he knew Martin Dakin and he said he did, and he was safe. There was something strange, mocking, in the way he said it.’
‘I heard the Privy Council have had men around the Inns, questioning people. Mainly Gray’s Inn.’
‘Anyone arrested?’
‘Not that I heard. I told the old Moor where you were, by the way. I had a job to stop him coming straight down to the Tower.’
‘He is a good man.’ I smiled.
‘There’s a bit of competition going on at your house, I am afraid. Joan does not approve of Tamasin very much.’
‘You don’t have her in your room, I hope?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s the competition for nursing old Wrenne Joan doesn’t like. Two women in one house never works. But she is kind to him. She is kind.’
I suppressed a frown; I did not like the idea of Tamasin having the freedom of my house. ‘She will domesticate you in the end,’ I said.
He smiled. ‘She can try. By the way, I’m going to see my old mate tomorrow. He has some news, I’ve had a message.’
‘About Tamasin’s father? What does he say?’
‘Only that he’s got a good lead.’
We rowed on in silence, my jaw throbbing painfully, the gyve cold against my wrist. At length the towers of Hampton Court appeared in the distance, and my heart began thumping again.
THERE WERE SOLDIERS at the wharf, checking everyone’s documents. Barak showed them Cranmer’s letter, the one he had brought to the Tower. We were told to wait and escorted to a little wooden shelter with other arrivals, water dripping on to the boards. I put my torn shirt and doublet on properly, and pulled down the cuffs of my shirt to cover the damned manacle. I winced at the chafing, and the throbbing from my jaw. The soldier from the boat waited with us. I am still a prisoner, I thought.
