‘Is anyone there? Hey!’
From somewhere behind me came an answering moan that sounded as if it had been loosed by one of Dante’s lost souls. I let out a cry, startled to find I was not alone. Dear God, what was this – a dungeon? The darkness was so thick you could almost feel it sliding across your face. I staggered forward, step by halting step, until finally I collided with a wall, slimy to the touch. Facing away, I groped along the stones with my bound hands as far as I could, until I met a corner. I followed that wall too, battling my rising fear that there was no door here, no way out. I stood still and shouted again for help, stamping my feet on the stone floor, though this produced no effect at all. The formless lament from the depths of the room grew louder and more agitated the more I yelled for someone to come, until the pitch of it made the wound on my head throb as if it would burst open-
‘For the love of Christ, will you stop that? I’m trying to make myself heard here.’
The tortured noise broke off abruptly. I peered into the darkness but could make out nothing. In the silence I heard a shuffling in the straw and a soft trickle of water, which could have been the damp running down the walls or my companion relieving himself. I put the thought from my mind and resumed my shouting.
‘They won’t come.’ The voice from the corner scraped like a rusted hinge, as if it had not been used in years.
‘Where are we?’ I cast around in the dark, desperate. ‘Who are you?’
There was a rasping sound, a cough or possibly laughter, followed by the wet spatter of a gob of phlegm ejected on to the wall or floor. ‘I don’t remember.’ A pause. ‘That’s why we’re here. They forget you, then you forget yourself.’ More hacking, as if he were amused by his own joke.
Forget yourself. Dio mio … ‘An oubliette? Is that where we are?’ The deepest pit of any prison, underground, where they throw those who will never see the sky again. Those best forgotten, as my unseen companion pointed out. Panic surged through my veins; I resumed my stamping and shouting with renewed urgency, fighting the insistent voice in my head telling me it was likely that no one who could help me knew I was here. My fellow prisoner took up his wordless keening again, softly this time, as if exhausted by his own grief. After another prolonged bout of yelling until my throat was raw with the effort, I began to understand why his voice sounded so broken. Presumably he, too, had screamed himself hoarse at first in the belief that someone would respond. I stopped to gather my breath, and was rewarded by the sound of a metal bolt rattling overhead.
A hatch swung open above me and a greasy yellow light swept around the walls, revealing a low-ceilinged, windowless pit. I squinted, turning my face away; though it was only one candle in a lantern, the glow was still shockingly bright after the long spell in darkness. Once my eyes had adjusted, I was able to peer upwards to see the lower half of a face, veiled in shadow, looming through the opening.
‘You listen. I’m only here to tell you that if you keep up that fucking noise, I will come back and shut your mouth for you.’ I could make out stumps of teeth and a prominent growth on the man’s stubbled cheek. ‘Understood?’
‘Wait,’ I managed to stammer, ‘there’s been a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.’
The gaoler cackled. ‘That’s right, friend. You and all the others. Never met one yet that thought he should.’ He withdrew, and the light with him.
‘Please! I need to send a message to my friend. I will pay you handsomely if you help me.’ I lurched a step closer to the opening. The man leaned down, cocking his head as if he were considering the offer. His expression suggested he doubted my ability to deliver on this promise.
‘Tricky. See, someone’s already paid me to keep you in here.’
‘I will pay you more.’
‘Wouldn’t be so much use to me without a head, though.’
‘That won’t happen. Please – just send a message to the Louvre, that’s all I ask.’
‘Oh, is that all?’ In the light from the lantern his face contorted into a grotesque grin. ‘Friend of the King, are you?’
‘In fact, yes. Only let me prove it.’
He let out another bark of laughter. ‘You’ll be right at home here, then. Among the nobility. You all right, Monsieur le Comte?’ He lowered the light through the hole and I turned to see the creature in the corner raise his head with a frightened whimper. I could not suppress a gasp; my fellow prisoner was hardly recognisable as a man. He was so emaciated that he seemed little more than a corpse. Blistered yellow skin stretched tight over his skull; wisps of long grey hair cobwebbed over a face that would have been hideous, had it not been so pitiful. The man tilted his nose up like a mole, sniffing the air, and I could see that his eye sockets were empty, the rims livid with scar tissue. He was almost naked, save for a few scraps of rag, the remnants of clothes that had rotted away. Unlike me, he was not restrained with ropes or manacles; perhaps he was so destroyed there was no need.
‘Not pretty, is he,’ the gaoler remarked, with a cough. ‘Best you’re in the dark, so you don’t have to see him. Stay here long enough, you’ll look like that too.’ He backed away from the hatch, still laughing.
‘No – please!’ I cried, feverish with desperation. ‘Send a message to the palace for me – I beg you.’
‘Tell you what – I’ll put a word in next time I’m taking dinner with the King. In the meantime, you keep quiet and I might throw you something to eat later if you behave.’
‘No, wait-’
But the flickering circle of light vanished and the wooden cover dropped back into place with terrible finality; his laughter was still audible as the bolt was shot into place. I called a few more times, but it was evident that he was not coming back. It was only now that I realised how painfully hungry and thirsty I felt; I was torn between the need to try and negotiate with him, and the fear of jeopardising my prospects of food. And possibly those of my companion, I thought, and I could not risk that; he looked as if one more day without eating might be the end of him – although perhaps that would be a kindness. I crawled across the straw in the direction of the poor wretch in the corner, making reassuring noises to disguise my own fear. I could hear him moving away from me as I approached.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ I whispered. ‘Listen. Your hands are free. Can you untie me?’
His only response was a choked sob. Curbing my impatience, I tried again.
‘I won’t hurt you. Will you help me? Please. I can’t think clearly with this pain in my arms.’ I shuffled closer on my knees until I heard his ragged breathing beside me. The stink coming off him made me retch; not just of his own filth, but the rotting odour of infected flesh from the sores and lacerations I had seen all over his body. It was a wonder the man was still alive. I turned my back and lifted my bound hands until my fingers made contact with him. I waited, breathing through my mouth – though that made little difference. After a long moment, a bony hand clasped my wrist. I gritted my teeth; those who fear the dead walk out of their graves to visit the living on All Hallows’ Eve must imagine just such a touch as this. But with surprising gentleness, those claw-like fingers began to pick at the knot on the cord holding me.