Too late to retreat. I ran up to the house and tried the door. It was unlocked.
‘Come,’ I hissed at Dowling, who still stood motionless.
He bounded after me with long loping strides, and I closed the door just before the first pursuer emerged from the alley. The house smelt dusty, hollow and deserted. We crouched before the long bay window and peered out into the night. A small crowd gathered. Soon the cobbled street was full, a dozen soldiers or more, all carrying torches. They chattered amongst themselves, pointing in all directions, until Withypoll appeared and the noise subsided.
He stared at the ground and walked slowly towards us. Then, to my blessed relief, he turned aside, waving a hand left, directing half the soldiers away towards the north and the other half back towards
the castle. He lifted his torch, illuminating his long, cruel face, afore following the soldiers north.
I turned from the window and slumped backwards against the wall.
Dowling still crouched, facing outwards. ‘We’re safe for now. A dozen drunkard soldiers can search only slowly at night. We have until dawn to find a way out.’
‘Withypoll will not make the same mistake twice,’ I worried. ‘Every gate will be guarded from the inside.’
‘What would Josselin do?’ said Dowling.
‘Climb the wall?’ I wondered. ‘Dig beneath it? Find a breach?’
‘I reckon he’ll have prepared already his escape,’ Dowling replied. ‘There’ll be a house somewhere, close to the wall, whose occupants will help him.’
‘Fairfax bombarded the west wall with cannon,’ I said. ‘St Mary’s was destroyed. There must be an easy route out somewhere about Head Gate or the Balkerne Gate.’
Dowling nodded. ‘Since half Withypoll’s men have gone north, we should go south, but we’ll have to cross the centre of town.’
‘Not if we go direct west through St Peter’s,’ I said. ‘Then make our way south across the corn market.’ I turned to peer out of the window again, feeling more cheerful.
Something moved at the far end of the street, a flash of white.
I elbowed Dowling in the ribs. ‘Did you see that?’
‘See what?’ Dowling muttered.
I watched so hard, my eyes hurt. Someone darted from one side of the road to the other and now stood in a doorway, deep in shadow. I could still make out a sliver of white against the black shadow. Whoever it was stood still, waiting for something, or someone.
‘We cannot stay here,’ said Dowling.
‘Someone hides in the shadow,’ I insisted. ‘What if it is Josselin?’
I stood up and headed for the door. I put my ear to the wood, but all was silent. Then I opened it slow, felt the night brush gently against my cheek. Then I looked down and saw our footprints, clear, edged with flakes of dried mud.
‘This is what Withypoll was looking at,’ I whispered to Dowling, eyes fixed upon the doorway where I saw the white shape.
‘Aye, and Withypoll is not a fool,’ said a gruff voice.
I spun to my left, hands raised, too late. The club hit me square above the forehead. My knees buckled. Two soldiers jumped on Dowling, dragging him to the floor. I heard the crack of his skull beneath someone’s thick boot. I lay on my side, a warm river of blood trickling down my nose.
The white shape floated out onto the street, a tall majestic figure, yellow skin drawn like parchment. The Earl of Shrewsbury?
‘You were told to fetch Josselin,’ Withypoll said from somewhere above my head. ‘I don’t see him.’
I tried to look up, but my head wouldn’t move.
Someone pulled at my hair, and something cold rubbed against my throat. ‘I would like to kill you, Lytle,’ Withypoll whispered in my ear. ‘First tell me where is Josselin?’
So he didn’t have him.
‘He is a hero here,’ I slurred. ‘They do as he commands.’
‘I will find him,’ hissed Withypoll. ‘Make no mistake. Then will I cut his lips from his face.’ The blade pressed against my windpipe. ‘As I will do to you one day, but Arlington insists upon seeing you first.’
My stomach cramped, and my guts churned, forcing me to vomit.
I panted, sucking in cool air, retching nothing, for we hadn’t eaten properly in three days.
‘Take them,’ Withypoll commanded. ‘Tell Lord Arlington to save them for me.’
I searched again for the ghostly shape of Shrewsbury before someone punched me flush on one cheek with what felt like a hammer. I remember nothing else until we were well past Brentwood.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As unto the Spanish Dominions, they are like to be much concerned in their Leagues with their Allies and Friends.
Dowling’s forehead bore a clearly discernible boot print stamped into his skin. He lay with arms bound behind his back, staring at the same instrument as I did. In the same dingy room in the Develin Tower where this all started. Back in London.
Arlington stroked the black hair of a dead donkey’s head, impaled upon a wooden spike. ‘A friend of mine told me about this. He saw one in Spain. I had this one built especially.’ He ran a finger along the line of its cranium then pulled one of its ears out straight, smiling in grim satisfaction. ‘I have not had the pleasure of using it yet.’ He turned to me, the edges of the black plaster upon his nose gently peeling.
‘Untie him,’ he demanded.
Two soldiers stepped forward, hesitant, like they feared for their
own lives. They picked at the knots hastily, muttering under their breath as they worked. Then my wrists were free.
‘Place him on the donkey,’ Arlington ordered.
The head and spike attached to a long piece of wood, running across the top of a four-legged frame. The saddle of the beast was planed sharp as a razor, stuck straight up into the air. As they lowered me onto its back, the edge of it cut into my arse. I leant forwards in an attempt to relieve the pressure.
Arlington lifted a finger. ‘Bind him again.’ The soldier jerked my hands behind my back and the wood bit deeper into my flesh.
‘The Spanish military use this in the field,’ Arlington announced, brightly. He pointed to a pile of iron balls, heaped in the corner, then fetched a pair of manacles and closed them around my ankles. The chains falling from the manacles were covered in hooks. ‘It is a most ingenious device.’
He picked up two balls, each of which had a loop embedded within it, and hooked one onto each of my feet. The manacles pulled me down even harder upon the blade of the wooden frame and the wood ground against my bone. I gritted my teeth and wriggled desperately in an attempt to relieve the pain.
‘What do you think, butcher?’ he asked Dowling. ‘Would you like to join him?’
‘Why torture him?’ Dowling barked. ‘We have no secrets from you.’
‘Every man has secrets,’ Arlington answered, calm. ‘Now I would attach more and more balls to each leg until the weight pulls the man down so hard against the edge that it cuts him in half.’
It felt already like my body was torn in two, fire shooting through my anus.
‘It seems to work.’ I heard Arlington’s voice, full of wonder. I stared upwards at the ceiling, tears filling my eyes.
‘What do you want?’ Dowling shouted.
‘I don’t know,’ Arlington replied, voice distant. ‘Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I will try another two balls.’
‘He saved your life,’ Dowling bellowed. ‘You were writhing upon the ground, barely conscious. Wharton held his sword with both fists, ready to drive it into the back of your neck. Harry saved your life.’
‘That is not how it happened.’ Arlington blinked, turning to the soldiers. ‘I was locked in deadly combat with the Earl of St Albans and was about to slay him, when this fellow intervened, plunging a butcher’s knife into the back of his head.’