Donal looked panicky as he tried to remember. ‘Um . . . vaguely . . .’
‘You told me you attended Protestant services with the Cobley family.’
‘I never said anything of the kind!’
‘I’ve already spoken to Bishop Julius. You’re going to stand trial for heresy.’
‘No!’ Trials rarely found men not guilty. The general view was that if a man were innocent he would not have got into trouble in the first place.
‘You’ll be better off if you tell the truth.’
‘I am telling the truth!’
Osmund said: ‘Shall I beat it out of him?’
Donal looked terrified.
Then his mother’s voice was heard from the doorway. ‘You’re not going to beat anyone, Osmund. My son is a law-abiding citizen and a good Catholic boy, and if you touch him you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.’
It was a bluff – Osmund never got into trouble for beating people – but it gave heart to Donal. Looking braver, he said: ‘I have never attended a Protestant service, with Philbert Cobley or anyone else.’
Mrs Gloster said: ‘You can’t hold a man to account for what he says when drunk, and if you try to, you’ll make a fool of yourself, young Rollo.’
Rollo cursed inwardly. Mrs Gloster was getting the better of him. He saw that he had made a mistake in questioning Donal here at home, with his mother to stiffen his nerve. But he could soon put that right. He was not going to let a woman stand in the way of the Fitzgerald family revenge. He stood up. ‘Get your boots on, Donal. You’ll have to come with us to the Guild Hall.’
Mrs Gloster said: ‘I’ll come, too.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Rollo.
Mrs Gloster’s eyes flashed mutiny.
Rollo added: ‘And if I see you there, you will be arrested too. You must have known Donal was going to blasphemous services – so you’re guilty of concealing his crime.’
Mrs Gloster lowered her eyes again.
Donal put his boots on.
Rollo and Osmund escorted him up the main street to the crossroads and took him into the Guild Hall through the basement entrance. Rollo sent one of the watchmen to fetch Sir Reginald, who arrived a few minutes later accompanied by Bishop Julius. ‘Well, young Donal,’ said Reginald with a pretence of affability. ‘I hope you’ve seen the sense of making a clean breast of things.’
Donal’s voice was shaky, but his words were brave enough. ‘I don’t know what I said when drunk, but I know the truth. I’ve never been to a Protestant service.’
Rollo began to worry that he might not crack after all.
‘Let me show you something,’ said Reginald. He went to a massive door, lifted the heavy bar, and opened it. ‘Come here and look.’
Donal obeyed reluctantly. Rollo followed. They looked into a windowless room with a high ceiling and an earth floor. It smelled of old blood and shit, like an abattoir.
Reginald said: ‘You see that hook in the ceiling?’
They all looked up.
Reginald said: ‘Your hands will be tied behind your back. Then the rope from your wrists will be looped around that hook, and you will be hoisted up.’
Donal groaned.
‘The pain is unbearable, of course, but at first your shoulders will not dislocate – it doesn’t happen that quickly. Heavy stones will be attached to your feet, increasing the agony in your joints. When you pass out, cold water will be thrown in your face to bring you round – there’s no relief. As the weights get heavier, so the pain gets worse. Eventually your arms spring from their sockets. Apparently that is the most dreadful part.’
Donal was white, but he did not give in. ‘I’m a citizen of Kingsbridge. You can’t torture me without a royal command.’
