William was listening for the sound of riders. Another messenger might come along at any moment. If that happened Gilbert would have to be dragged out of sight and kept quiet. But no riders came, and Walter was able to catch Gilbert’s horse without too much difficulty.
They slung Gilbert across the back of his horse, then led it through the forest to where William had left their own mounts. The other horses became agitated when they smelled the blood seeping from the wound in Gilbert’s horse’s rump, so William tethered it a little way off.
He looked around for a tree suitable to his purpose. He located an elm with a stout branch protruding at a height of eight or nine feet off the ground. He pointed it out to Walter. “I want to suspend Gilbert from this bough,” he said.
Walter grinned sadistically. “What are you going to do to him, lord?”
“You’ll see.”
Gilbert’s leathery face was white with fear. William passed a rope under the man’s armpits, tied it behind his back, and looped it over the branch.
“Lift him,” he said to Walter.
Walter hoisted Gilbert. Gilbert wriggled and got free of Walter’s grasp, falling on the ground. Walter picked up William’s club and beat Gilbert about the head until he was groggy, then picked him up again. William threw the loose end of the rope over the branch several times and pulled it tight. Walter released Gilbert and he swung gently from the branch with his feet a yard off the ground.
“Collect some firewood,” William said.
They built a fire under Gilbert, and William lit it with a spark from a flint. After a few moments the flames began to rise. The heat brought Gilbert out of his daze.
When he realized what was happening to him he began to moan in terror. “Please,” he said. “Please let me down. I’m sorry I laughed at you, please have mercy.”
William was silent. Gilbert’s groveling was very satisfying, but it was not what William was after.
When the heat began to hurt Gilbert’s bare toes, he bent his legs at the knee to take his feet out of the fire. His face was running with sweat, and there was a faint smell of scorching as his clothes got hot. William judged it was time to start the interrogation. He said: “Why did you go to the castle today?”
Gilbert stared wide-eyed at him. “To pay my respects,” he said. “Does it matter?”
“Why did you go to pay your respects?”
“The earl has just returned from Normandy.”
“You weren’t summoned especially?”
“No.”
It might be true, William reflected. Interrogating a prisoner was not as straightforward as he had imagined. He thought again. “What did the earl say to you when you went up to his chamber?”
“He greeted me, and thanked me for coming to welcome him home.”
Was there a look of wary comprehension in Gilbert’s eyes? William was not sure. He said: “What else?”
“He asked after my family and my village.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing. Why do you care what he said?”
“What did he say to you about King Stephen and the Empress Maud?”
“Nothing, I tell you!”
Gilbert could not keep his knees bent any longer, and his feet fell back into the growing flames. After a second, a yell of agony burst from him, and his body convulsed. The spasm took his feet out of the flames momentarily. He realized then that he could ease the pain by swinging to and fro. With each swing, however, he passed through the flames and cried out again.
Once more William wondered whether Gilbert might be telling the truth. There was no way of knowing. At some point, presumably, he would be in so much agony that he would say whatever he thought William wanted him to say, in a desperate attempt to get some relief; so it was important not to give him too clear an idea of what was wanted, William thought worriedly. Who would have thought that torturing people could be so difficult?
He made his voice calm and almost conversational. “Where are you going now?”
Gilbert screamed in pain and frustration: “What does it matter?”
