The Kingsbridge executioner stood by the post with his whip in his hand. His name was Morgan Ivinson, and flogging was one of his duties. He was an unpopular man who did not care for popularity, which was just as well, because no one wanted to be friends with an executioner. He was paid a pound a week plus a pound for every execution – very good wages for little work.
He got two shillings and six pence for a flogging.
Jeremiah was brought from Kingsbridge Jail, which stood next tothe Guild Hall. Naked from the waist up, his hands tied in front, he was marched down Main Street by two constables. As the people in the square caught sight of him a sympathetic murmur rose up.
If the convicted man was a burglar or a footpad, the crowd would jeer at him, yelling insults and even throwing rubbish: they hated thieves. But this was different. They knew Jeremiah and he had done no harm to them. He had read a pamphlet that advocated reform, and most of them believed that reform was long overdue. So there was not much mockery, and when some lads near the post began to catcall they were told to shut up by others in the crowd.
Spade was standing on the cathedral steps, looking over the scene. Next to him, Joanie was carrying what looked like a large clean bed sheet. Spade said: ‘What’s that for?’
‘You’ll see,’ said Joanie.
Sal was there too. She said: ‘Tell me, Spade, who betrayed us? Somebody told Hornbeam that Jeremiah was going to print that pamphlet. Who was it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Spade. ‘But I’m going to find out.’
Jarge said: ‘When you do, let me know.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Explain to the man the error of his ways.’
Spade nodded. He knew what Jarge’s explanation would involve, and it was not quiet words of wisdom.
Sheriff Doye officiously shoved his way through the crowd. The constables brought Jeremiah to the whipping post, a crude structure of three wooden beams in the shape of a door frame. Hornbeam and Riddick brought up the rear, as the justices who had imposed the sentence.
Jeremiah was placed in the timber rectangle like a figure in a picture frame. His hands were tied to the crosspiece above his head, exposing all of his back.
The whip was the standard cat-o’-nine-tails, the destructive powerof its nine thongs increased by the stones and nails embedded in the leather. Ivinson shook it, as if testing its weight, and straightened the thongs carefully.
Every town and village had such an implement. So did every ship in the Royal Navy and every unit in the army. It was thought to be essential to law and order and military discipline. People said it deterred crime and misbehaviour. Spade doubted that.
A clergyman came out of the cathedral. Spade, Jarge, Sal and Joanie stepped out of his way. Spade did not know the man but he was quite young and was probably a junior. The bishop would not lower himself to attend this routine punishment, but the Church had to show that it approved of what was happening. The crowd spotted the clerical robes and quietened a little, and the clergyman loudly intoned a prayer and asked God to forgive the crime of the guilty man. Not many people said Amen.
Hornbeam nodded to Ivinson, who positioned himself behind Jeremiah and to the left, so that his right arm could swing back widely.
The crowd went quiet.
Ivinson struck.
The sound of the whip on skin was loud. Jeremiah made no noise. Red welts appeared on his back but no blood was drawn.
Ivinson drew back his arm and struck again. This time, pin-pricks of blood showed.
Ivinson moved slowly: the punishment was not supposed to be quick. If he tired the torture would simply go on longer. He drew back his arm a third time, and struck a third time, and now Jeremiah began to bleed in several places. He let out a groan.
The whipping went on. More cuts appeared on Jeremiah’s back. For variety, Ivinson struck his legs, shredding his trousers and revealing his bottom.
Sheriff Doye called out: ‘Ten.’ It was his job to count the strokes.
Jeremiah’s back was soon all bloody. Now the whip landed not on skin but on the flesh beneath, and he began to cry out in pain. The sheriff said: ‘Twenty.’ The agony became tedious to watch, and some spectators moved away, repelled and bored too, but most stayed to see it through to the end. Jeremiah began to scream each time the whip landed, and between strokes he uttered a horrible sound that was half sobbing and half moaning.
‘Thirty.’
Ivinson was tiring now, and taking longer between lashes, but he seemed to hit just as hard. When he lifted the whip, it shed pieces of skin and flesh, and the spectators cringed back, revolted by the bits of a human being falling on them like living rain.
Jeremiah was naked now but for his boots and the leather belt. He was losing the ability to scream and instead cried like a child.
‘Forty,’ said Doye, and Spade thanked God it was coming to an end.
