Mark screamed. His head was throbbing; black spots, like notes of music, danced before his eyes.
“Please . . . stop! I . . . will tell you . . . about the doublet . . . Her majesty . . .”
“Her Majesty!” said Cromwell, smiling suddenly.
“Loosen the rope. Bring him a little water. Her Majesty?” he prompted.
“Her Majesty thought I was ill-clad, and since I was to be her musician, she gave money for the doublet. . . .”
“The Queen gave you money. . . .” One large cold finger pointed to the ruby. “And the ring . . . ?”
“I . . .”
“The rope, you fools! Tighten it! You were too soft before. . . .”
“No!” screamed Mark. “You said . . . water . . .”
“Then who gave you the ring?”
“The Queen . . .”
“Give him water. The Queen then gave you the ruby ring.”
Mark drank; the room was swimming round and round; the ceiling dipped. He could see the river through the window—it looked faint and far away; he heard the sound of singing on a passing barge. Oh, were I but there! thought Mark.
“I would know why the Queen gave you the ruby.”
That was easy. “She was pleased with my playing . . . She is a most generous lady . . .”
“Over-generous with her favors, I’ll warrant!”
He felt sick. This was no way to speak of the Queen. He wanted to stand up, push aside that bland, smiling face, run out into the fresh air, run to the Queen.
“You were most friendly with the Queen?”
“She was most gracious . . .”
“Come, no evasions! You know full well my meaning. The Queen gave you money, clothes, and a ruby ring. Well, why not? She is young, and so are you. You are a handsome boy.”
“I understand not . . .”
“Subterfuge will not help you. You are here, on the King’s command, to answer questions. You are the Queen’s lover!”
The shock of those words set his head throbbing anew; he could still feel the tight pressure of the rope about his head, although in actual fact it was quite loose now; the torture had stopped for a while. He felt very ill; the blood was still trickling down his face from the cut which the rope had made. Oh, why had he accepted an invitation to dine with Thomas Cromwell! Now he knew what people meant when they talked with fear of Cromwell. Now he knew why they would suddenly stop talking when Cromwell appeared.
Cromwell rapped on the table with his knuckles.
“Tighten the rope.”
“No!” screamed Mark.
“Now. Speak the truth, or it will be worse for you. You are the Queen’s lover. You have committed adultery with the Queen. Answer! Answer yes!”
“No!” sobbed Mark.
He could not bear this. He was screaming with the pain; it seemed to him that his blood was pounding against the top of his head, threatening to burst it. It gushed from his nose. He alternately moaned and screamed.
Cromwell said: “You must tell the truth. You must admit this crime you and she have committed.”
“I have committed no crime! She . . . she . . . is a queen . . . No, no! Please . . . please . . . I cannot bear it . . . I cannot . . .”
One of the men was putting vinegar beneath his nose, and he realized that he had enjoyed a second or two of blessed unconsciousness.
Cromwell gripped his chin and jerked his head up violently, so that it seemed as if a hundred knives had been plunged into his head.
“This is nothing to what will follow, if you do not answer my questions. Admit that you have committed adultery with the Queen.”
“’Twould be but an untruth . . .”
Cromwell banged on the table; the noise was like hammer blows on his aching head.
“You committed adultery with the Queen . . . Tighten up . . . Tighter, you fools! Tighter . . .”
“No!” screamed Mark. And then the smell of vinegar, mingling with that of blood, told him he had lost consciousness again.
He sobbed: “I cannot . . . I cannot . . .”
“Listen,” snarled Cromwell, “you committed adultery with the Queen . . .” The great hand shot up and seized the stick from the hands of his servant. “There! There! You committed adultery with the Queen. You committed adultery with the Queen . . . Admit it! Admit it!”
