'Your master, the great and wise counsellor, nodded at the rack. 'We shall see,' he said. 'In a few weeks' time Jane Seymour will be queen of England. The king would not have her cousin refusing the oath. Nor does he want your name included among those executed for treason. Either would be an
'I told him again I would not take the oath, though my voice shook. He studied me a moment and smiled. 'I think you will,' he said. 'Master Kingston, I have little time. Get him lengthened.'
'Kingston nodded at the rackmasters and they hauled me to my feet. They slammed me down on the rack, knocking the breath from my body. They bound my hands and feet, stretching my arms above my head.' Jerome's voice lowered to a whisper. 'It was all so quick. Neither of the rackmasters spoke a word.'
'I heard a creak as they turned the wheel, then there was a great tearing pain in my arms like I had never known. It consumed me.' He broke off, gently massaging his torn shoulder, his eyes vacant. In the memory of his agony he seemed to have forgotten our presence. Beside me, Mark shifted uneasily.
'I was screaming. I hadn't realized till I heard the sounds. Then the pulling stopped, I was still in anguish but the tide-' he fluttered a hand up and down – 'the tide had ebbed. I looked up and there Cromwell stood, staring down at me.
''Swear now, Brother,' he said. 'You have only a little fortitude, I see. This will go on till you swear. These men are skilled, they will not allow you to die, but your body is already torn and soon it will be so broken you will never be out of pain again. There is no shame in swearing when you have been brought to it by this road.''
'You are lying,' I said to the Carthusian. Again he ignored me.
'I shouted that I would bear the pain, as Christ had on the Cross. He shrugged and nodded at the torturers, who pulled both wheels this time. I felt the muscles of my legs tear and when I felt my thighbone pull from its socket I screamed that I would swear the oath.'
'An oath sworn under duress is surely not binding in law?' Mark said.
'God's blood, be quiet!' I snapped at him. Jerome started a little, recalled to himself, then smiled.
'It was an oath before God, a perjured oath, and I am lost. Are you kind, boy? Then you should not be in the company of this bent-backed heretic.'
I stared at him fixedly. In truth the power of his story had struck me forcefully; but I had to keep the initiative. I stood up, folded my arms and faced him.
'Brother Jerome, I am tired of these insults and of your tales. I came here to discuss the foul murder of Robin Singleton. You called him perjurer and liar, before witnesses. I would like to know why.'
Jerome's mouth worked into something like a snarl.
'Do you know what torture is like, heretic?'
'Do you know what murder is like, monk? And no more words from you, Mark Poer,' I added as he opened his mouth.
'Mark.' Jerome smiled darkly. 'That name again. Why, your bedesman has a look of the other Mark about him.'
'What other Mark? What are you babbling about now?'
'Shall I tell you? You say you want no more tales, but this is a story that will interest you. May I sit down again? I am in pain now.'
'I will have no more treasonable words or insults.'
'No insults, I promise, nor treason. Just the truth.'
I nodded, and he lowered himself back onto the bed with the help of his crutch. He scratched his chest, wincing at a pang from the hair shirt. 'I see that what I told you of my racking discomfited you, lawyer. This will discomfit you more. The other boy called Mark was one Mark Smeaton. You know that name?'
'Of course. The court musician who confessed to adultery with Queen Anne, and died for it.'
'Yes, he confessed.' Jerome nodded. 'For the same reason I swore.'
'How could you know that?'
'I will tell you. When I had taken the oath before Cromwell in that terrible room, the constable told me I would be lodged in the Tower a few days to recover; arrangements were being made through my cousin for me to be taken as a pensioner at Scarnsea. Jane Seymour would be told I had sworn. Lord Cromwell, meanwhile, had lost interest; he was collecting up my sworn oath with the rest of his papers.
'I was taken to a cell deep underground. The guards had to carry me. It was in a dark, damp corridor. They laid me on an old straw mattress on the floor and left. My mind was in such turmoil at what I had done, I was in such pain. The smell of damp from that rotten mattress made me feel sick. Somehow I managed to rise and went over to the door, where there was a barred window. I leaned against it, for there was a breeze of fresher air from the corridor, and prayed for forgiveness for what I had done.
'Then I heard footsteps, and sobbing and crying. More guards appeared and this time they were half-carrying a young man, just the age of your assistant and with another pretty face, though softer, and streaked with tears. He wore the remnants of fine clothes, and his big scared eyes darted wildly round him. He looked at me beseechingly as he was dragged past, then I heard the door of the next cell open.
''Compose yourself, Master Smeaton,' one of the guards said. 'You will be here for tonight. It will be quick tomorrow, no pain.' He sounded almost sympathetic.' Jerome laughed again, showing grey decayed teeth. The sound made me shiver. His face worked for a moment, then he went on.
'The cell door slammed and the footsteps receded. Then I heard a voice.
''Father! Father! Are you a priest?'
''I am a monk of the Charterhouse,' I replied. 'Are you the musician accused with the queen?'
'He began to sob. 'Brother, I did nothing! I am accused of lying with her, but I did nothing.'
''They say you have confessed,' I called back.
''Brother, they took me to Lord Cromwell's house, they said if I did not confess they would tie a cord round my head and tighten it till they put my eyes out!' His voice was frantic, almost a scream. 'Lord Cromwell told them to rack me instead, to leave no marks. Father, I am in such pain but I want to live. I am to be killed tomorrow!' He broke down, I heard him sobbing.'
Jerome sat still, his eyes distant.
'The pain in my leg and shoulder worsened, but I had not the strength to move. I hooked my good arm through the bars to support myself and leaned half-insensible against the door, listening to Smeaton's sobs. After a while he grew calmer and called again, his voice shaking.
''Brother, I signed a false confession. It helped condemn the queen. Will I go to hell?'
''If it was tortured from you God will not condemn you for that. A false confession is not like an oath before God,' I added bitterly.
''Brother, I am afraid for my soul. I have sinned with women, it has been easy.'
''If you truly repent, the Lord will forgive you.'
''But I don't repent, Brother.' He laughed hysterically. 'It was always pleasure. I do not want to die and never know pleasure again.'
''You must compose your soul,' I urged him. 'You must repent truly, or it will be the fire.'
''It will be purgatory anyway.' He began sobbing again, but my head was swimming, I was too weak to call out any more, and I crawled back to my stinking mattress. I did not know the time of day; there is no light down there but the torches in the corridor. I slept a while. Twice I was woken when guards brought a visitor to Smeaton's cell.'
Jerome's eyes flickered up to meet mine for a second, then slid away again. 'Both times I heard him crying most piteously. Then later I woke to see the guard pass with a priest, and there was muttering for a long time, though whether Smeaton made proper confession in the end and saved his soul I do not know. I drifted off to sleep again and when I woke again to my pain all was silent. There are no windows down there, but I knew, somehow, that it was morning and he was gone, dead.' His eyes focused on me again. 'Know then that your master tortured a false confession from an innocent man and killed him. He is a man of blood.'
'Have you told anyone else this story?' I asked.
He gave a strange, twisted smile. 'No. I have had no need.'
'What do you mean?'
'It does not matter.'
