'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?'