‘You are the physician who examined the prisoner two days ago?’

‘I am, sir.’ He bowed. ‘Dr Jibson, of Lop Lane.’

I leaned round him to get a view of Broderick. He lay on his pallet, the long chains slack across his body. His beard was wet with vomit, his face a ghastly white.

‘Will he live?’

‘I hope so. Whatever he was given, he seems to have vomited it all up.’ The physician glanced at a half-full pail on the floor. A cup and a wooden bowl, both empty, lay there as well. ‘Are those for his food?’

‘Yes,’ Radwinter said. ‘He had his supper late last night.’

Dr Jibson frowned. ‘Then I would have expected him to vomit before now. But different poisons act in different ways.’ He peered into the stinking pail with professional interest.

‘It must have been in his food,’ Radwinter said. ‘There’s no other way. I have been in my room constantly, Broderick’s cell has been locked as always and a mouse could not get past my room without me hearing. And the guards say no strangers have been anywhere near this end of the bailey all day.’

Dr Jibson nodded. ‘The food seems most likely.’

‘His pottage comes from the common cooking pot,’ Radwinter said. ‘I fetch it myself from the guards’ quarters, ’tis a menial task but I can ensure against anything being concealed in the food, like messages.’ His face set hard, and he turned to me. ‘What the doctor says confirms what I thought. I already have the answer to this. The guards’ cook. He used to cook for the monks at St Mary’s Abbey, and he has a shifty air about him. I have had him confined in the guardhouse.’

The physician looked between us, then spoke seriously. ‘I must warn you, this man is not out of danger. Some poison could still be in his system. He was weak enough before, from his treatment -’ he made a grimace of distaste – ‘and the poor rations he seems to have had, and confinement in this doleful place.’ He looked round the cell. Looking out of the barred windows, I saw dawn had come, the castle keep grey against the lightening sky. Something white moved there, Aske’s skeleton turning in the wind that moaned louder now against the tower.

‘It would help if Sir Edward were moved,’ Dr Jibson added. ‘Laid in comfort somewhere.’

‘He is too dangerous,’ Radwinter answered firmly. ‘He must be kept secure and chained.’

The physician looked at me. I hesitated. ‘He does need to be kept secure. But he should be given more blankets, and perhaps a little brazier put here to heat the room.’

The physician nodded. ‘That would help.’

‘Very well,’ Radwinter agreed. He gave me a nasty, sidelong look. Jibson’s comment on the prisoner’s poor diet would not have pleased him.

Broderick stirred, and I realized he was conscious. How long had he been listening? He looked at me and smiled bitterly. ‘Still careful of my welfare, master lawyer?’ he croaked. ‘Someone was less careful. They sought to end my pain.’ He sighed deeply. I looked into his eyes; the fire had gone out of them, I saw only a terrible exhaustion.

‘Do you know how this was done, Broderick?’

‘It was the King poisoned me,’ he said, breathing heavily.

‘You will tell us,’ Radwinter said threateningly.

‘Come, Master Radwinter,’ I said. ‘We should talk. Dr Jibson, will you call again later?’

‘Certainly, this afternoon.’ He smiled, and I reflected that on the King’s work he would get a handsome fee.

We left the cell, Radwinter locking it carefully. ‘Wait in my room, please,’ he said curtly. ‘I will see Dr Jibson out and lock the lower door.’

Barak and I descended the stairs to the gaoler’s quarters. The clothes from his bed had been thrown hurriedly to the floor but otherwise it presented its usual tidy aspect. I massaged my neck, which had begun to ache.

‘So that’s Radwinter,’ Barak said. ‘Professional inquisitor, by the look of him.’ He took up The Obedience of a Christian Man, which lay open on the chair. ‘A twopenny-book man too.’

‘Fancies himself an agent of the Lord.’

‘There’s enough of them these days. He doesn’t seem that frightening. Looked a bit scared himself up there.’

‘Wait till he starts trying to ferret into your mind. But you’re right, this has rattled him.’ I paced the room restlessly. ‘All these precautions are to prevent anyone trying to rescue Broderick; we couldn’t expect someone would try to kill him. Could this be tied to Oldroyd’s death, to those papers? Maleverer said there was some connection between Broderick and that name Blaybourne.’

‘Perhaps we should warn Radwinter.’

‘No. That’s Maleverer’s job, this will have to go to him.’

We broke off at the sound of light footsteps on the stairs. Radwinter entered. He closed the door and studied Barak. Then he smiled humourlessly at me, showing his little white teeth. ‘Do you feel you need a man to protect you when you meet with me?’ he asked.

Even now he was trying to undermine me. ‘Master Radwinter,’ I said, ‘I have no time for games. This is a serious business.’

‘I have ordered the blankets and brazier to be brought,’ he said curtly. ‘I will not have that man die under my watch,’ he added angrily. ‘By the throat of God, I won’t!’ He turned to us. ‘I want you to come with me. I am going to question that cook.’

‘But surely if it was the cook who provided it he would have fled the scene after adding the poison to his meal,’ Barak observed. ‘He’d be the obvious suspect, he wouldn’t hang around.’

Radwinter gave him an evil look, then turned to me. ‘You allow your servants to speak on your business?’

‘Barak talks sense,’ I answered flatly.

‘Does he?’ Radwinter’s eyes went to the bruise on my head. ‘Have you been angering someone else with your caustic manners?’

‘I told you before, there is no time for games. Let us see this suspect.’

‘Very well.’ Radwinter grasped his bunch of keys tightly. ‘By Jesu, I’ll have the truth from him.’ He waved us out of his room with an angry gesture.

THE COOK SAT ON a stool in the guardhouse, a soldier either side of him. He was a fat fellow, as good cooks are, with a bald, egg-shaped head. Yet there was a sharpness in his face and in his frightened eyes; Radwinter was right, the man had something shifty about him. The gaoler walked over to the prisoner and stared into his face, smiling grimly. There was a brazier in the room, with a poker sticking out of the charcoal. Radwinter turned quickly, pulled it out and held it up. The cook started, then gulped as Radwinter showed him the glowing tip. It was red-hot, I could feel its warmth faintly from where I stood. The soldiers looked at each other uneasily. Radwinter stroked his neat little beard thoughtfully with his free hand, then said to the cook, softly, ‘Your name?’

‘D-David Youhill, sir.’

He nodded. ‘And you used to work for the monks at St Mary’s.’

Youhill’s eyes went to the poker, widening in fear. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Look at me when you answer, churl. How long for?’

‘Over ten years, sir. I was third cook to the monks.’

‘An abbey-lubber then. Soft living and easy work. Must have been a shock when you were put out on the road when that papist den closed.’

‘I got work here, sir.’

‘And now you have used your post to poison a man the King wants kept alive. You know the punishment for a cook who tries to kill by poisoning the food he cooks? It is to be boiled alive. By order of the King.’ Youhill gulped again; he was sweating now. Radwinter nodded seriously, fixing the man with his merciless eyes. ‘That’s a painful death, I’ll warrant. Though I’ve not seen it done. Yet.’

‘But – but I didn’t do anything, sir.’ Youhill broke down suddenly, words tumbling out of him, his eyes staring wildly at the poker. ‘I only made the leek pottage for the guards same as always, with ingredients I bought in town. The prisoner’s food was taken from the common pot, the last of it’s still in the kitchen. If there was poison in there everyone would have had it.’ He turned to the soldiers. ‘Giles, Peter, you’d swear to that.’