‘He’s not yet hanged and I wish to speak with him, now!’ Cranston leaned over the table, placing his hands over those of Fitzosbert and pressing down hard until the keeper’s face paled and beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

‘Now look, Master Fitzosbert,’ Cranston continued slowly, ‘if you wish, I will leave now. And tomorrow I will come back with warrants duly signed and sealed by the regent, and accompanied by a group of soldiers from the Tower. Then I will go through this prison, see Solper, and perhaps . . .’ He smiled. ‘We all have friends. Perhaps petitions could be presented in the Commons. Petitions demanding an investigation of your accounts. I am sure the Barons of the Exchequer would be interested in the profits to be made in the king’s prison, and in what happens to money entrusted to you.’

Fitzosbert pursed his lips. ‘I agree!’ he muttered.

Cranston stood back.

‘And now, Sir, Solper!’

The keeper got up and minced out of the room. Athelstan and Cranston followed him, the friar fascinated by the man’s swaying walk. He was about to nudge Cranston, congratulate him on his skills of persuasion, when he heard a sound and turned quickly. Two huge gaolers, with the bodies of apes and the faces of cruel mastiffs, padded silently behind them. Fitzosbert stopped and turned.

‘Gog and Magog!’ he sang out. ‘They are my bodyguards, Sir John, my assistants in case I am attacked.’

Cranston’s hand flew immediately to his sword. He pulled out the great blade, tapping the toe of his boot with it.

‘This is my servant, Master Fitzosbert! May I remind you that I carry the king’s warrant. If anything happens to me, it’s treason!’