‘Swooner?’

‘Prob’ly.’

He was put in the back of a cart where three or four men, all handcuffed, were already sitting, heads bowed. Silas kept his eyes on the sawdust-covered planks. It was a five-minute journey to the marketplace where people swarmed like wasps around the stalls and the air was rich with the smell of fruit and vegetables and fish. As he was pulled from the cart, he saw a boy dart among the gigs and carriages, pushing a barrow full of potatoes before him, and wished he was that boy. A group of half a dozen men in toppers crowded around a nearby tobacco stall and glanced curiously at the new arrivals.

Silas flinched from the yells of costermongers touting for trade and was jostled by those on the fringes of the crowds around the carts. A few of these strangers glanced at him and his captors, then away, and he understood that in their eyes he was just another ruffian, a poor sort, under arrest for stealing or affray. On his way to pay for his sins in the public arena. Worth a look, maybe, if they had time for the spectacle, but otherwise not deserving of a second thought.

Fresh pain twisted his guts. Harriet would be there, he was sure of it. She would be made to witness the degradation orchestrated by Walter Simpson and Albert Boothby. Silas stumbled and was caught by the arm. ‘Steady, lad,’ said one of the guards. ‘We’re ’ere. There’s a few of thee today. Tha’s first, though. Gettin’ the most licks. What did tha do to deserve that, eh?’

‘I did nowt,’ he mumbled.

‘Aye, I might’ve ’eard that one before.’

The other man tugged him to a halt. ‘Soon be over and done wi’. Might make thee think twice about gettin’ theesen in trouble.’

Silas had kept his eyes lowered during the short walk across the cobbles, but raised his head now and saw he was at the top of the town square where the market was held. A black-hatted woman about his mother’s age, wearing a long apron over her skirts and wielding a wicker basket, glared at him and muttered words he was glad he couldn’t catch. In front of him was a wooden frame. He felt his gorge rise and swallowed painfully. Silas flicked his eyes away from it, breathing heavily through his mouth. A small barefooted boy was staring at him, the thumb of his dirty hand wedged in his mouth and snot coating his upper lip. A girl darted forward and pulled the small boy away. He watched her disappear into the crowd with smarting eyes.

Then the guard blocked his view.

‘Yer shirt. Here, I’ll do it.’

Silas gulped as the man unfastened his shirt and pulled it down from his shoulders and away from his body in one fluid movement. Silas crossed his arms around his torso. There was a jeer from the crowd. The lash could not be worse than the shame of this. He dropped his chin to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.