Jack looked up and a deathly shudder ran through him. His muscles going suddenly weak, he had to grasp on to the cart’s sides just to stay on his feet. The cart had entered Smithfield. Standing tall and unremorseful in the centre of the market was the gallows. Nine nooses hung from a triangular wooden frame, supported atop three sturdy posts. A crowd had already congregated and a great cheer rose up when they saw the cart approach. Jack’s stomach twisted into a leaden knot. His heart thudded hard and his throat tightened at the terrifying thought of swinging by his neck. Then, as if to add further insult to his misery, he was hit on the cheek by a rotten apple. One of his fellow prisoners laughed hysterically – until a lump of dung splatted him in the face. Then more rotten vegetables and fruit pelted the cart and its shackled occupants. Curses and jeers assailed them and Jack had to duck as stones flew past.

But Porter lapped up the attention. He rose and stood at the front of the cart, waving his hat as if he were the king in a royal procession. A clutch of women cooed and simpered at the swaggering vagabond. They blew him kisses and he threw his feathered hat to them. The women jumped and squabbled over it as if it was a bridal bouquet thrown at a wedding.

‘How women love a condemned man!’ said Porter with a wistful sigh.

The cart worked its way through the swelling crowd and eventually lurched to a halt between the three pillars. Above them, the nine loops of rope hung down expectantly.

The driver dismounted and held the horses’ reins firm as the hangman, a beefy fellow with heavy jowls and dark bags under his sagging eyes, clambered aboard. He commanded the prisoners to all stand. One, a scrawny woman with a glazed pale expression, could barely raise herself off the cart bed and had to be manhandled upright. The hangman unshackled her and secured her wrists behind her back, before slipping the noose over her head. With workmanlike efficiency, he bound and noosed the other prisoners, coming to Jack and Porter last.

He slipped the rope round Porter’s neck and gave it an extra tug. ‘Tight enough?’ he smirked.

‘How should I know? I’ve never done this before,’ quipped Porter, much to the amusement of the crowd – and the hangman’s annoyance. Whatever his opinion of the vagabond, Jack couldn’t deny the man’s bravado in the face of death. Many a samurai would be proud to demonstrate such resilience of spirit. Jack only wished he could be so bold and defiant, but fear choked him in its icy grip.