‘Ta-da!’ And Mad Bob did a little dance on the spot, then winced in pain. ‘They forgot what I was in for. The court let me off with twenty lashes.’ He turned round and lifted his filthy shirt. Now it was Jack who winced, as the rake-thin man revealed a criss-cross of nasty welts across his bony back. ‘I suppose it could’ve been worse,’ Mad Bob went on. ‘I could be hangin’ like you!’ He tugged at an imaginary rope, made a face and stuck out a lolling tongue.

Jack responded with a thin, humourless smile. ‘Thanks, that’s really comforting.’ Then his gaze returned to the crowd.

‘You lookin’ for your friends?’ hissed Mad Bob. ‘I told you, once a bird takes flight, it won’t return to its cage.’

‘I don’t blame them,’ sighed Jack. ‘I hope they’ve flown far away from this wretched country.’

‘In my experience, birds often nest high up,’ he mumbled, clearly not listening to Jack.

Mad as a March hare, thought Jack, as the man began picking his nose like he was digging for gold.

‘Your friend’s waving to you,’ said Porter, jutting his chin in Sir Toby’s direction.

Jack glanced over and saw the vile man holding up another beer.

‘Take your time to die, Jack Fletcher,’ Sir Toby called out over the crowd. ‘I’m in no rush. I’ve a full bottle to enjoy here.’

The bell in the church tower struck the hour and the crowd fell silent in anticipation. The court official proclaimed each of the prisoners’ crimes, then the hangman gave the order and the driver drew his horses away. One by one, the prisoners dropped off the back of the cart and swung from the gallows as the crowd shouted and cheered at the spectacle.

‘See you in hell, Jack!’ rasped Porter, as the cart went from under the vagabond’s feet.

A moment later, Jack lost his footing too. His body dropped like a stone and the rope pulled taut round his neck.

9: Shooting the Bridge

The gallows creaked under the weight of the nine swinging bodies. Taunts and insults thrown by the crowd drowned out the few anguished cries of friends and loved ones of the convicted, while death slowly and mercilessly choked the life out of the prisoners.

Jack gasped and gulped for air, the noose tight round his throat. With every passing second, the pressure built in his head. His arms went rigid and his legs began to jerk uncontrollably.

‘Dance, Fletcher, dance!’ called out Sir Toby, laughing heartily with his companions at Jack’s death jig.

Porter now swung limp and lifeless beside him, but Jack’s suffering was far from over. As the twitch in his legs gradually weakened, his heart pounded harder and harder and his lungs strained for the faintest morsel of air …