‘You, man,’ Black Fingers says to a guard. ‘Search the rack again.’ A pair of boots leaves the trunks and walks direct to where I’m hidden. A sword blade slices into the robe next to mine. In a moment I’ll be spitted like a rabbit.

‘Sir!’ Paul calls out sharply. I see his feet go to the outer door of the tent.

‘What now?’ says Black Fingers, turning towards him.

‘Look. Look just here,’ he pulls at the bottom of the tent cloth. ‘Perhaps there was a loose stake.’ The guards kneel down to check. In a moment they’ll know there’s no loose stake.

Then I catch Paul’s game. He’s pulled their attention away from my side of the tent. Black Fingers and the guards are all facing away. He’s giving me a chance to escape through the flap leading to the stage. Where hundreds of folk, including the Queen, are hearing a play at this very moment. But what choice do I have?

With Black Fingers and the guards still turned towards Paul, I hobble on my hurt ankle over to the stage entrance. I look back once. Black Fingers is watching as his guards pull at the tent canvas. Paul’s face is turned towards them, but like a cat, his eyes move to mine. They’re as sullen as they’ve ever been, but they look direct at me. Quick as lightning, I nod in thanks, then slip through the canvas.

30. BEEFSTEAK

I EXPECT A HUNDRED eyes on me. I expect all the mighty folk of the country to shout, ‘Look there!’ I expect I’ll have to run. But when I come through the tent flap it’s not like that at all.

On top of the stage stands one of the flat wooden panels, rising up before me, taller than the tallest man. I can’t see any folk at all. But they’re close. I hear Frederick speaking on the other side of the panel. I’m just behind the stage.

My ankle throbs. Its flesh is swelling. Suddenly a trumpet sounds, and I hear a soft whir. I look up to see the other wooden panel lowering rapidly. It slides into its groove. There’s another whir, and the first panel begins to rise. One of the actors stands to the side of the stage working the ropes.

All at once, the long-haired actor comes round the side of the panel back behind the stage where I am. He’s dressed like a lady. He whips off his coif and outer skirt to reveal what looks like women’s nightclothes beneath. He’s working so quick, at first he doesn’t see me. But then, suddenly, he cries out in alarum. I hear Frederick on the stage side of the panel say, ‘My love?’