"Sophia, he means to kill you," I burst out, as Jerome motioned for the servants to manhandle me back down the stairs. "You may believe he cares for you," I cried in desperation, "but you heard with your own ears-he believes he has a dispensation from God Himself to cut down anyone who stands in his way! Do not go with him-you will never see France. Go back to your family, they will understand, I am sure of it."

The servant tugged again on my arm as a warning, and pulled me back toward the stairs.

"I cannot, Bruno!" Sophia called in a cracked voice, as the servant ushered me roughly through the doorway and onto the staircase. "I can never go back, not now. Apart from the child, I am a convert to Rome-I would only be tortured in some filthy gaol to betray my friends, and the child would likely die, and then I would end wishing I was dead."

"That will not happen," I called up the stairs, my voice echoing above me as the servant shoved me in the back of the head. "I would help you-I have friends-"

"You, Bruno?" Jerome's mocking voice floated down the stairs. "Oh yes, you have influential friends, I do not doubt it. But they are not here, and you will not be able to reach them, whatever you may have told them already."

When we reached the tier where the stairwell opened into the grand gatehouse room, the man holding me dragged me out and waited for Jerome to emerge. Sophia followed, her dress dishevelled and her face pale and blotchy. The brief look she cast me was tense with distress.

"He must be bound," Jerome said curtly. He held out his knife toward me. "Fetch ropes and a cloth to gag his mouth-you may leave him here with me. If he tries to flee he will not get far."

The servant grunted and released my arm, though from the pain I could barely unbend it. As he disappeared through the door, Jerome advanced on me, holding out his knife.

"Come, Bruno, I would show you something," he said, almost smiling. "Please do not make things more difficult by trying to run now-I would have to hurt you and I do not want to do that."

He beckoned me toward the opposite door into the eastern tower, where he and Sophia had been hidden when we first arrived.

Instead of a stairwell, this door led to a room lit by a tall window in each of the six outward-facing walls. As well as the door leading to the grand chamber, there was another door on the other inner wall, even narrower, leading to a small, low-ceilinged room built into the brickwork where the tower joined the east wing of the house, which I guessed must at one time have been a garderobe or privy. It was now quite empty, the walls of mellow brickwork, lit by two candles in sconces, and the floor of earthenware tiles. In the rear wall of this tiny room was built a recess about the height of a door and of a size that suggested it might once have held a small altar. Leaning against the interior wall of the recess, Jerome pressed his heel hard against the innermost floor tile and stepped back as a trapdoor concealed beneath the tiles swung soundlessly upward, its weight beautifully poised on a wooden pivot. The lid was made from two solid blocks of oak nailed together, perhaps a foot thick; when in place its covering of tiles made it invisible, and no priest-hunter, knocking on the surface, would hear any hollow sound from within.

"Welcome to my home away from home." Jerome gestured with his knife. "Not even five among the servants know this hide is here. It is carved into the very fabric of the house and is made to be undetectable from either side. You will find it surprisingly comfortable."

"Master Owen's handiwork?" I asked.

Jerome glanced sidelong at me. "Very good. I see you have learned much, Bruno. The question is, how much have you passed on?"

"I do not understand you," I said. Jerome gave a little click of impatience, but before he could speak we heard the echo of hurried footsteps on the stairs and the stocky servant returned carrying a length of rope. My stomach lurched.

"Bind his hands before him," Jerome barked, levelling the knife at my face. "Make it secure. He can slip through mouseholes, this one. It would go better for you if you don't resist, Bruno."

I did not; after the night's events I no longer had the strength left for resistance. My left shoulder was so badly torn from the man's previous attentions that it barely seemed part of me anymore. I held out my arms and when my wrists were tied for a second time, the position seemed almost familiar.

"Give me the rope and get gone, help the household hide any sign of our presence and make ready for the pursuivants," Jerome told the servant, gesturing for him to hurry. "I will finish here. Sophia, go to Lady Eleanor, tell her we must have horses made ready. I will ride with you to Abingdon-I have contacts there who may be able to accompany you to the boat. You," he said, turning to me and nudging me hard between the shoulder blades toward the gap in the recess. "In there."

Sophia wavered, as if unwilling to leave me to his mercy. "Jerome, do not hurt him. He has been kind to me."

"I'm sure he has," Jerome replied, stony-faced.

I sat awkwardly on the edge of the gap in the floor, unable to balance without the use of my hands, and took a last look at Sophia's bone-white face, before feeling as best I could with my trussed hands to grip the grooves carved into the wooden lintel above the hold. I slid my body awkwardly through and under the wall; Jerome helped me on with a shove that caused me to land heavily on my damaged shoulder on the brick floor of the vault beneath. He took one of the candles from the wall and twisted his body through after me, lithe as a cat, guarding the flame with his right hand. Over his shoulder he had looped a length of rope and a piece of cloth.

By the jittery light of the candle flame, I saw that we had landed inside a surprisingly spacious cavity that appeared to have been built into the angle of the wall where the east range of the house joined the eastern tower of the gatehouse; it was high enough for a man to stand in, with a wooden bench placed in an alcove at the far end and beneath this, a small oak chest bound with iron bands. With some difficulty, I pressed my back against the wall and struggled to my feet. Jerome set his candle on the floor and gestured to the bench. I limped across to sit down, grateful for the brief rest but already feeling my rising anxiety at being enclosed in a small space. My breathing was growing quicker and shallower, and I knew that if he were to shut the trapdoor and leave me here alone I would forget how to breathe normally altogether. He regarded me with what I hoped might be pity, passing the rope between his hands as if deciding how to proceed.

"You don't like it here," he remarked, noting my nostrils flaring in and out as I attempted to remain calm. "I don't like being shut in either, but I have had to master it. Four hours I spent in here once, when there was a raid." He shuddered at the memory.

"I suppose if the alternative is having your belly ripped open, you learn to bear it."

Jerome acknowledged the truth of this with a wan smile, then crouched in front of me, staring me earnestly in the eye.

"What have you done with the letters, Bruno? I need to know. Who else have you told about me?"

"I have told you-the letters are in my room. As for you-I only guessed at your identity tonight and I have not seen anyone since."

"And I say you are lying," he said, rising impatiently to his feet. "Well, it is no matter. Jenkes will have the truth from you. He is quite as skilled as some of the queen's men in that grisly art. Did you know he was a mercenary in his youth? There is not much he does not know about pain-inflicting and enduring it." He flashed me a significant look and turned away. "People have had to die to protect my secret, Bruno. If you have set anyone else to hunt me down, my friends and I must at least know where to be vigilant."