Eh bien. I won’t mention it again.
By mid-afternoon, the pain had become a sort of constant haze; time had lost its meaning.
At some point, d’Herblay came back out of wherever he was. They brought him a seat – my eyes were swollen almost shut.
‘Christ, you are ugly. If only Emile could see you now,’ he said. He laughed, nervously.
In fact, he wasn’t really tough enough to destroy me, even to accept the consequence of his own orders. He fidgeted.
And talked.
‘Really much more satisfying,’ he began, smiling, ‘catching you, instead of that pestilential priest. I’m not even sure these brigands I’ve hired would kill a priest.’ He nodded. ‘Tell me, where is my wife?’
I’d lost an eye tooth – this one – and I’d bitten my tongue because, despite my youth, I’m not as good at being beaten as I ought to have been. And my lips were so swollen I couldn’t speak well.
I didn’t even try to say anything, and to be fair, I suspect I just lay huddled, whimpering.
‘I gather that she is now spreading her favours around the court of King Peter. Perhaps she’s warming the king’s bed.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose there’s some consolation in knowing that one’s wife is not just unfaithful, but a whore. I suppose she suffers from some sickness.’ He leaned over me. ‘I married her for her lands. I knew she was soiled goods, so I suppose I got what I deserved.’ He shrugged. ‘How’d your people slip past my ambush, Gold?’
I suspect I whimpered. Let’s just take it as read throughout this reminiscence, eh?
‘As I say, perhaps for the best. But some people want your legate dead.’ He leaned over. ‘I really only want you dead, Gold. Although it brings me a certain joy to see you like this.’ His riding whip flashed. He struck my head, and I covered up, and his next blow went between my legs.
His heart wasn’t in it. He could have exploded my testicles. He could have torn the nose from my face with his whip. He didn’t.
This is the part that I remember. He didn’t laugh, or groan. He sighed. As if bored, or from simple revulsion.
I’d like to say I spat in his face.
I did not.
He spoke. I couldn’t see, but I could hear.
‘Just take him somewhere and cut his throat. Kill the horse and bury all his kit.’ I could hear him shift his weight.
I hated that they would kill Jacques.
‘Don’t be a fool – any of you. The sword looks good, but every knight in Italy will know whose it is, the same with the horse and any part of the harness. Off a cliff is best.’ I heard him walk away, and then I heard him mount his horse. And I heard every hoof beat as the horse walked right over me.
‘Goodbye, Cook. I find that I get very little in the way of pleasure from this, but I expect the knowledge that you are dead will cheer me up immensely.’ He cleared his throat. ‘By now, your legate will be as dead as you will shortly be. I’ll go and join my wife. Goodbye. Send my regards to hell.’
To hell.
I was unshriven.
I had most certainly sinned.
The brigands – let’s be fair, they were men just like me – tied my hands and feet to a spear and strung me, naked, between two horses. It was cold, although that was so little a part of my troubles that I don’t think I noticed until the swaying had stopped. My parts felt as if they had exploded and I couldn’t breathe.