I managed to curtsy my thanks, eyes downcast to hide the burden of hatred that filled my chest so that I could scarce breathe. They might rejoice at bringing John low, but they would get no more satisfaction from my misery.

I was led by a silent individual, more guard than servant from the weaponry attached to his person, to one of the towers, not a dungeon as I had feared, but, except that it was not below ground, little better. Thrust into the room without ceremony, the heavy door was locked at my back, leaving me to blink in the shadows.

Shatteringly cold, severely under-furnished, almost lightless with windows little more than arrow slits, this was a part of the original stone structure that had undergone no refinement over the years. No fire warmed the dank air that stank of long disuse and blood and rodents. There was a bench, a coarsely constructed stool. There was no comfort here. I could barely see across the room, only conscious of a movement as a figure rose slowly from the roughly-constructed bed against the far wall.

John, once Duke of Exeter, reduced to this. King’s brother, King’s counsellor, locked away in filth and neglect. All he lacked were the chains. It was as if I could see the axe poised above his neck, if that is what the Countess was pleased to grant. That he might be torn apart with animal fury by the promised mob was too much for my mind to encompass. Despair and grief entwined in my belly with the stench, so potent that I could not at first speak. There was the reek of incipient death in this room, and it silenced me.

It was John who broke the silence, John who was never afraid to put into words his worst fears, to face the danger head-on. Was it not always so?

‘Elizabeth.’ It was little more than a sigh. My belly clenched. I had not thought that he might already be injured.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

Because he remained as far from me as he could get, his back flat against the wall, hands splayed there at his sides, his beloved features were impossible to discern, but I could hear the rasp of pent-up anger as he demanded, almost savagely:

‘Why are you here?’

‘To see you.’

‘I don’t want you here. If you bang on the door, my winsome jailer will return and release you.’

It was not what I expected, but then, what had I hoped for? Not that he would welcome me with open arms, but this was rejection after our tentative promises in the Jerusalem Chamber. I took a single step forward.

‘I will not go. I am come to appeal for the life of my husband. I am come to beg the Countess for mercy.’ Until I could sense his mood, I could not speak of my failure, even though in the end I knew I must. There was no room for untruths between us, nor would he believe me. ‘I am here because I could not stay away. Did you think I would hide behind Henry, seeking his goodwill by abandoning you? You are my husband, for good or ill. It is my duty and my care to plead for you.’ I took a breath. ‘I am here to plead for you out of love.’

There was a long pause before he found the innocuous words to reply.

‘Then I should be grateful, should I not? For no one else will.’

How cruel truth could be. After that brutal assessment John did not move. The shadows remained motionless as if even his breathing was stilled.

And then: ‘You will not succeed. But you know that.’

I could not deny it. And how lacking in emotion he was. I knew I must take care not allow my own to overflow and drown us both. Driven by an urge to be practical, to bring some lessening of the pain in that bleak confine, I turned and hammered on the door, which was immediately unlocked. So the guard was waiting outside. Perhaps even listening, although what he might learn that could further damage John’s cause I could not imagine.

‘Didn’t take long, mistress. The goods too damaged to satisfy your needs?’ His grin was as obscene as was the implication. And I feared what I could not see.

‘Long enough to be ashamed at the state in which the Earl of Huntingdon is kept,’ I said. ‘I wish for candles.’

‘It might be better if you don’t …’ I heard John murmur.

‘I’ve got no orders.’ The guard remained unabashed.

‘Fetch them. Fetch wine and bread. The King my brother would not have this man kept in this condition. And he will surely hear of it …’

For a long moment I thought that he would disobey.

‘Would you defy me?’

‘Not I! As you wish, mistress. On your head be it.’

With a guffaw at his own wit, the man departed, returning with two rush lights, a flagon of wine and two cups, but no bread. No matter. I took them without a word of thanks—I was beyond thanks—and he locked the door again.

At first I busied myself, placing the lights in their brackets, but when their flickering illumination showed what had been hidden, all I could do was look at John, horror seeping into my bones. Someone had already applied a punishment to his unprotected flesh and enjoyed the task. Clothes stiff and begrimed from his days at sea and the beaching, that was the least of it. There was blood on hose and tunic, for had he not been severely manhandled? Hair dark and matted with filth, bruising along his jaw and beneath one eye, blood dried and smeared, it was clear to me that he had been given no attention. I thought the fingers of one hand, curled clumsily into a talon against the stonework, were broken. Someone had already taken revenge with a heavy hand, but not enough to rob him of his senses. They wanted him alive and aware. Nothing must be done to strip away the suffering of the final punishment to come.

Sorrow, slippery with regret, welled up in me, and I swallowed hard, but he must have seen what I could not hide, for his smile was twisted, resembling more a grimace as his damaged muscles resisted even the slightest movement.

‘I doubt I’m good to look at. I said it would be better without light, but you never listen, Elizabeth. You never did, so you’ll not start now.’

I would not argue with him. Instead I crossed the room, stopping only to pour a cup of the wine, and pushed him gently to sit on the bed where he subsided with a groan. With difficulty I helped him to bend the fingers of his less damaged hand around the cup and aided him to drink, surprised when he did not demur. He was weaker than I thought.

‘By the Rood, that’s poor stuff,’ he grimaced.

‘Your jailor doesn’t care about the vintage. When did you last eat?’

‘Feeding me is not one of the Countess’s priorities. As long as I am on my feet to greet my executioner …’

‘You need food. I will arrange it.’

‘No.’ Not all his strength was drained. He stopped me by dropping the cup and clasping my wrist, even though the effort made him gasp.

‘This is the end, Elizabeth.’ A flat, hard statement of truth. ‘We’ll not prolong it with fine wines and fair repasts.’

Tears of despair collected on my lashes, guilt stabbed hard at my heart, but I transmuted it into anger. ‘In God’s name, John, why did you not listen to me? I warned you what might happen. Did I not advise you to use more subtle means than an uprising?’ Emotion was not too far away, lodged like a mouthful of dry bread in my throat. ‘Why would you not listen to me?’

‘Because you spoke with your brother’s voice,’ he observed laconically, the same reasoning that we had already tossed, endlessly, between us. ‘And I, in the end, could not betray mine. Leave it. If you need a deathbed confession from me, that will exonerate me of my sins, I can’t do it.’ There was the defiance, still strong, despite the wounds and abrasions, the damaged voice. I could not look at the bruises that already encircled his throat as if fingers of steel had been pressed there, presaging what lay ahead with the kiss of the axe. His voice became a harsh rasp. ‘It is too late for that.’ His eyes slid to mine. ‘Someone talked. Someone leaked the plan to Henry. He was ready for us. He knew the date and the time.’

My breath faltered.

‘How could that be?’ he asked.

All I could do was stare at him.

‘Not that it matters,’ he continued. ‘Here we are, and I must face the consequence of my so-called treachery. If a man lights the conflagration of treason he has to accept that the flames can burn him too.’

‘John …’

‘No. Don’t say anything. There is nothing more to say.’

And stopped me with his broken fingers against my lips.

‘Elizabeth. No. We are past all that. The choices have been made, the decisions taken. An ill wind brought me back to these shores, into the arms of waiting fate, and fate desires my death …’

His voice trailed away into silence. And there was the future after all, crowding in on us with its foul breath.

‘I swear I will do all I can to make fate step aside,’ I promised as my gut churned with nausea.

John’s smile was raw. ‘Just sit with me. Or does my appearance disgust you?’ He tried to retrieve the cup and swore. ‘My hands don’t work too well.’ It looked as if someone had stamped on them. ‘Tell me something I can hold fast to, to the end. Something that is good and indestructible and redolent of past happiness. About the children. About Dartington. About anything but …’

‘I cannot. I cannot talk of any of this.’ Although I remained seated with him, in the face of his courage, my brave words meant nothing. ‘All I can see is …’ My breath hitched, my blood was cold as death.

‘All you can see is my death.’

‘Yes. I can do nothing.’

The sneer was back, well marked beneath the crusted blood and bruising. ‘Will Henry not make a final bid to save me to please his well-beloved sister?’

‘Not so well-beloved. Henry refuses my pleas and has handed the jurisdiction to Countess Joan and Thomas FitzAlan.’