C.J. Sansom: Revelation

He was silent for a while then, frowning with concentrated thought. He was mad, I knew. There was something in his complete self-obsession that reminded me of Adam Kite in his worst phase, but there was something very different too, something wild and savage that I did not begin to understand. I knew that at any moment he might jump up and kill me. But he stayed quiet, thoughtful. After a while he spoke suddenly. 'Goddard treated me badly. That hard tongue of his. He regretted it when I hammered nails into his jaw before I drugged him.' He smiled. 'How surprised he looked when he woke up, after I broke in and knocked him unconscious. He was another that thought I was stupid. He learned different.'

My back burned and the ropes chafed at my wrists and ankles as I listened to him. He was talking without even looking at me now. 'When they closed the monastery, put me out in the world, it made my head spin. Helpless, like a tiny boat in a great storm. Yet it was all meant by God. The day came when I heard his voice, and knew that it was his, that he had chosen me.' He looked at me then and smiled transparently. He seemed to notice how uncomfortable I was for the first time, and cocked his head slightly. 'Are you in pain:' he asked. 'Does your back hurt:'

'Yes.'

'Think what it will be like for you in Hell. They are all there already, your friend Elliard and the others. Perhaps the devil will choose to make you wield a pickaxe for ever and ever among the flames, breaking up stones, your bent back an agony of pain. For ever and ever.' He smiled. 'To purge the enemies of the Lord.'

I thought I caught a sound, back up the passage. I strained to hear. If they came quietly and took him by surprise I might be saved. But it was nothing. The silence that followed seemed to go on for ever, broken only by disjointed remarks from the madman facing me.

'The solicitor Felday said you knew Elliard,' Cantrell said at length.

'Yes. He was my friend.' I took a deep breath. 'That was when I decided I would find you.'

'No, no. That was the devil.' Cantrell shook his head vigorously, then suddenly was on his feet, grasping the sword. 'Do not deceive me!' He knelt before me, and again the sword touched my throat.

'Admit the truth,' he demanded. 'Say you are possessed by the devil. Say he is in you.'

And then I heard it. Far away. A metallic clunk. A creak. A faint rushing sound. I understood and my heart sank. They were opening the doors up at the Charterhouse that held the water back. They knew or suspected that we were down here, and they were going to drown us both like rats. I remembered Harsnet saying he would do anything to protect the Archbishop.

'Admit the devil is in you.' Cantrell’s face was full of rage now. I did not know what to say. Would admitting or denying the accusation make him more likely to kill me?

'I cannot think,' I said. 'I am confused . . .' I thought feverishly, if I could get to the nearest alcove when the water came, wedge myself in somehow . . .

'The devil struggles inside you. Come, admit it. I command you in Jesus' name.' He twisted the sword point, opening a new cut in my neck.

Then came a violent blast of cold air and a roaring, crashing sound. Cantrell whirled round. In the light from his candle I saw a wall of water and foam filling the entire tunnel, rushing down on us. I thrust myself sideways, into the alcove. Cantrell had no time to make a sound before the flood sent him spinning away. I saw him go, arms outspread, as though he was flying.

THE VERY FORCE of the flood saved me, for I had rolled far enough into the alcove for the backwash to slam me up against the far end. I twisted amid the rush of water, thrust out my bound legs and made contact with a side wall, pressing my back into the other wall at the same time. The pain was excruciating but I knew I must not slip or I too would be swept away. The water swirled around me, tugging at my clothes, nearly pulling me from my lodgement. My legs shook, the lump at my back scraped agonizingly against the bricks, burned skin peeling away. But I held on. The rushing water rose over my neck, over my face. My hair streamed out as some nameless stinking thing slid past my nose. My lungs burned and I felt my head swim. Is this the end? I thought. Does it end like this?

A great sucking sensation nearly dislodged me once more. It was the water ebbing. My head was suddenly in the open. I took a huge gasp of air. The water swirled down below my chest, then rushed away and was gone with a last rushing boom. Only a trickling sound remained, and loud drips falling from the ceiling.

I let myself tumble to the ground, shouting in agony as I landed on my shoulder, jarring it. I was a mass of pain, shivering with cold, wet through and stinking. And my hands and feet were still bound. I rolled out of the alcove, into the passage. And I thought, if I have survived, Cantrell might have too.

A FAINT HALF-LIGHT coming through the dripping grille lightened the gloom. It was dawn, we had been here all night. I stared round frantically. Where was he? And then my heart leaped into my mouth as I saw him. He was sitting up against the grille, facing me.

I groaned. I was too weak to fight any more, even to think. But Cantrell stayed unmoving. I stared and stared through the gloom, trying to see if he was breathing. Once or twice in the seemingly endless time that followed he appeared to move. Then I heard shouting from beyond the grille and saw lights moving there, then several men jumped into the ditch in front of the grille, tramping through stream-water. They held their torches up, exclaiming when they saw Cantrell sitting there with his back to them. But by the light of their torches I saw now that he was impaled, one of the broken metal rods sticking right through his head, brains and blood smearing his face. He must have been thrown against it by the full force of the flood. His eyes were open and he looked astonished, angry. In his last seconds he must have realized that he had failed. I found it strange that during the night I had felt no sense of evil passing.

A guard bent to the grille, a key in his hand. It was hard to get it open.

'The lawyer's here!' he called. 'Alive!'

A new figure bent and entered the tunnel. Harsnet came up to me and held a torch to my face. I met his gaze.

'Is Barak alive?' I croaked. 'Yes.'

'You would have drowned me.'

He looked sad, but not ashamed, his face stayed set. 'We guessed you were down here.' Harsnet spoke slowly, his west country accent strong. 'There were marks on the bolt on the hatch, we wondered if he had somehow closed it from below. I feared that with the powers he has he might have got away in these tunnels, even if I sent a dozen men after him. It was the only way to be sure he died, the only way. I'm sorry, Matthew.'

THREE DAYS LATER an unexpected visitor arrived at my house. I was still in bed, recovering from my ordeal, when a flustered Joan appeared to say that Lord Hertford himself had called. I told her to show him up. I knew I should have made the effort to rise and receive him in the parlour, but I was too weary.

Lord Hertford wore a plain, fur-lined coat, a grey doublet beneath. I thought again how different he was from his brash, gaudily dressed brother. He had struck me before as a man of deadly seriousness, but today he was relaxed, giving me a friendly smile before sitting in the chair by my bed. I thought, today he is the politician. 'I am sorry I must receive you here,' I said. He raised a hand. 'I was sorry to hear of what you suffered in that sewer. And at Goddard's house before. We would never have got Cantrell had you not realized Goddard's killing was intended to mislead us. Catherine Parr would be dead by now.'

I sighed. 'I am sorry we could not get him sooner. Nine victims killed, including the solicitor and the innocent coalman that we found dead.'