Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

Still pretending to be Crispian, I then deliberately became careless. I handed over papers in public places, I behaved with furtive nervousness, and I let damning remarks drop among my Jewish acquaintances, then looked guiltily around as if to see who had heard or understood. After a time I got quite annoyed that no one did anything, because there I was, spying away for all I was worth, passing on information about the workings of the fortress, and nobody did a damn thing to stop me.

What I wasn’t prepared for – what I don’t think anyone could have been prepared for – was that my plan would go so disastrously wrong; that I would be the one caught and charged as a spy. I had assumed that at some stage Crispian would be hauled off to face some kind of inquiry. Instead, they pounced on me while I was in the town, and they seemed to have been watching for me without my realizing it. Also – this was a bitter blow – they addressed me by my real name. When and how they discovered I wasn’t Crispian I have no idea, and it no longer seems to matter.

There were four of them and there was no possibility of resisting them. Even if I could have got away, where would I have gone? A bewildered, slightly angry air of innocence was clearly my best attitude, except that I didn’t even get chance for that. They half dragged me to a dim cellar with the smell of stale sweat emanating from the walls. Then they locked the door and went away.

I tried the door at once, of course, rattling it and shouting furiously to be let out, but the room was too far below the ground for anyone to hear me, and the door was massively thick oak, with a lock that resisted all my attempts to smash it.

I sat down in a corner of the room and wondered what they would do to me.

Edirne, 1912

The Pasha’s guards took Crispian, Gil and the reluctant Raif to a tall old building, marching them through a low archway into a large square, enclosed on all sides by rearing stone walls. At one end were a group of about a dozen men, all seated at a long table. There was an air of hasty tribunal about the situation.

‘Dear God,’ said Gil softly, ‘it’s like a court.’

‘What does he say?’ said Crispian, as a youngish man, clearly the leader, stood up and began to address incomprehensible words directly to them.

‘That they have no quarrel with us, but that the one who is of your family has sinned against the ancient law of treachery and betrayal.’ Raif sent a glance of apology to Crispian. ‘I know it sounds biblical, but I told you these people keep to the old ways.’ He listened for a moment, then said, ‘We’re being told that if we try to interfere we will be asked to leave. They’re being quite polite about it.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Gil sarcastically.

‘Are they going to try Jamie?’

‘I think so. They will regard it as a solemn ceremony.’

‘But is this kind of proceeding permitted?’ demanded Crispian. ‘I mean – is it lawful? Can’t we call in some kind of authority?’

‘Mr Cadence, we’re not in England where you can call for policemen or lawyers. Edirne is being besieged by half a dozen countries, all of them our enemies who want to destroy it. These people believe your cousin sold secrets to those enemies. I doubt you would find a single person in this city who would lift a finger to help him.’

‘But he’s innocent,’ said Crispian, helplessly.

‘Is he? Can you be sure of that?’ Raif turned away and Crispian looked at Gil, who shrugged as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know if he’s innocent or not.

The men at the table had been murmuring to one another, but quite suddenly they sat up straighter and turned their heads to a door in a corner of the square. It was flung open and Jamie was brought out. Crispian had been having wild ideas of somehow rushing the men around the table and snatching Jamie away, but he saw at once it would be impossible. Jamie was heavily guarded, and his ankles and wrists were manacled.

‘He’s very frightened,’ he said softly to Gil.

‘So would I be in his shoes. He’s managing not to show it, though. They’ll respect that.’

But in the rapid interchange of words that followed, it did not seem to Crispian as if Jamie was being accorded much respect at all. Raif translated as much as possible, but at times the dialogue was so fast it was difficult for him to keep up.

‘Also,’ he said, ‘the leader speaks with a strong…’ He paused, clearly searching for the word.

‘Accent? Patois?’

‘Yes. I cannot follow it all.’

But what they could all follow was that the men around the table were now nodding solemnly and raising their right hands. The leader made a show of counting the hands, then walked to the centre of the square, standing directly in front of Jamie. One of the older men joined him.

‘He is to act as interpreter for your cousin,’ said Raif. ‘See, they are beckoning us to go a little nearer so we can hear what’s being said. But I’m very much afraid they’ve agreed he’s guilty and they’re going to pass sentence.’

A silence fell on the square. Then came the words, then the voice of the translator.

‘James Cadence, we find you guilty of spying. Of selling or giving away information about our country in a time of war – information that could lead to its enemies possessing the country. Therefore you will suffer the punishment our fathers meted out to those found guilty of betraying our country and our people to enemies.’ A pause. ‘The ancient rule sets down that whichever part of the body committed the sin shall be cut out.’ Then, as cold horror washed over Crispian, the man said, ‘Since you are guilty of speaking secrets that would aid our enemies, tonight at sunset your tongue will be cut from your mouth so you can never speak again.’

The Present

Jan Malik had been glad to keep out of all the gossip and speculation surrounding the death of Clem Poulter.

He was not asked to give evidence at the inquest, and he had only been questioned by the police in the most cursory way. This was fair enough; he had met Poulter on only a couple of occasions. But for the sake of politeness and Amy Haywood he went to the hearing, sitting quietly at the back of the little public gallery. Amy was with her grandmother, who gave evidence of having found the body and was clearly distressed by the whole thing. Jan, who had half-wondered whether to ask Amy to have lunch with him afterwards, saw it would not be appropriate.

Amy smiled at him in a subdued, half-guilty way, as if she thought a smile might be out of place on such a sombre occasion. She had abandoned the jeans and cheesecloth, and was wearing a black pinstripe trouser suit and cream silk shirt, which made her look unexpectedly responsible. Her hair was brushed into a shining waterfall and clipped back. But there was still the impression that she had not been cut from quite the same cloth as the majority of her species. Jan studied her covertly, supposing she was linked up to some grubby young man in Durham, who made selfish and careless love to her half the night and did not appreciate her.

Immediately after the inquest, back at the Red Lion he scribbled a brief note to her, explaining he would be travelling around over the next few days in search of more traces of Ambrosian plainchant in the area. He would be back at the end of the week, he said, and maybe they could meet up for a drink if she was still in Upper Bramley. He wrote four drafts of this without hitting the right note of casual friendliness, and was about to embark on a fifth when he realized he was taking a great deal of trouble over a casual acquaintance. After this he folded the current version in an envelope, found her grandmother’s address in the phone book and posted the note before he could change his mind.