,’ he added, with obvious relish.
We headed towards the yard doors, sunlight glinting up ahead. Deep grooves ran down towards the yard where the carriages had rattled through, bringing in food and drink. And taking out the bodies. The ancient stone floor had been worn smooth by centuries of debtors trudging wearily through the gate. And now here I was to join them – just one in an endless line of wretched souls stretching on and on for ever, to the end of days, all pressed and pushed and prodded by men like Cross.
Before we reached the yard he opened a door to the right and pointed up a set of dank stairs that smelled violently of piss and beerish vomit. I could hear laughter coming from the floor above, and music. ‘Tap Room,’ Cross said. He leaned down beneath the stairs and pulled open what looked like a cellar door, revealing a narrow coffin-shaped space below. A foul, rotten smell wafted up, even worse than the stairs. Cross grimaced and put an arm across his face. ‘The Hole. Punishment room. I’ve seen a man last three days in there. Couldn’t remember his own name when we pulled him out.’ He watched my face fall with a satisfied air.
At the end of the corridor he unlocked a door to the left and pushed me into a small cell. ‘The Pound. You can wait here until the governor gets back.’
The Pound was not as bad as the Hole – that much I was grateful for. But it was not much better. The air felt suffocatingly close and damp and the walls and floor were filthy, with just one tiny, barred window too high to look through. A line of chains and manacles of different weights hung from the ceiling, clinking softly in the breeze from the door.
Cross gestured to a ghoulish collection of torture implements fixed to the far wall: thumbscrews, iron collars and whips. ‘D’you like our display, Mr Hawkins? The governor put those up himself.’ He turned to me with a straight face. ‘Mr Acton takes a keen interest in the history of the gaol.’
I stared at them in horror. ‘They’re not used on the prisoners?’
‘Of course not.’ Cross pulled down an iron skull cap and gave it an affectionate pat, as if it were a child’s head. ‘That would be against the law, wouldn’t it?’ He scraped his thumbnail slowly against a thick crust of blood that had dried along the rim. ‘Well, then. Shall I remove your chains before I go, sir?’
At last. Jakes had promised they would come off once I was inside. ‘If you would,’ I said, holding out my hands.
