Owen - Book One of the Tudor Trilogy by Riches Tony

Author:Riches, Tony [Riches, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Preseli Press
Published: 2015-07-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Winter of 1438

The worst thing about Newgate Gaol is the foul odour permeating the old stones of the building. I taste the taint of death and despair with every breath. The gaol is run by private gaolers known as ‘keepers’, cruel men, hardened by their work and keen to profit from their charges in any way they can. The other inmates range from those awaiting trial to the most hardened criminals in London, condemned to hang on the gallows at Tyburn.

The shouts and demonic howls of other inmates echo down narrow, dark corridors, keeping me awake at night. One of my neighbours seems to have lost his mind and bangs his empty food dish against the iron grill of his door, loudly protesting his innocence for hours at a time. Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! The man stops for a moment and I hold my breath, waiting for the racket to continue. It invariably does, at all hours of the day and night. I know it will drive me mad, but there is no point in complaining as no one cares.

My cell is ten feet square with a small, north-facing window, too high to see through, yet the source of freezing drafts on cold winter nights. Alone, with only a straw mattress and an old iron bucket, I draw comfort from the thought that my friends have probably been released and are doing what they can to have me released.

There is nothing for me to do other than reflect on the sad turn events have taken. I try to take stock of my life and thank God I have two strong and healthy sons, who give me all I need to live for. I miss them and pray they are old enough not to have their minds turned against me. I miss my Catherine and force an image of her frail body from my mind, trying instead to recall her youthful beauty at our first meeting.

I must presume all my possessions are now stolen or confiscated by Lord Beaumont’s men. All I have to show for thirty-eight years is what I managed to hide from the cursory search when I was arrested. I peer through the small holes in the door grill, trying to see down the corridor. A brown rat scuttles busily alongside the wall and out of my limited field of view. There is no sign of my keepers.

Two of them share responsibility for the corridor where my cell is located. They both insist on being called ‘master’, although there the similarity ends. Master Griffin, the eldest, is surly and rarely speaks unless he has to. He has the dull, dead eyes of a man who has resigned himself to a miserable existence and carries an iron-studded truncheon. I am certain the old keeper would not hesitate to use it if I give him the opportunity.

Master Briggs cannot be more different. He enjoys scheming and taunts his charges with threats and promises he has no intention of keeping. I try to keep on good terms with them both, as my life could depend on it.

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