And then such agony as no man had ever dreamed of. The red hot spit was inserted into his body.

He screamed violently as the fearful instrument of torture and death penetrated into his organs.

‘Think of Gaveston,’ cried Ogle. ‘Think of little Hugh. Think of them, my lord― Think of them―’

Edward tried to struggle but the table was pinning him down. His screams were so loud that they penetrated the thick walls of the castle. Everyone within those walls that night must have heard him.

‘He can’t last long,’ said Ogle, and even Maltravers and Gurney were shaken.

Edward was no longer screaming; his breath was coming in long tortured gasps.

‘His inside will be a charred mass by now,’ said Ogle. ‘And there will be no mark on his body for any to see. The spit is protected by horn so there will not be a hint of a burn even.’

He seemed proud of his handiwork.

Edward lay still now. Ogle withdrew the spit. There was no movement from the body as he did so.

‘Take off the table now,’ said Ogle. ‘There will be not a mark on his body.

No sign of violence, no bruise, no burns. None will know that his intestines have been burned away.’

The table was set down. Neither Maltravers nor Gurney wished to touch the man. It was the experienced murderer who did that. He turned him over and gave a gasp as he did so.

‘Bring the lantern nearer,’ he commanded.

The three men stood at the bedside, looking down on the still dead face on which was an expression of terror and agony such as they had never before witnessed.

The features were set in that horrible grimace of pain. Nothing could have more clearly proclaimed that Edward the Second had died the most terrible, violent and cruel death which man could devise.

‘He died in his sleep,’ the said, ‘It was a peaceful ending.’

There was no mark of violence anywhere on his body. But that expression on his face was clear for all who beheld it.

The three murderers conferred together.

‘You said there would be no sign,’ complaincd Maltravers.

‘How was I to know it would show on his face?’ grumbled Ogle.

He had only obeyed orders, he said. So had they all but they thought it wise to slip quietly out of the country and wait for the outcome.

The Abbot of Gloucester came to the castle and took the body away. It would remain in his care until a stately funeral could be arranged. Throughout the country the people were talking of their late King. What had happened to him? There was some mystery about his death.

Was his wife not living in adultery with her powerful and avaricious paramour?

The young King was fast assuming his responsibility. He had been guided too long by his mother and her lover.

There were questions he wanted to ask. Where were those who had held his father prisoner? Why had they left the country? There was so much he wanted to know. On all skies there were scandals concerning his mother. He was breaking free of his bonds. There was so much he had to discover and he was determined to learn.

The storm was rising and the storm would grow big.