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It was the same material used for the cloaks worn by Nottingham's serjeants.

A lieutenant's device had been embroidered into one corner with yellow thread.

Hugh's wife had stitched it there eleven years earlier, when he'd received his promotion.

Most of the cloth was stained with blood.

I looked at the messenger.

"Where did you get this?"

"They took him, sir."

My fingers tightened around the fabric.

"Who?"

"Lord Fitzwalter's men."

"Where?"

"In your old chambers. Last night."

I stared at him.

"The guards were waiting inside the room," he continued. "Not outside in the corridor. They were already in there when he arrived."

My stomach sank.

Hugh had gone after the letter.

"Did he get it?"

"I don't know, sir. Nobody knows."

The boy swallowed.

"They said he had something clenched in his hand when they brought him down the stairs. They couldn't get his fingers open."

I looked at the bloodstained cloth again.

"Where is he now?"

"In the cells."

The messenger hesitated.

"And Lord Fitzwalter's given an order."

I already knew I wasn't going to like what came next.

"Tell me."

"Lieutenant Reyner is to be hanged at dawn."

I stopped breathing for a moment.

"They're building the gallows in the castle yard tonight, sir. The men can hear them working."