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away.
    Safely? We’re on top of a monastery on top of a hill.        
    At the thought, I want to laugh wildly, it sounds so crazy. Being here is exhilarating and a little daunting at the same time. The others are unbuckling their belts and hanging up their headphones, so I do the same. From the corner of my eye, I see a man in a black robe emerge from a door in the tower. Dubrovski jumps out and goes to meet him. Now that we’ve got our headphones off and can talk privately, Mark turns to me with a smile. ‘Are you okay? How was that?’
    ‘Fantastic,’ I say, smiling back.
    ‘Good. Now the work begins.’ A worried expression crosses his face. ‘Dubrovski is in a very bad mood. I’ve no idea why. It’s not going to make things any easier. Up here, there’s nowhere for him to release it, except on his nearest companions. Still, if we stay calm and focused, we should be all right.’
    ‘You make him sound really terrifying,’ I say, worried myself by Mark’s evident discomposure. ‘Have you ever seen him lose it?’
    Mark looks awkward and glances out to where Dubrovski is already shaking hands with the black-robed man, his hair ruffled by the strong wind. ‘Come on,’ he says without answering me, ‘we’d better get a shift on.’
    Outside, the wind buffets us. I can hardly hear what anyone is saying but follow Mark as we are led through the wooden door and into the tower. The instant quiet within is disconcerting after the hours of engine noise. It’s dark inside, the cool stone interior lit by small electric lights tucked at intervals just beneath the ceiling, linked by loops of black wires, and our footsteps echo as we start to descend the spiral staircase.
    It’s atmospheric all right. I feel like I’ve just walked into a horror film. The chill prickles my skin despite the jacket I’m wearing. Ahead of me, the men are descending, talking in English but the booming echo means it’s not easy to understand what they’re saying. We go down, down and down, until at last the man at the front opens a door and we’re stepping out into daylight. I’d almost forgotten it was still daytime outside, with the creepy nocturnal feel inside the tower. Now we’re out, in a flagged corridor with white-painted plaster walls. It’s lined with wooden doors with iron handles, and iron sconces holding candle-style electric bulbs tilt from the walls every few feet. But there’s still something odd about the atmosphere. My skin is still tingling and my breath seems to be coming a little shorter.
    Maybe the atmosphere is thinner up here. Goodness knows how high we are.
    Mark lingers until we are walking side by side, and then bends down to mutter to me as we go. ‘You see how that monk is wearing a black robe over the white? That’s why they were known as Black Friars in England. They’re Dominicans, named for the order founded by St Dominic.’
    My heart plummets and I can’t stop a gasp coming to my lips. The word echoes through my mind and, without meaning to, I say weakly, ‘Dominic?’
    ‘Yes. A man who believed in charity and self-denial, and...’ Mark smiles a little ‘...mortification of the flesh. The spiritual benefits of physical discomfort of all kinds, including flagellation.’
    A vivid picture flashes into my mind. It is Dominic stretched before me, his naked back open to me, his hands gripping the frame of the leather seat. I’m holding a flogger, a cat o’ nine tails, its soft leather strings ready to bite into his flesh. Then, against every instinct, I’m drawing back my arm and driving forward with all my force, striking him over and over, making the skin on his back redden, weep and finally bleed. I don’t want this. I long to run my hands over his body, caress him, kiss him and be tender with him, but he’s telling me to go on, to go harder. I know it’s because he needs the redemption my blows are giving him. They’re cleansing him of the sin he couldn’t escape – the sin of