Benjamin and I accompanied Kemble and his two officers back to the royal apartments. Spurge, at Benjamin's request, produced his plan of the Tower from a coffer. This was copied on a great roll of vellum which he spread out on the table, using candlesticks to keep it down at each corner. The drawing was very precise, everything clearly marked.
‘I did it myself,' Spurge declared proudly. The ones Sir Edward gave me when I took up office here were highly inaccurate.'
'Not very good at all,' the Constable agreed. He pointed to the small postern-doors indicated on the map. These, for example, were not on it.'
'Nor this.' Vetch pointed to a dotted line drawn through where I knew the royal menagerie stood. This runs under the royal menagerie; part of it is now used as a wolf-pit.' I glanced quickly at Benjamin but held my peace.
'It's part of the old Roman sewer system,' Spurge explained.
'And, before you ask,' Vetch added, 'early this morning I had the wolves confined. Spurge and I went down there. There are two tunnels: both are bricked off. Not even a mouse could get through.'
'So, you are sure that there are no secret entrances in or out of the Tower?' Benjamin asked.
‘None whatsoever,' Spurge declared. Td put my life on that.'
‘I pointed to the small postern-gates, some overlooking the moat, others the river. 'And this morning all these were guarded?’
They still are,' Kemble replied proudly. 'I, for one, wish to be above suspicion, Master Daunbey. Don't forget, even if someone could leave or enter the Tower secretly, such comings and goings would eventually be noticed.'
Benjamin tapped the map with his hand. 'May we borrow this?' ‘I’d prefer it if you didn't,' Spurge replied. 'In a way, it's as costly as any portrait or tapestry' 'I won't leave the Tower,' Benjamin promised. Spurge reluctantly agreed.
‘Do you wish me to accompany you around the Tower?' Kemble offered.
‘No, Sir Edward, I don't. However, I would be grateful for quarters, a chamber for myself and Shallot.'
Kemble smiled. The most spacious two are in the Wakefield Tower. ‘I’ll have them prepared. Master Daunbey,' he continued, 'can I ask your advice?' 'Of course.'
'If I keep the Tower locked and barred much longer,' Kemble declared, 'people will begin to chatter and the gossip might spread.' Then you had best open it,' Benjamin answered.
And, taking our leave, we left the royal quarters. Once we were out on the green, well away from any window or door, Benjamin stopped and beat the rolled-up map against his leg.
There must be two villains,' he said. 'One stole the gold in the city and the other killed Horehound. But why kill a drunken hangman?' He continued hoarsely.
I stared at a raven hopping towards me, its cruel yellow beak held out like a lance. I stamped my boot and shooed the bird away. (God forgive me, I can't stand ravens: they are birds of ill-omen. Ah, my little chaplain asks me why? It's the way the bastards look at me with their beady little eyes: as if they are truly disappointed that my head is still on its shoulders and not hanging on some pole where they can peck it to their hearts' delight).
What have we established?' Benjamin asked impatiently.
Well, we know there are two people, partners in villainy,' I replied. 'One is here in the Tower. He sent the first letter and tried to kill me by throwing me into the wolf-pit. However, on the latter occasion, Kemble and his officers were not involved. When I was screaming for my life in the wolf-pit, you were with them. The same is true when Horehound's murder happened. All three were with us. So, Master, it must be Mallow or one of his hangmen.'
I stopped as the people I was talking about came out of the Beauchamp Tower bearing Horehound's corpse, neatly wrapped and hidden by a canvas sheet which was lashed by cords at top and bottom. They took it over to a cart. Mallow climbed into the seat, cracked his whip and, with his three apprentices walking beside, made his way down to the Lion Gate.
Wormwood stopped, shading his eyes against the sun, and called out to us, We are going to bury him in the cemetery of the Crutched Friars. Say a prayer for the poor bugger,' he added.
Benjamin and I nodded and watched the miserable procession continue.
‘I am sure of it,' I whispered. 'One of them is the killer, but God knows who their accomplice is!'
'Mistress Undershaft!' Benjamin replied. We must speak to her again about her mysterious legacy. First, let's study Spurge's map.'
We walked round the Tower. As we did so, I became more heavy-hearted. Kemble was true to his word. Men-at-arms and archers guarded every entrance, water-gate and postern-door marked on the map.
‘You couldn't smuggle a rat in here,' I grumbled. 'Do you believe the underground tunnel is sealed off?'
'Of course,' Benjamin replied. 'If Spurge and Vetch were lying, they'd lose their heads.'
We did the full length of the Tower, coming back to where we started, then walked down to where the builders and masons were working on scaffolding up against a wall. They seemed a cheerful bunch of rogues, covered in dust, swearing and cursing as they scrambled about like monkeys. Benjamin called the master mason down.
'What do you want?' the fellow asked, shaking water from a pannikin over his face and wiping the dust from his wrists and arms.
'How long have you been working here?' Benjamin asked.
'Oh, must be a week now, sir.' He looked up. 'Martin!' he shouted.
A crop-haired, cheery-faced fellow came to the edge of the scaffolding and smiled down at us.
"We've been here a week haven't we?' The master mason shouted.
'Aye, it's about that.' The fellow's rustic accent seemed out of place, warm and friendly.
"Why?' the builder continued. 'Don't say we've got to stay another bloody night here?'
Benjamin shook his head. 'And you've seen nothing untoward?' he asked the master mason.
'Sir, we have come in to do the walls, and the walls we will do. Master Spurge has given us directions. We work from dawn till dusk, then -' he raised his voice – ‘We are supposed to go back to our homes. Last night we found the gates sealed and Sir Edward said none of us could leave and so here we stayed.'
Benjamin thanked him and moved off as the mason, cursing under his breath, climbed the ladder back on to the scaffolding. We returned to the royal quarters, gave Spurge his map back and left the Tower. Kemble had already ordered the main gates to be opened. We went along winding streets to Petty Wales and into the Monkshood tavern.
If Marisa had been Hellbane's doxy, she had soon forgotten him. We found her in a corner, sitting in the lap of a chapman who was plying her with drink. At first the ruffian was going to object, but when my hand fell to the hilt of my sword, he scampered off muttering that we were welcome to her. Marisa was one of those young women with an old face; hair as black as night falling down to her shoulders, a thin white face, a narrow slit for a mouth and the green eyes of a nasty-tempered cat. She wore a stained blue dress with the bodice cut low; it was rather dirty, but revealed all her charms. When Benjamin put a coin on the table, she leaned a little closer and became much friendlier. ‘I very rarely take two at a time.' 'Shut up!' I snarled. 'It's not your body we are after!'
Then what?' she snapped and, before I could intervene, her fingers had grasped the silver coin. ‘I am a good girl.' Her voice rose to a screech in an attempt to gain the attention of the landlord who had been standing watching us. I turned and glared at him: he moved to wipe the top of a beer-barrel as if his very life depended on it.
'Sit down, Marisa,' Benjamin ordered quietly. Another silver coin appeared between his fingers; this time it was held well away from her. 'You knew one of the hangmen at the Tower? A gentleman called Hellbane?'
Marisa's face softened. 'His real name was Crispin,' she whispered. ‘He was a printer. Did you know that? He came from Southampton where he had killed two men. He fled abroad but he said it was better to starve to death in England than do so in some foreign city, so he came back.' 'Did he enjoy his work?' I asked.
'Sometimes.' Marisa crossed her arms and sat back, blinking furiously at the tears welling in her eyes. 'He did love me,' she whispered hoarsely. 'He even said he'd marry me. He talked of earning enough, then we'd leave London and the Tower, travel north, go somewhere where no one would know us. Start up his old trade again.'
'Did he have friends?' Benjamin asked. He leaned across and gently caught her hand. Tell us, Marisa, please. We want to catch his killer.'
She forced a smile. 'I thought a gentleman always brought a lady a drink?'
Benjamin called the landlord across and, at Marisa's request, ordered three cups of white wine.
'And your best!' Marisa screeched. 'None of that bucket-swill! We are going to toast Hellbane's soul!' She turned to Benjamin. 'You asked if Hellbane liked his job, and the truth is no. He hated it. He said when he turned people off the ladder, he always closed his eyes. However, he thought being a hangman was the best protection against the sheriff's warrant. As for friends…? People like Hellbane don't have friends. Sometimes he'd go with that ridiculous guild, but he spent most of his time with me.' 'And the day he was killed?' I asked.
'We were to meet here one evening. He never came. The next morning they fished his body from the Thames. Someone had knocked him on the head but had not bothered to steal a penny from his purse or the rings from his fingers. He'd been put into a sack with weights and tossed into the Thames.' She paused as the landlord brought across the wine which she grasped and drank greedily. 'All I could think was that someone had wanted revenge. What does the Bible say, sir? Eye for eye, tooth for tooth?' 'I don't think so,' Benjamin retorted. 'I think Hellbane was killed because of what he knew.'
My master grasped her hand. 'Marisa, did he ever remark on anything strange happening in the Tower?’
'He hated the place,' she whispered, turning her cup. 'He claimed that, at night, ghosts walked. He heard strange sounds and cries… But no, he didn't mention anything in particular.'
'And he drank with the rest of the hangmen?' Benjamin asked.
'Oh yes, and sometimes they drank deeply. I joined them. The last occasion was the sixth of June, the King's birthday. It's the ancient custom for the constable to host a banquet for the Guild of Hangmen in the royal apartments.' She smiled thinly. 'A macabre affair, Masters. Mallow, Hellbane and the rest, all dressed in their hangmen's costumes, black leather jerkins, belts, swords; they even wore their masks and hoods. I and the other girls were quite frightened.
'And what happened?' I asked, curious at the thought of hangmen sitting at a table, masked and cowled, feasting and drinking.
Well, Sir Edward's a good man and the wine flowed. Afterwards, well, we played Hangmen's Bluff The men hid and their girl friends, we had to search for them.' She sipped from the cup. ‘You can imagine, sirs, the squealing, the kissing, the slapping and tickling! The galleries and corridors were dark, and each of the men masked!' Was Undershaft there? Mallow's lieutenant?' I asked.
'Oh yes, but he was by himself. The others called him a spoilsport so he took part for a while and then went home.' She smiled to herself. We did drink deeply that night.'
'Did Hellbane say anything?' I asked, an idea forming in my mind. 'Did anything untoward happen during those festivities?' Marisa tossed her head and rubbed her face. 'I can't remember much. Sir Edward Kemble and his officers were there. The wine flowed like water. Undershaft left early, I remember that. Others were lying in corridors or galleries, drunk as sots. That's all I know'
Benjamin handed the silver over and we made to leave. 'Sirs!' she called.
We went back to the table. She stared up at us and said, 'Hellbane thought Undershaft's death was curious: the man didn't have an enemy in the world. He kept to his woman and children.' She paused. ‘You might be right, for all I know; both he and poor Hellbane could have been party to some dreadful secret but what it was, I don't know'
I leaned across the table, kissed her cheek, and pressed a coin of my own into her hands. ‘I am sorry I was rude,' I whispered.
‘You must come back to the Monkshood some time,' she smiled. And, for a while, her eyes softened as her soul reappeared.
We left the tavern and walked back through the streets towards the Tower. 'What do you think this secret is?' Benjamin asked.
'I disagree with Marisa,' I replied. 'But what happens,. Master, if, during those festivities on the King's birthday, the hangmen did see or learn something mysterious? Perhaps they don't even realise it?' 'And?' Benjamin asked.
"Well, they were all masked and hooded,' I replied. 'Perhaps one of them stumbled on something. In their disguise and the poor light, the holder of this mystery decided it was best if they all die, just to ensure he kills the right one.'
'But, if that's the case, my dear Roger, the hangmen who did stumble on that secret would realise they were being pursued and act accordingly.' I couldn't answer that. "Let's visit Mistress Undershaft,' Benjamin declared.
We found the good widow woman sitting in a parlour embroidering a piece of linen. In the rooms above, we could hear the maid shooing the children into bed. Mistress Undershaft was welcoming enough, offering us ale and bread, but Benjamin refused. We sat opposite, watching as she continued to thread the needle for the cloth. "You have great skill, Mistress,' Benjamin remarked.
"My mother taught me,' she replied smilingly. 'But you are not here to praise my needlework, sirs.'
'No, Mistress, we are still puzzled by the strange bequest to you.'
'As I am,' she replied. She lay the piece of cloth in her lap and stretched one hand out towards the fire, half listening to the sounds above. 'I have told you, sirs, the bequest was made to goldsmith Thurgood. Who am I to object? There's no crime in that.'
I caught the lilt in her voice and asked if she was born in London. She shook her head.
'No, my family are from Lincoln, they're clothmakers. I met Andrew there some years ago, before we came to London.' 'Was he always a hangman?' I asked.
She blushed and her hands shook. ‘He was a priest,' she replied quietly. "Yes, sir, a defrocked priest. He killed a man in his own church and fled. I came with him to London. For a while he did some labouring before taking up his post as an apprentice hangman and joining the guild.' She shrugged. The rest you know.' 'But the children?' I remarked.
'Andrew was one of those priests who did not follow canon law,' she answered. 'He had his woman, she gave birth to children. Go round the churches of England, Master Shallot. It's none too strange. That's how he killed a man,' she continued. 'Andrew was a good priest. He worked hard for his parishioners. He was a carpenter by trade and sold what he made so his children were not a burden on the parish. His wife died. Two years later he met me. One day, a parishioner accosted him in the nave of the church and called Andrew filthy names. Knives were drawn. For a while Andrew took sanctuary. I gathered up his possessions and children and fled south’
'And you know of no reason why someone should kill your husband so barbarously?' Benjamin asked.
'I have told you, sir. Andrew was a private man. He kept to himself. He did not talk much about his trade. Sometimes he drank with the guild.'
'And the festivities on the night of the King's birthday?' I asked. ‘Your husband attended?' ‘Yes, but he left early.' 'Did he remark on anything untoward?'
She shook her head. ‘Nothing, except to say that his comrades were as drunk as pigs and were lewd with their women.' She picked up the embroidery and jabbed at it with her needle. 'I tell you, sirs, I have nothing to say. I cannot help you. If I…' She stopped speaking as a little girl burst into the room chased by a boy, his fingers covered in ash.
'Simon! Judith!' Mistress Undershaft stared down at the children. 'What on earth are you doing?' She grabbed the little girl, and her nightdress came loose exposing one thin white shoulder.
'It's Simon,' the girl squeaked, pointing at her brother. "He's trying to draw on my shoulder.' She pointed to the dirty charcoal mark in the shape of a ‘W. The boy stood, hands by his side, looking fearfully at his mother.
'Simon, you should not have done that!' Mistress Undershaft, highly agitated, began pushing him towards the door.
'But Simon says you've got one,' the little girl replied. ‘You have a letter on your shoulder.'
Mistress Undershaft fairly pushed them out of the room into the arms of the waiting maid. She slammed the door behind them, leaning against it, her face white as chalk, eyes closed, that lovely bosom heaving as if she had run a mile. I got up and walked towards her. "You heard?' she whispered without opening her eyes.
'Aye, Mistress, I did. Is it true? Does your shoulder bear the brand of a whore?'
She nodded, walked back, and slumped into the chair. Her shoulders began to shake as she wept.
'I have told you the truth,' she said between sobs. 'Both Andrew and I came from Lincoln. He was a priest, his woman died, and then he met me. He was kind and generous-hearted. He told me he could not live a life of celibacy. Yes, I was a whore,' she continued softly. 'I was born and raised as a seamstress, but times became hard.' She swallowed, wiping her eyes with her fingers.
That's what the quarrel was about, wasn't it?' Benjamin asked. 'When your husband killed that man in his church?'
‘Yes, it was about me,' she replied. Then Andrew took sanctuary.' She raised her face. ‘You know the law, Master Daunbey: either you surrender yourself to the royal justices, in which case Andrew would have certainly hanged, or you are given forty days to leave the kingdom. The friends and relatives of the man he killed would make sure he never left the city alive. So I organised everything. I didn't love Andrew but, there again, no man had ever stood up for me as he did. I smuggled him and his family out of Lincoln.'
'And the money left at Thurgood's?' I asked. That's yours, isn't it?' She nodded. 'I was a very good seamstress, Master Shallot, but I was an even better whore. The great and rich of Lincoln sought my favours. I kept my monies hidden. Andrew was proud and refused to touch my money. When he died, I simply drew it out of my secret lace and took it down to Thurgood's. I dressed and acted as a man. I didn't think anyone would show much interest.' She sighed, put the embroidery down on the chair and walked over to make sure the door was closed. She came back and stood over us. 'I could tell the day you first came that you were suspicious that I was not the grieving widow.' She crouched down before me, the skin of her beautiful face tight and glistening with sweat, those beautiful eyes begging and pleading with me. 'God be my witness, I did not love Andrew Undershaft. He was a good man, but he knew what I was. Now he is dead. I don't know why, God rest his soul. However, for the first time in my life, Master Shallot, I am free of the past. I am a woman of good standing in my community. I have a house, I have children, I have my trade as a seamstress and monies with the goldsmith. I can start again…' She paused.'… If I am allowed to.'
I stroked her hair, took her hand and made her stand. I kissed her on each cheek.
‘Your secret's safe, Mistress Undershaft.' I tapped her shoulder lightly. There are good physicians in the city. They could hide that for you.'
Benjamin also took her hand, vowing what she had told us would remain a secret. He made her promise that, if she remembered anything untoward, she would tell us.
When we left the house, darkness had fallen. Benjamin linked his arm through mine and we walked back towards the Tower. 'What do you think, Roger?' 'I believe her, Master. But, there again, if she can lie once, she can He a second time.' 'But you don't think that?'
'No, Master, I don't. I still wonder about her husband. Was that really his corpse discovered at Smithfield? Or is he the villain? An ex-priest, a violent man by all accounts.'
Benjamin stopped and leaned against a garden wall, listening to a nightingale which was singing so beautifully in the trees above his head.
'All things are possible, Roger. However, let's remember the three men who have been killed. They are all fairly young, tough, probably violent. They wouldn't give up their lives lightly. Ergo, were they murdered by someone close to them?'
'Not necessarily, Master,' I replied. ‘Undershaft, if it was he, could have been drugged or knocked on the head before he was burnt. Remember, his body was bundled into a cage at the height of the plague. No one would care a whit: Horehound and Hellbane could have gone the same way. I still believe we should ask the sheriff to search for Undershaft. Remember, he was a priest, skilled in matters of the Chancery. The drawing up and sealing of letters would be easy for such a man. But God knows where those blessed seals came from.,.'
'Aye, that's the stumbling block,' Benjamin agreed. Those damn seals.' He came closer. ‘I asked Agrippa about that. He confirmed the King had made a search of all Chanceries. Nothing remains from the reign of a young boy who ruled only for a few months some forty years ago.'
‘Henry will now be dancing up and down in fury, or gnawing on the rushes at Windsor, threatening to have my head on a pole,' I added bitterly.
Benjamin grinned and slapped me on the shoulder. Don't worry, Roger, the game's not over yet.'
Well, it nearly was. My master was far too trusting. We went down another alleyway, intending to enter the Tower by the Lion Gate. It was a quiet night, well away from the taverns and cheap markets of Petty Wales where you can buy or sell anything until the early hours. I was trailing slightly behind Benjamin, kicking at anything in my path, and wondering if I should suggest that we take a journey abroad. After all, we could be in Dover within a day, and in France by the end of the week. I was about to suggest this when a crossbow bolt flew by my face and cracked the plaster in the house alongside. I stopped.
My master pulled me down just as another bolt came whirring through the night air. We crouched like two little schoolboys, staring into the darkness, straining our ears for any sound. It came from the riverside,' Benjamin whispered.
I could hear the lap of the water and the faint cries of a boatman, but nothing else. The assassin could be anywhere,' I whispered.
Through the darkness came a whistle, full and merry on the night air, as if some lad was sitting on the quayside, a fishing rod in his hands. I recognised the tune, a lilting song, sung in the London taverns, about a young girl and her love for a great lord. Well, I did what I could. I whistled back. Once again an arrow smacked into the plaster above our heads. "Who's there?' Benjamin called.
The whistling began again, but this time it was chilling. I could imagine the assassin walking up and down, soft-footed, notching another bolt into the groove. The plaster of the house was white, and that was what he was watching. If we moved, he would see our silhouettes from where he stood with his back to the river, cloaked by the night. "Whistle again,' Benjamin ordered.
I tried to but my mouth was dry, and all I could do was croak. All the old signs of Shallot's terror were beginning to manifest themselves: a tightening of the stomach, a loosening of the bowels, and this overwhelming urge to run.
'For the love of life, whistle that bloody tune!' Benjamin whispered.
This time, panic lent its aid. I wet my lips, recalled the tune, and whistled it back. I also made the mistake of moving, and a crossbow bolt streaked across my hair. If it had been a barber's knife, I would have lost some of my lustrous locks. 'Now!' Benjamin screamed. 'Charge!'
I had no choice but to follow him and, even as I did, I recognised my master's wisdom. We were now away from the wall and the assassin would have to retreat. We streaked like greyhounds towards the river, shouting and yelling so loudly that even a sentry on the walls of the Tower called out to ask what was the matter. We reached the quayside: to my right I heard the faint patter of retreating footsteps. There was nothing, only a few boats tied to their poles, bobbing in the full evening current. Benjamin stopped and crouched down to ease the cramp in his legs and snatch gulpfuls of air. Well, well, Roger.'
He didn't have to commiserate with me. I was on my knees retching and coughing. I looked around, a postern-door in the Tower opened, and soldiers ran out towards us, carrying torches, swords drawn. 'Master Daunbey! Master Shallot!' I glanced up.
Vetch came forward. What's the matter? You were attacked?'
‘No!' I snarled, getting to my feet and helping my master up. ‘We always do this just before we retire to bed!'
Pushing our way through the soldiers, we made our way into the Tower. I was convinced it was time for old Roger to leave. As I settled on to my pallet-bed, I firmly resolved that, the first thing I would do the next morning, would be to persuade my master to join me.