For a while there was confusion and chaos. Vetch grabbed Mallow and hustled him to the door. The chief hangman protested his innocence even as he was bundled down the corridor. Benjamin went to the doorway.
'In the closest dungeon, Master Vetch!' he called out. 'You are to stay on guard personally and not leave him. Do you understand? He is to be fed and well looked after, and not hurt until the King's pleasure is known.'
The rest of the hangmen, Ragusa trailing behind, also left: the revelations about their master had clearly shaken them.
'Sir Edward, may I borrow some writing implements?' my master asked.
Kemble nodded. Benjamin went across to the desk and wrote two notes which he quickly sealed. 'Master Spurge!'
The surveyor, now eager to please, trotted across. ‘You are to take this to the King at Windsor. Commandeer any barge or boat you wish!'
Spurge quickly agreed and, puffed up with his newly conferred importance, hurried from the room. Benjamin turned to the constable.
"Now, Sir Edward, please take this letter to the under-sheriff, Master Pelleter, in Catte Street. Tell him Sakker is dead and the murderer unmasked. I will meet him and his daughter Miranda for supper within the hour.'
‘Kemble took it without demur and, clasping Benjamin's hand, shook it firmly. 'Master Daunbey, the King will be pleased. You will mention my name?’ 'Of course!' Once Kemble had gone, Benjamin crossed the room and slammed the door behind him. 'Master, is it finished?' I asked.
Benjamin went across and filled two goblets of wine. 'No, Roger, it's only just beginning. Come with me!'
We went out into the deserted gallery. From below we could hear shouts and cries as the news began to spread. Benjamin took me further down the long gallery: we stopped half-way. 'Look at the wall!' my master ordered.
I did so: it was covered by wooden wainscoting or panelling, each square neatly carved in the linen fashion. 'I see a wall covered by wooden panelling,' I exclaimed.
'Now step back, Roger. The light is poor, but study the centre panels.'
I did so, recalling that secret room I had found at Windsor. I kept walking back. 'Do you see anything amiss?' Benjamin asked.
At first I didn't, but then I noticed how some of the panelling was more darkly stained. As I squinted through the gloom, Benjamin moved a torch up against the woodwork.
'Undershaft!' I exclaimed. 'The drawing his wife gave us.' I pointed. 'Look, Master, some of the panels are painted darker than the rest and form the letter "‘T’, What's behind there?' I asked.
‘I don't know,' Benjamin replied. 'But I have been outside, and there's a good stretch of masonry between that panelling and the end of the building.' 'A secret chamber?' I asked.
'Perhaps,' Benjamin replied. 'But, before you ask, why we don't break in? There's someone we have to meet.' We went and sat on a window-seat.
Benjamin pointed to the panelling. That's what Undershaft saw,' he explained. 'Somewhere in there is a secret lever which releases a hidden door. On the night of the King's birthday party, I suspect Undershaft saw that door being opened. The perpetrator behind all this villainy realised his mistake, but in the gloom he couldn't decide which hangman it was.'
I stared back along the gallery. Benjamin was right. Daylight had faded, only a few torches were lit. It would be difficult to distinguish anyone's features if they were standing at the top of the stairs. At night, it would be nigh impossible, particularly if Undershaft had been dressed in his mask and hood. 'Now Undershaft,' Benjamin continued ‘was probably intrigued.' He lowered his voice to a whisper. 'A carpenter by trade, he drew that picture and wondered where the secret lever was concealed. Of course, Undershaft himself had a great deal to hide. He did not want to be caught prying in other men's affairs, so he let the matter be.'
'But the story you told in there, about Sakker being Allardyce and then later disguised as a labourer?'
'Oh, that's true enough,' Benjamin replied. 'Don't forget, Roger, troops from the Tower were used by Pelleter to seize the Sakker gang. I suspect someone sent a warning to Robert and he escaped.' Benjamin rubbed his lips. 'And I wonder what happened to Allardyce's predecessor as clerk of stores? Did he meet with some unfortunate accident? I am sure that if we made inquiries, we would find Allardyce was a bachelor with few friends and no family.' He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘Mind you, Allardyce was merely coincidental to the plot. Sooner or later, Sakker would have arrived at the Tower in some guise or other.' Benjamin glanced down the gallery. 'The rest was as I said. Sakker came here as Allardyce. A small mistake was made on the King's birthday, but Sakker didn't mind: he'd already sworn vengeance against the hangmen. Undershaft and the rest were going to die anyway.' 'And did Sakker fake his own death?'
'Oh yes, Ragusa is old, infirm and drunk as a sot. She wouldn't know if a man was alive or dead. Once the body was covered in a sheet, she'd trot off and the exchange was made. Sakker was now free to publish his letters at St Paul's Westminster or Cheapside. He also laid that trail of gunpowder in St Paul's when he seized the gold. He used that secret entrance into the Tower, and his disguise as a labourer, to slip back in to confer with his accomplice, as well as to launch that murderous attack on you, Hellbane and Wormwood. A man of shadows, Master Sakker. A good archer, he would know from his accomplice in the Tower where the real danger lay: that's why he pursued and tried to kill us.' 'But who,' I cried, ‘was Sakker's real accomplice?'
'Well, Master Mallow lies under arrest.' Benjamin replied.
'But, we have no real proof against him! Not a shred of evidence. We haven't found the seals or the King's gold!'
‘Precisely,' Benjamin replied. 'And that's why we are waiting here.' He heard a sound and tugged at my sleeve. 'And the real villain approaches.'
We tiptoed round a corner, past the panelling and down a passageway. We stood in the shadows, watching that piece of panelling still illuminated by a torch fixed above it. We, of course, were cloaked in darkness. I just prayed the person coming soft-footed along the gallery we'd just left was not some guard or servant. I saw a dark figure enter the pool of light thrown by the torch. The man turned, looking over his shoulder, and then quickly pressed a small button concealed in the woodwork. A panel opened like a small window. The figure put his hand inside and part of the wainscoting came away, swinging back quietly on oiled hinges. The man then took a key out of his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and was pushing the secret door open when Benjamin raced quietly towards him. The man, however, stepped back and looked towards us. I glimpsed a podgy face, a hand going towards his belt, but Benjamin was already on to him, sending him crashing back to the floor. 'Roger, for the love of God help!' he called.
I shook myself from my reverie. I admit, ‘I’d stood gaping there like some ploughboy. (Ah, I see my little chaplain snigger. I quickly rap him across the knuckles with my cane.) I hurried on down. Benjamin lay on top of Sir Edward Kemble, the wind fair knocked out of him. I helped Benjamin to his feet, and we both grasped the constable by the arms.
‘I thought you'd return,' Benjamin gasped, trying to catch his breath. Kemble stared back, his lips moving wordlessly.
The guards outside are in my pay,' Benjamin explained. They were given explicit instructions to tell you that we'd left for the city.'
We bundled the constable through the doorway into the darkness. Benjamin, sword drawn, pushed Kemble away.
'Light the candles and torches, Master Constable. Let's see what this pit contains.'
As Kemble fumbled for his tinder, I became aware of the deathly quiet in that secret chamber. The air was stale and fetid, but something gripped my heart and chilled my soul, as if Death itself had swept into that chamber and was now watching us from the darkness. At first my eyes found it difficult to adjust to the flickering light, whilst the dancing shadows increased my fear. Kemble stood in a corner, arms crossed, staring fearfully at us. I shifted my gaze. Oh, horror upon horror! What a dreadful chamber that was! Now you know old Shallot, I have seen the terrors. I’ve been pursued by the demon which stalks at midday; but even now, decades later, I still have nightmares about that sinister place. It was shaped in the form of a box, the walls made of brick: no window, no decoration, nothing to ease the eye. The floor was wooden; someone had laid down a very thick woollen carpet but this had begun to decay and rot. A huge beam stood upright in the centre of the room, with hooks driven into it: tattered, dusty, cobwebbed cloths hung there. There was a rickety table, stools and chairs, yet the real horror was the bed partly obscured by the beam. Only when I moved away did I understand my master's gasp of surprise. Oh, heaven forfend! Oh, Lord have pity! The bed was broad, standing on four stout wooden legs, the mattress was covered in dust and huge cobwebs stretched across the headboard. However, in the centre, lying side by side, were the pathetic remains of the two Princes: small skeletons lying together. I walked across and knelt beside the bed, holding the hilt of my sword before me like a cross. 'O Jesus miserere!' I muttered.
I have seen the destruction of princes, the end of noble lives at the gibbet or block. Men of power struck down by the assassin's dagger or the poisoner's cup. I have seen palaces in flames and the marble halls of Constantinople flowing in blood. But, nothing can compare to the silent horror of those two pathetic little skeletons still dressed in the tarnished remnants of their former glory. I glimpsed mother-of-pearl on one jerkin, a jewelled dagger beneath the yellowing robes of another. A silver cross hung awry between the ribs, a jewelled bonnet, mildewed and rotten, lay between the two skulls. I stood up and peered closer. Both the jaws slightly sagged. I noticed one had teeth all rotting along the top. God be my witness, I didn't know whether to scream, cry or pray. Instead I took my cloak off and covered them. ‘You bastard!' Benjamin walked across to Kemble and, bringing his hand back, gave him a stinging slap across his face. ‘You son of Satan! Had you no pity?' Again Benjamin's hand came back, drawing a trickle of blood from Kemble's lips.
The constable's face never changed. Benjamin pushed the constable against the wall and ran his hand over his doublet, looking for some concealed dagger or weapon. He then went across and, taking a stool, jammed it in the door to keep it open. rWhy blame me?' Kemble's voice was soft and slow. 'Did our noble King really want to find his precious Princes?'
'Had you no pity?' Benjamin retorted. 'Did you not think these little boys deserved decent burial?' Benjamin looked round the chamber. 'But now we have our proof: caught red-handed. You cannot disprove my accusations. Sir Edward Kemble, constable of the Tower, and once keeper of the King's royal palace at Woodstock, the same place where Robert Sakker, an Oxford clerk, also worked. Two dark souls who formed a friendship forged with the evil one.'
'Of course,' I interrupted, 'Pelleter told us how Sakker had been a clerk at a royal palace. They were born there?'
"The records will prove my guess,' Benjamin replied. 'And when Kemble came here, he was intrigued by the stories and did his own private search. He gathered all the maps and plans and discovered two things. First, the entrance to the postern-gate over the moat, and secondly this secret chamber. He then destroyed that map and gave Spurge others which did not betray his newly found secrets.' He paused to clear the dust from his throat. 'Spurge drew new maps up, certainly at our constable's behest, and this chamber and the postern-gate became Kemble's secret. He could not confess he'd come here and found a pouch made of the finest leather, fastened at the top, containing the Privy and Great Seal of Edward the Fifth, who only reigned for a few months.' Benjamin paused. "You did find them here, didn't you, Kemble? Kept in a pouch and probably placed in a cedarwood casket, they would have stood the passage of time and been in pristine condition.'
"But how?' I interrupted. "Why were the seals and the Princes left here so many years ago?'
"What I suspect,' Benjamin replied, still keeping his eyes on Kemble, 'is that the Princes were not murdered by Richard the Third. They were imprisoned here, but in the summer of 1485, when the King's father landed at Milford Haven, Richard the Third mustered to meet him at Bosworth Field. The Princes were hurriedly moved to this secret chamber, probably under the care of his henchmen, Dighton and Greene. Now, as Kemble knows, Richard was desperate for troops and Robert Brackenbury, then constable of the Tower, took most of the garrison to meet the King in Leicestershire, thinking they would be victorious.' Benjamin leaned against the wooden pillar. 'Of course all went wrong. Richard was killed, as was Brackenbury, at Bosworth. Any Yorkist left in the Tower would have fled at the Tudor's approach, and that included Dighton and Greene.' 'And Mallow is Dighton?'
Benjamin shook his head. ‘No, no, that was a little mummery I concocted last night. I had glimpsed the panelling before and, remembering Undershaft was a carpenter, wondered if this had provoked his interest. Of course, I couldn't break into it without alarming Kemble here, whom I wished to trap. I went to Mallow and persuaded him, in return for royal preferment, to act out the nonsense you witnessed before.' 'So, where is Dighton?'
'Probably dead,' Benjamin replied. ‘I suspect the Princes here may have been poisoned by Greene, whom we knew as Dr Quicksilver. The room was then locked and sealed. Greene went into hiding until memory faded and people had forgotten.' He pointed at Kemble. ‘Until this villain appeared. He finds this secret chamber, takes the seals, and begins to plot how to become a very wealthy man. As keeper of the royal palace at Woodstock, he would know of the King's secret fears about anyone with Yorkist blood in them. The visitation of the sweating sickness provided him and Sakker with the ideal opportunity' Benjamin walked towards the constable. ‘You arranged Allardyce's murder at Maidstone: you saw it as a marvellous opportunity to bring Sakker into the Tower. If that hadn't presented itself, you would have found another way. You arranged Sakker's arrival during Yuletide – when you were absent – so no one would ever suspect.' Benjamin tapped Kemble on the chest. 'And where to then, eh? Sakker could not remain Allardyce for ever. Moreover, he wanted his revenge, whilst you desired the King's gold. I'm sure you had a plan, but then the sweating sickness arrived.'
'You must have been the only men in London to have welcomed the sweating sickness,' I scoffed. There was no need to close the Tower so completely, but you used your accomplice's so-called sickness to achieve that. It would not be hard for you and Sakker to bring a corpse, filched from somewhere, into the Tower. Your accomplice then walked free to carry on his villainy: you, however, could act the innocent and give the labourer, Ealdred every protection.'
'And what a mystery, eh?' Benjamin intervened. 'Where could the seals have been obtained from? Were the Princes really alive? How could the villain both be in the Tower to deliver the first letter, yet also in the city, issuing proclamations? Of course, you realised the King would intervene but, being constable, you knew exactly what was going to happen. You continued to use Sakker's disguise and that secret postern-gate to deepen the mystery: the attack on Shallot, the delivery of blackmailing letters, the murders of the hangmen, the collection of the gold. On each occasion, you could account for your movements. How alarmed you must have been when we began to suspect that Sakker was involved. You used him for one last murder, the charlatan Quicksilver. After that, all you had to do was sit quiet and secure.'
Benjamin seized the unresisting Kemble by his jerkin, pushing him against the wall. 'How you must have chuckled when I arrested Mallow! What were you going to do, Sir Edward? Wait until the dust had settled, then taken up your new appointment as envoy to Brussels? You did tell us you were giving up your office to go there. But you intended only to slip away with your new-found wealth.'
Kemble opened his mouth to protest. Benjamin pushed him again.
'Now all that remains, Sir Edward, is the gold. Where is it?'
The constable, in some kind of stupor, licked his lips. I followed his quick glance and saw an old coffer peeping out of the shadows in a corner. I went across: the lock was new. I prised it loose with my dagger and drew back the lid. Inside was a roll of parchment, the best vellum money could buy, inkpots, quills, and a large sack which clinked as I moved it. The King's gold!' I exclaimed.
There was a second sack made of very thick leather, tied securely at the top. I cut this. Inside were two seals: one the size of a tennis ball, the Great Seal of King Edward V, the other his Privy Seal. I took these under the light and examined them. They were pristine, fresh, as if carved yesterday.
'Keep them, Roger' Benjamin drew his dagger and pressed its point into the fleshy part of Kemble's neck. ‘You killed Sakker in that lonely corner of the Tower: you placed that viper in our chamber. You are as evil as Satan, but you shall pay for your crimes and your mistakes.' He pushed Kemble out of the door.
I stopped to douse the candles and torchlights. I took one last, lingering look at that dreadful bed, and closed the secret door. I pushed the wainscoting back until it fell into place with a click, and followed my master along the gallery, down the stairs to the Tower Green.
Ah well, the rest is bits and pieces. Vetch was summoned. Benjamin ordered Mallow's release, the chief hangman joined us in the gatehouse where Benjamin was ordering astonished guards to place chains on Kemble's wrists and ankles. The chief hangman shuffled his feet with pleasure as Benjamin promised him more gold, as well as a letter of pardon for any offences he may have committed. Mallow was also instructed to inform the others, Benjamin promising that more silver would be left for them to celebrate. He turned to Vetch, who stood like a man pole-axed, and once again explained how he had trapped Kemble.
The Tower is yours, Vetch. Master Shallot here needs ten good guards, the best you have. The prisoner is to be taken immediately to Windsor. I have other business in the city.'
I must admit I was surprised as anyone by that, and the old demon jealousy returned: I realised Benjamin was going to the Pelleters to celebrate with the marvellous Miranda. Oh well, that's old Shallot's luck! Night had fallen, but Benjamin insisted the prisoner be taken, so I had no choice. Whilst Benjamin went to bask in Miranda's golden smile, ten of the strongest rogues the Tower could muster rowed a silently weeping Kemble to his judgement at Windsor.
The night journey was long and cold, and by the time I arrived at Court, I was drunk from the wineskin I carried. The Great Beast and his familiar, the silk-garbed Cardinal, were waiting. With Kemble kneeling before me, I simply described what had happened and how we had trapped him. Oh yes, I was angry at Benjamin, so I emphasised my role even more. The King did not waste words on Kemble. He stepped down from his throne and kicked him in the face, and smiled as the guards took him away.
Within the week Kemble had been hanged, drawn and quartered. One part of his body was displayed on Windsor' Castle, another at York, one quarter at Winchester, whilst the rest, with his head, were impaled above the Lion Gatehouse at the Tower. I spent days at Windsor being fawned on by Henry as if I were his pet dog. Purses of gold, silk jackets, velveteen boots, the swiftest horse in the stables, the right to draw rents from certain tenements in Suffolk. He patted my hair, and those piggy eyes would glare at me as he tweaked my cheek.
'Good dog, Shallot,' he growled. 'Sharp as a lurcher. Would you like to go hunting, Roger?'
Of course, I declined the offer, and the Great Beast bellowed with laughter. (Oh, by the way, he took the gold and destroyed the seals. As for that secret chamber and its grisly contents, he said it was the Princes' grave and so it should remain.) The Cardinal was more reserved. One night at supper I caught him watching me with those black, cunning eyes; it was then that he decided to become my friend and not just my patron. The following day he took me for a walk in the castle gardens, pointed out how the roses always reached full bloom in early autumn, whilst the small apple and pear trees, their branches now bowed, promised a succulent harvest. He talked about affairs of State and the death of Pope Adrian VI and, for the first time ever, I plotted as well as the rest. No one could hear. Dr Agrippa was God knows where, and I, Roger Shallot, the most base-born of rogues, became Wolsey's confidant. Two days later I left Windsor for London. I found Benjamin in the Tower, busy studying a book on alchemy he'd found in the library. I told him about my reception at Windsor, the King's applause and munificence. Benjamin smiled and hugged me. 'And dearest Uncle?' he asked.
I drew from my doublet a sealed letter. "What does it say, Roger?'
'Master,' I lied, ‘I don't know, but His Excellency instructed me not to be present when you read it.'
I left him and went for a walk on Tower Green. Somehow, that dreadful fortress had lost its horror. Children played on the mangonel and catapults, soldiers' wives chattered and sang as they washed clothes over great open vats. Ragusa passed me, swaying like a leaf in the wind. Vetch and Spurge were sunning themselves on a bench, revelling in their new authority. Even the great ravens seemed more friendly, hopping towards me looking for morsels. I stared up at the sky, counted again to a hundred, then returned to our chamber.
Benjamin was sitting, beaming from ear to ear. My heart lurched. Had the Cardinal, I wondered, followed my advice? 'Good news, Master?'
'Roger, congratulate me.' He got up. 'Uncle wishes me a lead an embassy to Rome for the election of the new pope.'
'Oh, Master,' I cried, 'to see Italy again, the glories of Rome!'
Benjamin's face fell. ‘Roger, I am sorry, dearest Uncle has said I must go alone: you are to remain in England for other duties.'
Well, even old Burbage could not have acted like I did. I slumped down on the bed, face in hands. Benjamin came and sat next to me, putting an arm round my shoulder. I looked up, the tears rolling down my cheeks.
'Doesn't he trust me, Master?' I cried. 'Doesn't he think I'm good enough to be his envoy?'
Tush, tush, Roger! Dearest Uncle writes that he can spare one but not both of us. Someone has to look after the manor.' He touched me under the chin. 'And someone has to care for Miranda.' I put my face in my hands: the trap had closed.
Ah well, what does old Macbeth say? Time is a fool and all our dusty yesterdays…' My little chaplain is looking at me expectantly. Aren't I going to tell him about Miranda, my beloved first wife? How could I marry the betrothed of my great friend? Well, he'll have to wait, won't he? That's another story. The sun is beginning to dip. The shadows are becoming longer. Old Shallot grows cold but, back in my bedchamber, Margot and Phoebe are heating the wine.