Saintly Murders

by Paul Doherty

  Kathryn got to her feet to ease the cramp in her back and arms. She walked over the crucifix.

  ‘Duchess Cecily would have welcomed the process of canonisation. It would give her not only to a saint but surety that all was well.’ She looked over her shoulders at the three friars. ‘You, of course, had a lot to hide and a great deal to gain. The charade continued until I arrived at the Friary of the Sack.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Prior Anselm blurted out. ‘God forgive us, Brother Roger was murdered!’

  ‘And his assassin?’ the infirmarian demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ Jonquil added plaintively, ‘and poor Gervase? What happened to him?’

  ‘That,’ Kathryn retorted, ‘is not for you to know, at least not yet!’ She went and stood over Jonquil. ‘One final thing, that note pushed under my door in the guest-house, that was your work, wasn’t it?’ Kathryn punched him on the shoulder. ‘You were waiting on the stairwell.’

  ‘I was just trying to frighten you.’

  Kathryn leaned down, her face only a few inches from his.

  ‘Well, Brother Jonquil, you did! Now all of you, get out!’

  Chapter 12

  ‘The leoun sit in his waayte alway

  To sle the inocent, if that he may.’

  – Chaucer, ‘The Friar’s Tale,’

  The Canterbury Tales

  ‘I might call them the three Wise Men,’ Colum remarked as he sat down in the parlour. Venables had taken the seat at the table. ‘But they are neither wise nor happy! Oh, there seems to be some disturbance outside.’

  There was a knock on the door, and then Prior Anselm came sheepishly in!

  ‘Mistress Swinbrooke, Royal Archers now guard every entrance. A serjeant-at-arms and a group of pike men patrol Gethsemane.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Father Prior.’ Kathryn re-took her seat. ‘They are here for your protection and mine. I’d be grateful if you would leave.’

  The Prior hastily withdrew.

  ‘What is this?’

  Venables undid the clasp of his cloak and threw it over the back of his chair. He loosened his war-belt and, half-rising, pulled it from his waist and placed it on the table before him.

  ‘Why, Master Venables, this is a court of enquiry.’ She ignored Colum’s sharp intake of breath. Kathryn stared down at this most treacherous of henchmen. ‘You are the assassin, aren’t you, Master Venables?’

  The only change in Venables was the way he straightened in the chair, a quick downward glance, a nervous licking of the lips. He leaned his elbows on the table, hands half-covering his face. ‘Why Kathryn . . .?’

  ‘Mistress Swinbrooke to you.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s how the wind blows.’

  ‘We found her, you know,’ Kathryn continued conversationally. ‘The poor woman you murdered in Bean Woods. You stripped her corpse and threw it in the marsh, but items were found near her body. Where was she from, Master Venables? A courtesan from London? Hired to help you with murder?’

  ‘What things were found?’ Venables jibed.

  ‘Enough to send you to the gallows. You hired her, and you waited at the Falstaff Inn for poor Mafiach.’

  ‘I didn’t know he was going there. Only members of the Royal Council or your love swain, Master Murtagh, were party to that.’

  ‘True, true.’ Kathryn smiled thinly. ‘And a member of that Royal Council told you that Mafiach was to be there at a certain time. You had the Falstaff watched, slipping in and out in your disguise.’

  ‘Disguise?’

  ‘Yes, an elderly merchant with greying hair, moustache, and beard. For a man with your wealth, Master Venables, such disguises are easy to buy or make. I won’t waste time.’

  Kathryn gave a brief description of Mafiach’s death and Venables’s hand in it, how he killed the Irishman, stole the cipher, and the following evening murdered his own accomplice. Venables shook his head in mock disbelief.

  ‘I understand your logic, Mistress Swinbrooke, but where’s the proof? The evidence?’

  ‘Let’s move on,’ Kathryn responded, ‘to the Friary of the Sack. How did you first contact Brother Gervase, the sub-prior? Was it by secret letter? Or a meeting out in the city? Or in that dense copse at the far end of Gethsemane Garden? Brother Gervase didn’t like Atworth; he resented him, jealous of his intimacy with the Queen Mother.’

  ‘And I just walked up to him,’ Venables jeered, ‘and introduced myself?’

  ‘Well, no. You first spied out the land, by letter or a meeting where you kept your face, name, and character well hidden. Gervase was a contentious man.’

  Kathryn looked at Colum, who had not yet overcome his surprise at Venables being named.

  ‘Gervase would object, he’d quarrel, yet there’s nothing like sacks of gold and silver to ease a greedy man’s conscience, are there, Venables? To put it bluntly, Gervase became your spy here. You met him out in that lonely copse across Gethsemane. He would tell you all the chatter and gossip of the friary, the doings and sayings of Brother Atworth. Two things became obvious: First, Atworth held secrets, and secondly, he kept those secrets close to his heart.

  ‘Despite the gold and silver you paid him, Gervase was not very helpful. So like a weasel stalking a rabbit warren, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You watched the friary, and you noticed how Atworth’s protector and guardian, Brother Jonquil, would sometimes shirk his duties for the fleshpots of the city. One evening you pounced. Brother Atworth liked to walk in the garden by himself. You assaulted him, struck him unconscious, and dragged his body into that underground cellar near the friary wall. You had all night to question him. The poor man’s wrists and ankles were lashed, held secure. Time and again you’d come back. What did he know about Cecily, Duchess of York? What great secrets did he hold? You didn’t even have to torture him. Atworth was a frail old man, and you simply hoped that the loneliness, the dark, being held prisoner might loosen his tongue.’

  ‘This is nonsense!’ Venables interrupted.

  ‘Oh no, it isn’t. You overlooked two matters: First, Atworth really had converted to God. He was a friar, a priest, a confessor. He would no more give up his secrets than he would return to his former life. Secondly, Atworth was more frail than you realised. He didn’t survive very long. He was a frightened old man, and his heart simply gave way; he slipped quietly into death. You could claim some success. You removed the letters from his wallet, loosened the bonds, left his corpse in that dank, stinking cellar, and fled across the wall.’

  ‘And I just wandered into this friary whenever I so wished?’

  ‘Of course. You had the help of Brother Gervase, who supplied you with one of his gowns and cowls, not to mention a pair of sandals. In a place like this, one friar looks like another, especially with a cowl pulled over his head. Brother Gervase was of some use to you, wasn’t he? He gave you Brother Atworth’s psalter.’

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about!’

  ‘Gervase took it from the library for you to inspect. You found certain pages interesting and removed them before giving the psalter back.’

  Colum got up from the bench, went across to the side table, and poured a goblet of wine. He put this into Kathryn’s hand; then, instead of re-taking his seat, he went and leaned against the wooden panelled door, closer to Venables, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Venables ignored him, eyes on Kathryn.

  ‘Gervase was a nuisance,’ Kathryn continued. ‘He didn’t know who you were, but he hadn’t been of much use. However, if this matter’ – Kathryn waved a hand – ‘began to crumble, Gervase might decide to tell someone what he knew. On that afternoon, when I first arrived here, you sent the pre-arranged signal to Gervase to meet in the usual place in Gethsemane. He went across, and you murdered him, as you did that young woman in Bean Woods. A dagger through the heart or his throat cut from ear to ear. We can’t truly tell because such wounds would be hidden by the fire. Disguised as a friar, you took Gervase’s keys, slipped up to his chamber, an
d carefully went through his possessions. You removed any incriminating evidence, including the quite considerable amount of gold and silver you had paid him. Satisfied, you walked back across Gethsemane. You couldn’t leave Gervase’s corpse as it was. You recalled his opposition to Atworth, so you decided to muddy the waters by making it look as if the sub-prior had died a mysterious death. You soaked his corpse in oil specially brought in a wineskin and propped his body up against a bush. Master Murtagh,’ Kathryn looked at the Irishman, ‘you have fought in sieges. You have seen the King’s miners light a slow fuse, a piece of hempen rope soaked in some flammable solution or powder. Master Venables did the same. Hidden by the screed of bushes and trees, he lit the rope, picked up the wineskin, made sure there was no trace of him left there, and slipped into the deserted alleyway beyond the friary walls. Who would give a second glance at a cowled friar hurrying down a lane? A common enough sight. Meanwhile, the Ancient One, Brother Timothy, whom Gervase must have told you about, was staring out across the garden. All he saw was Gervase standing there one moment, the next being engulfed in a sheet of flame.’ Kathryn paused. ‘I have studied the place where Gervase’s body was burned. The copse is so dense and thick that you could do all this without being detected from the friary.’

  ‘This is very interesting.’ Venables lowered his hands. He kept moving in the chair, agitated and nervous. ‘But where is the proof? Why should I betray Her Grace, the Duchess?’

  ‘Perhaps you can answer that better than I can. Finally, we come to Mistress Chandler. Only you, apart from Master Murtagh and Lay Brother Eadwig, suspected how much Mistress Chandler had told me. I let it slip yesterday before we left the Archbishop’s palace. You became alarmed, nervous of what she might have seen or heard. Had Gervase confided in her? So in the dead of night you returned, once again garbed as a friar, armed with oil and a piece of hempen string. You replaced the steel sheets and the wooden slats. You poured the oil in, lit the rope, stood back, and watched your bloody handiwork. You made one mistake. Mistress Chandler, by the grace of God, suspected you might return. She was hiding nearby. She saw your face.’

  ‘That’s ’im—!’

  ‘What were you going to say, Master Venables?’ Kathryn steeled herself for what she knew was a downright lie. ‘You may have had your cowl pulled up, but you were not meeting anybody. No Gervase, no accomplice. Your face wasn’t masked: You turned your head. Mathilda Chandler, hiding nearby, saw your face in the glare of the fire. She will go on oath and swear that you are responsible.’

  ‘Who would believe a murderess?’ Venables sat back in his chair, hands griping the arms. ‘Is that all the proof you have to convict me,’ he jibed, ‘Duchess Cecily’s confidant and henchman?’

  ‘Oh no.’ Kathryn emphasised the points on her fingers. ‘First, whilst you are in here, your chamber and possessions are being searched. I am sure the disguise you wore at the Falstaff will be discovered. Second, you will be taken back there. Mine host Clitheroe is a sharp-eyed man. We may disguise you again and ask him to look at you. If he doesn’t recognise you, perhaps one of the servants will. Third, the King’s sheriffs will make a careful search amongst the courtesans and doxies of London. I am sure someone will claim the corpse of that poor woman, and, perhaps, point the finger at you. Fourth, when they search your possessions, they may find the gold and silver you took from Gervase’s chamber.’

  Kathryn’s bluff had struck home.

  ‘Fifth, I will point out that, apart from myself, Master Murtagh, and Brother Eadwig, you were the only one who knew what possible dangers Mistress Chandler might pose. Sixth, she will identify you. Do you believe in ghosts, Master Venables?’

  The henchman leaned forward, fingers not far from his war-belt.

  ‘Say what you have to, woman!’

  ‘The dead will convict you,’ Kathryn continued. ‘Especially Master Mafiach. When we met in the King’s pavilion at the Archbishop’s palace, you said in the presence of witnesses, “Mafiach was unwary.” How did you know he was unwary? You were not supposed to know about him.’

  ‘It became common knowledge.’

  ‘Yes, but you actually used the word “unwary,” not unfortunate, hapless, or unlucky. You said “unwary,” as if you knew Mafiach was on guard but had made the mistake of trusting that so-called slattern and compounded his error by drinking drugged wine.’

  ‘You are playing with words!’ Venables spluttered.

  ‘Oh no! Finally,’ Kathryn opened her purse and took out a small scroll of parchment, ‘Mafiach carried two ciphers. Shall I read them out to you?’

  Kathryn proceeded:

  ‘“Regis regum rectissimi prope est dies domini

  dies irae et vindictae tenebrarum et nebulae

  diesque mirabilium tonitruorum fortium

  dies quoque angustiae meroris ac tristitiae

  in quo cessabit mulierum amor ac desiderium

  hominumque contentio mundi huius et cupide.”

  ‘“The day of the Lord,

  The Kings of Kings most righteous, is at hand:

  A day of wrath and vengeance, of darkness and cloud:

  A day of wondrous mighty thunderings:

  A day of trouble also, of grief and sadness:

  In which shall cease the love and desire of women:

  And the strife of men and the lust of this world.”’

  ‘Finally, we have that enigmatic phrase: “Recto et Verso.” You do realise,’ Kathryn tapped the sheet of paper, ‘that both the Latin and English text contain letters which spell out your name.’

  She crumpled the parchment up and threw it down on the table. Venables caught it quickly.

  ‘I have another copy.’ Kathryn plucked up the second scroll. ‘I have scored, in both versions, the letters which spell out your name.’

  Venables sat like a man stricken.

  ‘“Recto et Verso”: forwards and backwards. The “forward” refers to the Latin text; the “backward” to the English translation. Both spell out the name of the spy at the court of Edward IV of England, Venables. Your accomplice, of course, did not help matters.’

  ‘What accomplice?’ Venables snarled.

  ‘Why, the Vicomte de Sanglier. He couldn’t resist the jibe at us. “In vino veritas; in wine the truth”: That’s what he said when the death of Mafiach was being discussed. The Vicomte was actually confessing, in his own mocking, secretive way, that he knew exactly how Mafiach had died. How he had been drugged with tainted wine so the shutters of his chamber could be opened and you could steal in to finish the task.’

  ‘I demand to see the woman.’ Venables wiped the bead of sweat running down his left cheekbone.

  ‘Master Murtagh, she is in the hall outside.’

  Colum opened the door, his eyes never leaving Venables.

  ‘Mathilda Chandler!’ he called.

  They heard the sound of soft footsteps as Chandler entered the room. Kathryn stared hard at her, praying that Mathilda would have the wit to co-operate.

  ‘Mistress Chandler, look at Master Venables.’

  The woman did so.

  ‘Have you ever seen him before?’

  Chandler stared at Venables, back at Kathryn, and drew closer to Colum.

  ‘Mistress, I have told you that already. He was the one who started the fire last night, the fire which could have killed me.’

  Venables sprang to his feet. Kathryn thought he was going to protest, but it was only a ploy. He grasped his war-belt, quickly drawing his sword. Chandler fled. Colum, slamming the door shut, threw himself sideways. Venables lunged. Kathryn, horrified, watched Colum slip and crash against the side table, sending the wine jug flying. Venables then drew a dagger from its sheath. His face red with anger, he hastened round the table, shouting curses. Kathryn jumped up, the chair crashing back. Her foot slipped on the spilt wine, but she picked up the jug and threw it at Venables’s head. He dodged it as Kathryn felt herself being pulled away. Colum was on his feet. He’d grasped a stool and pushe
d Kathryn along the chamber.

  ‘My war-belt!’

  Kathryn tried to grasp it, but again, Colum pushed her aside to protect her from Venables. The henchman was now moving more slowly, jabbing the air with sword and dagger. Colum, grasping his war-belt, backed further round the room. Venables reached the door, and with the side of his hand, pushed the top bolt across. Colum now had his own sword drawn. Venables, confident, followed slowly. When he attacked, his speed and ferocity surprised Kathryn. Venables believed he had both of them trapped. He even allowed Colum time to draw his dagger and throw the empty war-belt onto the table.

  ‘How good are you, Irishman?’ Venables taunted. ‘A prickle of steel, eh?’

  Once again he lunged. A confident swordsman, a professional man-at-arms, Venables thought he had Murtagh at a disadvantage. Time and again he lunged and parried. Colum acted clumsy, using sword and dagger to fend off these deadly parries and feints. When they reached the end of the room, Colum stood his ground. Both men crashed in whirling arcs of scraping steel, swords out, daggers up. At one point their weapons locked. Venables tried to knee Colum in the groin, but the Irishman was too fast; he disengaged and moved away. Venables was no longer so confident: narrow-eyed, the sweat streaming down his face, he stood at a half-crouch. This time Colum attacked, leading with his sword. Venables went to meet it with his own. Colum dropped to one knee. Venables’s weapon scythed the air, whilst Colum drove his dagger into the henchman’s belly. Venables swayed slightly, eyes staring, his mouth opening to speak. He took a step forward, sword and dagger slipping from nerveless fingers. He grasped Colum’s dagger, thrust almost to its hilt in the soft, fleshy part beneath his left rib, before giving a long sigh and crumpling to the ground.