by Paul Doherty
‘Ah,’ Athelstan intervened, ‘that explains the contradiction and confusion I have noticed.’
‘Whitfield had yet to commit himself; he changed like a weather vane.’ Matthias shook his head. ‘Suicide, accident? Suicide, accident? He couldn’t decide, nor how he was to arrange it. Eventually he went to the Tavern of Lost Souls to continue pawning valuable objects he could not take with him. I understand he had begun that in the days before he arrived at the Golden Oliphant. However, Whitfield also wanted Mephistopheles’ help in arranging his disappearance. He talked about taking a bundle of clothing down to the Thames on the evening of the very day he was found hanging. These were to be used in whatever death he staged. I also know that he had drawn up a note hinting at suicide. I don’t think he had fully decided on what to do. He needed Mephistopheles’ advice.’ Matthias drew in a deep breath. ‘I suspect he may have even been considering another plan.’
‘Such as?’
‘Oh, just to walk out of the Golden Oliphant and disappear of his own accord. Brother Athelstan, there are other cogs which would have taken him to different ports, not just Flanders but Castile, even the Middle Sea.’
‘And Lebarge?’
‘A rift had grown between them. Lebarge was much taken with Hawisa. I believe he wanted her to be with him whatever happened.’
‘And the riddles about the Cross of Lothar?’ Cranston demanded. ‘Did he offer any solution?’
‘He said he had certain ideas. Whether he did or not, I cannot say. He scrutinized the carvings both here and at St Mary Le Bow. Nothing remarkable, except he added something strange.’
‘What?’
‘He told me to be very careful of that church, not to be there by myself or be seen prying about it.’
‘Yes,’ Athelstan smiled, ‘he would say that, wouldn’t he? And you know what, Matthias? Because of the help you have given us, I am going to ask the Lord High Coroner here to overlook your indiscretions and those of your father.’ He waved his hand. ‘You may take the replica and leave. However,’ Athelstan held up the cross as if taking an oath, ‘I have no proof of this, no evidence, not a shred, but thank God you did not meet Whitfield together with Mephistopheles at the Tavern of Lost Souls.’
‘Why?’
‘Ask yourself,’ Athelstan said quietly, ‘why you had to meet him there. Why not somewhere in the Golden Oliphant or a place nearby?’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘You blackmailed Whitfield. You were one of the few people who knew all about his wealth and its highly illicit source. I often make a mistake. I believe people behave more logically than they actually do. Whitfield was agitated about how he should disappear, where, when and with whom. I do not know the truth of it. However, on one thing he was decided: he would vanish. Mephistopheles could certainly help him with this, make all the arrangements, including the mysterious disappearance of someone whom Whitfield regarded as dangerous. You, Matthias, with your threats of blackmail.’
‘You are saying Whitfield would have killed me?’
‘Oh no, Matthias. Whitfield was no dagger man, but Mephistopheles certainly is. Oh, he’d deny everything if confronted now. He would ask for evidence and proof and I cannot supply it, but rest assured, Whitfield’s mysterious death definitely saved your life. Now you can go.’
Both father and son rose. Matthias snatched the replica and stumbled from the chamber, followed by his father. Athelstan and Cranston sat listening to their footsteps fade.
‘Helpful, Brother?’
‘Very. But I am still threading the maze, Sir John. What Matthias told us makes sense: it imposes a logic of sorts on some events and proves what I suspect regarding others.’
‘Such as?’
‘The cipher, Sir John.’ Athelstan opened his chancery satchel, took out the two pieces of vellum and stretched them out. ‘This,’ he picked up the grease-stained parchment, ‘is a most cryptic cipher fashioned out of strange, closely packed symbols. I could study this until the Second Coming and wouldn’t make sense of it. Whitfield had made some headway or at least a beginning; this second piece of vellum is his commentary. Look, Sir John.’ Athelstan pushed the second square of parchment across the table. ‘Let’s put the cipher aside and concentrate on what Whitfield’s workings tell us. It shows two triangles, not isosceles, the base of each triangle being longer than the other two sides. In addition one triangle,’ Athelstan tapped the parchment, ‘is longer than the other. However, notice how the apexes of each meet in the one spot. Finally, we have these saints’ names scrawled down one side of the parchment: St Andrew, St Dunstan, St Bride and so on.’
‘And?’
‘They are the names of London churches, all with soaring towers, belfries and spires.’ Athelstan waved a hand. ‘Sir John, in brief, the three sides of each of these triangles map out the churches of London. The base of the larger one marks all those along the north bank of the Thames. The side of that triangle running south to east includes churches to the west of the city such as St Augustine’s and St Paul’s Gate. The side of the same triangle running south to west includes churches such as St Michael in Crooked Lane. The smaller inverted triangle does the same. Its baseline includes churches north of the city such as St Giles Cripplegate. The other two sides include churches such as St Peter Westcheap to the west and St Margaret Lothbury to the east. The apex of each triangle meets at the one spot, the same church …’
‘St Mary Le Bow!’ Cranston exclaimed. ‘The Upright Men intend to seize all these churches, don’t they?’
‘I suspect they do, Sir John, for a number of reasons. When the revolt comes, the rebels will hoist their banners from steeples all over London, which will create the impression that the city is already in the hands of the Upright Men. They will also be able to light beacon fires and, above all,’ Athelstan emphasized the points on his fingers, ‘they will be able to observe troop movements across the city and …’
‘The same church towers could easily be fortified into strongholds where a few men can withstand attacks by the many. Lord save us!’ Cranston sprang to his feet. ‘If they seize twenty such towers, the city will have to divide their forces to deal with each fortification whilst, at the same time, having to confront peasant armies coming in from all directions.’
‘St Mary Le Bow,’ Athelstan explained, ‘will be at the heart of this plan. It stands at the centre of the city; it dominates the great trading area of Cheapside with the mansions and the warehouses of all the great and good. It will be ideal for the deployment of archers, the setting up of barricades, the closing of streets.’ Athelstan paused to sip at a beaker of water. ‘Which brings us to Raoul Malfort, bell clerk with specific responsibility for the tower at St Mary Le Bow. Our tooth drawer uses the tower chamber to carry out his gruesome task. The cries and groans of his patients, indeed everything associated with drawing teeth, would certainly keep people away. Secretly Malfort’s friends amongst the Upright Men are busy fortifying the upper chambers in the tower, bringing in supplies and storing weapons against the day of the Great Slaughter.’
Cranston walked up and down the room in his agitation. ‘The original bell clerk, Edmund Lacy, was murdered by Reynard, who has gone to judgement. Everything is connected,’ he murmured, ‘like beads on a chain. I suspect the original bell clerk was a man of integrity, so he was removed and Malfort usurps his office. He sets up his trade in the tower chamber ostensibly drawing teeth, in truth plotting insurrection and treason.’
‘I agree,’ Athelstan declared. ‘We will find all the proof we need in St Mary Le Bow.’ He smiled drily. ‘I am also deeply suspicious about my own parish council’s interests in closing St Erconwald’s tower for so-called repairs.’
‘But St Erconwald’s is south of the Thames.’ Cranston laughed and shook his head. ‘Of course,’ he declared, ‘and from the top of St Erconwald’s you can view all the southern approaches to the Thames as well as London Bridge.’ He picked up his warbelt. ‘Brother, I need to act quickly. Within the hour Malfort will be under arrest and his chambe
r searched, then we will move against the rest.’
‘There’s more,’ Athelstan declared. ‘I referred to it earlier, the true identity of our Herald of Hell. I suspect he is our wicked bell clerk at St Mary’s. Malfort certainly fits the bill. He holds the most powerful church tower in the city. I suspect he’s also responsible for suborning the ward bailiffs, Poulter and the rest. Reynard may have been on his way to meet our cunning bell clerk, but then Reynard fumbled the murder of Lacy and was arrested. We should put all this to him, Sir John.’
‘We certainly shall.’ Cranston tightened his warbelt. ‘I look forward to questioning Malfort. He is surrounded by so much mischief and mystery he could well be the Herald of Hell. Do you think Whitfield knew?’
‘Indeed I do. The triangles prove our murdered clerk was making progress, whilst his veiled warning to Matthias to stay away from St Mary’s is proof enough. But still, there’s something very wrong here.’ Athelstan rose and walked to the window. He stared down at the soldiers and archers gathering there. ‘Leave St Erconwald’s alone, Sir John,’ he murmured. ‘I am going to send my parishioners a message, repairs or not. I want my church tower back – that will bring any mischief they are planning to nothing …’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Then I must reflect.’
‘In other words, plot, little friar?’
‘Yes, Sir John, plot. We will be busy soon enough, mark my words. In view of what we have discovered, the Day of the Great Slaughter must be very, very close.’
‘Athelstan, you claimed that, despite all this progress, something was very wrong?’
‘Yes, my learned coroner, so bear with me. First, we know Reynard brought a very important message – that cipher – to Malfort, either to hand to him personally or to leave it somewhere safe in St Mary Le Bow Church. You would agree?’ Cranston nodded. ‘Secondly, Reynard was also tasked with the removal of Edmund Lacy, the bell clerk at St Mary Le Bow, in order to give Malfort a free hand. He does this clumsily and openly flees to Whitefriars, where he is captured along with that cipher which he failed to deliver. Thirdly, the message of that cipher is crucially important, and now we know why, so the Upright Men must have sent a second messenger. On this occasion he or she would carry nothing in writing as time is now of the essence, so secret verbal instructions would be delivered on what Malfort has to do.’
Cranston grunted his assent.
‘Fourthly,’ Athelstan continued, ‘Malfort realizes the cipher has been seized by Thibault and that Whitfield would have been instructed to unlock it and the same for us. For all he knows, we may even have translated it in every detail instead of just discovering the sketchy outline of what is being plotted. In the end, we know what the Upright Men intend to do but not when and how.’
‘And just in case we do,’ Cranston added, ‘I suggest the Great Community of the Realm and the Upright Men would have changed certain details. Brother, we must seize Malfort before the day is out.’
‘I agree, Sir John, but finally there is one other matter. Whitfield was a clerk of the Secret Chancery. Why didn’t he leave the cipher in a strong box at the Tower? Why have it with him when he moved to the Golden Oliphant for the Festival of Cokayne?’
‘Because Thibault wanted him to unlock its secrets as swiftly as possible, even though he had been granted boon days …’
Athelstan smiled and held up a hand. ‘Or Whitfield took it with him so he could translate it and sell it back to the Upright Men, or …’
‘Or what, Friar?’
‘Whitfield was playing the two-backed beast, the duplicitous clerk. He would translate the cipher, win Thibault’s approval and then secretly inform the Upright Men how their plot was now clearly known to Gaunt’s Master of Secrets.’
‘Of course,’ Cranston breathed, ‘and he might acquire more silver for his flight.’
‘And Whitfield’s so-called death, however it was depicted, could be laid at the door of the Upright Men, who punished Whitfield for discovering their secret. Whitfield would have emerged as the faithful clerk who pleased his master and was apparently murdered for doing so. Even if his flight was later discovered, Whitfield could pretend that, because of what he had done and the threats from the Herald of Hell, he had taken fright and fled. Thibault might not be so pleased but at least it’s understandable. There are so many variations to what Whitfield plotted, we will never know the full truth. Suffice to say, Whitfield was going to use the cipher for his own nefarious reasons.’
‘Do you think, despite his sketchy notes, Whitfield had broken the cipher in its entirety?’
Athelstan picked up his cloak. ‘Perhaps, but now we must get going. Our bell clerk awaits us.’
Within the hour, Cranston and Athelstan, accompanied by Flaxwith’s bailiffs and a cohort of Guildhall men-at-arms and archers, swept through Cheapside and up the steps of St Mary Le Bow. Their arrival was not unexpected. Reports of the coroner’s dramatic departure from the Guildhall with a phalanx of heavily armed men had been noted, the news being carried by scampering urchins who leapt like fleas round the busy stalls and booths. At Athelstan’s hushed and breathless instruction, the church was immediately ringed with guards, placed at the Corpse and Devil doors as well as all the narrow postern gates built into that ancient church.
Cranston and Athelstan led their main company up the steps. The beggars, counterfeit men, preachers, relic sellers and tale-tellers swiftly disappeared like snow under the sun. Some attempt was made to swing the huge main door shut, but Flaxwith’s bailiffs thrust this aside. They poured up the nave, hastening towards the entrance to the bell tower. Its heavy oaken door, reinforced with iron bands and studs, had been thrown open. The Earthworms secretly working there had fled and, to judge by the clatter of weapons from outside, Athelstan realized they had encountered the men-at-arms being deployed across God’s Acre, the broad cemetery around the church.
Flaxwith kicked open the door to the bell tower and, sword and dagger drawn, entered the cavernous stairwell which served as Master Malfort’s tooth-drawing chamber. Athelstan glimpsed the heavy, blackened oaken chair which Malfort used for his patients. On a table beside it stood a bowl with broken, rotting teeth, pincers, small implements and pieces of blood-caked string. Athelstan noted the black heavy straps used to pinion patients as well as the pots of crushed herbs and other potions and powders. The dirty, cobwebbed chamber was empty. A noisy scuffling echoed further up the stone spiral staircase. Flaxwith and his men were about to go up, but Athelstan called them back.
‘Master Malfort?’ The friar stood on the bottom step. ‘Master Malfort and those with you, come down or face summary execution. I speak for Sir John Cranston, Lord High Coroner of this city with the power and life and death over all found in arms against the King.’
‘Immediate and without appeal!’ Cranston bawled, joining Athelstan on the step.
‘Athelstan,’ the coroner whispered, ‘what do you think …?’
‘When news of our imminent arrival reached here,’ Athelstan murmured, ‘I am sure the Earthworms were busy further up the tower while Malfort was practising his grisly trade here in this chamber. The tooth-drawer and his patients fled in panic the only way they could, up those steps – listen.’
The sound of angry voices drifted down. Men’s gruff tones and the shrill, strident scream of a woman.
‘You have only the briefest of times,’ Cranston bawled, ‘or I send armed men up. They will take no prisoners.’
At Cranston’s signal, Flaxwith and his men began to rattle their drawn weapons against the walls, an ominous clatter of steel which echoed up the steps.
‘Come down!’ Cranston roared. ‘Come now! The only person we want is Raoul Malfort, bell clerk of this church and alleged traitor. Anyone found aiding, abetting or assisting him …’
This was enough. More shouts and yells, followed by the patter of footsteps, and a veritable gaggle of individuals came clattering down the steps. Two men, a woman and Raoul Malfort, held at the scruff of the neck b
y one of the men, a burly individual with a thick, heavy apron wrapped about him. He identified himself as Henry Vattier, vintner, his wife Margot and apprentice Simeon who, by his blood-encrusted mouth, must have been the object of Malfort’s recent ministrations before the unexpected arrival of Cranston and his escort.
‘In constant pain,’ the vintner boomed, shaking Malfort like a terrier would a rat, ‘we brought Simeon here, Margot and I, because we could not take his moaning from matins to compline.’ He shoved the terrified Malfort, his long, ugly face now strained with fear, into Flaxwith’s custody. ‘We heard noises from the stairs above, though he,’ the vintner pointed at Malfort, ‘told us it was workmen repairing the steps. Then you arrived. It was as if the very doors of Hell had been forced, Earthworms leaping about like Satan’s imps as they fled. Malfort,’ he jabbed with his thumb, ‘well, we didn’t know about his involvement. We thought we would all be safe further up.’
Athelstan asked a few questions, satisfying himself that the vintner was innocent. The friar thanked all three, gave them a special blessing that Simeon’s mouth would heal well, then he dismissed them. In the meantime, Flaxwith had bound the now shaking Malfort, who crouched in a corner, shivering and jabbering a stream of nonsense. A serjeant came in to report that three Earthworms had been slain in God’s Acre; the rest of their company had scaled the cemetery wall and fled into the maze of Cheapside. Cranston ordered the corpses of the dead be stripped and displayed on the church steps while Flaxwith and his bailiffs climbed the steep, spiral staircase to inspect the different stairwells. They returned with water-skins and leather sacks bulging with dried food, as well as a variety of arbalests, quivers crammed full of quarrels, longbows and bundles of yard-long shafts, feathered flights bristling, their barbed points sharp as razors. They also reported that the amount of kindling and charcoal for the beacon light in the steeple seemed more than plentiful, ‘As if to create a bonfire.’ They’d also discovered kite shields which could be used to defend the tower staircase, along with barrels of oil which, once spilt and torched, would create a powerful barrier against troops trying to retake the tower.
