Shattered Icon

by Bill Napier

  The governor's gruff tone brought me back from my horrible dilemma. 'What is this?' he asked the prisoner.

  'Those are the leaves of the monk's hood,' said the apothecary, who seemed ready, to faint. The weight of the chains round his wrists seemed to be pulling his arms out.

  The lawyer anticipated Ralph Lane's question. 'Tell us about the monk's hood.'

  'It is medicinal.'

  'And if you were asked to eat a leaf?'

  'Taken in excess, it is veneficia.''

  'Veneficia? Which is, in the vulgar?'

  'Poison.'

  'Speak up.'

  'Poison.'

  The prisoner nodded abjectly.

  Poison.

  The room could have been filled with corpses. Sir Edward stayed silent for some moments, a sneer on his face. The word poison spread through the air like a miasma. Then he said, 'This plant, is it not poisonous in the extreme?'

  'Yes, but only in excess.'

  'How much excess? If we were to place some on your tongue now, how much would you allow to sit on it?'

  The apothecary was trapped. He whispered, 'It will kill in very small quantities.'

  'Again! Speak up!' Lane commanded sharply.

  'With a tiny dose?' Sir Edward asked.

  'Yes.'

  'Indeed. And so when you say "in excess", in fact you mean a tiny spot?'

  Mr Rosen nodded miserably.

  'Describe the symptoms of poisoning by monk's hood.'

  'Death.'

  A ripple of laughter briefly broke the tension in the room, quickly stilled by Lane's glare.

  'And before death, would you not say, first, a numbing and tingling in the mouth?'

  'Yes, starting within minutes of taking the poison.'

  'A mere tingling in the mouth? An easy death, then? Or does the tingling spread?'

  'It spreads to the throat and then the whole body. The victim loses sight and hearing, although his mental faculties remain.'

  'He is blind, deaf and paralysed, and yet remains aware of what is happening to him?'

  The apothecary nodded helplessly. 'His pupils become dilated. He will eventually die through an inability to breathe.'

  'Eventually? And how long will this take?'

  'Minutes to hours, depending on the dose.'

  The lawyer nodded. Ralph Lane was looking at the contents of the box with something like horror. He picked out another phial. It was filled with bright green, hard-shelled and dessicated insects. I had seen these too, in Marmaduke's secret panel.

  The apothecary, his brow wet with sweat, said, 'Spanish fly.'

  'Spanish fly? A poison again?' The governor's brow was furrowed.

  'Yes sir, but. ..'

  'And this?'

  'It is a plant from South America. I obtained it on my voyage with Captain Frobisher..'

  'A poison, no doubt?' The governor's eyes were filled with accusation.

  'Yes, sir.' The apothecary's voice was now barely audible, and I had to strain to hear him.

  'This?'

  'Berries.'

  'I can see that they are berries.'

  'They are of the type which the surgeon-barber thinks killed Simon Fludd.'

  Another phial. 'I think I have seen this.'

  'Yes, sir. Those are the leaves of the belladonna plant.'

  The governor pulled out the cork. 'Sir,' the apothecary interrupted quickly, 'the poison can enter the body through the skin.'

  Lane hastily replaced the cork and dropped the phial back in the box. 'And the symptoms of belladonna poisoning?' he asked, his voice grim.

  'There is a difficulty in swallowing, the skin flushes, there is increasing headache leading to hallucinations. Later there is paralysis leading to death.'

  'And the eyes?' the lawyer asked. 'You fail to mention the most conspicuous feature of death by belladonna.'

  The apothecary briefly covered his face with his hands, as if this would make his terrible predicament disappear. 'The pupils are dilated, so much so that the eyes appear black. It is indeed the most distinctive feature of the disease. In small doses it is used to enhance the beauty of women's eyes. Hence the name, bella donna.'

  Sir Edward seized the opportunity for ridicule. 'And you possess this because you propose to beautify the eyes of the mariners? Or perhaps the soldiers? Or the female savages?' A ripple of laughter went through the crowded chapel. Mr Rosen remained silent, his face a mass of misery.

  'And when the surgeon-barber and you attended to the unfortunate Mr Falconer...'

  'His eyes were black with the distension of the pupils.'

  'And do you agree with Mr Oxendale's diagnosis, that Mr Falconer was poisoned?'

  'I do, but not by a single substance. In my opinion the symptoms are better described by a combination of poisons.'

  'Indeed? You correct the opinion of the physician? It seems your knowledge of poisons is more extensive than you would have us believe.'

  There was a murmur of assent around the chapel, quickly stilled by a look from the governor. Thomas Harriot stood up. 'I wish to question the apothecary.'

  Sir Edward bowed ironically and stepped back.

  Thomas approached the bench and picked up the phial of dried green insects. 'What are the medicinal properties of the Spanish fly?' he asked, turning to the apothecary.

  'In small quantities the crushed shell is an aphrodisiac.'

  Ribald laughter filled the chapel. Even Ralph Lane smiled briefly. Sir Edward interrupted, his voice full of exaggerated sarcasm: 'What need is there of an aphrodisiac on this voyage?'

  'None, sir. But it also eases blisters on the skin. Several in this chapel will testify to its benefits.' There was a murmur of agreement amongst the crowd.

  Thomas continued, 'And the belladonna?'

  'It can be used in tiny amounts to treat sickness arising from the motion of a ship, and I have used it to the benefit of several mariners, and even some of the gentlemen. Marmaduke StClair will verify this.'

  'And the berry? The thing which may have killed David Falconer, on its own or as part of a combination?'

  'I have been using it as rat bait. From my experiments I have found it to be very successful. I believe that larger quantities of the berry carried on future expeditions will be extremely useful.' There was a murmuring from the crowd. Rats were the bane of our existence and destroyers of our food. The governor leaned forwards, his eyes narrowed with concentration. I was filled with admiration for my master. Two minutes ago, it had seemed certain that the apothecary was doomed. But with a few deft questions the whole issue of his guilt had been turned around. Surely the court could not now find him guilty?

  Mr Harriot continued, 'And what about the plant from South America?'

  There was a tiny hesitation from Mr Rosen. 'It is used by some tribes because it causes excitement, or visions of flying or floating. I have it simply because I wish to deepen my knowledge of herbs.' Mr Harriot looked at Ralph Lane for some seconds, without speaking a word, and then returned to his seat.

  Sir Edward now stood up and turned to face Mr Lane. There was anger on every line of the lawyer's face. I sensed that he was not truly so but was acting the part to influence the judges by emotion. His voice was raised in this pretence of anger. 'The apothecary condemns himself with his own mouth. You see how he twists reason? A box full of deadly poisons becomes medicine for blisters or sea sickness, or rat bait, or a subject for curiosity. We see here, demonstrated before our eyes, the cunning of the witch. See how he conceals his true intentions with clever words. But the very cleverness of the words are themselves evidence against him. He stands condemned by his own mouth.'

  'I am not a witch!' Rosen cried in despair.

  'But would a witch not say the same? Are we to expect truth from the mouth of one?' Sir Edward approached to within two feet of the terrified apothecary. 'How do you come to live in England?'

  'I fled persecution in Bremen.' The apothecary's voice was anguished. 'I found my way to Englan
d after many adventures.'

  Sir Edward nodded. He stepped forward to Ralph Lane's desk and placed his hand on the Malleus. 'This book, Governor, was written by Kramer and Sprenger on the instruction of the pontiff Pope Innocent the Eighth, because of the extent of witchcraft which existed throughout Germany, particularly in Cologne, Mainz and Bremen.' He stepped back. There was a tone of finality in his voice. 'I do not believe I need to say more. The deadly poisons found amongst the materia medica of this wretch, his arrival from the nest of witches which is Bremen, his casuistry under questioning, which would do a Jesuit proud, these things are evidence enough for me. And they should be enough for this court. That he is a murderer is surely now proven. But it is his attempt to destroy our expedition which is his crime amongst crimes. No Englishman, this. He is an agent of Spain and must suffer the consequences.'

  Mr Harriot stood up again and walked towards Ralph. The apothecary followed my master with eyes full of hope and desperation. Thomas spoke in a quiet, almost gentle voice, in stark contrast to the strident tones of Sir Edward. 'It surprises me to hear Sir Edward speak of Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger as if they were the touchstones of wisdom. They were Dominicans! Has he converted to the Catholic faith? As to the prevalence of witches in Germany, since witches do not exist in the first place, this can reflect nothing more than the gullibility and proneness to suggestion amongst the people of those provinces. And as to the poisons, what nonsense Sir Edward speaks!'

  The lawyer glared at Thomas but my spiritual mentor ignored him. 'An apothecary must of necessity carry many herbs and substances which are poisonous when taken in excess. Mr Rosen has given adequate explanations for his possession of them. And in any case, who is to say that he alone had access to them? No witness saw Mr Rosen, or for that matter anyone else, administer them. The man is innocent. Mr Lane, let the apothecary go free.'

  The governor absently stroked his beard, looking between the prisoner, the lawyer and my master. 'We will take time to consider the matter.' He stood up. There was a bustle of noise as the audience rose to its feet. The judges filed out towards a room at the back of the chapel. I wondered whether I was expected to follow them, but nobody looked in my direction, and I simply gathered up my notes and waited.

  Gradually noise and laughter spread through the courtroom. Everyone seemed to speak to everyone else, as if it were market day. Everyone, that is, but Mr Rosen, who stood with his head bowed, just occasionally looking up and staring from left to right, wild-eyed, like a man who has lost his mind.

  After the best part of an hour the judges filed in again. The prisoner seemed close to fainting. 'Abraham Rosen,' the governor said in a grim voice. A mouse could have been heard in the chapel. In my excited state, my hand shook as I wrote his words. The jangling of the chains around the apothecary resumed. 'Of all forms of killing, that of the poisoner is the most vile. It is insidious and unclean. It uses dark and unnatural forces. The perpetrator lives in the shadows and slinks back into them when he has done his work. We find you guilty of the murders of which you have been accused. But you are not only a murderer. You are also a traitor to the country which harboured you, and to the Queen under whose protection you have lived in England.'

  At this point Mr Rosen gave a great cry. 'No! I did not do this! God is my witness! I am an innocent man!'

  I knew this from the contents of Marmaduke's secret panel. And now the apothecary's distress was so great, and his protestations of innocence so obviously sincere, that surely the court would believe him too.

  Ralph Lane let the uproar and the man's cries subside. And while the apothecary sobbed, he pronounced sentence without a hint of mercy in his voice. 'Sentence appropriate to high treason will be carried out this day. You will be hanged and taken down while still living. Your private parts will then be cut off. Your bowels will be removed while you still live, and you will be beheaded as you die. Captain Vaughan, see to it with despatch.'

  CHAPTER 28

  'Chuck Martin? Harry Blake here. I got your e-mail message. It was lucky I checked them. But how did you know where to reach me?'

  The lawyer ignored my question. 'I'm glad you phoned, Mr Blake. Very glad.' He lowered his voice. 'Are you free to talk? I mean, are you out of hearing?'

  I glanced out at the balcony. The wind and rain had eased during the course of the day, and now the only evidence that it had ever been was vapour rising from the occasional puddle. Dalton was taking a break from the decode and splashing around in the pool. He had the trim body and flat stomach that goes with hour-a-day workouts and that I could only envy. Zola was on a garden bench in the shade of a papyrus tree, wearing a yellow towel, dark glasses and a broad-brimmed straw hat. She was scribbling on a pad. Sheets of paper next to her were held down by a glass of pink fluid.

  'What's the problem?'

  'Can you get away from your companions this evening? Say for a couple of hours?'

  'Ho hum. What's going on, Mr Martin?'

  'I want you to meet some people.'

  'I don't like the sound of this. What's going on?'

  'Believe me, Mr Blake, it's in your best interests. Look, there's an open-air jam near Matilda's Corner tonight. Lots of people partying. Can you be there?'

  'Maybe,' I said.

  'It gets underway after dark. That's in an hour or so.'

  'Just who are you representing, Mr Martin?'

  'I see my client as Miss Tebbit. But she's little more than a child, Mr Blake, and I'm not sure she could handle the information I want to give you. It's in her interests as much as yours that we should meet.'

  Dalton was out of the pool and drying himself. The sun, with its usual tropical speed, was already low on the horizon behind Kingston, surrounded by technicolour clouds.

  I didn't like the situation, but on the other hand didn't see what else I could do. I grabbed wallet and car keys and headed for the Toyota. Zola looked up in surprise.

  'Going into town,' I explained.

  'What? But what about the cipher?'

  I didn't bother to reply. I sensed Zola's eyes on me all the way to the car. The Toyota was under the shade of a papaya tree, big pink fruits threatening to squelch down on it, but the steering wheel was still painfully hot to touch. I took it gingerly down the mountain pass while the sun touched the sea in a blaze of red and yellow clouds, the fleeing remnants of the storm, and finally sank under it.

  I made my way along the Old Hope Road to Matilda's Corner and parked the car in a side street. A deep, thumping rhythm was echoing off buildings. A stream of lively teenagers was heading for the source of the noise and I followed them. There was a park, lit up like a fairground. I joined a queue and paid three thousand Jamaican dollars to a fat man with an enormous knitted cap with red, gold, black and green stripes. He was smoking a large, hand-rolled joint. Then I was under an archway with DIS AND DAT in blue letters, and into the park along with at least a thousand others, nearly all of them younger than me and nearly all of them black-skinned. At least I stood out in the crowd.

  I jostled my way to a jerk chicken stall and filled a paper plate with odds and ends. Coloured lightbulbs were strung between trees, swaying in the wind, and the air was light with ganja and spice, and Caribbean chatter and dancehall music of a sort coming from awesomely large speakers. Young men with guitars were leaping around on a brightly lit stage. I felt a hundred years old.

  There was no sign of Chuck Martin. But would I ever see him in this melee?

  A fantasy thought struck me: that Cassandra and her friends might be pulling the lawyer's strings. Short of a knife in the ribs, I didn't see what they could do in this crowd. It was a safe place to be. That, of course, would be just what they wanted: me to feel safe. Suddenly nervous, I decided to give it ten minutes and clear off. In any case, much longer than that and I would have permanent hearing damage. I finished my food and grabbed a rum punch from a bar counter: the entrance fee, it seemed, paid for the drinks. I started to ease my way back towards the exit.


  'You wanna dance?' She was about twenty, dark-skinned, with a short yellow top which exposed her midriff and most of her bosom, and a short yellow skirt which exposed a lot of thigh. Nice thighs, I thought. She had a wide smile which exposed perfect white teeth. She wore a gold necklace and earrings, and white mules.

  'Not really,' I said, loud enough to be heard over the music.

  'I don't bite,' she smiled.

  'And I don't dance.'

  'You just have to move your feet.'

  She took my hand. It was small and warm and I thought, what the hell. I put the rum punch down on a table as I passed and then we were mingling with the hot, densely packed dancers. There was a smell of rum and jerk, and sweat and ganja, and the night air was hot. Her dance was an uninhibited affair of undulating hips and pelvic contact. I tried to imitate her movements but couldn't get the rhythm. She said, 'Well it ain't Cool 'N' Deadly. I told you, you have to move your feet.'

  'What's your name?'

  'Helen. I think you don't like parties.'

  Here it comes. The invitation to go someplace quiet. 'Got it in one, Helen.'

  'We could go someplace quiet.' That smile.

  'Tell you what. You find someone more sociable and I'll go home to bed.'

  This time she laughed. 'You don't get rid of me so easy. Come on.'

  She took me by the hand again and we made our way through the crowd. She was still dancing to the music, wriggling her bottom and swinging her shoulders rhythmically. The group came to some sort of climax and a DJ started to mouth some rubbish in half-English, half-patois, delivered with a horrible synthetic whine.

  She'd be aiming to get me into some quiet, dark spot. The trick would be to see what was lying behind this pickup without going the way of Tebbit. I was sweating. Either she was just a girl after my wallet or she was leading me to someone. Or maybe she was just being friendly and the earth was flat after all. She led the way past the stalls and bars to the edge of the park. It was darker here. There was a high fence and an exit, and beyond it a road with a stream of cars, and beyond that a concrete wall and a row of dirty, shuttered, one-storey buildings. Alarm bells were ringing in my head.