“Your departure has caused quite a stir Everyone is saying the Graoully has eaten you!” Nagel said excitedly as he handed out the food to his guests.
“The what?” said Bos filling his mouth with cheese.
“The Graoully is the monstrous dragon cast out of Metz by St Clement,” said Nagel and he gleefully began to describe the fearsome beast.
The Graoully was a gigantic, two-legged wyvern with leathery scales, bat-like wings, a pointed tail and breath so foul it poisoned the land for miles around. This monster had lived in the city’s ruined Roman amphitheatre until St Clement had arrived in the city with a promise to send it back to Satan if the pagan Messines embraced Christ. The terrified citizens had happily agreed so the saint had commanded the Graoully to ‘reside in a place where neither men nor beasts could dwell’. As soon as Clement had finished his prayer, the monster had fled into the watery depths of the Moselle.
“A silly story to scare fools and fishwives,” sniffed Bos.
“Perhaps, but people are saying the English sorcerer summoned the Graoully to free him from his cage. That suits our purpose admirably,” replied Nagel and he told the men that their former gaolers had been threatened with their own rack unless they confessed to aiding the prisoners’ escape. The cowardly brutes had begged for mercy and had sworn by everything they held holy that they’d seen the monster rise up from the river and bend apart the cage’s iron bars with its talons. They also swore that the wizard could not control the creature he’d released from the river and it had devoured everyone inside the cage before returning to the water.
“Ha! Do these poltroons really believe Thomas could summon a dragon? I’ll wager those guards were lying to save their skins,” said Prometheus.
“Of course they were, but with everyone thinking you’ve all been eaten by a ravenous beast, the city watch won’t search for you too hard, will they?” said Nagel with a smile and the others roared with laughter. The thought of the superstitious constables believing their prisoners had perished in the belly of a dragon brought tears of mirth rolling down their cheeks. Nagel also had good news about Thomas, his fever hadn’t worsened during the night and Father Sebastian felt sure the Englishman would make a speedy recovery provided he received plenty of rest and lots of good food. Happily the barns and larders of the leper house were well stocked with fresh bread, meat and vegetables.
Just as Nagel had promised none of the city watch, or any of the Black Band, dared search the Isle of Ghosts, especially as everyone in the city had become convinced that the prisoners had been eaten by a monster. After a few desultory patrols, the hunt was abandoned and the citizens began to prepare for the departure of the Black Band. De la Pole and his men left for the war in the south by the city’s St Barbara gate, which was on the opposite side of Metz to the Isle of Ghosts, but the fugitives in the leper house could hear the sound their enemy’s fifes and drums grow ever fainter.
Whilst their persecutor was marching to the French king’s muster at Lyon, the fugitives slowly recovered their strength and after a week on the Isle of Ghosts everyone, including Thomas, was healthier than they’d ever been. Realising that the time had come for his guests to leave, Father Sebastian summoned them all to a council of war and they met in the small, curtained cubicle at the far end of the chapel from the altar. This sparsely furnished room served as Father Sebastian’s private apartments and behind the tattered curtain was a cot, some stools and a small table.
“I allow myself a little privacy so I may read and meditate without disturbing the sick. You must forgive the poverty of my quarters but please make yourselves comfortable as best you can. Now my friends, I’ve recently received news from London, and we’ll we have much to discuss once you’ve heard it, but first please allow me to tell you my story,” said the priest.
Whilst his visitors perched uncomfortably on the crude furniture, Father Sebastian revealed that he too was an Englishman who’d once held high office at the Tudor court. Shortly after the coronation of Henry VIII, he’d been appointed to the College of the King’s Chaplains and, as a trusted member of the royal household, the new king had often sought the elderly priest’s advice on important matters of state. However Father Sebastian’s loyalty and sound advice had not protected him from the king’s wrath. After nearly three years of faithful service, he’d been summarily dismissed from his post, charged with treason and sent to The Tower.
“Like Joseph in Egypt, I was cast into prison even though I’d committed no crime and I’ve no doubt that it was Cardinal Wolsey who turned the king against me,” said Father Sebastian angrily. “You see gentlemen, I’m a man of peace but the king had set his mind on a war to win back the French crown. I tried to persuade Henry to abandon his vainglorious dreams of conquest but Wolsey encouraged the king in his foolish ambition as a means of furthering his own career. In a matter of months, Wolsey had driven all those who’d favoured peace with France into exile, obscurity or The Tower and had it not been for the queen, I’d have ended my days on the scaffold.”
The priest’s eyes clouded with tears as he told the others of how Catherine of Aragon had persuaded Henry to let him spend his last years abroad, nursing the lepers of Burgundy as penance for his error, and how Henry had only agreed because he’d believed he was sending his former advisor to a slow and painful death. Despite the king’s malicious hopes, Father Sebastian had grown old in the service of the sick but now the shadow of death was finally upon him, his dearest wish was to return home.
“Daily I pray to God to let me see England again but until Wolsey is dead or banished from Henry’s realm, not even my bones will be allowed to rest in my native land,” said Father Sebastian miserably. He ended his tale with tears streaming down his cheeks and a harsh bitterness in his voice.
“Don’t forget that I too was brought low by Wolsey’s schemes so every man here has suffered at the hands of this corrupt prince of the church,” cried Nagel. The others assured him that none of them had forgotten the catalogue of injustices that they’d all endured at the hands of Cardinal Wolsey but they were eager to hear the news from London and urged the priest to continue. Father Sebastian blew his nose on his habit and smiled as he exploded his mine.
“You will be delighted to know, my friends, that our beloved Cardinal Wolsey is standing on the edge of the abyss and all because King Henry’s one eyed serpent is searching for a new Eden to corrupt and destroy,” said Father Sebastian gleefully.
When his guests looked confused the priest explained that Wolsey’s potentially fatal dilemma stemmed from Henry’s need to divorce the barren Catherine of Aragon and marry the more fecund Anne Boleyn. To free the king from his marriage, Cardinal Wolsey had to present a petition to Pope Clement asking for a decree of annulment, on the grounds Catherine had once been betrothed to Henry’s dead brother. This earlier betrothal, though never consummated, made Henry’s marriage bigamous under church law but Wolsey’s duplicitous diplomacy, especially concerning France, had deeply angered the pope. Thanks to the cardinal’s intrigues, Pope Clement would never grant any request made by Wolsey on behalf of the English king, whatever its theological merits.
“So you see my friends, God has placed the means to end our exile within our grasp. Wolsey must fall but Henry is reluctant to lose the only priest who dares to put his king before his God. It therefore falls to us to help the king push Wolsey off the cliff!” cried Father Sebastian happily.
”Cliffs … serpents … Eden … you speak in riddles priest, why can’t you say clearly what you mean?” complained Bos but it was Nagel who answered the Frisian’s question.
The trumpet player declared that ever since Henry had been crowned, he’d feared a Yorkist restoration so Wolsey’s chief task as Lord Chancellor had been to track down and murder every Yorkist heir. Wolsey had been very successful in this task, and only Richard de la Pole had escaped his net, but in the last five years every assassin the cardinal had sent to Metz had been unmasked. However if Thomas, Bos, P
rometheus and Quintana could succeed where Wolsey had failed, Henry would take this as a sign that God wanted him to dismiss his murderous cardinal. Wolsey would be banished, or executed, whilst the successful assassins would be swiftly restored to royal favour.
“Don’t you see? The death of the White Rose will free Henry from the twin threats to his throne and he’ll surely reward those who wielded the knife!” Nagel cried triumphantly and he looked disappointed when the others failed to share his enthusiasm for de la Pole’s assassination.
“God’s Truth you exasperate us Nagel, first you urge us to join the White Rose and now you want us to kill him, which is it you really want?” Bos said angrily.
“A jilted lover could not be more contrary, or more murderous,” agreed Quintana.
“Indeed you have more twists and turns than one of your sackbuts,” added Prometheus.
“So tell us, truthfully, are you for Tudor or York?” said Thomas. Nagel shuffled his feet nervously as the others continued to insist that he reveal his real motives for aiding their escapes from both The Tower and the cage. At first the terrified trumpet player tried to avoid answering their barrage of questions but Father Sebastian urged him to speak.
“Very well, since you ask, I’m loyal only to Father Sebastian, as he’s the only man who’s ever shown me any kindness, and in return I’ve sworn to help him get back to England,” he said tearfully. This failed to satisfy his interrogators and they demanded to know more of Nagel’s history. Again the trumpet player refused to speak so, much to his embarrassment, Father Sebastian finished his tale.
The priest told his guests that shortly after Nagel’s arrival in Metz, the trumpet player had been caught sodomising one of de la Pole’s squires. Dragged in front of the outraged White Rose, Nagel admitted that Wolsey had sent him to spy on the exiled Yorkist prince and he would’ve died on the Judas Cradle had he not bought his life with an offer to change sides and become a double spy. The wily de la Pole had immediately realised Nagel’s value to the Yorkist cause and had secured a pardon for his secular crimes from Metz’s bishop. However the bishop had insisted that Nagel must also seek both absolution for his mortal sins and a cure for his ‘sickness’ from Father Sebastian.
“Wait a minute, you told us it was your seduction of Wolsey’s married servant that got you into this mess in the first place,” cried Bos.
“That’s true but I didn’t say it was a married woman,” said Nagel, blushing with shame. Bos opened his mouth to quote Leviticus but Father Sebastian held up his hand for silence.
“All that’s now past and with The Lord Jesus’ help our friend has learned to control his unnatural appetites, so if God has forgiven him so should we,” said the priest but this did little to quiet his guests’ confusion. On the one hand Father Sebastian seemed to be a devout and pious Christian yet he was also happy to ignore The Bible’s teachings when it suited him. Not only was he willing to forgive Nagel’s unpardonable sins, he was urging his guests to break God’s commandment forbidding murder. For several minutes the men sat in uncomfortable silence as each man searched his own conscience. Finally Thomas burst into laughter.
“By the great pus-filled warts on Lucifer’s arse what a band of sinners we are!” he cried. “Each of us has been touched by The Devil and our only way back to God is through a garden of thorns. Very well Father, I’ll pluck your White Rose and when you get to heaven be sure to tell The Almighty it was me, Thomas Devilstone, who decided the fate of kingdoms and empires!”
It took a while for Thomas to convince the others that the assassination of the White Rose would bring them the riches and revenge they all craved but in the end he succeeded. He reminded Bos that Richard de la Pole now led the Black Band, the same army of cutthroats that had devastated his Frisian homeland, and he owed it to his slaughtered countrymen to cut the new head off this brutal hydra. Similarly, he convinced Prometheus that the indignity of imprisoning a prince of the royal House of Nubia in a cage could only be avenged by extinguishing the royal House of York.
Finally, only Quintana remained aloof from the conspiracy and he insisted that their original plan of joining the imperial army besieging Marseille would fulfil both their ambitions. Firstly any brave man could help himself to as much plunder as he could carry once the city had fallen and secondly any failure to raise the siege would result in de la Pole’s disgrace and ruin. Thomas countered by insisting that Quintana’s best chance of becoming rich and, more importantly, surviving long enough to enjoy his new found wealth, lay in England with the gratitude and pardon of the English king. Eventually sheer weight of numbers carried the day and Quintana threw up his hands in weary resignation
“Oh very well, I suppose you fools need a man with something other than rocks in his head to keep you out of trouble. Besides, you’ve all forgotten that we’re still sitting on a mudflat in the middle of the Moselle? So until we escape from Metz any talk of future riches is purest moonshine,” he said.
“Fear not, I have a plan for you to leave Metz by the pont Ysfroy and I promise that no sentry will stop you.” said Father Sebastian with a toothless grin. The old monk stood up and disappeared behind his cubicle’s curtain. He returned a few minutes later, tossed a pile of dirty rags onto the floor and told his guests that lepers could enter or leave the city unmolested during the hour before sunrise or the hour after sunset. If they dressed in these rags and presented themselves at the appropriate time the sentries were duty bound to let them pass.
“For it is written in the Book of Leviticus that the leper shall wear garb that has been rent and torn asunder, and though his hair shall be loose, he shall put a covering upon his visage, and wherever he so goeth, he shall cry unclean,” said Bos, picking up some of the tattered clothing.
“Wear the garb of a leper? By the empty tomb of St Lazarus you can’t mean it, we’ll surely be struck down with the disease,” gasped Quintana, looking at the dirty beeches and soiled cloaks but Father Sebastian reminded him that the afflicted could only be chosen by God and the alternative was to face certain death in de la Pole’s cage. Eventually Quintana had to admit that disguise was the best way to leave the city.
“I’ll take you to the bridge and vouch for you. If you’re questioned, say you’re travelling to the Shrine of Our Lady at Benoite de Vaux to bathe in the healing waters. I can’t leave the city but Nagel will be with you and he knows every byway between here and the Alps” said Father Sebastian as he showed the men how to wind thin strips of cloth around their limbs and tie a veil around their heads so that the biblical prohibition on a lepers revealing their disfigured faces would be observed. After the men had finished dressing they wrapped spare clothing in bundles, which they tied to pilgrim’s staffs, and once their disguises were complete Father Sebastian stepped back to admire his handiwork.
“Excellent, you’d all fool St Lazarus himself! But we must leave immediately for once the sun dips below the horizon no leper may be abroad,” said the priest as he collected his own staff and a rattle from beneath his cot. A few minutes later the little party left the hospital and though the priest whispered words of encouragement the men began to sweat with fear and loathing. The musty bandages covering their faces smelled of death and despite Father Sebastian’s earlier assurances, the fugitives were convinced that the evil of leprosy would soon start to poison their blood.
As lepers were forbidden to possess boats the only way off the Isle of Ghosts, without swimming, was over the broken down causeway that linked the Lazar House with the rest of Metz and at the far end of this pontoon, a track followed the narrow strip of mud that lay between the river and Metz’s northern walls. This section of the city’s ramparts ran all the way to the eastern end of the Island of Chambière where the great stone bridge of the pont Ysfroy spanned the Moselle’s main channel. If the fugitives could reach the other side of this fortified crossing they’d be free.
The sky shone red with the first glow of sunset as Father Sebastian and his lepers hurried acro
ss the causeway. They quickly found the track across the mudflats and set off for the pont Ysfroy but as they neared the bridge a group of fishermen, setting eel nets at the water’s edge, barred their way. At the sound of Father Sebastian’s rattle the frightened fishermen began to shout curses and throw stones but if they thought the lepers would flee from their barrage they were mistaken. Father Sebastian damned them all for cowardly brutes and, like Moses parting the Red Sea, he ushered his charges through the mob, cracking fishermen’s heads with his staff as they went.
“Why is it that wherever we go people through things at us?” muttered Bos as they climbed the eel fishers’ slippery wooden ladders that led to the bridge but no one was listening, the others were too busy looking at the their last obstacle to freedom.
Like the pont des Morts, the pont Ysfroy was protected by a barbican built over the bridge’s central arch. There were two pairs of gates, divided by a portcullis, but until the curfew bell sounded all the barriers would remain open. As most men of martial spirit had left the city with Richard de la Pole’s Black Band, the barbican was guarded by just two dotards who were leaning on their halberds dozing until the sound of Father Francis’ rattle and cry of ‘unclean’ spurred them into life.
“Lepers! Don’t come any further, keep back I say!” growled the more senile of the two sentries and he lowered his poleaxe. Behind their veils the lepers held their breath. They were just yards from safety but one word out of place would mean discovery and death.
“Calm yourself my son, I’m Father Sebastian of the Lazar House on the Isle of Ghosts and these men wish to take the holy waters at Benoite de Vaux. I’ve brought them to the city gate at dusk as the law permits, now let these dying men go in peace,” said the priest but neither sentry was satisfied. Whilst the senile sentry kept his halberd levelled at Father Sebastian’s chest his comrade, who still possessed some sense of duty, stepped forward to examine the lepers. Though he was careful not to stand too close to the diseased wretches, he peered at their rags and sniffed the air suspiciously.
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