The Gallows Murders

by Paul Doherty

  'It looks like a sword cut,' Benjamin declared.

  I glanced at old Quicksilver's face. 'He was an ugly bugger in life,' I observed, 'and now he's dead.' I covered his face with a rag and glanced at my master. 'Do you really think he's Greene?' I asked. 'The man whom Sir Thomas More mentions as being responsible for the Princes' murder?'

  ‘I think so,' Benjamin replied. 'And that scar proves it. Greene must have been a mere stripling, though ancient in knavery, some forty years ago. He must have had a hand in the death of the Princes.'

  Benjamin got to his feet and walked away from the corpse, beckoning me to follow. He closed the door and we sat on the stools. Above us we could hear Pelleter's bailiffs crashing about.

  'After 1485’ Benjamin began, "when the Tudors came to the throne, Greene went into hiding.'

  ‘Yes, yes, that's true’ I replied. 'Quicksilver once told me he had spent many years on the Welsh March’

  'Aye’ Benjamin replied. Then he returned to London as Dr Quicksilver. A born charlatan, he took up quackery. His only problem was that scar on his wrist.'

  ‘Do you think he could have been involved in the blackmail?' I asked.

  ‘I doubt it’ Benjamin replied. 'A born rogue, Quicksilver would not wish to excite attention. Which brings us to the intentions and true motives of the men we are hunting.' He ran the nail of his thumb round his lips. 'Sakker is definitely involved. An Oxford-trained clerk, he would know all about the Chancery and how to draft and publish a letter.' Benjamin tapped me on the knee. ‘I’m sure your theory is correct. He probably worked in the Tower for a while as Philip Allardyce, clerk of the stores. Somehow he faked his own death, which left him free to run about the city issuing proclamations, killing Undershaft and the rest.'

  Benjamin paused, staring into the cold ash in the fire hearth. 'A man like Sakker would love that, cocking a snoot at authority whilst carrying out his own private war against the hangmen who executed his family. But -' he held up a finger - the mystery still remains. Who is his accomplice?’ Benjamin paused. "We know Sakker must hate the hangmen, yet, out of fear or some other motive, one of them might be his accomplice.' He sighed. ‘Whatever, Sakker seems to move in and out of the Tower as he pleases.' He stood up. ‘But come, let's find out what our friends have discovered.'

  So far, it transpired, very little, but then old Shallot became involved. One of the great virtues of being a rogue is that you know where people hide things. Oh, the bailiffs had found potion books, elixirs, even a grimoire of black magic, but nothing to prove that

  Quicksilver was really Greene, or that he had a hand in any dark deeds at the Tower. Nevertheless, I soon corrected that. You see, people always hide things in the same place: they also believe that their bedchambers are, somehow, the safest place: the receptacle of all their great secrets. (Even my little chaplain here, I know he has been moving my great four-poster! He will find nothing there! I have, over the years, learnt never to hide anything in my bedchamber.)

  Quicksilver was not so fortunate. His bedchamber had already been plundered, but I pulled the bed aside. I ignored the bailiffs' sniggers as I failed to find any loose board beneath, and I turned my attention to the bed itself. The headboard and posts proved solid, but I pulled the mattress off and beneath found a secret pocket cleverly sewn into its base. I rummaged about and drew out a sheaf of documents. My master cleared the chamber and took these over to the window to examine. The vellum had turned yellow and greasy with old age and the ink had faded. One was a love letter to Greene, probably from some long-dead doxy. Another was an indenture between Robert Brackenbury, constable of the Tower, and Edward Greene, yeoman; the date was January 1484. The third document was much more exciting: it was a plan of the Tower, or at least its walls, showing all the postern-gates and doors. Benjamin studied this closely and became excited.

  'Look, Roger, here! In the wall near the Flint Tower, there's a small water-gate. I am sure this was not on Spurge's map.' He rolled it up. ‘We are finished here,' he announced.

  He called Pelleter and told him we were leaving, and fairly hustled me out of the house. We hurried down to East Watergate, where we hired a skiff to take us back to the Tower. Once we were there, Benjamin immediately called a council with Kemble, Vetch, Spurge, Mallow and the hangmen. We met in the constable's chamber. Benjamin demanded Spurge's map and spread it out on the table, alongside the faded, greasy one taken from Quicksilver's mattress.

  'Study them!' Benjamin exclaimed.

  Spurge leaned over the table and did so. 'Where did you get this from?' he asked.

  'Never mind! Never mind!' Benjamin replied. Tell me, Master Spurge, can you see any difference?'

  For a while we sat in silence. No one dared object: Benjamin's face and curt, clipped words being a stark reminder that he was the King's commissioner in this matter and had to be obeyed. We all waited whilst Spurge ran his finger round both maps; taking eyeglasses out of a velvet pouch, he put these on, whispering to himself. Now and again he would glance up anxiously at Benjamin who was sitting opposite.

  They are similar,' he muttered. 'Except—'

  'Except what?' Benjamin snapped.

  'Here, near the Flint Tower, there's a small water-gate I have never seen before.' He glanced anxiously up at the constable. 'Nor was it on the maps I saw when I came here.'

  Kemble just shook his head. Benjamin cut any discussion short and we all accompanied him down to Tower Green. After a great deal of searching, we found the water-gate carefully concealed by long grass and bushes which sprouted along the wall on either side of Flint Tower. The gate, or small portal, was no more than three foot high, built in the base of the wall. Nevertheless, despite it being hidden, Benjamin could lift the latch easily, open it, and look down to where the green slime of the moat gently swirled backwards and forwards.

  "The gate's been used,' Benjamin said. The hinges and lock are all greased and oiled to make no sound.' He crouched down and peered across the moat. 'Somewhere, in the reeds i on the far side, I am sure we will find a small, flat boat which could be poled across in the darkness’

  That could be done very easily,' Vetch interrupted. There are few guards on the ramparts above; we did not believe there was any gate or entrance here to guard’

  ‘Nor can it be seen from the other side,' Snakeroot spoke up.

  We all looked at him expectantly. Well’ he stammered, 'across the moat is a good place to take a doxy. I have never seen the gate.'

  The others chorused their agreement. Benjamin listened, then opening the gates, slipped through. We waited a while, then heard a knock on the gate. We reopened it and Benjamin, his coat all covered with mud and slime, stood there grinning from ear to ear.

  'If you go out,' he said, 'you'll find gorse and bushes growing along the muddy bank, on this side of the Tower. It's quite simple: when the person left or entered, they pulled the vegetation across, so from the far side of the moat, all you saw were bushes and gorse growing at the base of the wall. Whilst this side was hidden by the same device.' He straightened up, shaking the mud from his gown. Philip Allardyce was clerk to the stores?' he inquired.

  His question was directed to the constable, who nodded quickly. 'And who hired him?' Benjamin continued. Why?’ Kemble replied.

  'Master Constable, the Allardyce who came here was really Robert Sakker!'

  Well, Master Daunbey, I did.' Kemble stuttered. ‘I thought he was who he claimed to be.'

  'But why him?'

  Kemble's face broke into a grin. 'Because no less a person than your beloved uncle, Cardinal Wolsey, recommended him’

  Chapter 13

  Now it was not often in my life I saw Benjamin lost for words, but he was as dumbstruck as myself. For a while he stood and gaped at Kemble before walking back on to the green. I followed, and Kemble caught up with us.

  'It's true what I say,' he declared. 'Master Daunbey -' he stared round at the rest - 'come with me.'

  We returned to his chamber. Benjami
n slumped on to a stool at the huge oval table, whilst Kemble went to rummage amongst coffers and chests. Vetch, Spurge, Mallow and the other hangmen came in; they were fascinated by Benjamin's revelation.

  'I would never have guessed,' Vetch whispered to me. He was an amiable soul but rather quiet, kept to himself

  'He hardly spoke to us,' Mallow trumpeted. 'Really, Master Daunbey, are you saying this Philip Allardyce was really Robert Sakker?’

  Benjamin nodded, his eyes never leaving Kemble.

  At last the constable gave a cry and came back to the table, a small scroll in his hand. He tossed this to Benjamin who unrolled it. The seal and signature were immediately recognisable:

  Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal, Archbishop, Chancellor, to his faithful servant Sir Edward Kemble, Constable of the Tower, etc'

  The letter then went on to recommend Philip Allardyce, clerk of the stores of Dover Castle, to the vacant clerkship at the Tower. The letter described the fees, robes, etc, which would be his due: it had been sealed eight months earlier by Wolsey's own chancellor. 'It's no forgery,' Benjamin said.

  "But if this Sakker could forge letters supposedly from Edward V, why not from Our Lord Cardinal?' Vetch cried.

  Benjamin shook his head and tapped the letter. 'I know my own uncle's signature.' He looked up at Kemble, who sat down at the top of the table. 'So this Allardyce arrived eight months ago?'

  ‘Yes, just after the Epiphany. I wasn't here when he arrived. I was away in my manor house, still celebrating Yuletide.'

  'So to whom did he present this letter?' Benjamin asked.

  ‘Why to me, sir,' Vetch replied. 'I am the constable's deputy, but I saw nothing amiss.' His smooth face became more worried. 'How was I to know?' His voice rose. 'A young man comes into the Tower armed with a letter from His Excellency the Cardinal, not to mention other documents. I remember it well. I accepted the letter and provided him with quarters.' He shrugged. To all intents and purposes, Allardyce was; Allardyce, a quiet, industrious, most competent clerk.'

  'He did good work.' Spurge spoke up. 'Cataloguing the goods in the stores, making sure that all was in order, never once was he found wanting.'

  'Is this true, Sir Edward?' Benjamin asked.

  Kemble nodded. 'I had few dealings with him myself. I can add nothing to what has been said. The man calling himself Allardyce was soberly dressed, loyal and obedient.'

  'And didn't he talk to any of you?' Benjamin asked. 'Surely there were festivities? He ate and drank?' ‘He was very reserved,' Mallow declared. What about the King's birthday party?' I asked.

  'Don't forget, Master Shallot-' Mallow preened himself at being able to correct me - 'those festivities are intended for the Guild of Hangmen.'

  'Bugger that!' I snorted. 'Did he come or didn't he?'

  'Yes he did,' Snakeroot sneered, but he drank rather deeply early on in the evening, then disappeared.'

  I could see Benjamin was bemused, so I whispered that we should withdraw. My master agreed, picking up the letter Kemble had thrown at him; he muttered that no one in the Tower should leave without his permission. We left and returned to our own quarters.

  Once we were back in the chamber, Benjamin slammed the door behind him. He sat at the table, head in hands, refusing to answer my flow of questions. At last he sighed and sat back in his chair.

  'Do you think, dear Roger, that this could be one of beloved Uncle's tricks?'

  ‘You mean ...?'

  ‘I mean dear Uncle is not above frightening the King.' Benjamin shook his head. ‘No, no, that's unworthy of me.' He drew a deep breath. ‘We have constructed a hypothesis, Roger, that Philip Allardyce was really Robert Sakker who feigned his own death to remove him from any suspicion whilst he carried on his wickedness in the city. Now,' Benjamin paused and rubbed his chin, ‘What happens if that hypothesis is incorrect? What if Allardyce was who he claimed to be? Died of the plague and his soul's gone to his Maker?' He gazed bleakly at me. 'Can't you see, Roger? I thought that Allardyce's appointment was the work of someone in the Tower but, if it was due to beloved Uncle—'

  'It would be known to others,' I snapped. 'Your uncle's Chancery would inform the Tower about who was going to fill the vacancy.'

  I recalled that old hunting lodge in the forest on the country road, the clothes burnt in the hearth.

  'Master, I believe Sakker was also told this, and that he trapped Allardyce at Maidstone. He killed him and fled, but not before he exchanged documents. He took your uncle's letter, and anything else Allardyce carried, disguised himself, and turned up at the Tower. And who would be suspicious? Dover's a good journey from London and, if inquiries are made, Sakker could always flee into the city.' I pulled a stool across and sat beside him. 'Master, your uncle's involved in no villainy here. This is too dangerous. The King would have his head. No, Sakker killed Allardyce, took his identity and came to the Tower. As I have said, who'd suspect? Moreover, Sakker's accomplice is also in the Tower and ready to protect him. Once we have unmasked him, we'll catch Sakker.'

  'I don't think so,' Benjamin snapped. 'What happens, Roger, if you were Sakker's mysterious accomplice? You now realise that we suspect the truth: Sakker has been unmasked as a wanted felon, not only for the depredations he committed on the Canterbury road, but for the death of the real Allardyce, the murder of the hangmen, as well as treason and blackmail directed against the King.' Benjamin ticked the points off on his fingers.

  'Sakker's an impudent rogue,' I interrupted, 'able to slip in and out of places like the mist. He's also a master of disguise. I am sure the veiled woman who turned up to see Master Quicksilver was no less a person than Master Sakker himself. I think he's got the impertinence to brazen this matter through.'

  'In which case, Roger, I ask you again: what would you do if you were Sakker's accomplice?'

  I paused, staring at the light streaming through the arrow-slit windows.

  'He's different,' I said. ‘He's safe as long as the mask drawn over his villainy is not torn away. He knows we are scuttling about like mice in the dark. You do realise that, Master? Never once have we found any evidence to lay against the people we've just left in Kemble's chamber.'

  'So?' Benjamin persisted. Where's the weakness?'

  Well, we could stumble on something.' I smiled. 'Or we could catch Sakker!'

  "Let's press the matter further, Roger,' Benjamin declared. What happens if this secret accomplice thinks likewise, that Sakker is more of a danger than an asset, and that he must be killed. But Sakker is a very dangerous man. What would you do?'

  'I'd probably invite him to meet me, not in the city but somewhere near the Tower, perhaps a little further up-river on the wild wastes along the bank of the Thames.'

  'And he'll do it tonight,' Benjamin cursed under his breath. ‘I regret revealing that secret entrance.' He grabbed his cloak. We'd best go!'

  We left the Wakefield Tower. Benjamin first decided to visit Ragusa. We found her sprawled out on a bed of rough sacking. At first I thought she was dead: Benjamin crouched down, wrinkled his nose at the smell of ale, and slapped her gently on the face. The old woman simply smacked her lips, moaning quietly in her sleep. I felt her hands, they were ice-cold, the fingers stiff and gnarled.

  'It's what I thought,' Benjamin muttered, 'Ragusa couldn't feel the pulse of any man.' He got to his feet, shaking his head. ‘I still think it's Spurge,' he remarked absentmindedly. 'He must have known about that secret postern-gate and, somehow, smuggled a corpse through to dupe this old woman.'

  We left Ragusa in her drunken stupor and went down to the quayside to hire a wherry to take us further up-river. Ah well, I admit I've been on many a goose chase, and this was no different. The two boatmen were most reluctant, loudly complaining about where we wished to go. The north bank of the Thames west of the Tower is lonely and deserted, the reeds growing long and lush.

  The only sound to be heard in that place are the cries of the many birds who came to nest and feed there. Benjamin paid them another co
in, told them to stop complaining and row us along the riverbank. The wherry-men agreed and bent over their oars. In a short while I became aware of the stillness: how quickly the noise and stench of the city had faded. At last Benjamin told the boatmen to take us to a shabby, rough-hewn jetty. We clambered ashore, walked up, and stared out across the wild gorse. In the fading light I could see the occasional farmhouse and small copse of trees.

  We're mistaken, Master,' I whispered. There's no one here.'

  Benjamin tapped the scabbard of his dagger. The assassin in the Tower is going to strike,' he declared. ‘I know he is. He won't go into the city, he can't be seen. If it's Spurge, or one of the hangmen, he must silence Sakker. I thought he would do it here.'

  Would Sakker be so stupid?' I asked him. 'He's a quick-witted rogue. He'd realise the danger of being invited to come to a place like this.' I gestured at the barren wasteland. 'Even a poor labourer wouldn't come here to sleep!'

  'Oh, Lord save us, Roger, I've made a mistake!' Benjamin cried suddenly, pulling me by the sleeve, and hurrying back along the jetty, almost throwing me into the wherry. ‘I forgot about the workmen in the Tower. We might find Sakker amongst them.'