by Paul Doherty
However, in the poor light, and with all your colleagues being masked and cowled, you could not tell who it was.' Benjamin drew from his pouch the scrap of parchment Mistress Undershaft had given him. He held this up for all to see. This is a diagram drawn by one of the dead hangmen. I think it's of a gallery here in the Tower, and marks the room where you and Sakker had your treasonable conversation.'
I hid my own surprise at Benjamin's explanation, and glanced across at the chief hangman; he sat as if carved out of stone.
'Nevertheless,' Benjamin continued, 'this suited Master Sakker. He not only wanted to blackmail the King and become rich, but also to carry out revenge against those who had executed his family. You became his accomplice in this. Sakker was cunning. He knew he could not push Fortune's wheel too quickly. If the hangmen started dying, people might remember him, and inquiries might be made, so once again he faked his death, a victim of the sweating sickness.' Benjamin tapped my arm. 'Master Shallot here has had the same contagion and, with a few chosen herbs, it is easy to simulate.'
'But,' Snakeroot interrupted, 'Ragusa here, she looked after him .. ‘
'No, no,' old Ragusa replied. ‘You.' She pointed at Benjamin. "With your narrow face and clever eyes, you have it right. All I did was mop his body'
‘But people visited him,' Spurge interrupted.
'A brief glance,' Benjamin replied. 'Everyone's terrified of the sweating sickness, so they kept their distance.'
True, true,' Ragusa crooned. 'It's always the way' She smiled shrewdly across at Benjamin and held up her hands. ‘You knew I felt for a death pulse, but with these old, arthritic fingers I can feel very little. He lay sprawled there, eyes half open, so I wrapped him in a sheet and left him.'
'And that's where Mallow intervened,' Benjamin declared. 'Mistress Ragusa likes her drink. Sometimes she falls into a stupor, at others she goes wandering round the Tower. Mallow had another corpse ready which he'd brought through that hidden postern-gate. Sakker springs up full of life, this other corpse is wrapped and tied. The guards collect it and it is taken down to the Lion Gate. Sakker was now free. He washed the dye out of his hair and dressed in new clothes, and left the Tower by that secret postern-door. Now he was free to carry out revenge and other villainies. When the sickness was raging at its height, Undershaft was slain, stabbed, garrotted or his head staved in. At the dead of night, his corpse was pushed into the cage at Smithfield, and a blazing fire kindled beneath him.' Benjamin shrugged. ‘Who'd care in a city when hundreds are dying every day?'
'But at the same time,' Vetch intervened, 'Sakker was running round the city leaving messages in St Paul's, Westminster or in Cheapside.'
'Precisely,' Benjamin agreed. The time was ripe: the city was ravaged by the sickness. His Grace the King was fearful that, if these letters were published abroad, people might see the sickness as God's vengeance on his family's seizure of the throne. At last the sweating sickness ended. The Tower was reopened, and Sakker could come and go as he wished. Sometimes he entered as he left, by that secret doorway overlooking the moat. Mallow would know about that: in his youth he had served here and would know every nook and cranny. At other times, Sakker - the master of disguise - came in as one of the labourers working for the masons on the wall. They never objected. They thought he had been sent by Spurge. And why should he or they object to more help?
'Sakker now has the run of the Tower,' Benjamin went on. 'He can come and go as he pleases, whilst Mallow keeps an eye on what is going on. Sakker followed my companion after he visited you, Mistress Ragusa, and pushed him into the wolf-pit. He'd already trapped Horehound and killed him, put him into a sack and cast him into the Thames. Hellbane, drunk as a sot, was an easy victim, whilst Wormwood, before he was put on the rack, was probably clubbed senseless.' Benjamin spread his hands. 'And that's the evil beauty of this design. Sakker is a labourer, his fair hair covered in dust, dressed in tattered clothes; no one would suspect he was once clerk of the stores. Once he's out of the Tower, Sakker can carry on his villainies in the city, posting proclamations, collecting gold, or baiting us. It was a subtle scheme: Sakker had his vengeance against the hangmen, committed gross impudence against the Crown, and was about to become very rich.' Benjamin pointed across the table. ‘You, Master Mallow, as one of the former keepers of the young Princes, knew how our present King is most fearful of any rumours about their whereabouts.'
The chief hangman stirred. Where is the proof for all this, Master Daunbey? Some of it is true but—'
'Oh, the proof will come,' Benjamin whispered. 'Suffice it to say that eventually you knew we had discovered Sakker's involvement. You became fearful about your old acquaintance, Greene, now calling himself Dr Quicksilver. Sakker is warned. He visits him in disguise and cuts his throat. He then returns to the Tower. But by now you have decided that Sakker's usefulness is finished. The game is becoming too dangerous and, with the crossbow you keep in your room, you put a bolt through his neck.' Benjamin pushed back his chair. 'John Mallow, the King's torturers will elicit the full truth. I am finished with you. Master Vetch, call the guard! Have him taken away! These matters are finished!'
‘You are wrong!' Mallow cried. ‘Yes, my name is Dighton, but Sakker was no friend of mine. I found no seals.' He swallowed hard. 'All I wanted was to hide from the past.'
'Enough!' Benjamin retorted. The King wanted the villain found and I have done it! Take him away!'
Chapter 14
For a while there was confusion and chaos. Vetch grabbed Mallow and hustled him to the door. The chief hangman protested his innocence even as he was bundled down the corridor. Benjamin went to the doorway.
'In the closest dungeon, Master Vetch!' he called out. 'You are to stay on guard personally and not leave him. Do you understand? He is to be fed and well looked after, and not hurt until the King's pleasure is known.'
The rest of the hangmen, Ragusa trailing behind, also left: the revelations about their master had clearly shaken them.
'Sir Edward, may I borrow some writing implements?' my master asked.
Kemble nodded. Benjamin went across to the desk and wrote two notes which he quickly sealed.
'Master Spurge!'
The surveyor, now eager to please, trotted across. ‘You are to take this to the King at Windsor. Commandeer any barge or boat you wish!'
Spurge quickly agreed and, puffed up with his newly conferred importance, hurried from the room. Benjamin turned to the constable.
"Now, Sir Edward, please take this letter to the under-sheriff, Master Pelleter, in Catte Street. Tell him Sakker is dead and the murderer unmasked. I will meet him and his daughter Miranda for supper within the hour.'
‘Kemble took it without demur and, clasping Benjamin's hand, shook it firmly. 'Master Daunbey, the King will be pleased. You will mention my name?’
'Of course!'
Once Kemble had gone, Benjamin crossed the room and slammed the door behind him. 'Master, is it finished?' I asked.
Benjamin went across and filled two goblets of wine. 'No, Roger, it's only just beginning. Come with me!'
We went out into the deserted gallery. From below we could hear shouts and cries as the news began to spread. Benjamin took me further down the long gallery: we stopped half-way.
'Look at the wall!' my master ordered.
I did so: it was covered by wooden wainscoting or panelling, each square neatly carved in the linen fashion.
'I see a wall covered by wooden panelling,' I exclaimed.
'Now step back, Roger. The light is poor, but study the centre panels.'
I did so, recalling that secret room I had found at Windsor. I kept walking back.
'Do you see anything amiss?' Benjamin asked.
At first I didn't, but then I noticed how some of the panelling was more darkly stained. As I squinted through the gloom, Benjamin moved a torch up against the woodwork.
'Undershaft!' I exclaimed. 'The drawing his wife gave us.' I pointed. 'Look, Master, some of t
he panels are painted darker than the rest and form the letter "‘T’, What's behind there?' I asked.
‘I don't know,' Benjamin replied. 'But I have been outside, and there's a good stretch of masonry between that panelling and the end of the building.'
'A secret chamber?' I asked.
'Perhaps,' Benjamin replied. 'But, before you ask, why we don't break in? There's someone we have to meet.'
We went and sat on a window-seat.
Benjamin pointed to the panelling. That's what Undershaft saw,' he explained. 'Somewhere in there is a secret lever which releases a hidden door. On the night of the King's birthday party, I suspect Undershaft saw that door being opened. The perpetrator behind all this villainy realised his mistake, but in the gloom he couldn't decide which hangman it was.'
I stared back along the gallery. Benjamin was right. Daylight had faded, only a few torches were lit. It would be difficult to distinguish anyone's features if they were standing at the top of the stairs. At night, it would be nigh impossible, particularly if Undershaft had been dressed in his mask and hood. 'Now Undershaft,' Benjamin continued ‘was probably intrigued.' He lowered his voice to a whisper. 'A carpenter by trade, he drew that picture and wondered where the secret lever was concealed. Of course, Undershaft himself had a great deal to hide. He did not want to be caught prying in other men's affairs, so he let the matter be.'
'But the story you told in there, about Sakker being Allardyce and then later disguised as a labourer?'
'Oh, that's true enough,' Benjamin replied. 'Don't forget, Roger, troops from the Tower were used by Pelleter to seize the Sakker gang. I suspect someone sent a warning to Robert and he escaped.' Benjamin rubbed his lips. 'And I wonder what happened to Allardyce's predecessor as clerk of stores? Did he meet with some unfortunate accident? I am sure that if we made inquiries, we would find Allardyce was a bachelor with few friends and no family.' He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘Mind you, Allardyce was merely coincidental to the plot. Sooner or later, Sakker would have arrived at the Tower in some guise or other.' Benjamin glanced down the gallery. 'The rest was as I said. Sakker came here as Allardyce. A small mistake was made on the King's birthday, but Sakker didn't mind: he'd already sworn vengeance against the hangmen. Undershaft and the rest were going to die anyway.'
'And did Sakker fake his own death?'
'Oh yes, Ragusa is old, infirm and drunk as a sot. She wouldn't know if a man was alive or dead. Once the body was covered in a sheet, she'd trot off and the exchange was made. Sakker was now free to publish his letters at St Paul's Westminster or Cheapside. He also laid that trail of gunpowder in St Paul's when he seized the gold. He used that secret entrance into the Tower, and his disguise as a labourer, to slip back in to confer with his accomplice, as well as to launch that murderous attack on you, Hellbane and Wormwood. A man of shadows, Master Sakker. A good archer, he would know from his accomplice in the Tower where the real danger lay: that's why he pursued and tried to kill us.'
'But who,' I cried, ‘was Sakker's real accomplice?'
'Well, Master Mallow lies under arrest.' Benjamin replied.
'But, we have no real proof against him! Not a shred of evidence. We haven't found the seals or the King's gold!'
‘Precisely,' Benjamin replied. 'And that's why we are waiting here.' He heard a sound and tugged at my sleeve. 'And the real villain approaches.'
We tiptoed round a corner, past the panelling and down a passageway. We stood in the shadows, watching that piece of panelling still illuminated by a torch fixed above it. We, of course, were cloaked in darkness. I just prayed the person coming soft-footed along the gallery we'd just left was not some guard or servant. I saw a dark figure enter the pool of light thrown by the torch. The man turned, looking over his shoulder, and then quickly pressed a small button concealed in the woodwork. A panel opened like a small window. The figure put his hand inside and part of the wainscoting came away, swinging back quietly on oiled hinges. The man then took a key out of his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and was pushing the secret door open when Benjamin raced quietly towards him. The man, however, stepped back and looked towards us. I glimpsed a podgy face, a hand going towards his belt, but Benjamin was already on to him, sending him crashing back to the floor.
'Roger, for the love of God help!' he called.
I shook myself from my reverie. I admit, ‘I’d stood gaping there like some ploughboy. (Ah, I see my little chaplain snigger. I quickly rap him across the knuckles with my cane.) I hurried on down. Benjamin lay on top of Sir Edward Kemble, the wind fair knocked out of him. I helped Benjamin to his feet, and we both grasped the constable by the arms.
‘I thought you'd return,' Benjamin gasped, trying to catch his breath.
Kemble stared back, his lips moving wordlessly.
The guards outside are in my pay,' Benjamin explained. They were given explicit instructions to tell you that we'd left for the city.'
We bundled the constable through the doorway into the darkness. Benjamin, sword drawn, pushed Kemble away.
'Light the candles and torches, Master Constable. Let's see what this pit contains.'
As Kemble fumbled for his tinder, I became aware of the deathly quiet in that secret chamber. The air was stale and fetid, but something gripped my heart and chilled my soul, as if Death itself had swept into that chamber and was now watching us from the darkness. At first my eyes found it difficult to adjust to the flickering light, whilst the dancing shadows increased my fear. Kemble stood in a corner, arms crossed, staring fearfully at us. I shifted my gaze. Oh, horror upon horror! What a dreadful chamber that was! Now you know old Shallot, I have seen the terrors. I’ve been pursued by the demon which stalks at midday; but even now, decades later, I still have nightmares about that sinister place. It was shaped in the form of a box, the walls made of brick: no window, no decoration, nothing to ease the eye. The floor was wooden; someone had laid down a very thick woollen carpet but this had begun to decay and rot. A huge beam stood upright in the centre of the room, with hooks driven into it: tattered, dusty, cobwebbed cloths hung there. There was a rickety table, stools and chairs, yet the real horror was the bed partly obscured by the beam. Only when I moved away did I understand my master's gasp of surprise. Oh, heaven forfend! Oh, Lord have pity! The bed was broad, standing on four stout wooden legs, the mattress was covered in dust and huge cobwebs stretched across the headboard. However, in the centre, lying side by side, were the pathetic remains of the two Princes: small skeletons lying together. I walked across and knelt beside the bed, holding the hilt of my sword before me like a cross. 'O Jesus miserere!' I muttered.
I have seen the destruction of princes, the end of noble lives at the gibbet or block. Men of power struck down by the assassin's dagger or the poisoner's cup. I have seen palaces in flames and the marble halls of Constantinople flowing in blood. But, nothing can compare to the silent horror of those two pathetic little skeletons still dressed in the tarnished remnants of their former glory. I glimpsed mother-of-pearl on one jerkin, a jewelled dagger beneath the yellowing robes of another. A silver cross hung awry between the ribs, a jewelled bonnet, mildewed and rotten, lay between the two skulls. I stood up and peered closer. Both the jaws slightly sagged. I noticed one had teeth all rotting along the top. God be my witness, I didn't know whether to scream, cry or pray. Instead I took my cloak off and covered them.
‘You bastard!' Benjamin walked across to Kemble and, bringing his hand back, gave him a stinging slap across his face. ‘You son of Satan! Had you no pity?' Again Benjamin's hand came back, drawing a trickle of blood from Kemble's lips.
The constable's face never changed. Benjamin pushed the constable against the wall and ran his hand over his doublet, looking for some concealed dagger or weapon. He then went across and, taking a stool, jammed it in the door to keep it open.
rWhy blame me?' Kemble's voice was soft and slow. 'Did our noble King really want to find his precious Princes?'
'Had you no pity
?' Benjamin retorted. 'Did you not think these little boys deserved decent burial?' Benjamin looked round the chamber. 'But now we have our proof: caught red-handed. You cannot disprove my accusations. Sir Edward Kemble, constable of the Tower, and once keeper of the King's royal palace at Woodstock, the same place where Robert Sakker, an Oxford clerk, also worked. Two dark souls who formed a friendship forged with the evil one.'
'Of course,' I interrupted, 'Pelleter told us how Sakker had been a clerk at a royal palace. They were born there?'
"The records will prove my guess,' Benjamin replied. 'And when Kemble came here, he was intrigued by the stories and did his own private search. He gathered all the maps and plans and discovered two things. First, the entrance to the postern-gate over the moat, and secondly this secret chamber. He then destroyed that map and gave Spurge others which did not betray his newly found secrets.' He paused to clear the dust from his throat. 'Spurge drew new maps up, certainly at our constable's behest, and this chamber and the postern-gate became Kemble's secret. He could not confess he'd come here and found a pouch made of the finest leather, fastened at the top, containing the Privy and Great Seal of Edward the Fifth, who only reigned for a few months.' Benjamin paused. "You did find them here, didn't you, Kemble? Kept in a pouch and probably placed in a cedarwood casket, they would have stood the passage of time and been in pristine condition.'
"But how?' I interrupted. "Why were the seals and the Princes left here so many years ago?'
"What I suspect,' Benjamin replied, still keeping his eyes on Kemble, 'is that the Princes were not murdered by Richard the Third. They were imprisoned here, but in the summer of 1485, when the King's father landed at Milford Haven, Richard the Third mustered to meet him at Bosworth Field. The Princes were hurriedly moved to this secret chamber, probably under the care of his henchmen, Dighton and Greene. Now, as Kemble knows, Richard was desperate for troops and Robert Brackenbury, then constable of the Tower, took most of the garrison to meet the King in Leicestershire, thinking they would be victorious.' Benjamin leaned against the wooden pillar. 'Of course all went wrong. Richard was killed, as was Brackenbury, at Bosworth. Any Yorkist left in the Tower would have fled at the Tudor's approach, and that included Dighton and Greene.'
