Satan in St Mary hc-1

by Paul Doherty

  The bailey round the White Tower was quiet though Corbett could see that the building operations in the Tower would begin again in the spring. Bricks were stacked round the huge kilns where they were made, sand and gravel were strewn across the ground and huge oaken beams lay in lop-sided heaps. The Tower was almost a small town in itself. Rows of wooden stables, a pigeon loft, open-fronted kitchens, barns and hen coops all huddled together round the walls. There was a small, bare tree orchard in one far corner and the wood and plaster houses of the officers of the Tower in another near the main entrance. Corbett moved across to where Ranulf was staring at a derelict Magonel, when a tall, silver-haired austere man, wrapped in a thick brown military cloak approached and introduced himself as Sir Edward Swynnerton, Constable of the Tower. Corbett introduced himself and Ranulf, showed the Chancellor's writ and briefly explained why they had come to the Tower. The Constable stared hard at Corbett and looked as if he was going to protest but then he scratched his grizzled head and summoned a guard to take Corbett and Ranulf to a sparse chamber in the White Tower.

  Once there, Ranulf, exhausted with all the walking, curled up on his straw-stuffed mattress and fell asleep while Corbett lit the two candles in the room to read the report that Burnell had left for him in the leather chancery pouch. It was written in the Chancellor's own hand.

  "Robert Burnell, Bishop of Bath and Wells and Chancellor of England, to our trusty and well-beloved clerk, Hugh Corbett, greetings. I have read your letter and noted its contents. I believe this reply and the information it contains will be of use to you. Item: the drawing of the Pentangle found in Ralph Crepyn's house (and we will not ask how you came by it!) is not unknown to me. The Pentangle is a sign used in magic and the black arts. It is often drawn by the Magician or Witch on the floor or table as a symbol of protection when summoning Satan or some other diabolic power. Of course, it is one thing to summon the rulers of the demonic kingdom and another if they actually come. Nevertheless, those who practise the black arts and dabble in magic pose a threat to Holy Mother Church and in doing so pose an even more dangerous threat to the safety and security of the throne. There is no doubt that members of the Pentangle also include adherents of the radicals who still support the ideas of the dead de Montfort.

  "Item: Simon de Montfort's father was a Crusader and fought for the Cross in Palestine and other lands in Outremer. De Montfort also led Crusades against the Albigensians in Southern France, whose heretical practices were supposed to be secret, closely linked to necromancy and sorcery. I merely tell you of this to draw a link between rebellion and those who exercise black magic with their secret name, 'The Pentangle'!. Although the de Montforts were resolute Crusaders, there is no doubt that they may have become infected by the very diseases they tried to destroy.

  "One such disease was the cult of the Assassins. These belonged to a secret Muslim sect whose headquarters lie in the impregnable fortress of Alamut in the valley of Kazvim in Persia. They are controlled by their chieftain, The Mysterious and Sinister Man of the Mountains, who commands a network of strongholds throughout Persia, and even in the Holy Land itself. He commands a core of devoted terrorists who murder by treacherous violence. It would appear that the de Montfort family came into contact with this cult and may have adopted some of its practices. Assassination of an anointed king by the followers of black magic is, as you know, not new in England. It is alleged that William Rufus died at their hands in the New Forest; Richard I may also have been a similar victim, and other more fruitless attempts were made upon the person of the late Henry III, the present King's father.

  "The de Montforts undoubtedly used such methods. After Simon de Montfort was killed, almost thirty years ago, his son, Guy, escaped abroad. It is perhaps no coincidence that while our present king was on a Crusade in Palestine an assassin attempted to kill him in his own tent with a poisoned dagger. Our king was only saved by the speedy and faithful ministrations of his wife and doctors. On his way to Palestine the king's cousin, Henry of Germany, visited Viterbo in Sicily and went to Mass at the Cathedral Church there on the 13th March 1271. Guy, Simon de Montfort's son, ignoring the sanctity of the occasion and the place, stabbed Henry to death before the high altar.

  "Item: The date, 30th April 1283, is significant only in that it is one of the great feasts of the Satanists and probably the day the Pentangle met. The scrap of paper probably being a writ which convened the meeting, though it is ample proof that Crepyn was a member of the coven. The important factor is who sent it? Who is there in the city who embodies and represents the traditions of de Montfort and Fitz-Osbert?

  "Item: To draw all this tangled skein together it is certain that the adherents of de Montfort and Fitz-Osbert are still active in the city fomenting rebellion and plotting the assassination of the King and members of his council. They expouse their masters' ideals and are prepared to further them through practices like murder and black magic. They are the Pentangle and I urge you not to dismiss them lightly as harmless fools for they pose a great threat and their treason is even worse than that of their dead masters".

  Corbett studied the manuscript, threw it to the floor and wrapped his cloak tightly round his body. He had no reason to dismiss Burnell's warning. Those very assassins that the Chancellor had mentioned were now pursuing him, fully intent on his death. He looked round at the thick granite walls of the tower room and, despite the cold and squalor, felt safe and secure enough to fall into a dreamless sleep.

  Fourteen

  A few hours later a servant roused Corbett and Ranulf with food and drink, a mess of stewed meat and vegetables and two stoups of rather watery ale. Ranulf grumbled but ate the meal avidly as if it were his last, answering Corbett's questions on where they were going with a mouth full of food which put Corbett quite off his own meal. Once Ranulf had finished, Corbett sent for Swynnerton and asked for horses and a military escort into the city, not because they feared attack but so as not to be arrested by the Watch for breaking the curfew. The only ones allowed to travel by night were persons going about their lawful business who had to carry a lighted torch to show their presence and Corbett did not wish to proclaim their mission for all to see.

  When all was ready, Corbett and Ranulf, hooded and cloaked and preceded by a soldier, made their way out of a postern gate in the Tower and, keeping the old city wall on their left, made their way north to Aldgate Street. The journey was uneventful though cold, and when they arrived outside the tavern specified by Ranulf, the tower guard was only too grateful to turn his horse back and leave them outside The Blackbird, a large spacious inn which, to all intents and purposes, seemed closed for the night.

  Corbett and Ranulf waited in the shadows opposite the tavern until the soldier leading their horses had left the street, then Ranulf took Corbett down an alleyway which ran alongside the tavern and knocked gently on a side door, an action he repeated four times in some form of pre-arranged signal. The bolts inside were quietly drawn, the door opened slightly and a hastily whispered conversation took place, Ranulf handed over the two gold pieces that Corbett had given him and the door swung open to let them enter.

  It was pitch dark inside. Corbett could just about make out the shape of the porter, he was wondering where to go next when he heard a creak and a ray of dim light seemed to spring out of the floor as a trapdoor was gently raised. Ranulf and Corbett were quietly urged to descend the ladder. Ranulf went first, Corbett coming after, astonished at what he saw and heard. The tavern evidently had a spacious underground cellar safe from prying eyes and, being directly under the tavern, was effectively sealed off from the rest of the world. The place was well lit by torches in iron sconces fixed to the wall as well as the pure wax candles on the tables arranged around the room. At first glance it seemed a normal tavern scene except that there were no windows, the air coming from narrow grilles in the ceiling and a hollowed out tunnel at the far end of the room which probably served as an escape route if the authorities ever did manage to intervene. The
walls had been whitewashed, then covered in frescoes, and these gave the first indication that this was more than just a tavern.

  The paintings were of young naked men or boys involved in some sport such as javelin throwing, wrestling, running or lying on couches with myrtle wreaths on their heads and cups brimming with purple wine in their hands. Despite the poor light, Corbett marvelled at the crude realism of the paintings and looked round expectantly at the people who used this place. There were not many and all, like he and

  Ranulf, were hooded and cloaked to disguise themselves. They sat in pairs quietly conversing or talking softly to the young boys who served wine and ale from the large barrels stacked at the far end of the room. These boys or youths had been chosen for their good looks and, in their tight, multicoloured hose and short quilted jackets, they would please their customer as they moved, hips swaying, between the tables, their long hair curled and pressed like a girl's.

  Corbett felt the sleeve of his cloak being pulled by Ranulf and realized he was standing gawking while other guests were coming down the ladder and pushing their way by him. He followed Ranulf to a small alcove and ordered wine from a boy who simpered and cast coy glances at Ranulf before mincing away. Corbett sat astonished at what he saw. He had heard of these secret taverns and drinking places but had never been in one. On the surface, it was just a secret tavern but he knew that he was in a male brothel and that all the customers ran terrible risks if they were caught, public humiliation followed by a lingering slow and painful death, which explained the furtiveness of the customers and the hidden secret ways of their meeting places.

  Ranulf seemed more at ease and relaxed, accustomed as he was to living outside the law, pitting his wits daily against the normal order of society. When the wine was brought, Ranulf caught the servant by the sleeve and whispered a name. The youth glowered and pouted, picked up the few coins Corbett put down and sauntered away. A short while later another boy came over and sat down on a stool opposite the two men. His hair was the colour of corn, the face heart-shaped like a girl's with long eyelashes, pale cheeks and small, red lips. Despite his air of forced gaiety, Corbett saw the fear in the youth's kohl-ringed eyes and felt pity for this ravaged face of sixteen or seventeen summers with eyes which looked a thousand years old.

  "I am Simon, " the boy lisped. "I am told you wish to speak to me. "

  Corbett leaned over. "No, " he replied softly, "but Lawrence Duket did!"

  The terror in the boy's eyes was something almost tangible and he would have jumped to his feet if Corbett had not held his arm tight and whispered reassuringly that he was Duket's friend and meant him no harm.

  "What happened to Duket?" Corbett whispered. "Why did he die? He was murdered wasn't he? Tell me please. I can protect you as well as bring his murderers to justice. "

  Simon stared at Corbett, biting his lower lip and blinking back the tears. He started to speak then bowed his head and nodded. Corbett waited until the boy raised his tear-stained face. "They murdered him, " he whispered.

  "Who?" rasped Corbett.

  "The Dark Ones, hooded and masked, led by a giant and a dwarf, " Simon answered softly. "They floated up the church. There was no sound. They simply picked him up, moved the chair and hung him up. " The youth wiped the tears from his face with the sleeve of his jerkin and looked quickly round.

  "I do not know where they came from or where they went, " he continued hurriedly. "They must have come from Hell. Not a sound, not a word. " He looked wide-eyed at Corbett. "And Lawrence did not even utter a word! Why?" he asked tearfully.

  "How do you know this?" Corbett asked, trying to calm his own pounding excitement.

  "I was there, " the boy replied. "I fled to the church early in the afternoon. I got in through a small window as the priest was at the door. "

  "What about the Watch?" Corbett asked.

  "They had not arrived, " Simon continued. "I went over to Lawrence and comforted him but he told me to hide. I lay down behind a bench in the sanctuary and fell asleep and did not wake till it was dark. There was a candle burning. I was going to get up when They suddenly appeared. So I hid. I was terrified and kept hidden till morning when the priest and Watch forced open the door. In the confusion I fled. "

  Corbett thought of the piece of fabric caught on the briar bush and nodded. "You must know more, " he insisted. "Giant? Dwarf? Who were these people?"

  The boy shook his head. "I must go, " he whispered hoarsely.

  "Tomorrow, " Corbett urged. "Meet me tomorrow, just before Prime, outside the church of St. Katherine's by the Tower. " The boy nodded, got up, smiled falsely and minced away.

  Corbett and Ranulf sat for a while longer then, pulling their hoods closer, got up and left, their shadowy guide letting them out into the street. Corbett was pleased to be out under the stars and gulped in the fresh air to purge and clean the evil humours of that cellar. Then, satisfied that they were alone and not being followed, they turned and made their way back to the Tower. Ranulf had scarcely followed the conversation between Corbett and the boy in the cellar and so pestered Corbett with a series of questions, but then gave up when all he received were grunts and evasive answers.

  Corbett was excited by what the boy had said though he realized he had only embellished what he suspected already. Duket had been murdered by more than one person. But the rest? Who were they? The Giant? The Dwarf? Figures in black who glided up the church without a sound? How did they get in? Corbett was still trying to find solutions when they reached the postern gate of the Tower and a sleepy, grumbling guard let them in. They made their way to their new quarters, Corbett told Ranulf to shut up and stop nagging him and, rolling himself in his cloak, turned to the grey granite wall and willed himself to sleep, to forget the exhaustion and terrors of the day by thinking of the soft, satin silk body of Alice.

  Corbett went along to the meeting-place the following day after telling Ranulf to stay and rest from the previous day's labours. He made his way out of the Tower postern gate and walked the short distance to the church of St. Katherine. As he approached, the bells of the church were tolling for Prime.

  He expected to find the place deserted and was surprised to see a small crowd gathered outside the porch of the church. He broke into a run, dreading what he might see when he arrived. The crowd parted to let him through and he almost fell over the body of the young man whom he had spoken to the previous evening. Dressed in the same clothes, his long blond hair still curled and pressed, the only difference was the long red gash in his throat and the blood which saturated the front of his tunic. Simon was lying there sprawled on the ground, arms and legs stretched out, his sightless eyes staring up into the sky.

  "What happened?" Corbett asked one of the bystanders, a small, brown, wrinkled woman with straggly grey hair escaping from underneath her hood.

  "I don't know, " she replied. "A group of us were making our way into the city to the market. We found the body here. There was no one about. Someone has sent a message to the Coroner and the death crier. " She peered closely at Corbett, as old women are wont to do. "Why do you ask? Do you know him?"

  Corbett shook his head. "No, I thought I did but I was mistaken. " He turned and slowly walked away, realizing that when he had visited the Blackbird Tavern the previous evening he must have been followed. Somebody must have seen him talking to the boy and decided to follow him.

  Corbett suddenly felt tired and angry. Here he was, a king's clerk going about the King's lawful business, yet he had been blocked at every turn, attacked twice and now, whoever it was, had taken the life of this pathetic young man. He felt a deep sense of depression, he was fumbling about in the dark like a traveller who has lost his way, and was now up to his waist in a morass. Somebody knew something. Somebody would have to pay for that long red angry gash in that young man's throat. But who? Was it Ranulf? Could he be trusted? Had he been suborned or bribed by Duket's murderers? Corbett abruptly dismissed the idea as fantastic and unworthy of Ranulf's he
lp over the last few days. After all, he reasoned, it was Ranulf who had brought him to meet the young man so it was highly unlikely that he would allow the meeting to take place and then arrange the boy's murder. The only person Corbett suspected was guilty of some crime or complicity in a crime was Roger Bellet, the Rector of Saint Mary Le Bow. The sinister priest who always hinted that he knew more than he was telling. Corbett felt a surge of anger and frustration through him when he thought of Bellet's sardonic smile and sarcastic comments. Corbett decided that he had been baited long enough. Burnell had given him complete power in this matter. It was time he used it, to his own advantage.

  Fifteen

  On his return to the Tower, Corbett demanded an audience with its constable, Sir Edward Swynnerton. The old soldier met him in his quarters on the first floor of the White Tower. He listened carefully to Corbett's request and sorrowfully shook his head. "I cannot do that, Master Clerk, " he replied. "I cannot simply arrest a priest and detain him, even question him, without giving a reason or a warrant from the King! Can you imagine the Church's reaction to that? A rector of a London parish church taken from his house and put into the Tower! I could be excommunicated, lose the favour of the King and be removed from office. No, " he concluded. "I cannot do it. "

  "But this man may be a traitor, " Corbett argued fiercely. "He may be responsible for murder, for plotting treason against the King. For being involved in black magic. Surely no court, church or secular would agree with that?"

  "That may well be so, " Swynnerton replied. "But you say 'may'. You have no proof. You have no warrant and that is the difference!"

  Corbett restrained his temper. He realized that his anger would only alienate this old soldier unaccustomed already to taking orders from a clerk. "What happens, " he said slowly, "if I am right? If this priest is a criminal in both the eyes of the Church and of the Crown? Let us say he is involved in villainy and this latter comes to light. How can we, " and he emphasized this word to include both himself and the constable. "How can we then justify not taking precautions now?" He saw doubt creep into the old man's eyes and was satisfied knowing that his cause was not utterly lost. He watched as the old soldier turned and crossed to one of the arrow-slit windows overlooking the inner ward and let him think for a while before he returned to the attack.