by Paul Doherty
He sat, continuing to look down the nave, when suddenly the solution to the problem just seemed to present itself. It was so simple, so obvious he just started to laugh, the echoes pealing around the deserted church. Of course, it was so apparent, so clear, its very simplicity showed the cunning and brilliance behind it. He remembered the voice of his old 'Dominus', Father Benedict, telling him that there was a solution to every problem. "It's just a matter of perspective, my dear boy, " he used to boom out. "Just a matter of perspective. " Well he had the right perspective, now it was a matter of finding who the real murderers were. The shadowy figures behind the Pentangle.
Corbett got up, walked down the church and went outside into the early spring sunlight. He felt pleased and, almost without noticing, found himself making his way to see Alice. The tavern was deserted so he quietly walked across the main room and pulled open the door to the kitchen. Alice, her back to him, was talking to Peter the Giant, his great bulk towering above her as she softly explained something to him. Corbett called her name and she spun round. The blood drained from her shocked face but then she gave an exclamation of joy and ran towards him, flinging her arms around his neck, hugging and kissing him. She grabbed his heavy brooch-clasped cloak and unfastened it while she told him to sit and sent Peter for food and drink.
"You are pleased to see me?" Corbett asked dryly.
Alice kissed him again full on the lips. "Of course!" she pouted. "Where have you been? What have you been doing?"
He told her a tale of being involved in the King's business, of the obstacles he faced and the little progress he was making. He did not tell her of the attacks on him or how he had moved to the security of the Tower. He did not wish to alarm her, for the fewer people who knew what was going on the better. Moreover, there was something about The Mitre, about the morose giant, Peter, he did not like, a feeling of unease, something he could not express and it troubled him.
Corbett asked Alice what she had been doing but she simply shrugged. "Nothing really, " she replied. "I manage the inn, or I try to. The King is due to enter the city very soon and we must prepare for the celebrations. There are pirates in the channel raiding our ships. " She smiled at him. "Nothing out of the ordinary, unlike you clerks with your important secret business!"
They sat and teased each other. Corbett ached with a need to gather her in his arms and take her upstairs, anywhere they could be alone, but he knew she would refuse and the presence of the surly Peter dampened his ardour. Instead Corbett made her promise that she would wait for him on the following evening, made his fond farewells and left the tavern, his thick cloak slung over his arm for the weather had turned warm and, if attacked, he would be more free to defend himself and use it as a shield.
When he arrived back in the Tower, he found Ranulf waiting for him, sprawled on his narrow cot. "Yes, " he answered Corbett wearily. "I went to Westminster and managed to see Burnell, though that fat pompous Hubert, " he added bitterly, "tried to stop me. So, I just stayed outside the Chancellor's chamber shouting your name and that of the King. It worked. Burnell sent for me. He looked at the bible and the drawings you told me to point out, especially the last one. " Ranulf paused to sniff and wipe his nose on the sleeve of his jerkin before continuing: "The Chancellor took one look at the last picture and jumped to his feet, yelling for clerks and messengers and demanding that the stables prepare the fleetest horses. He glared at me and I thought I was for the hangman but then he dismissed me with this simple message for you. 'Tell Corbett that I want names. ' That's all. " Ranulf concluded. Corbett nodded, kicked his boots off and lay on his own cot to ease the bruised aching of his body. Names! The Chancellor wanted names. Corbett could tell why Duket was murdered and how, but who? Apart from the apostate priest, and he was dead, he had no names.
Corbett shivered and pulled his cloak firmly over him, the metal brooch clasp hit him on the mouth and he sat up to arrange the cloak better. He looked closer at the brooch, drawing at the threads caught there until they lay in the palm of his hand. So tiny, so light, and so insignificant. Yet Corbett felt the sword pierce his soul and could almost taste the rank metal at the back of his throat. A series of images formed in his mind, clearing the doubts and troubles which had festered there, as when boils or buboes burst, the agony was intense. He felt a pain in his chest as if a mailed fist was clenching his heart while the blood pounded and roared in his ears like breaking surf. He lay down on his cot, his fists now tightly clenched while he tried to restore order to the chaos crashing about him. Ranulf came up to him, anxious and concerned. "Was there anything wrong? Could he fetch some wine?" Corbett drove him off with a mouthful of foul abuse and Ranulf, seeing Corbett's white face and wild staring eyes, simply slunk from the room like a beaten dog. Neville came in an hour or so later but Corbett just stared and waved him away. Ranulf did not sleep there that night, as he preferred the relative safety and security of the guardroom to the company of his apparently demented master.
The next morning, however, Ranulf found Corbett up, washed and dressed, sitting on his cot, writing tray on his knee, scratching away with his pen on a long piece of vellum. The clerk still looked pale and drawn. Ranulf began to make solicitous enquiries but then lapsed into silence under Corbett's stony gaze. Ranulf knew something terrible had happened but could not imagine what it could be. His master was so secretive in all matters that it was difficult to determine whether he was happy or sad. Ranulf stood, shuffling his feet, until Corbett finished writing, looked up and ordered Ranulf to take the letter to Nigel Couville in the Chancery offices at Westminster. Corbett insisted that the matter was so important that Ranulf was to wait until a reply was ready and bring it straight back to him. Ranulf left immediately, leaving his master to his thoughts and the fresh piece of vellum he had begun writing on.
Ranulf took the boat from the Tower to Westminster and, after making enquiries around the Great Hall, managed to secure an interview with the old keeper of the records. After reading Corbett's note, Couville listened to him attentively. Ranulf could see that he was concerned about Corbett and knew that he had done nothing to resolve the old man's anxieties by describing his master's strange and wild appearance. "Just like he was after his wife and child died, " Couville murmured. "Nevertheless, " he continued briskly. "Maybe this information will be of use. " Ranulf had to stay with Couville for a number of days, fretting and biding his time while the old man searched amongst records and sent his clerks here and there over the city with enquiries or petitions for information. Eventually, after a few days, Couville gave Ranulf a small scroll and ordered him to take it back to Corbett at the Tower. Ranulf immediately complied, glad to be free of Couville's cramped office and the even more restricted quarters the old man had given him.
Ranulf found his master still pale and rather dejected on the parapet above the Tower moat, leaning against the crenellated battlements and staring emptily into the dark waters below. Corbett hardly bothered to greet Ranulf but snatched the document he had brought from Couville and read it greedily, muttering and groaning, almost as if he had expected to find what he read there. He then ordered Ranulf to rest and eat before entrusting him with another short letter to take to Mistress Alice atte Bowe at The Mitre Tavern. Corbett instructed Ranulf, once he delivered the message, to occupy himself in the city and, he added abruptly, if possible, to stay out of trouble. Ranulf immediately departed for the Tower kitchens. Corbett waited until his footsteps faded into the distance and, covering his face with his hands, wept bitterly in a mixture of rage, self-pity and a deep sense of loss.
Seventeen
Three days later Corbett had the Tower cooks put some pastries, sweetmeats and wine into his saddlebag and, after a few words with Swynnerton and Neville, made his way out of the postern gate of the Tower to his meeting with Alice. He had asked to meet her in the fields just outside the north-east corner of the Tower amongst the Roman ruins which criss-crossed the fields with their whitened skeletal walls, the relics of faded
ancient glory. Alice was already there, standing by one of the walls, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak which covered the green taffeta dress beneath, her long black hair falling to her shoulders and a red headband decorated with gold stars circling her forehead. Corbett could only secretly marvel at her beauty. He kissed her warmly on the brow and felt her arms melt round his body. He stood there, her dark head on his chest and stared across the ruins. Then he held her at arm's length and teased her about arriving on time. She laughed and flirted back though he noticed her eyes were guarded, wary as if conscious of something wrong. Corbett spread the cleanest blanket he had managed to find and they sat, their backs to one of the ruined walls, while they enjoyed the warmth of a strong spring sun.
They ate and drank, laughed and talked until Alice, almost as if she was a player in some mystery drama, turned and asked how his investigation was proceeding. Corbett sipped the wine from his cup while his other hand rested in Alice's lap. "Duket, " he began slowly, "was murdered. " He felt no reaction from Alice, so he dug into his purse and pulled out the long silken threads. "Oh, I forgot, " he added smilingly, "when you undid the clasp of my cloak these strands got caught in the hook. I think they're from your gloves. I am sorry, I must have ruined them. " He dropped the threads into the small black silk-clad palm of her hand.
Alice looked at them and stared at Corbett before bursting into peals of laughter. "You have not brought me here surely, " she teased, "to apologize for ruining a glove? I have many others. " She leaned across and kissed him gently on the cheek, her lips were like the finest gauze or silk.
Corbett gripped his cup tighter and turned to look into her eyes full of dark laughter. "No, " he murmured. "I did not bring you here to talk about silk gloves. " He stretched his legs out, relaxed and sighed.
"Duket, " Corbett began again, "was a goldsmith and a homosexual, but also a loyal Londoner and a faithful subject of the King. However, his secret longings and dark fantasies led him to Crepyn, a moneylender, a secret admirer of the dead de Montfort and a leader of the banned Populares party here in the city. Crepyn was also a sorcerer, involved in black magic, a member, maybe even the leader of a secret coven which called itself the Pentangle. A group long active in this country, I understand there are similar covens and societies in the East. " Corbett felt Alice stiffen beside him as if she was shocked by these revelations.
"How do you know this?" she asked.
Corbett grimaced. "It's not a question of knowing. It is only a guess, a reasoned one, a logical deduction, as my old lecturer in philosophy would say. Anyway, " he continued, "another logical deduction is that Crepyn got to know of
Duket's dark secret. He may have seduced him, he certainly seduced Duket's sister. He drew Duket like some helpless fish into his net by pandering to all his needs. You see, he needed Duket for his gold, as he did a number of goldsmiths in the city. With this gold, Crepyn and his party intended to lead a revolt in the city. His coven were as opposed to Edward as they were to our sovereign's ancestors. Some of whom, like William Rufus, they destroyed in the same way they intended to kill our present sovereign lord, with an arrow from an assassin's bow, on the thirty-first of March as the King entered the city from Woodstock, making his way through Newgate and down Cheapside. "
"No! Oh, no!" Alice's face was ashen and drawn, her wild eyes staring at him. "Crepyn!" she exclaimed. "An assassin! A regicide!" Corbett glanced at Alice and put his fingers gently on her lips before lightly stroking her cheek.
"Oh, yes, " he continued. "Crepyn was an assassin and the arrow was to be shot from the tower of Saint Mary Le Bow, the same church in which our poor goldsmith was hanged. However, " he paused to fill his wine goblet. "However, Duket, though he played the part assigned to him, was no assassin. He must have learnt, guessed or deduced what Crepyn and his coven intended to do, although ignorant of the actual details. This is where things went terribly wrong for both of them. On the day of the murder, Duket and Crepyn met in Cheapside. I think Duket became hysterical with fear. Crepyn probably tried to reason with him but Duket drew his dagger and stabbed him through the heart. Duket then panicked. He knew he was in danger so he fled for sanctuary. "
"To Saint Mary Le Bow?" Alice interjected.
Corbett nodded. "Yes, of all places, Saint Mary Le Bow, for how was Duket to know, not being a member of Crepyn's inner circle, that Saint Mary Le Bow was one of the Pentangle's meeting-places and its rector, Roger Bellet, a prominent member of its secret hierarchy? Bellet, of course, gave him sanctuary but immediately contacted the rest of the coven. They decided that Duket had to die as they could not allow him to come to trial and blab everything to get a King's pardon or be released on a plea of self-defence. "
Corbett stopped and plucked at the short, fresh spring grass. He looked sideways up at Alice's face but she was sitting rigid with her back against the crumbling wall, gazing out over the fields. "So, " he continued, "the coven was alerted and now we come to the two fickle elements in our existence, time and human will. A number of people converged on Saint Mary Le Bow. The first was a boy, Simon, an apprentice during the day, so Ranulf told me, but by night he worked as a tapster and bumboy in a secret drinking place for homosexuals. He probably loved Duket and, when the news of Crepyn's murder and Duket's flight swept through Cheapside, Simon came running. He could not enter the church as there must have been others standing in the entrance so, being of a slight build, he managed to squeeze through one of the windows. "
Corbett paused for a short while "We can only conjecture on what happened next for Simon too is dead, murdered, but I suspect he and Duket moved over to the shadowed recesses of the sanctuary. There, the boy fell asleep while Duket went back to the security of the Blessed Chair. The Watch then arrived. Bellet locked the door from the outside while Duket bolted it from within according to custom. Before the priest left the church, he gave the man in sanctuary the usual meal, a loaf of bread and a jug of wine, and Duket should have stayed there safe and sound until the morning. Of course he did not. He was murdered!"
"Why murder?" Alice interrupted. The question was clipped, her voice terse with tension.
"Oh, that was obvious. Why should Duket commit suicide when he had fled for protection? Why didn't he open his veins? He had a dagger and there were more convenient places to hang himself from besides that iron bar. In fact it was that iron bar which convinced me that he had been murdered. "
Alice leaned forward, her hands clasped, resting on her knees. "Why the bar?"
"Oh, it was too high, " Corbett replied. "Or rather Duket was too short. You see I measured his corpse, no way could he reach that bar. Then the chair was too clean, almost polished as if the person who had stood on it had been too thorough. Either that or they had rags tied round their boots. "
"Rags!" Alice turned her face towards him and Corbett almost jerked back, the laughter had gone from her eyes, only a deep, glittering malice stared back at him.
"Yes, rags, " his eyes slid away from her and he felt beneath his cloak for the handle of his dagger. "The murderers wore rags on their boots to muffle any sound. "
"Then how did they get in? You said that the church was bolted from inside, " Alice snapped.
"Oh, it was but the murderers never got in. They were allowed in sometime in the afternoon before the ward Watch arrived, probably whilst Duket was busy elsewhere in the sanctuary. They came and hid in the shadowed recesses of the entrance. Duket never suspected and, of course, the Watch would never dream of looking there. When it was dark the murderers struck, quietly gliding up the nave, they seized Duket, now drugged by the laced wine given to him by Bellet and, using the Blessed Chair, hanged him before going back to hide in the dark shelter of the doorway. They probably gagged Duket to ensure his silence, hence the strands of cloth caught between his teeth, and pinioned his arms, hence the bruises just above the elbow. The murderers only made one real mistake, they never knew the boy was there and I suspect the coven arrived in the church after he had got through th
e window and when Duket and the boy were engaged in the far corner of the sanctuary out of their view. Nevertheless, the coven kept a watch and when they saw me meet Simon, they correctly deduced that he must know something and had him killed. "
Corbett stopped and glanced at Alice, but still she sat rigid almost ignoring him. "Anyway, " he continued, "the next morning the door was forced by the Watch under the supervision of a very garrulous priest who ensured the guards concentrated on poor Duket while the coven simply slipped out into the deserted streets of Cheapside. "
Alice turned, both her hands on Corbett's arm, her face alabaster white with a sheen of sweat on her brow. "But the murderers?" she asked, "Who are they?"
Corbett moved a wisp of hair from her forehead which had escaped from her headband and ran his fingers down the side of her face. "The boy Simon, " he murmured, "before he was killed said that he saw two of the figures. A giant and a dwarf. You see, the murderers didn't know that he was there. " Corbett looked directly at Alice. "The giant was Peter, Alice, you know that. He was there, he fastened the noose like the hangman he is, professionally, tying the knot under Duket's left ear. Duket did not do that. A goldsmith about to commit suicide would never have done that. You know that Peter was there, Alice, because you were there with him!"
