by Paul Doherty
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.' 'And Mallow is Dighton?'
Benjamin shook his head. ‘No, no, that was a little mummery I concocted last night. I had glimpsed the panelling before and, remembering Undershaft was a carpenter, wondered if this had provoked his interest. Of course, I couldn't break into it without alarming Kemble here, whom I wished to trap. I went to Mallow and persuaded him, in return for royal preferment, to act out the nonsense you witnessed before.' 'So, where is Dighton?'
'Probably dead,' Benjamin replied. ‘I suspect the Princes here may have been poisoned by Greene, whom we knew as Dr Quicksilver. The room was then locked and sealed. Greene went into hiding until memory faded and people had forgotten.' He pointed at Kemble. ‘Until this villain appeared. He finds this secret chamber, takes the seals, and begins to plot how to become a very wealthy man. As keeper of the royal palace at Woodstock, he would know of the King's secret fears about anyone with Yorkist blood in them. The visitation of the sweating sickness provided him and Sakker with the ideal opportunity' Benjamin walked towards the constable. ‘You arranged Allardyce's murder at Maidstone: you saw it as a marvellous opportunity to bring Sakker into the Tower. If that hadn't presented itself, you would have found another way. You arranged Sakker's arrival during Yuletide – when you were absent – so no one would ever suspect.' Benjamin tapped Kemble on the chest. 'And where to then, eh? Sakker could not remain Allardyce for ever. Moreover, he wanted his revenge, whilst you desired the King's gold. I'm sure you had a plan, but then the sweating sickness arrived.'
'You must have been the only men in London to have welcomed the sweating sickness,' I scoffed. There was no need to close the Tower so completely, but you used your accomplice's so-called sickness to achieve that. It would not be hard for you and Sakker to bring a corpse, filched from somewhere, into the Tower. Your accomplice then walked free to carry on his villainy: you, however, could act the innocent and give the labourer, Ealdred every protection.'
'And what a mystery, eh?' Benjamin intervened. 'Where could the seals have been obtained from? Were the Princes really alive? How could the villain both be in the Tower to deliver the first letter, yet also in the city, issuing proclamations? Of course, you realised the King would intervene but, being constable, you knew exactly what was going to happen. You continued to use Sakker's disguise and that secret postern-gate to deepen the mystery: the attack on Shallot, the delivery of blackmailing letters, the murders of the hangmen, the collection of the gold. On each occasion, you could account for your movements. How alarmed you must have been when we began to suspect that Sakker was involved. You used him for one last murder, the charlatan Quicksilver. After that, all you had to do was sit quiet and secure.'
Benjamin seized the unresisting Kemble by his jerkin, pushing him against the wall. 'How you must have chuckled when I arrested Mallow! What were you going to do, Sir Edward? Wait until the dust had settled, then taken up your new appointment as envoy to Brussels? You did tell us you were giving up your office to go there. But you intended only to slip away with your new-found wealth.'
Kemble opened his mouth to protest. Benjamin pushed him again.
'Now all that remains, Sir Edward, is the gold. Where is it?'
The constable, in some kind of stupor, licked his lips. I followed his quick glance and saw an old coffer peeping out of the shadows in a corner. I went across: the lock was new. I prised it loose with my dagger and drew back the lid. Inside was a roll of parchment, the best vellum money could buy, inkpots, quills, and a large sack which clinked as I moved it. The King's gold!' I exclaimed.
There was a second sack made of very thick leather, tied securely at the top. I cut this. Inside were two seals: one the size of a tennis ball, the Great Seal of King Edward V, the other his Privy Seal. I took these under the light and examined them. They were pristine, fresh, as if carved yesterday.
'Keep them, Roger' Benjamin drew his dagger and pressed its point into the fleshy part of Kemble's neck. ‘You killed Sakker in that lonely corner of the Tower: you placed that viper in our chamber. You are as evil as Satan, but you shall pay for your crimes and your mistakes.' He pushed Kemble out of the door.
I stopped to douse the candles and torchlights. I took one last, lingering look at that dreadful bed, and closed the secret door. I pushed the wainscoting back until it fell into place with a click, and followed my master along the gallery, down the stairs to the Tower Green.
Ah well, the rest is bits
and pieces. Vetch was summoned. Benjamin ordered Mallow's release, the chief hangman joined us in the gatehouse where Benjamin was ordering astonished guards to place chains on Kemble's wrists and ankles. The chief hangman shuffled his feet with pleasure as Benjamin promised him more gold, as well as a letter of pardon for any offences he may have committed. Mallow was also instructed to inform the others, Benjamin promising that more silver would be left for them to celebrate. He turned to Vetch, who stood like a man pole-axed, and once again explained how he had trapped Kemble.
The Tower is yours, Vetch. Master Shallot here needs ten good guards, the best you have. The prisoner is to be taken immediately to Windsor. I have other business in the city.'
I must admit I was surprised as anyone by that, and the old demon jealousy returned: I realised Benjamin was going to the Pelleters to celebrate with the marvellous Miranda. Oh well, that's old Shallot's luck! Night had fallen, but Benjamin insisted the prisoner be taken, so I had no choice. Whilst Benjamin went to bask in Miranda's golden smile, ten of the strongest rogues the Tower could muster rowed a silently weeping Kemble to his judgement at Windsor.
The night journey was long and cold, and by the time I arrived at Court, I was drunk from the wineskin I carried. The Great Beast and his familiar, the silk-garbed Cardinal, were waiting. With Kemble kneeling before me, I simply described what had happened and how we had trapped him. Oh yes, I was angry at Benjamin, so I emphasised my role even more. The King did not waste words on Kemble. He stepped down from his throne and kicked him in the face, and smiled as the guards took him away.
Within the week Kemble had been hanged, drawn and quartered. One part of his body was displayed on Windsor' Castle, another at York, one quarter at Winchester, whilst the rest, with his head, were impaled above the Lion Gatehouse at the Tower. I spent days at Windsor being fawned on by Henry as if I were his pet dog. Purses of gold, silk jackets, velveteen boots, the swiftest horse in the stables, the right to draw rents from certain tenements in Suffolk. He patted my hair, and those piggy eyes would glare at me as he tweaked my cheek.
'Good dog, Shallot,' he growled. 'Sharp as a lurcher. Would you like to go hunting, Roger?'
Of course, I declined the offer, and the Great Beast bellowed with laughter. (Oh, by the way, he took the gold and destroyed the seals. As for that secret chamber and its grisly contents, he said it was the Princes' grave and so it should remain.) The Cardinal was more reserved. One night at supper I caught him watching me with those black, cunning eyes; it was then that he decided to become my friend and not just my patron. The following day he took me for a walk in the castle gardens, pointed out how the roses always reached full bloom in early autumn, whilst the small apple and pear trees, their branches now bowed, promised a succulent harvest. He talked about affairs of State and the death of Pope Adrian VI and, for the first time ever, I plotted as well as the rest. No one could hear. Dr Agrippa was God knows where, and I, Roger Shallot, the most base-born of rogues, became Wolsey's confidant. Two days later I left Windsor for London. I found Benjamin in the Tower, busy studying a book on alchemy he'd found in the library. I told him about my reception at Windsor, the King's applause and munificence. Benjamin smiled and hugged me. 'And dearest Uncle?' he asked.
I drew from my doublet a sealed letter. "What does it say, Roger?'
'Master,' I lied, ‘I don't know, but His Excellency instructed me not to be present when you read it.'
I left him and went for a walk on Tower Green. Somehow, that dreadful fortress had lost its horror. Children played on the mangonel and catapults, soldiers' wives chattered and sang as they washed clothes over great open vats. Ragusa passed me, swaying like a leaf in the wind. Vetch and Spurge were sunning themselves on a bench, revelling in their new authority. Even the great ravens seemed more friendly, hopping towards me looking for morsels. I stared up at the sky, counted again to a hundred, then returned to our chamber.
Benjamin was sitting, beaming from ear to ear. My heart lurched. Had the Cardinal, I wondered, followed my advice? 'Good news, Master?'
'Roger, congratulate me.' He got up. 'Uncle wishes me a lead an embassy to Rome for the election of the new pope.'
'Oh, Master,' I cried, 'to see Italy again, the glories of Rome!'
Benjamin's face fell. ‘Roger, I am sorry, dearest Uncle has said I must go alone: you are to remain in England for other duties.'
Well, even old Burbage could not have acted like I did. I slumped down on the bed, face in hands. Benjamin came and sat next to me, putting an arm round my shoulder. I looked up, the tears rolling down my cheeks.
'Doesn't he trust me, Master?' I cried. 'Doesn't he think I'm good enough to be his envoy?'
Tush, tush, Roger! Dearest Uncle writes that he can spare one but not both of us. Someone has to look after the manor.' He touched me under the chin. 'And someone has to care for Miranda.' I put my face in my hands: the trap had closed.
Ah well, what does old Macbeth say? Time is a fool and all our dusty yesterdays…' My little chaplain is looking at me expectantly. Aren't I going to tell him about Miranda, my beloved first wife? How could I marry the betrothed of my great friend? Well, he'll have to wait, won't he? That's another story. The sun is beginning to dip. The shadows are becoming longer. Old Shallot grows cold but, back in my bedchamber, Margot and Phoebe are heating the wine.
Author's Note
Once again, Shallot may not be telling such exotic tales. In Thomas More's History of Richard III, he claims that the Princes' corpses were buried under certain steps near the Great Keep. However, an account published by L. A. Du Maurier in 1680, from a manuscript translation of the Delaval, said that Prince Maurice of Nassau, Prince of Orange, had been told by Queen Elizabeth of a sealed, walled-up chamber in the Tower which contained the skeletons of the children of Edward IV. This story is repeated in Audrey Williamson's excellent book The Mystery of the Princes, published in 1990. Table of Contents 5/Paul Doherty (as Michael Clynes) – %5bSir Roger Shallot 05%5d – The Gallows Murders (v1.5) (html)/The_Gallows_Murders.html – filepos2760
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