The Judas Blade

by John Pilkington

  ‘He won’t have slept much, he’ll be afraid and weak from hunger,’ he said. ‘Remember, we’ve told him nothing. He knows you and Crabb from the prison of course, but he doesn’t know me from Adam. So whatever cock-and-bull tale I spin, mark it well – you may need to use it yourself.’

  Betsy murmured assent, yet her thoughts were elsewhere. And when they both entered the store-cellar, which was lit by a single lantern, her first reaction was one of pity. Gorton was sitting in a corner, and he was a sorry sight. He looked haggard and dishevelled, his clothes dirty, his stockings torn. Crabb had removed his shoes and loosened his bonds so that he could drink, though on Mullin’s orders the man had been given no food. When they came in Betsy’s one-time cellmate stiffened, and spoke immediately.

  ‘Thank God you’re safe!’ Wide-eyed, he gazed at her. ‘I wished only to escape, when I—’ He swallowed. ‘See, I was confounded. God smite me if I meant you any harm—’

  ‘Stop that babble!’

  At Mullin’s snapped instruction, the man fell silent. He watched as the captain put down the stool he had brought in, and sat down facing him. There was nothing else in the cellar apart from another stool, on which Crabb sat without expression. Betsy preferred to remain standing.

  ‘So, I understand your name isn’t Gorton, while you’re here,’ Mullin said, sounding amiable all of a sudden. ‘But I’ll use it anyway, or perhaps I’ll dispense with formalities. What is your first name?’

  Nervously, Gorton lifted his hands and rubbed his forehead. Though the cellar was cold, he was sweating. ‘It’s James, sir,’ he answered.

  ‘Well, James …’ Mullin frowned, as if perplexed. ‘Tell me, how on earth did you get yourself clapped up in the King’s Bench?’

  ‘A gambling debt,’ the other replied quickly. ‘A man may easily over-reach himself at the cock-pit.’ He attempted a glassy smile, which didn’t work. ‘I see you’re a man of the town, sir, you know how things are.’

  ‘Do I?’ Mullin exchanged glances with Crabb, who remained expressionless. ‘Well, even if you speak the truth, that too matters little. What interests me more is why you killed a man called Venn. Slit his throat with his own pocket-knife, I heard. Most unpleasant.’

  At that, Gorton gulped audibly. ‘Please hear me, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll not lie – I know I’m at your mercy, as I know what the wrestler here could do to me. Though quite what this is about, and how this … this lady comes to be a part of it, I swear I’m at a loss to know. So ask what you will, I—’

  ‘Now you’re starting to bore me, James,’ Mullin broke in. He gave a long yawn, which fooled everyone except Betsy. ‘As for lying, I’ll judge whether you do or not. I’ll ask you again, and this time I want an answer: why did you kill Venn?’

  But Gorton coughed, and his eyes went to a mug which stood by Crabb’s feet. ‘For the Lord’s sake, let me have water,’ he breathed.

  ‘Later, perhaps …’ Mullin waved a hand. ‘It depends on the answers I get. Indeed …’ He leaned forward, making the other flinch. ‘Did I forget to mention that your very life depends on that too, James? Pardon me if it slipped my mind.’

  Gorton’s eyes flew from Mullin to Crabb, then finally settled on Betsy. There was a pleading look in them, as if he believed his hopes rested on her.

  ‘Mistress, you’ll heed me, won’t you?’ he said. ‘You know I’m not a murderer! Those dreadful hours we spent in that stinking prison, sharing our last morsel, our last drop of water … You know me! I’m just a man who fell foul of the law, as you did.’

  He flinched, as Mullin raised a hand quickly. It appeared as if he meant to lash out at the prisoner, but instead he scratched idly at his scalp. ‘That’s better,’ he sighed, adjusting his periwig. ‘I’m not a man who likes to repeat himself, James,’ he went on. ‘So I advise you to cease prating and tell me something that interests me. This woman’ – he pointed over his shoulder – ‘I’m afraid she can’t help you, but I can.’ He paused dramatically. ‘So answer truthfully, and you may not only live, you may even leave here unharmed. Do you see?’ Then deliberately, he threw a glance at Crabb. A look passed between the two men which Betsy realized was a signal. On cue, the young giant spoke up.

  ‘I don’t think we can promise that,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Not if he’s the one who killed Eleanor too …’ He eyed the prisoner. ‘It was you who got in and stabbed her, at the house near the Oude Kierke – wasn’t it?’

  Slowly the colour drained from Gorton’s face while his fingers worked nervously at his bonds … and suddenly, the wretched man was in tears.

  ‘Good God, will you believe naught I say?’ he whimpered. ‘Whoever – whatever you think I am, you’re sorely mistaken. I know nothing of a house near the Oude Kierke. I know nobody here from anywhere but the prison, which is why I was so confounded when I ran into her!’ He pointed at Betsy. ‘So you may break me and burn me, and do what you will, but I can’t tell what I don’t know! God-a-mercy, sir, won’t you listen?’

  The last part was directed at Mullin. Though he and Crabb remained impassive, Betsy was torn. She had felt anger against Gorton a moment ago; now he looked so forlorn, that she was suddenly filled with doubt. Either he was a better actor than she had imagined, or he spoke the truth.

  ‘Dear me, what a speech!’ Mullin let out a sigh, of mingled weariness and disdain. ‘Do you think I care a jot for your weasel words? I simply want answers, James, which you seem determined not to give. Now, shall I try again, or must I ask your old friend the wrestler to break a finger or two?’

  ‘He’s no friend of mine,’ Crabb put in casually. ‘I’ll gladly break all his fingers – and his wrists too, if you like.’

  A tense silence fell. It was turning serious, as Betsy had expected, and all at once, she saw both Crabb and Mullin in a different light. She thought she knew them, yet she had not seen them at this most brutal of tasks. It was a side of their work that wasn’t to her liking.

  ‘I’ll go back upstairs,’ she said.

  There was a stir, and for a moment she thought Mullin was angry; she had disobeyed his order to keep silent. But when he swung his gaze to her, she was surprised to see him smile.

  ‘Perhaps it’s best,’ he said. ‘A woman shouldn’t witness this.’ Abruptly he turned back to Gorton, who was a picture of terror. Sweat ran down his face, while his hands shook.

  ‘Please, won’t you speak for me?’ he begged, staring at Betsy. ‘I’m a sick man – I swear it. I cannot bear this! God smite me if I lie to you—’

  ‘I’m afraid God isn’t here, James,’ Mullin said. ‘And sick or not, you’ll soon feel a deal worse. Now, if you won’t speak of Eleanor’s death, or of Venn’s, I’ve no choice but to—’

  ‘Damn you then – I killed him! I killed Venn!’

  It was almost a shriek, and it took even Mullin by surprise. He and Crabb gazed at the snivelling figure. Betsy was shaken, but suddenly, now the words were out, memories rushed back.

  ‘So you were the trepanner – the cross-biter in our cell!’ she cried. ‘I said so before you struck me!’ And ignoring Mullin, who turned in irritation, she went on, ‘He told me he knew someone was watching him. I didn’t think you had the nerve, but I was wrong. You’re one of them – you and Thomas Prynn and—’

  ‘Be quiet!’

  In a trice Mullin was on his feet. ‘Or be gone,’ he added. ‘This man’s in my charge, and I’ll choose how to proceed. Now, will you go, or will you hold your tongue?’

  Breathing hard, Betsy mastered herself. ‘Your pardon,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll stay.’

  ‘Very well!’ Impatiently Mullin turned back to his prisoner, but remained standing. ‘Well, at last we come to the nub of it, James,’ he said, gazing down at the man. ‘Not that the matter was in doubt. Now I want to know why you killed Venn, or rather, on whose orders. And don’t waste any more of my time!’

  But another expression had come over Gorton’s face. He was still shaking, especially as
Crabb looked angry enough to fly at him, but there was something else too: a look almost of resignation.

  ‘Nobody ordered me,’ he said, wiping his face with the back of a hand; his tears had ceased as quickly as they had begun. ‘I loathed the fellow. I saw him talking close with Beatrice – if that’s her name.’ He threw a dark look at Betsy. ‘I … we all believed her to be a whore, yet she did nothing but taunt us. I caught Venn alone, and he scorned me.’ He gave a shrug. ‘I was jealous, that’s all.’

  ‘And you expect me to believe that?’ Before the other could reply, Mullin raised a hand and pointed at him. ‘You drive me too far!’ he shouted. ‘You’re a damned conspirator – one of a piss-hatch group of traitors who are up to mischief. And in case you hadn’t guessed, I’m here to unpick it! Now, my patience is gone. I want the names of your fellows, though we know those of Prynn and Phelps already – and the late Mr Venn, of course. So if you want to save yourself a deal of pain, I advise you to begin talking. Mr Wrestler…?’

  He eyed Crabb, who also stood up, whereupon Betsy decided it was time to leave after all. But, as she started for the doorway, there came a yelp and as always, her curiosity overruled her. She looked round to see Gorton also struggling to his feet, his back against the wall.

  ‘You’ll get nothing more from me!’ he cried. ‘I’ve admitted I killed Venn, so hand me over to whomever you will. The gallows will be a blessing, believe me …’ he made a choking sound, between a cough and a sob. ‘Press me all you like, you’ll find I’ve never heard of Prynn or Phelps, whoever they are. As for being part of a conspiracy …’ He shook his head, as if the idea was too ridiculous for words.

  ‘What about Eleanor?!’

  Crabb towered over Gorton, his fists clenched. But when Mullin looked at him sharply, he raised a warning hand.

  ‘Back off, Captain,’ he said gently. ‘It’s my turn.’

  ‘Wait …’ Mullin read the look in the young man’s eyes. ‘Rein your anger in,’ he ordered. ‘We want intelligence, not a corpse on our hands.’

  ‘Why not have both?’ Crabb replied – and without warning he lurched forward and seized Gorton by the throat. The man gave a strangled cry and grabbed his wrist, but to no avail. Though he wriggled like an eel he was held fast, and would remain held until Crabb had had his way.

  ‘You killed Eleanor,’ he muttered, bending so that his face was close to his victim’s. ‘You thought it was her mistress’ – he jerked his head to indicate Betsy – ‘but you went to the wrong room. In the dark you found a woman in the bed, and you stabbed her – three times, by my reckoning. You think I’m going to let you hang, without wringing every word out of you first?’

  Once again the room fell silent. Mullin said nothing, and Betsy, standing by the doorway with heart thudding, guessed why. She knew Crabb’s action was spontaneous, but she saw too that it might bring results. As if to confirm it the captain stepped back, caught up his stool and moved it away. Sitting down beside Betsy, he folded his arms and waited.

  Gorton’s face, meanwhile, had turned an alarming shade of red. Still he gripped Crabb’s wrist, panting and struggling. But he was weakening visibly, as the young giant’s fingers remained clamped about his throat. A hissing came from his mouth, he kicked out wildly, but the blow to Crabb’s shin was as nothing.

  ‘Eleanor was an innocent girl,’ the giant said, through his teeth. ‘Admit you killed her, and I’ll let you breathe. Then tell us why you came to kill her mistress!’

  ‘I can’t …’ Gorton was purple now, his eyes popping. Sweat dripped on to his collar, and suddenly he sagged. His eyes rolled, his arms fell, and he went as limp as a rag. With a muffled oath, Crabb let him fall. Whereupon with an oath of his own, Mullin stood up.

  ‘Water!’ he snapped.

  Breathing heavily, Crabb stooped, picked up the mug from the floor and dashed its contents into Gorton’s face. The result was instantaneous: a gasp, and the man’s eyes flew open.

  Mullin stepped forward and dropped to his haunches. ‘You know this can all end, James,’ he said, calm again. ‘You must excuse the wrestler: the girl who died was his friend. But tell me why you came to kill, and I’ll yet be lenient.’

  ‘God help me, I cannot!’

  The prisoner gazed into his inquisitor’s eyes, and shook his head slowly. ‘I never went to any house,’ he said hoarsely, ‘and I didn’t kill this girl you speak of, nor had I any wish to kill anyone here. Do what you will, you cannot alter that. For pity’s sake, have me committed or kill me … my game’s over in any case!’

  After a moment Mullin turned to Crabb, who had resumed his stolid look. Then he glanced at Betsy; and now there was doubt on his face. She nodded, for she too had come to a conclusion that surprised her: she believed Gorton.

  ‘We’ll leave him a while.’

  The captain had made a decision, and the look that he now gave Crabb brooked no argument. ‘Give him water and a morsel of food, then lock him in,’ he added.

  The younger man hesitated, but his anger was gone. With a curt nod, he ambled across the room and went out. Betsy followed, but in the doorway she stopped. Hearing a sound, she snapped round, and saw that Mullin had heard it too. Then she looked at Gorton and gave a start.

  The man was no longer red-faced: he was as pale as linen. His hands were pressed to his chest, which was heaving. He tried to rise, then groaned and sank back, trembling. And slowly, the fear in his eyes gave way to a look of surprising calm.

  ‘Tell … I didn’t squeal,’ he mumbled, though his words were slurred. ‘And tell her… I always loved her….’

  Then his body twitched, and the life slipped out of it.

  Betsy’s hand went to her mouth, while Mullin stared. Then with a curse, he dropped to one knee and lifted the man’s hand. After letting it fall he stood and faced Betsy, his face taut.

  ‘Perhaps he really was sick,’ he murmured. ‘Or perhaps I begin to find it hard to tell truth from fables …’ He sighed. ‘Now we’ll never know, either way. It’s but—’

  ‘One of the hazards?’ Betsy broke in. ‘For the children of Judas?’

  But her only answer was a shrug. Whereupon she turned and walked back upstairs to the hallway. There she stopped, her eyes fixed on nothing, as a new and alarming truth dawned.

  If Gorton was truly innocent of Eleanor’s murder, then who had come to kill Betsy? And how long might it be before they tried again?

  Chapter Fourteen

  EARLY THAT AFTERNOON a meeting took place in the back parlour, and from the outset tempers were frayed. For once it wasn’t Marcus Mullin who was the angriest, however, but Peter Crabb.

  ‘I’ll tidy up – again,’ he muttered. ‘Gorton’s body will be found floating in a canal … Folk will assume he fell in, and his heart gave out.’ He glowered at Mullin. ‘Yet we’re no nearer to breaking this conspiracy – if we ever were close. Now the one who killed Venn is dead too, I fear the whole pack of them will panic and flee. I’m tempted to throw the game up here and now, and return to England … what do you say?’

  His question was addressed to Betsy, who had remained silent. Rain lashed the windows. Mullin, who had been pacing the room, stopped and faced her.

  ‘You believed Gorton, didn’t you?’ he said abruptly. ‘You don’t think he was one of these plotters – despite what he said about not squealing. Am I correct?’

  ‘I don’t believe he killed Eleanor,’ Betsy replied, after a moment. ‘Or that he killed Venn out of jealousy. I saw no sign, when we shared that cell, that he had any interest in me. There’s something more, that he kept back to the very end. Perhaps his last words offer a clue – tell her. Even Gorton had someone he loved – could it be for her that he took such risks?’

  ‘Well whoever the woman may be, we’ll learn no more of her now,’ Mullin said. In irritation, he turned on Crabb. ‘If you decide to abandon me and go back to Williamson, then I can’t stop you,’ he snapped. ‘Even though there’s some damned murky business in train here,
that’s brought about the deaths of three people already. It strikes me as worth taking trouble over – doesn’t it you?’

  ‘It does,’ Crabb retorted. ‘But you’re the prize cockerel hereabouts – sir. If you’d taken a firm grip on the matter from the start, instead of strutting about like—’

  ‘Wrestler, this won’t help.’ Betsy met Crabb’s eye. ‘None of us knew what we faced when we came here. All we had was Venn’s testimony, and Mr Lee’s suspicions. But we’ve learned there was a false priest, of some sort. And since Gorton, too, turned up in Delft …’ She shrugged. ‘It can’t be coincidence, can it?’

  ‘I think it most unlikely,’ Mullin put in. ‘What’s more, our portly friend Lacy needs investigating.’ He faced Crabb again. ‘There are trails to be followed, and I mean to pursue them. That’s what Williamson pays me for – when he remembers. So, whether I must work alone or not—’ He broke off, frowning. ‘But there’s another thing: the attempt on your life,’ he added, eyeing Betsy. ‘Perhaps Crabb’s right, and you should return to London. I can’t watch you all the time—’

  ‘Cods, Mullin!’ Betsy’s anger was roused. ‘You haven’t watched me at all! It’s Wrestler who saved me from drowning, while I got myself out of Lacy’s clutches. As for Eleanor’s murder: it was sheer luck saved me from that fate. So cease your posturing, and let us form some strategy!’

  And with that she sat down again, fanning herself with the edge of her whisk. Mullin seemed rather relieved, she thought, but covered it with his sardonic look. Wearing a look of some amusement, Crabb spoke up.

  ‘Those are brave words,’ he said. ‘You shame me, mistress – indeed I shame myself, since it was I who swore to discover Eleanor’s killer.’ He turned to Mullin. ‘So it seems we’re in your service still. Do you have a strategy, or do you not?’

  ‘In truth, not much of one,’ the other replied, after a moment. ‘And there’s no escaping the fact that you’re a risk,’ he said to Betsy. ‘You’ve drawn too much attention to yourself. I see but two choices: either you return home and give our esteemed master such intelligence as we have, or you remain here out of sight. In other words—’