by Mike Ashley
And then I found something. Brushing aside the rushes on the floor near the bed I saw dark stains. They looked like splashes of blood. I looked more closely at the rushes, straining my eyes, and was certain I could see stains on them too. Recent drops of blood then.
He could have been killed right here and his body carried to the menageries. It would have to be done quickly, for the blood still to be flowing. How? Rolled inside some linens or sacking perhaps. Easy enough for two strong people to do. This knocked aside my first theory, that he’d received an invitation to meet someone – someone known to him – and was killed there. I hadn’t noticed that stiff morbidity in him you get in bodies some time after they have died – most noticeable when visiting a battlefield the day after to gather up the dead – but perhaps the lion’s mauling had done away with that. The blood pointed to two very brazen men who had walked quite openly through the Tower grounds. I would have to ask Alfred to question everyone whether they had noticed any such thing. But act with confidence and often you are not noticed.
Who would have gone to such elaborate lengths? Why not simply kill him and leave the body to be found in his room?
And why had de Kellseye only now decided to protest his innocence? Although he’d allowed us to believe he’d acted alone perhaps he’d had a partner in crime who now, afraid of exposure, had killed him? That could have been his new evidence – to blame an accomplice. Or maybe the accomplice was double-crossing him after all this time. Someone associated with the Frescobaldi bank? I could guess that his timing had been due to the appointment of the new Lieutenant of the Tower. A new broom who wanted to sweep clean and make his mark. That dangerous thing – a zealously righteous man.
I liked the direction of these thoughts because they led directly away from me. I too had been a forgotten man and had made it clear I wanted to stay that way.
The only puzzle I could not even begin to figure out was why de Kellseye had refused to produce his new “proof” until I was present?
The animals of the King’s Menagerie were quiet now, but their scent was just as noisome. Old Osric was not in the tiny cubby hole he called home, so I went down to the cages. He was talking to a big brown bear that sat contentedly licking at honey on a twig he’d given it. He’d always given his bears a treat because he said they were the ones that hated cages the most.
He did not look pleased to see me. After I’d tried to ask after his health and close the gap of the past five years and he’d answered in monosyllables, preferring to look at his bear rather than me, I asked, “What news of the lion? Will he be punished for attacking de Kellseye?”
Suddenly animated, Osric now looked me in the eye. “Oh no. He were only doing what comes natural to such a kingly beast. I told the Lieutenant straight, this was dead meat to him. He thought it was his feeding time. Right?”
“Was this lion especially greedy? Would the murderer have chosen this lion, for example, instead of one of the others, or a leopard – a bear even?”
Osric looked at me oddly and sucked on his yellow-grey moustache. “I always feeds them a few hours after sun up, you know that. ’Course he was hungry, but no more than any of the other beasts here.”
“So whoever it was did know your routine and that the animals would be restless and hungry at that time, expecting their food. But they didn’t necessarily know the individual animals. Is that what you’re saying?”
He looked away again. “If you say so.”
“And you and your helpers didn’t see anyone at all – not even de Kellseye himself. You see, I’m wondering how he – or they – could have approached the pens unseen. Even perhaps, two men carrying a dead body –”
I had his attention again. His eyes gleamed with interest. “Brought him in you say? You say you think he weren’t stabbed here in front of Hannibal’s – the lion’s cage?”
“That’s right. The next problem is – how did they manage to stop the lion chasing them once they’d opened his door and also escape without passing you on the way?”
“First question’s easy. Smell of fresh blood. Lions can smell scents from miles away. Much better noses than us. ’Sides, they’re lazy. Why chase after something when a meal is all ready in front of you? Specially males, they eats what the female hunts for, or so I’ve been told.”
“That makes sense. Are you sure you and your lads saw and heard nothing?”
“We was getting the food ready so they could ’ave gone past us easy. And it weren’t none of us that killed him, neither.”
Obstinately he clung to this version of events, but when I left I had at least extracted a promise that he would talk to his assistants again.
I made my way to the postern gate now. Alfred had promised that he would give orders to allow me out – and back again. I knew he did not trust me fully. But then it’s only those who have never been betrayed who can trust completely. Both Alfred and I had seen so much in our lives that it was a wonder either of us had an ounce of trust left.
London’s streets were still busy and noisy even at twilight. The inns were as full as ever and in dark corners bawdy women offered their services. I breathed in the strong odours of humanity mingled with overflowing sewers and the River Fleet and held more than a hint of the many industries that brought the City much of its wealth, like tanning and brick-making. This was my home town, and the excitement was still there, of human lives pitched one against another jostling for money, fame, attention. But it was no longer the home of my soul, I realised.
I moved to a quieter area of darkened homes and knocked on a door. After a moment, a peep-hole was swung aside and fearful eyes looked at at me. Then the door was hastily unbarred and swung open and I was clasped in a hug.
“Elias,” I said, “You recognized me.”
“One doesn’t forget a friend. Come in, come in. Rachel will get us something to drink – see what a beauty she has grown into.”
“Your father is telling the truth,” I greeted his youngest daughter, who kept house for her father since her mother had died, her brothers and sisters all being married. Rachel smiled shyly, poured us some rich ruby wine and placed nuts and fruit at our elbow then sat quietly to one side working on copying a manuscript while we talked. Elias believed that woman had a brain as quick as a man’s, and she joined in as we caught up with each others’ lives. Finally it was Elias who said, “Is it true? I heard that William de Kellseye is dead – and on the same day, here you are.”
“I know, but the link doesn’t extend as far as his death.” I told him everything that had happened, including my own half constructed theories.
He scratched his beard, thinking. “So de Kellseye had an accomplice after all. One of the Frescobaldi family, or one of their men, perhaps.”
“Who else could it be? I know that when the King accused you and your community of defacing his coinage and clipping it to make money for yourselves that must have been the only thing on your mind but think back. Does any name spring up that was associated with de Kellseye? He always seemed to me at the time to be nothing more than a clerk, and perhaps I was right. Or was he being doubly clever in hiding his true nature?”
“Beware of looking only at the outside of the container. It’s what the vessel contains, what is hidden within, that carries the true spirit.” He touched his head and his heart, while Rachel nodded in agreement. “I remember that time only too well – I could have been in the Tower, if it hadn’t been for you – the irony is, the way things are now we might have been safer in there. Now we’re afraid to go out in the streets, and must continually hide our true selves and our true worship. Many of us have been attacked.”
“Life has been hard for you. But you have had champions – Judge de Bray for one, and there will be others.”
“True. You must never doubt, Gregory, that de Kellseye was guilty. You found the proof. The seal was his and he never denied it. It is possible that he’s been shielding someone else all this time. But more likely he’s been shielding
the money. I never believed his story that he’d spent it all on good living, fine wines and garments, dowries for his children. There was far more missing than that.”
“He didn’t spend it on his apartment in the Tower. It was comfortable but plain. He didn’t have expensive habits but lived a simple life, with his wife visiting him every week.”
“Perhaps he was murdered by his accomplice because he would not reveal to them where he’d hidden the money. Or perhaps you’re right, he was killed to silence his tongue. Even a cracked bell can be heard. Rest assured, my friend, I will talk to everyone and send a message immediately if one name is spoken too often.”
Our farewells were emotional ones and not to be our last, I hoped, as I returned through the dark streets. I kept my head down and moved fast wishing Alfred had allowed me to keep my dagger. I could hold my own face to face in fair combat, but against two or more from behind I would be vulnerable. Several times I looked over my shoulder, sure I could sense a shadow slipping silently behind me, but I reached Tower Street without incident and without being accosted. At that moment I relaxed and looked up at the bulk of the walls, and consequently never heard the soft footfall behind me. I only felt the violent pain at the back of my head followed by a sickly falling into black unconsciousness.
When I came to my head was throbbing and my body felt bruised all over, as if I’d been thrown down a flight of steps. I was lying on a thin mattress of straw on a hard stone bench. I was in one of the darkest, dampest cells in the Tower. The sort people are put in when they’ve seriously displeased someone. I tried to sit up and promptly felt so sick I lay down again. My groan was loud enough to bring someone to the door. It was John, my taciturn companion on the journey from Scotland.
“You’re awake then,” he said, passing me a jug of water through the bars.
“What happened? Why am I in here?”
“I’ll fetch Alfred.”
Alfred brought stew and bread and thin red wine. He settled himself on the stone bench opposite and regarded me with relish. “Nasty crack that was,” he said. “Surgeon looked at it. Said you’d live.”
“Maybe there’s someone’ll be pleased to hear that,” I said through a mouthful of meat and vegetables. “So what happened?”
He shrugged. “John was on duty and expecting you back. Kept looking out for you, saw you lying there with someone stopping over you so he raised the hue but they made it away over the river. He carried you in. Who, what or why I’m none the wiser. You?”
I thought of the shadow I’d sense behind me, but if there had been someone there they would have been plainly visible or audible out on Tower Street. It had to be someone either lying in wait for my return, or a robber after my purse. If the latter, he’d’ve been sorely disappointed. “No, nor me. Are you sure you didn’t ask John to give me a going over?”
“You’re slipping,” he grinned, shaking his head. “In the old days you’d’ve been waiting for their move and slipped a knife in their ribs first. Told you all that fresh air was bad for you.”
“I didn’t do much knife slipping, as well you know. Alfred – I can’t do much from in here, and I haven’t learned anything yet that’s going to save me from the gibbet. I thought I had a whole day’s grace.”
“Said it was for your own safety. De Lisle, I mean.”
I groaned. “Try and get me out again.”
He gathered up the empty bowls but left me the jug of wine. “I’ll try,” he said, but he didn’t look as if he’d succeed.
There was nothing for it but to try and work out what I was going to say to the jury of my peers the Sheriff and Coroner were no doubt assembling right now for a hearing later today. They’d be so resentful of this interruption to their lives they’d no doubt recommend me as guilty within minutes just so’s they could get home in time for their supper.
There was only one answer to the whirling in my mind, the pain in my head, the misery of my surroundings: I slept. My last sight as I closed my eyes was of dull grey stones and a thread of light at the window. My first sight on being roughly reawoken by John was of an extremely beautiful woman, her expression ravaged with grief but wearing the most sumptuous of clothes, her mantel worked in gold thread and lined with the softest fur, the fillet on her head of purest damascene and held in place with twists of gold.
I staggered to my feet feeling distinctly dirty, tousled and disadvantaged.
“Mistress,” I said, attempting my best courtly bow despite the nausea I suffered, “I’m sorry, I have no seat to offer you.”
“I prefer to stand for what I have to say to you,” she said, her voice harsh with distress. John was lingering in the background gaping at her till I scowled. He went, leaving the door open.
“My husband told me everything,” she said. “You are the evil man who caused his downfall and made us live this unhappy life and now, not content with that, you – you have killed him careless of what will happen to his family.”
“Mistress de Kellseye, please don’t distress yourself so, sit down and drink this.” I gently pushed her in the direction of my mattress and poured some of the wine Alfred had left. She buried her face in her hands and I could hear her ragged breathing as she struggled to contain her emotions. She was much younger than I had expected and breathtakingly beautiful. Had it been her idea or her husband’s to keep out of sight until now? She certainly hadn’t attended his trial. I’d’ve remembered.
“I had no hand whatsoever in your husband’s death,” I began, but this only inflamed her. She glared at me with tear-filled eyes.
“You hounded us unmercifully. He never had a chance and now, now when he was old and – and a broken man, you destroyed our final days of happiness.”
“He was a broken man?”
“What do you expect after years of living in this terrible place?” she accused me. “And now I will be destitute and without my dear husband.” Her breath caught and she stopped and took a sip of wine.
“He always told you he was innocent,” I said slowly, my eyes never leaving that lovely face. “If you believed him why did you never speak up for him? And what was this new proof he had, did he tell you that?”
“I obeyed my husband in all things and in turn he shielded me,” she countered, her voice rising in distress. “And I have no intention of helping you. I hope they stick your head on a spike where I can spit at it until it rots –”
“It’s not me you’ll be helping but yourself. If your husband’s honour is restored then so will his worldly goods and estate be restored to his family, something that would surely ease your widowhood.” I wanted to keep her talking, anything rather than contemplate the thought of my head on a spike for crows to peck at and humans to scorn.
She took a deep breath and composed herself, though she still regarded me suspiciously. She drank some more wine and I waited, holding myself still to stop the pain in my head flaring up again.
“This is what he told me,” she said eventually, “That is he now believed he had nothing to fear except for God his Maker,” she made the sign of the cross, “That it was time to put our affairs in order and he would speak out. ‘I held my peace before,’ he told me – those were his exact words – ‘but I will take care of you now’.”
“That was it? Nothing else? And he didn’t give you anything – no object however small – for safekeeping against my arrival?” I demanded in frustration.
She shook her head. “He told me that was all I needed to know.”
After she had gone I went over to the tiny slit of a window and gazed up at the thin sliver of bright blue summer sky, letting my mind roam over everything I’d heard. He had nothing to fear. Did that mean that his accomplice had had some sort of hold over him but was dead now and he could speak out? No, not if it was the accomplice who’d murdered him. Then was there a rival, who sought revenge for being double-crossed or who feared betrayal at this late hour?
But I was sure he was guilty. He had betrayed the King’s tr
ust and defrauded him time after time. I had to continue to believe in myself and my own judgment.
It was when I’d stopped thinking about de Kellseye’s death and started dreaming of Scotland and whether I would ever see it again, that it came to me. A faint echo of Elias’s words set off an answering resonance in my mind: what lies within, what is contained within . . .
Immediately I rushed to the door and yelled for Alfred. After much arguing and then waiting on permission from de Lisle, I was allowed to examine de Kellseye’s body.
The surgeon had already looked at it but as the cause of death was quite apparent he had not cut or manipulated the body in any way. Touching dead flesh was not my favourite pastime, but it had to be done or I would be next on this table. It had a strange waxy feel to it, and I could not get used to the whitish-blue pallor. Nor am I a surgeon and I had no clear idea of what I was looking for but I felt his whole body very carefully, inch by uncomfortable inch. I even lifted the cloth that covered his mangled head and looked at what remained of his skull. But my patient search yielded results even more obvious than I’d been hoping for. I covered him up, offered up a brief prayer for his soul and then left the mortuary. I had two people to talk to, then was ready to face de Lisle.
I asked for a private interview. He agreed to meet me in the guard-room with Alfred and his own private clerk in attendance to take a faithful record. De Lisle sat behind a carved oak table. His clothes were of the finest materials but austere in cut and decoration. I stood facing him and he regarded me coolly and steadily.
“What have you learned?” he asked.
“I have learned that William de Kellseye was not murdered.”
He immediately started to rise. “What utter nonsense is this –”
“Hear me out. After all, my life depends on this. Now, no one saw anyone enter the menagerie and particularly, no one was seen to leave. Osric could hear the lion growling and snarling and went to him immediately. I was entering the Tower at the time. I saw no one running away. This is what I believe happened.”
