The Gallows Murders (11 page)

They all made us welcome enough. Benjamin ordered fresh stoups of ale. Agrippa sat as if he was a shadow. I shivered a little, for Mallow and his four apprentices all concentrated on me. They studied Old Shallot from head to toe as if assessing how much I weighed, how broad my shroud would be, and how long it would take for me to choke on the end of a rope. (Perhaps that was my guilty conscience. During my long and convoluted life I have been condemned to death either in England or abroad at least eighteen times. Sorry, nineteen, I forgot that madcap bugger, the Prince of Muscovy. I've been, no less than eight times, on the scaffold with a rope round my neck.)

Nevertheless, I remained merry-faced. For a while we discussed the sweating sickness, though the conversation was desultory. Mallow and his apprentices seemed highly nervous of Dr Agrippa, and even more so when Benjamin introduced himself as the Cardinal's nephew. I could understand their fear. Hangmen always have a shadowy past. They hide just beneath the skirts of the law and take cold comfort in the fact that, if they are its servants, they are safe. Mallow abruptly made that point.

‘We have done nothing wrong, sirs.' He sipped from his tankard.

'No one has said you have,' Benjamin coolly replied. 'But, as St Augustine says,
"Quis custodiet custodes?"
"Who will guard the guards?"' He beat his tankard gently on the table. ‘What we do have are villains threatening His Grace the rung.'

‘We know nothing of that,' Wormwood whispered, his voice no more than a hiss, 'though we heard tittle-tattle about the letters.'

'And the deaths of Hellbane and Undershaft?'

'Again innocent,' Toadflax sneered. 'Master Daunbey.' The hangman leaned forward, I noticed how ink-stained his fingers were. ‘We, too, are officers of the Crown. We execute the villains of London. One in three go to the scaffold screaming their innocence: around the hanging tree, their friends and relatives shake their fists and spit at us!'

'Anyone in particular?' I asked innocently.

Toadflax drew his head back, studying me from under heavy-lidded eyes. If he could, he would have spat at me.

Mallow, sniffing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, called for more ale before continuing. ‘Undershaft and Hellbane were young, powerful men. They would not have given up their lives easily.'

'Hellbane was fished from the Thames,' I replied. 'It's easy to knock a man on the head, put weights on a sack and tip him into the water.'

'If that's the case,' Mallow snapped, 'the list of suspects is endless.'

'Indeed,' Wormwood whispered, 'it could happen to any of us.'

'So, you know nothing?' Benjamin asked, pushing back his stool as if to rise. That is the answer we shall give His Grace the Cardinal.'

‘No.' Mallow shrugged.

‘No quarrel between you, within the guild?'

"None whatsoever. Master Daunbey,' Mallow pleaded, ‘it is true that one of us here could have killed Hellbane, but why? True, we have heard of those proclamations pinned on the doors of churches in Westminster and Cheapside, as well as the death of poor Andrew. But, sir, we were in the Tower when all this happened, kept as close and secure as any prisoner.'

Tell me,' I asked, 'this clerk of the stores, Allardyce: did you know him well?'

Mallow looked at his companions and pulled a face.

'Describe him to me,' I ordered.

‘He was tall, about your height,' the hangman replied. 'Long black curly hair, moustache and beard, thick and luxuriant which he liked to oil. He was a happy-go-lucky fellow with no known family and friends. He told us he came from Dover: his task was to keep careful account of the foodstuffs and fodder stored in the Tower. Allardyce would record what came in, how it was distributed. He would also advise the constable or Master Vetch what further supplies were needed.'

'And he fell sick?' I insisted.

'We'd all heard about the sweating sickness, but Allardyce just laughed at it. One day he came down here to break his fast. He said he felt unwell. He was shivering, the sweat coursing down his face like water. He went back to the Tower. Sir Edward Kemble was of a mind to throw him out—'

'How do you know that?' I interrupted.

Mallow pointed to Snakeroot. 'He's well named.' He grinned. "He slides along galleries and corridors and listens through half-open doors.'

Snakeroot pulled a face. ‘I heard Kemble roaring at Allardyce,' he said, 'telling him he should not have come to his chamber. The Tower has a small infirmary, nothing more than a bare cell. Kemble ordered him to go there.'

'Where is this?' I asked.

'Near Bowyer Tower, overlooking the river. There's an old woman, slightly madcap, who calls herself Ragusa. She has some knowledge of physic and looks after those of the garrison who fall ill.' He grinned. 'Sometimes, for a coin, she’ll help those lads out who haven't got a woman.'

'And did you see Allardyce there?' I asked.

'Oh, for the love of God!' Horehound snapped petulantly.

'I went to visit him.' Mallow spoke up. The infirmary's a small, two-storey building. Allardyce was on the upper floor. I went up and left a small jug of wine. The door was open. Allardyce was lying on the bed. He looked like a soaked rag.'

Benjamin drained his tankard and put it down on the table. "You have nothing to say?' he said again.

They chorused their denials once more, so we thanked them and walked out of the tavern.

'A fine collection, eh, Roger?' Agrippa teased.

'A motley group of moult worms,' I growled. ‘I don't like hangmen and that group in particular. Master, they are far too close, their answers are too smooth, well prepared. And, don't forget,' I added, 'that many of them had the education to write those letters, and enough accomplices in the city to assist their nefarious work. Perhaps everyone of them is guilty, and they all conspired to kill Undershaft and Hellbane because they objected.'

I glimpsed the doubt in Benjamin's eyes. 'Though I confess, Master, where they got the seals from and how they were able to communicate when the Tower was locked and sealed is a mystery.'

'Which brings us back to Spurge's maps,' Benjamin said.

He was about to walk on but paused. 'Roger, why did you ask about the clerk of the stores?'

I pulled a face. 'Master, I just wondered. Is it possible that Allardyce did not really die, but that his sickness and death was a sham? He leaves the Tower to act on behalf of his accomplice within?'

Benjamin smiled. We'll go back to the Tower. Roger, seek out this old woman Ragusa: have a look at the sick room. Agrippa and I will seek out Master Spurge and demand to see his maps and charts.'

When we reached the royal apartments in the Tower, Agrippa and Benjamin went down to see Spurge. I wandered across the green, past the great Norman keep. A soldier, lounging in the sunshine mending his harness, pointed out the way: I entered a deserted yard, the cobblestones cracked and overgrown with weeds. At the far end stood a small, red-brick building which had been built beside the wall. I went across, pushed open the door, and peered through the gloom.

'Have you come to be milked?' a voice crackled out of the darkness.

An old woman came forward, peering at me. By my own witness I am no beauty, but neither was she. Her hair, a dirty white, hung straggling down to bowed shoulders, her face was deathly pale. She had little black eyes and a thin slit of a mouth under a hooked nose. If I had been asked to name a witch in London, I'd have chosen Ragusa. She was dressed from head to toe in a dark, dirt-stained smock. I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the sour smell, which came either from her or the shabby little room in which she lived. She laughed at me and went back in. I heard a tinder spark as she lit a squat tallow candle. The room looked better in the dark. The rushes on the floor were soiled and looked as if they hadn't been changed for months. Tawdry rags hung on the walls, and in one corner was a cot-bed with a battered trunk beside it which served as a table. There were a few sticks of furniture, and shelves lined the wall, each bearing pots, jugs and small cups, all neatly labelled. The old woman followed my gaze.

'Is it physic you need, Master?’ She whined, looking at me from head to toe. ‘Physic of the mind or the body?'

‘No, just some answers, Mother,' I replied.

'Questions cost money too.' Her face cracked in a smile. I twirled the silver coin before her eyes. She went to grab it but I pulled it away.

'What is it you want?'

The clerk, Allardyce,' I said. ‘You tended him when he was ill?

That's right, but there was little I could do for him. He came here on the Tuesday, he was dead by Thursday. Drenched in sweat, buboes in his armpits and groin.' Her thin, bony fingers clawed the air. There's no cure for that. I just gave him valerian drops to make him sleep and ease his pain.'

'And you are sure it was he?'

The old woman cackled. ‘Why shouldn't it be? Who'd pretend to have the sweating sickness, take valerian, and then offer to die? Are you witless, man?'

'But it was Allardyce?' I asked.

'Of course!' she snapped.

'And you saw him die?'

'Of course I did! I found him in the chamber upstairs.' She pointed to a flight of rickety stairs in the far corner. 'I heard a crash and went upstairs. He was half on, half off the bed, eyes open, blood drooling out of the corner of his mouth. The stench was terrible. I sent for Sir Edward Kemble.'

'And did he come?' I asked.

'Oh no, not that chicken-heart. He climbed half-way up the stairs, took one look at the chamber, and told me to throw a sheet over the man. I did. The following morning two of the soldiers took his sheeted corpse down to the death-cart at the Lion Gate. He was dead as a nail!'

I was about to turn when she caught my sleeve. 'You promised payment. The Tower has many mysteries, Master, but that poor clerk's death was not one.'

'Such as?' I asked, coming back, closing the door behind me. I dropped the silver coin into her hands and tapped my fingers against the dagger in my belt.

'Don't threaten me, Master.' She stepped back. ‘I am Ragusa, at least seventy summers old. I have seen all the great lords come tripping through here: Edward the Fourth of blessed memory, his brother Richard of York, the Duke of Buckingham, the present King's father. All come and gone like shadows in the sun.'

"You saw the young Princes?' I asked curiously.

'Aye, poor boys. Oh, they were well looked after, but they were shut up in Wakefield Tower. I saw them playing on the green when their uncle seized the Crown. The elder one fell ill with an abscess in his jaw. I visited him and gave the lad tincture of cloves.'

"But they were in good health?'

'As rude and robust as you are, Master.' She shrugged. Then one day they disappeared: that was the end of the matter.'

Do you know other mysteries?’ I asked. Tell me, Mother, if all the gates and doorways in the Tower were locked and sealed, could anyone leave or enter?’

'A witch might,' she taunted. 'She might fly over the walls on her broomstick.'

"Witches are burnt at Smithfield, madam.' - 'Aye and so are hangmen.' Her wizened face took on a sly, secretive look. 'Oh, we know what this is all about. Sir Edward Kemble's terror when he opened that letter was known by us all.'

I plucked another silver coin from my purse. 'Mother, can you help?’

She knocked the coin from my hand, her hands were so swollen and rheumatic. She scrabbled on the floor for it then stood up. ‘No, I can't help. But if things change, you'll be the first to know.'

I turned, my hand on the latch.

They say there is a secret passageway,' she added. Down near the menagerie, under the pits there.' She lifted her stiff; vein-streaked hands. 'But I have told you enough!' she snapped.

I left the old harridan and walked back, following the line of the wall. I went through a small door into an area which overlooked the moat, squeezed between the outer and inner walls. This contained the royal menagerie. A stinking, fetid place, with cages built along the walls holding a mangy lion and a leopard, mad of eye, ribs showing through its coat, pacing up and down. There was a pelican as well as a big, fat brown bear manacled by chains to the wall: the beast hardly bothered to lift its head as I came in to the enclosure. The area was deserted. The keepers, or whoever was paid to look after them, probably drifted away to clear their heads of the smell and bask in the warm afternoon sunshine. On the far side of the enclosure I glimpsed the brick rim of a pit, surrounded by a carpet of sand. I walked across to this, my feet crunching on pebble-covered ground. I gingerly looked over the pit. It must have been about ten feet deep and stank like a cesspool.

At first I thought it was empty, but then a grey bundle which I thought was a collection of rags stirred, and an old, bleary-eyed wolf, tongue lolling between his jaws, looked up at me. I'd seen more vigour in a corpse. I walked round the pit. Although the wolf was old it had a terrible madness all of its own. Moreover, its thick, heavy-furred shoulders, long lean body, drooping brushed tail, erect head and pointed face brought back nightmares from Paris. I walked away, back to look at the Hon which had hardly stirred but lay on its side fast asleep. A clink, as if someone had thrown a coin on to the gravel, made me start.

‘Who's there?' I called.

No answer. I was about to leave, putting more trust in Master Spurge's maps than my own curiosity when, again, there was a clink. Now, old Shallot has been in many dangerous places before. Someone was here, either hiding in one of the outhouses, or where the fodder and hay was stored. I glanced around and wondered if someone had come along the parapet. My flesh chilled. If someone was waiting for me here, how would they know ‘I’d come? I was sure no one had followed me from Ragusa's hovel. Had someone been listening at the door? I walked slowly back to where the sound had come from. Lying on the sand was a pure silver coin of far better quality than the one I had given the old hag. Now, you know old Shallot: even now my coat of arms includes a jackdaw, because if something glitters, I always look. I snatched up the coin, thick and freshly minted. I saw another one, and hurried to do the same. There was a third just near the rim of the pit and, like a fool, I fell into the trap. The oldest coney-catching device in London: put something precious on the floor and it will always attract the greedy eye and fingers.