The Gallows Murders (21 page)

Mallow looked up. To answer your question, the under-sheriff and the other law officers were responsible for taking the gang back to the tavern and making sure lawful execution was carried out.'

‘Yes, yes, I can understand that,' Benjamin replied.

'Before the tavern was razed,' Mallow continued, ‘We er...'

'Helped yourselves?' Benjamin asked.

Well, we claimed the prerequisites of our office. Most of the tavern had been looted. What was left we took. Pelleter refused to have anything to do with it.'

'But hangmen always claim their dues,' I insisted.

'Oh, tell him!' Wormwood snapped. Tell him what really happened!'

'I will,' Snakeroot declared. When you hang a man,

Master Daunbey, you can do it fast or do it slow. The Sakkers were an evil, malicious coven. By slipping the knot around the back of their heads, we ensured they strangled slowly. All five of them took a long time dying.'

And the under-sheriff allowed this?' I asked.

Mallow answered. 'Like any law officer, once the ladder was turned and the men were hanged, he and his assistants rode back to London. If you look at the rules, Master Daunbey, the hangmen must attend the bodies until they are dead.'

And the threats?' I asked.

Mallow breathed out a sigh. The executions took place at noon. Three or four hours later, as we prepared to return to London, a mysterious archer began to loose arrows at us from the trees. We concealed ourselves behind the death-cart, then we heard a man shout. He was Robert Sakker and he vowed he would seek vengeance for what we had done. We waited a while, then we left for London.'

'And you've heard nothing of it since?' I asked.

'A few days later,' Toadflax replied, 'the sheriff of Kent came to inspect the corpses we had gibbeted; he found all five had been removed for secret burial. A note, signed by Robert Sakker, declared vengeance against those responsible for the slow and malingering death of his father and brothers. The note vowed that the perpetrators would suffer just as bitterly.'

And was Undershaft part of this?'

'Oh yes,' Mallow answered. 'Like me, he knew about the Sakker crimes. The women who had been raped, their throats cut. Master Undershaft believed in the notion of "eye for eye and tooth for tooth". He was party to what we did. But nothing happened, even though we received many threats.' He stared round at his companions. ‘We forgot it.'

'Do you think?' Wormwood interrupted. 'Sakker is behind the deaths of our colleagues?'

'It's possible,' Benjamin replied. 'He may have come into London to pursue a path of retribution.'

'But you said that these deaths are linked to the blackmailing letters being sent to the King,' Mallow said.

Benjamin looked at me and shook his head. 'I believe so, but I have no proof.' He replied. That is a complete mystery.'

"What was Robert Sakker like?' I turned to Mallow.

The chief hangman shook his head. 'I don't know, sir. You'd have to ask Pelleter, the under-sheriff.'

'Do you have anything else to add?' I asked.

'We've spoken enough,' Mallow replied. He leaned over and pushed a stubby finger into my chest. We've talked to Sir Edward Kemble,' he continued. The constable says you were sent into London to end this villainy, yet you haven't.' He waved round at his companions. ‘We are still being threatened and the letters are still being sent.' His words dropped to a whisper. "You should be careful, Master Shallot; otherwise we may have a meeting of a different sort.'

I stood up, kicking the stool away, my hand going to the dagger in my belt. Benjamin intervened. He rose, genially thanked Mallow and his companions and, tugging me by the sleeve, took me out of the tavern.

'I could tickle his ribs with my dagger!' I swore.

Benjamin stopped. 'And that will get us nowhere. I understand your fear, Roger. The King will not forget our future.' He pulled me into a corner of a narrow, dark alleyway, staring around to make sure we were not being followed. 'If we can make no progress in this,' he whispered, 'then, Roger, I will follow your advice. I have money with a goldsmith in London. If we have to flee beyond the seas, then we shall do it, but it shall be in my way and at a time of my own choosing.'

'And what now?' I asked desperately.

"We go and see Pelleter.'

We found the under-sheriff's house just near the Guildhall. Benjamin, hoping the law officer was at home, pounded on the door of the thin, narrow house which looked as if it had been pushed in between the mansions on either side. It was not well kept: the hall windows were dusty and holed, the beams cracked, whilst the front door hung askew on its hinges. Benjamin knocked again. We heard a soft footfall and the door was opened by a young woman.

Oh, the precious sight! Even now, down the long, dusty corridors of the years, I can picture her. How can you describe a song in flesh? She was about seventeen or eighteen years old, tall and slender. Large, beautiful brown eyes in an angel's face: the hair was a dull gold, her skin glowed. Benjamin and I just stood there like two schoolboys drinking in the sheer beauty of her: high cheekbones, perfectly formed nose and the sweetest of mouths. She stared coolly back, though you could see the laughter in her eyes.

'Good morning, sirs!'. Her voice was soft and rich. 'Good day, sirs!' she repeated. I saw a flicker of alarm in her eyes as she went to close the door.

'I am sorry,' Benjamin stammered. ‘We need to see Under-sheriff Pelleter.'

The laughter returned to those beautiful eyes. 'I'm his daughter. Miranda.'

We are from the Tower,' Benjamin explained.

Miranda smiled. She was dressed simply enough in a blue gown, not too tightly fitting; really it hung on her like a sack, whilst the ruff round her neck had seen better days. But that smile! Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds! She laughed softly and beckoned us in; her eyes never left Benjamin and a stab of jealousy made me catch my breath. (No, Benjamin was not the most handsome of men. He was tall and strong and his black hair tended to straggle but his eyes were good and clear. Women were always attracted to him. And me? Oh, poor Shallot! I look what I am, a rogue born and bred! Attracted to the doxies, the molls, the besoms, the saucy tavern wenches, but women like Miranda? Miranda! Miranda! She still lives, you know? Well, not in the flesh: read Shakespeare's play
The Tempest,
you'll find her there with old Prospero.)

Ah well, on that summer's day so many years ago, she took us along a dusty passageway and into a small writing office at the back of the house. The man seated at a desk beneath the window, rose as we came in. He was dressed in the city livery, a chain of office round his neck. His square, honest face and clear eyes were a testament to his strength and integrity. He shook our hands, asked Miranda to pull up stools and bring refreshments for his guests. He turned his chair round to face us and sat down grimacing, favouring his back.

‘You are in pain, sir?' Benjamin asked.

'I was attacked.' Pelleter replied. 'About two weeks ago, an assassin outside Whitefriars. A flesh wound, but the pain is still there. Well?' he asked, pausing as Miranda returned with a tray bearing jugs of ale.

She served us delicately, smiling at her father, though her smile widened as she handed Benjamin a tankard. She didn't ignore me, but stared shyly at me from under her eyelids. She then sat on a stool beside her father and returned (oh Lord save me from jealousy!) to studying Benjamin. My master, too, was distracted. Pelleter leaned forward and tapped his tankard against my master's.

‘Your good health, Master Daunbey. You know who I am, where I live. You know I have a pain in my back,' he smiled. 'And you have met my lovely daughter, the light of my life. But why are you here?'

'Robert Sakker,' Benjamin declared brusquely.

Pelleter groaned and sat back in his chair, favouring his wound.

'God have mercy!' he breathed. 'Sakker's responsible for this!'

Chapter 11

We must have sat there for at least two hours whilst the under-sheriff described the depredations of the Sakker gang on the Canterbury road. I must admit I did not object. Why should I? Miranda was sitting there like a rose in full bloom, as fascinated by Benjamin as he was with her. I knew why jealousy is such a terrible sin. My stomach curdled, my blood boiled. I heartily wished that Benjamin wasn't there. She seemed impervious to me, apart from the odd kind smile or an offer to fill my tankard. Now and again Benjamin would turn, gaze adoringly at her, then return to questioning her father. When he had finished, Benjamin told Pelleter the reason for our visit: the blackmailing letters sent to the King and the grisly murders of the hangmen. Pelleter leaned back in his chair, whispering under his breath and shaking his head.

'I always thought Undershaft was a good man,' he said quietly. 'So his death was murder.'

‘But do you know he's dead?' I asked. I was tempted to tell him how I had seen Undershaft's corpse, but I was fearful this might lower my status in Miranda's eyes.

Pelleter looked at me, bushy eyebrows raised. 'What makes you think he isn't?'

I explained about the blackmailing letters: how both Benjamin and I believed there was one villain in the Tower and another outside.

'In which case I’ll make inquiries,' Pelleter offered. 'I’ll ask the bailiffs and wardsmen to keep their eyes and ears open. But - ' he pointed a finger at Benjamin - 'if I follow the gist of what you are saying, you believe Robert Sakker's involved in this villainy?'

‘Do you think it's possible?' Benjamin retorted.

'Robert Sakker was the most intelligent member of the gang. He went to Stapleton Hall in Oxford. He was quite skilled as a clerk and served for a while in one of the royal palaces.'

'So, he could draft a letter?' I asked.

'Possibly, but where would he get the seals of Edward V?'

‘What did he look like?' Benjamin asked.

‘Like all his family: tall, dark with reddish hair, cleanshaven, deep-chested; a merry-looking rogue despite the scar on his cheek. The sort who'd smile as he slipped a dagger between your ribs. A man who could act many parts: the boisterous soldier or the crafty clerk.'

Benjamin and I glanced at each other: the description fitted no one we had met in our inquiries.

'And so he escaped?' Benjamin continued. 'And has now threatened you?'

Pelleter put his cup down and spread his hands. 'Master Daunbey, I have no real evidence, but there was an attack on me recently. On two other occasions I've had scraps of parchment pushed into my hands. One was of a gibbet with me dangling from it.' He paused and glanced sideways at his daughter. The second, well, it was my daughter. That's what made me think it was Sakker.'

That beautiful smile faded from Miranda's lovely face, but I could see the steel in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw. She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek.

(Oh, most fortunate of men!)

'Have you made inquiries?' I asked.

Pelleter snorted with laughter. 'Of course. I offered rewards, even the prospect of pardon from the Mayor and Aldermen to any felon who could give me the smallest scrap of information.' He shrugged. 'But I couldn't discover anything.'

‘What happens if Sakker isn't living in London?' I asked. What if he has returned to his old haunts.'

The Sakkers' tavern near St Thomas's watering-hole has been torn down,' Pelleter replied. Though they did have a lair: an old hunting lodge deep in the forest.'

'Could we go there?' Benjamin asked.

Pelleter blew his cheeks out. 'Not today: it's too late and I have other business. But tomorrow at dawn? ‘I’ll meet you at the tavern in Southwark.' He grinned. The Tabard, the place Chaucer's pilgrims left from. Now, sirs, I do have other business.'

Benjamin and I made our apologies. My master grasped Miranda's hand and kissed it. My heart skipped a beat! She held his fingers much longer than courtesy demanded. She was kind to me, proffering her hand. I lifted my head to murmur how pleasant it had been to meet her, but her gaze had already returned to Benjamin.

We left Pelleter's house. Benjamin was pleased, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

‘We have flushed a coney from the hay, Roger!' he exclaimed, slapping me on the back. 'Oh, the evidence is meagre, the proof paltry, but I believe Robert Sakker is involved in this villainy.'

He paused on a corner of an alleyway and watched as two officials of the city seized a wandering pig, thrust it squealing to the ground and cut its throat. I turned away as the hot blood rushed out.

'And Mistress Miranda?' I asked.

Benjamin's face grew serious; he grasped me by the shoulder.

'An angel, Roger. Have you ever seen such eyes? The sheer harmony of her features!' ‘You were taken by her?' 'Ravished,' he replied.

I glanced away, thrusting my hands between my cloak so my master would not see my fists curled in fury. 'And you, Roger?'

I stepped back and his hand fell away.

'She was comely enough,' I muttered. 'Master, should we not return to the Tower?'

Benjamin, the innocent, unaware of the black storm raging in my heart, gazed back in the direction of Pelleter's house.

'Do you realise. Roger,' he whispered, 'if this Sakker is involved, if he's hunting our under-sheriff, perhaps at this very moment, he is not far away'

I didn't care. I had to hide my envy and resentment and said we should leave. It was a fine day so we decided to walk down Lombard Street and into Eastcheap, the most direct path back to the Tower. Benjamin chattered like a magpie, unaware of my seething passion. (I once told Will Shakespeare about this in a tavern on Bank Side. He'd asked me what was the most powerful emotion a man could feel? Lust? Anger? The desire for riches? I told him jealousy! I sat back against the tavern wall, the tears streaming down my face, and told him about Benjamin and Miranda, that golden couple who lived so long ago. Will heard me out in that quiet attentive way of his, his olive-skinned features betraying nothing. Then he nodded and murmured that he would remember what I had said. Go and see his play
Othello,
about the Moor of Venice, the wicked Iago and the lovely Desdemona. I never asked him who Iago was! Last Yuletide, I hired a troupe of actors and made them recite the lines whilst I sat and quietly cried about the lovely Miranda.)