The Straw Men

PART EIGHT

Athelstan abruptly opened his eyes and caught a look of deep sorrow pass like a shadow across Rachael’s face before it hardened again.

‘You were his Ruth. She gleaned the fields, gathering ears of corn after the reapers. You did that. Master Samuel would spy on the Upright Men and you would spy on him, collecting what you could and passing it on to Boaz. Now and again he’d return to meet you secretly, as he did that January morning at the Roundhoop; a safe meeting, or so you thought. The Upright Men met. You joined them to provide whatever information you had gleaned as well as meet the love of your life. You went disguised as a city whore, a poor street strumpet, hair covered by a garish wig, face masked by thick, cheap paint, rags pushed up your gown to make you look fat, teeth blackened. You kept your head down and, when you did speak, mouthed the patois of the slums.’ Athelstan spread his hands. ‘You are, Mistress Rachael, a most skilled mummer, a player who can shift in both substance and shape. You have all the paints and disguises at your disposal. You not only posed as a city whore but as the strumpet of that friar of the sack who, in fact, was an Upright Man. Later that same day they visited me. I wondered why they took such pains to emphasize that you were just a common whore. They were in fact protecting you. All should have gone well except,’ Athelstan held a hand up, ‘the meeting had been betrayed, probably by spies in Saint Erconwald’s. The Roundhoop was surrounded. Thibault was desperate to defeat the Upright Men and retrieve those severed heads seized during the ambush at Aldgate. I was brought in to negotiate. In truth, I was only Thibault’s catspaw, a diversion. The Roundhoop was stormed. The Upright Men fought back; in all that carnage who would care for an ugly city whore? One of the Upright Men, I believe it was Boaz, could have killed me but he decided not to — an act of mercy. He was looking for you when he was struck down by an arrow. I tended to him as he died.’ Athelstan fought to keep the tremor out of his voice. ‘Poor Boaz could only think of his Ruth. In his final fever he talked of “gleaning” — he was referring to you. Even as he died he wanted one last look at his beloved. He searched past me, staring desperately.’ Athelstan paused. He was telling the truth. Despite her attempt to remain impassive, Rachael’s eyes filled with tears; her lower lip trembled slightly.

‘He died of his wounds,’ Athelstan added softly. ‘In the violent struggle you escaped. Only later did you discover what had actually happened. How your beloved was dead, his corpse further abused by the removal of his head so it could be thrust on a pole over London Bridge.’ Athelstan glanced at Cranston who sat on the edge of his bed, watching intently. The coroner was used to Athelstan’s ways and waited for the conclusion. ‘You were always sympathetic to the Upright Men.’ Athelstan sipped from his goblet of watered wine. ‘Now you changed. No longer a gleaner but a reaper, and a fearsome one indeed. You wanted revenge on Gaunt and all his ilk, as well as inflict vengeance on your comrades.’

‘Mistress,’ Cranston spoke up, ‘you have nothing to say to counter all of this?’

‘The play is not done yet,’ she retorted, her eyes never leaving Athelstan. ‘Every mummer has his lines.’

‘You entered into a solemn compact with the Upright Men,’ Athelstan declared. ‘They would trust you as Boaz’s helpmate, his lover. They would relish your hunger for vengeance, to wreak havoc however, whenever, wherever you could. They decided to bring you into close alliance with their own spy high in the councils of Master Thibault.’

‘Who?’

‘Why, mistress, you know, you killed him — Rosselyn, captain of archers.’

Rachael threw her head back and laughed. ‘Rosselyn!’ she exclaimed. ‘Thibault’s man body and soul. Brother, surely?’

‘Oh, yes, surely, mistress. Rosselyn was of peasant stock — he would not find it difficult to be sympathetic to the earthworms. More importantly, like many in this city, he was preparing against the evil day, the hour of reckoning. To put it succinctly, Rosselyn had a foot in either camp. The Upright Men wanted to ensure that he was with them. I suspect Rosselyn informed them about the cavalcade bringing Gaunt’s mysterious prisoner to the Tower; at the same time he could act the loyal henchman and advise Thibault to take great care, hence the summons to Sir John here to strengthen the cavalcade as it approached the Tower.’

‘If that was so,’ Cranston, full of curiosity, spoke before he could stop himself, ‘why didn’t Rosselyn warn the Upright Men about the impending attack on the Roundhoop?’

‘Yes,’ Rachael taunted, ‘why not, Brother?’

‘I shall come to that in a while. Suffice to say that you and Rosselyn met secretly here. Like pieces on a chess board, you checked each other. Neither of you could betray the other without rousing deep suspicions about yourself. As if in a play, Rachael, you would be the principal actor. Rosselyn was your support. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Directing a man such as Rosselyn as you would some lurcher in a hunt? You decided to cause mayhem here at the very heart of Gaunt’s power.’

‘Why would Rosselyn agree?’ Rachael interrupted. ‘Surely it would be too dangerous?’

‘It would have been dangerous for him not to cooperate. The Upright Men could kill him or, even worse, betray him to his master. You know full well they would demand Rosselyn’s complete cooperation or else. . First came the attack at Saint John’s Chapel. I was puzzled by that. How could an assassin strike twice so swiftly as well as leave those severed heads? I first believed the assault was launched from Hell’s mouth wedged into the entrance to the rood screen. You are a mummer, mistress, you create illusions, perhaps that’s what you intended.’

‘I was there being watched. .’

‘Nonsense! Who really cared for you, a strolling player? Above all, you were helped by Rosselyn. I remember him that day in his heavy military cloak.’ Athelstan picked up his goblet and offered it to Rachael; she snatched it from his hand and drained it before handing it back. Athelstan carefully refilled the cup.

‘The rood screen in front of the sanctuary was a barrier, as were the heavy drapes or arras hanging on either side stretching into the transepts. You and Rosselyn waited until there was no one behind that barrier, an easy enough task on a cold winter’s day when everyone was hungry and intent on food and delicious wines. Indeed, it was Rosselyn who came to invite us all to join Gaunt and his guests. I stayed. Rosselyn returned to ensure I also left. He wanted that sanctuary cleared. He was successful and moved to the next step of your plot. Rosselyn provided the arbalest, one of those small hand-sized crossbows. You went behind the arras and waited.’

‘I could have been seen.’

‘No, you had prepared well. Rosselyn had wedged small pouches of cannon powder into two of those braziers. The confusion caused by the explosions diverted attention. You pulled the curtain aside, took aim and, probably shielded by Rosselyn, released the catch, killing Lettenhove. Again, attention was diverted. All the guests had been distracted by the explosions; now Lettenhove’s bleeding corpse was all that mattered. You moved swiftly behind the rood screen to the other side where Rosselyn had hidden another crossbow already primed, like before, a narrow gap between curtain and wall was all you needed. Everything was now in chaos. You loosed again, not as accurately as you would have wished, but Oudernarde was struck.’ Athelstan turned to Cranston. ‘Sir John, how long does it take to loose a crossbow bolt?’

‘I could patter an Ave and not get far.’

‘But the chapel was crowded!’ Rachael protested.

‘No. You had people diverted by explosions then by a bolt being released by you standing in no more than a slit between arras and wall. No one was behind that rood screen — Rosselyn had seen to that. As I have said, who would go there with all the food and wine on offer in the nave? Rosselyn also protected you. Did he stand in front of the gap for a brief while then step aside, providing you with a clear aim? Ah, well.’ Athelstan stared across at the window. How much of this, he wondered, could he really prove before the Justices of Oyer and Terminer or King’s Bench in Westminster Hall?

‘Rosselyn would take care of the small arbalests by hiding them somewhere in the chapel,’ Athelstan narrowed his eyes, ‘or on those hooks on the war belt beneath his heavy cloak. Who would dream of searching him?’

‘And the severed heads?’ Cranston asked, brimming with curiosity.

‘Oh, they’d been snatched from the care of Master Thibault during the attack at Aldgate. As a taunt to My Lord of Gaunt, the Upright Men handed them to you and Rosselyn to return to him. First a sharp reminder that, during the attack at the Roundhoop, Thibault did not find what he hoped for. Secondly, Rachael, ever the player, the severed heads provided you with a macabre climax to your murderous assault in the chapel.’ Athelstan rolled the goblet between his hands. ‘I suspect Rosselyn brought the severed heads — that’s why he was so valuable. Who would distrust Thibault’s captain of archers? Who would dare ask him to open a bag or a chest or even bother to note where he stored something?’

‘And how were the heads placed?’ Cranston asked.

‘During the confusion caused by the attacks, Rosselyn collected the heads, carried them beneath his cloak and walked by the rood screen. Twice he stopped to place a head. Look,’ Athelstan rose and swung his own heavy cloak about him; he then took two small cushions from a bench beneath the window, holding both up with his right hand. ‘These are about the same size. I grasp these grotesques with that parchment scrap pushed deep into one of those dead mouths, and I hide them beneath my cloak.’ Athelstan did so. ‘Now I walk, see?’ He passed his own bed and swiftly crouched twice, on each occasion releasing a cushion to lie on the floor alongside the bed.

‘No more than the blink of an eye,’ Cranston murmured.

‘And you are watching me,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Remember, we are describing a chapel where all attention had been diverted by a man being killed, another seriously wounded. Most of the guests were trying to leave the other way.’ Athelstan undid his cloak. ‘Of course, it could have been you, mistress, carrying some cloak or costumes, crouching down to leave those heads as if the cloths were difficult to hold or to pick up something from the floor. You could do it just as quickly, just as adroitly. Did Rosselyn screen you, or did you him? I confess I can’t be precise except to demonstrate how the positioning of those severed heads would not be difficult either after the explosions or, more probably, immediately after one of the attacks.’

Athelstan fingered the vow knots on his waist cord. ‘It was easily done. Attention was on the victims and, after that, the doorway: people wanted to flee. Indeed, Lascelles was ushering them away from the rood screen. I have not asked him yet; I did not wish to rouse his suspicions. However, I am sure Lascelles will confirm that Rosselyn asked him to do just that while he left to ensure all was well in Beauchamp Tower.’

‘And Barak?’ Cranston asked.

Athelstan stared at Rachael. She sat so composed, eyes unblinking, watching him carefully as if weighing his every word. What was she thinking? Would she have the stubborn courage to deny all this?

‘Yes Barak,’ she whispered, half smiling. Athelstan felt a stab of pity. Rachael was undoubtedly highly intelligent: she had been as assiduous in plotting murder as any scholar in the schools or halls of Oxford would study his horn book. A talented young woman, but had her wits turned? Had the savage death of her beloved truly twisted her soul?

‘You are beautiful, Rachael, fair of form and lovely of face, graceful and lithe. You possess a keen mind and sharp wits. I have watched you play the mummer’s part. You shape shift, you become whatever you want to be.’

‘Brother, flattery is a perfume: you smell it but you never drink it.’

‘Ah, yes, mistress, your perfume. I shall return to that by and by.’ Athelstan cleared his throat. ‘As for Barak? Well, he was easy for you with your winsome ways. Somehow, very soon after the attack in the chapel, you enticed him down to that long, gloomy crypt beneath Saint John’s. You fled with the rest but I can imagine you separating yourself from the others, plucking at Barak’s sleeve, telling him to shelter with you in the crypt. Who would notice? Or perhaps you told Barak to go there and you’d join him? Anyway, you lured him into that darkened recess. Rosselyn was lurking there. Again, I cannot say who struck the blow but Barak was hit, probably twice, to ensure he was either truly senseless or dead already. Perhaps you stood on guard while Rosselyn moved swiftly. He put the war belt around Barak. He made a mistake: the quiver for the bolts was on the wrong side, while it didn’t make sense for Barak still to be carrying one of the arbalests. Nevertheless, you were intent on making it look as if Barak was the assassin. Once ready, you opened the shutters of that far crypt window. You threw out the fire rope to make it look as if Barak had tried to use it during his abortive escape but, in truth, poor Barak was hurled through that window with great force. He would be depicted as an adherent of the Upright Men, a subtle plan — the flaws in your plot could only be detected through careful scrutiny.’

‘Why?’ Rachael retorted. ‘Why Barak?’

‘No real reason. You grew to hate all of them, didn’t you? What did it matter? Perhaps Barak was the easiest to persuade, to follow you into that darkened crypt. He was just a sacrifice. The real reason for Barak’s murder was to spread terror, cause mayhem, deepen suspicion, proclaim that Gaunt’s much-lauded acting group the Straw Men could not be trusted, that no one was safe, even in this grim great fortress. Barak was a sacrificial lamb on your altar of vengeance. Eli was no different. He too was much smitten with you.’ Athelstan rose and walked to the door of his chamber. He pulled the eyelet shutter backwards and forwards, ‘Strange,’ he mused loudly, ‘how the shutter in Eli’s chamber was stuck and had to be prised loose. This one isn’t. The same is true of Master Samuel’s chamber. Rosselyn claimed it was a common problem yet it only occurred with Eli’s chamber door.’

‘But it did!’

‘Oh, I agree. Do you remember when we first talked? How Samuel maintained that all members of his troupe were skilled in arms? How you had to be ready with weapons to fend off dangers on the road?’ She did not answer. ‘And aren’t you mistress of the wardrobe? Responsible for the scenery?’ Again, there was no reply. ‘On the night you visited Eli? Oh, yes,’ he stilled her protest, ‘oh, yes you did! Just before you entered his chamber, you put in that small recess near the door a pot of glue with a small horsehair brush and another hand-held arbalest already primed. Outside that tower prowled Rosselyn to conceal and protect your coming and going. I am certain he started that fire to divert attention away from you.’ Athelstan sat down. ‘You visited Eli. You acted the loving wench, flirtatious and coy.’

‘Why should I kill Eli?’

‘First, he had sheltered beneath a table near the rood screen. Did he see something untowards, Rachael? Something he mentioned to you?’ She did not answer.

‘Secondly, Eli was a member of the troupe who spied for Thibault and brought about your beloved’s death.’ Rachael blinked and glanced away. ‘I will be brief.’ Athelstan hurried on. ‘You made sure there was no sign of you being there. You probably drank from the same goblet as Eli, a token of your loving pledges to him. Eli must have been delighted. You were acting the fair damsel in considerable distress, shocked by the hideous death of poor Barak.’

‘Eli died in a locked, barred chamber.’

‘I agree. You left that chamber like the amorous wench you pretended to be. You told Eli to lock and bolt the door, to take great care; after all, a killer did stalk the Tower. You then drew him into a loving but deadly game. Once outside the chamber, the door secured, you picked up that small arbalest and knocked on the door. Eli would hear your voice and pull back the eyelet shutter — he may have even offered to let you in but you teased and flirted. The hour was late, you’d return soon enough. I do not know what lies you spun but you asked Eli, peering through that shutter at his new-found love, to close his eyes.’

‘Why should he do that?’

‘Oh, come, Rachael! Lovers often close their eyes when they kiss. Are there not games when you tell the beloved to close his or her eyes to wish and, if they do, you’d tell them a secret, some promised pleasure at the next tryst? Rachael, the possibilities are infinite. Eli was staring through that eyelet at this beautiful young woman who was promising to be his. He’d do anything — certainly some innocent lovers’ game, or so he thought. All aflame with the wine he’d drunk and the prospect of impending seduction, of course he agreed. You played the game. You whispered that he should keep his eyes closed, not to open them until you said. You brought up that small crossbow. You released the bolt as fast as a bird across the briefest of distances; it sped through that eyelet, smashing into Eli’s face. Stricken, dying on his feet, Eli stumbled away and collapsed to the floor.’ Athelstan turned to Sir John. ‘My friend, calculate the time it would take: Eli peering out through that squint, eyes firmly closed, the crossbow coming up, the release of the bolt only inches from its victim’s face?’

‘A few heartbeats,’ the coroner agreed. ‘Eli would never suspect.’

‘Eli died,’ Athelstan continued. ‘You then took that pot of glue, the same substance you use in creating and setting up scenery. A few drops on the old dusty shutter and, by the time the alarm was raised, the eyelet is stuck fast. The glue had hardened, the shutter just another task waiting to be done, an ancient piece of wood in an ancient door in an ancient place.’ Athelstan pointed at Rachael. ‘You are not only a very skilled mummer, you are also a weaver of dreams and illusions.’ Athelstan sat staring at the young woman’s face. ‘Very soon afterwards you removed all the evidence, didn’t you?’

‘What evidence? Brother, what are you talking about?’

‘Well, not you precisely — Rosselyn saw to that. I checked with the surveyor of the King’s works here in the Tower. Our late departed captain of archers was most insistent that the door to Eli’s chamber be mended. He personally supervised it, including the eyelet. He himself freed it with his dagger, thus removing any evidence of what had actually happened.’

‘Rosselyn was no friend of mine.’

‘Of course he wasn’t. You have more than proved that but, while he was alive, he was a useful foil for you.’

‘When?’ she protested. ‘How?’

‘I was attacked near Saint Peter’s ad Vincula, when you were close by. The same is true when Maximus escaped and the Upright Men attacked the Tower.’

‘Are you saying I had a hand in those assaults, that I even freed the bear?’

‘Oh, I’m sure you did. Your accomplice, Rosselyn, probably helped you. He had no choice. The Upright Men, as I have said, ordered him to assist you. He had a foot in either camp. The Upright Men probably despised him for that; they wouldn’t really trust him. However, for the moment, he was useful to you as well as to them. On one occasion Rosselyn took the lead. That arrow attack on us near St Peter ad Vincula? Rosselyn loosed those bolts from his hiding place near the White Tower then later appeared as the concerned, loyal captain of archers.’ Rachael simply glanced away, scratching her brow.

‘And the bear?’ Rachael peered at him from under her hand.

‘Artorius would have nothing to do with the likes of Rosselyn but he’d be very susceptible to your flirtation. I suspect Rosselyn, in this dark, freezing narrow place, let you slip down Red Gulley to Saint Thomas’ Tower. You’d be all simpering and pretty-faced as you knocked on that door. In a matter of seconds your charms and a little silver persuaded Artorius to allow you in to view Maximus. The door closed behind both of you. He would lead you off down the narrow aisle. He’d feel your hand on his shoulder and, when he turned, you loosed that bolt straight into his forehead. You took his keys and opened the cage door. You hastened out but not before you released the bear chain on the bar of the cage and left the door to Red Gulley open.’ Athelstan gestured to the bailey outside. ‘Maximus would be curious. He’d smell the blood of his keeper. You realized he’d soon find his way to the gore-drenched corpse of his former master then make his way out. The great snow bear Maximus was free to prowl; there was only one way for him to go but, by then, you were busy with the next part of your plan.’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘Either you, Rosselyn or both, once Maximus was on the loose and the alarm raised, opened the postern gate near Bowyer Tower.’

‘But the Upright Men would be vulnerable to a rampaging bear.’

‘I don’t think so!’ Cranston spoke up. ‘The royal beastmaster and his retinue had one task: to check and drive back that bear. While all this was going on the Upright Men also had one task: to storm Beauchamp Tower, release the prisoner and, using the mayhem as a shield, withdraw as swiftly as they’d entered.’

Rachael stared down at her feet, tapping her ankle-length boots against the floor.

‘Surely,’ she glanced up, ‘if Rosselyn was a traitor, why didn’t he inform the Upright Men that Thibault was bringing down war cogs as a defence against any attack?’

‘Very sharp!’ Athelstan retorted. ‘There are two possibilities. First, as with the assault on the Roundhoop, Rosselyn dare not inform the Upright Men; the number of people who knew about that would be very limited. Rosselyn was frightened that the finger of suspicion might be pointed at him. Secondly, perhaps Thibault decided to inform nobody in his entourage about what he was planning. After all, there was a traitor in his camp. Thibault is no fool; he’d have his own suspicions that something was wrong.’

‘Or Rosselyn was just unfortunate,’ Cranston declared. ‘He was never given the opportunity. Nevertheless, the Upright Men must have been furious.’

‘Oh, I suspect they were. Rossleyn’s days were numbered.’ Athelstan rose to his feet. ‘Such is the problem with traitors.’ He sighed. ‘Judas discovered that, in the end, nobody really trusts you and nobody allows you back. Rosselyn wasn’t your concern. You were looking after yourself. How would anyone possibly suspect the fair Rachael, who was always close by, the distressed maiden when these assaults occurred?’ Athelstan picked at a loose thread on his robe, rolling it between his fingers, ‘And, of course, there were other occasions when you couldn’t possibly have been involved, or so you would have everyone believe.’

‘What are you talking about, Brother?’

‘Huddle the painter was killed leaving Saint Erconwald’s Church. You, along with the others, were supposed to be detained here in the Tower. ‘Quis Custodiet custodes?’ As the great Augustine said, ‘Who will guard the guards?’ Rossleyn provided you with the weapons and allowed you secret passage in and out of the Tower. You are a master or mistress of disguise. You followed Sir John and I across the bridge and waited. A figure wearing the black and white garb of a Dominican left Saint Erconwald’s, you loosed and killed Huddle.’

A smile flittered across Rachael’s face.

‘Or was it me that you intended to kill? Did you suspect, or were you informed, that Huddle was the real traitor? I cannot be precise about everything in this hideous affair and, to a certain extent, it does not matter now. Huddle lies cold in the soil. However, you did make a mistake over that poor painter’s death as well as your other doings in my parish. What did you know of them? You talked about me burying a parishioner. You implied he had been killed — but how did you know that? I never told anyone here, nor did Sir John. None of my parishioners know you or you them. So how?’

‘I confessed under the seal.’

‘Not as a sin. Are you doing that now? Then your confession must be public.’

Rachael flicked her hair, rubbing her face between her hands.

‘Much more serious were the Wardes. You discovered they were Gaunt’s spies in the cell of Saint Erconwald’s. The Upright Men must have told you that, or Rosselyn. You’d surely demand the truth about how Boaz and others were so neatly trapped. The finger of suspicion pointed at the Wardes. May God absolve you, Rachael. You did not confess to me, not really. You did not validly take the sacrament; you are not covered by the seal. You seethe with hatred. You have an unslaked thirst, a ravenous hunger for revenge. Did the Upright Men demand the total annihilation of the Wardes? If not, your vengeance certainly did.’

‘So I left the Tower, crossed to Southwark and massacred an entire family?’

‘In a word, yes! Rosselyn allowed you out. You ensured all was safe, quiet then you moved. You carried out your hideous crime without any sign of resistance or struggle. Why, Rachael?’

She just shrugged.

‘Because,’ Cranston spoke his thoughts aloud, ‘Warde admitted someone he either knew and trusted or someone who appeared to pose no threat.’

‘Precisely,’ Athelstan agreed. ‘On that fateful evening Humphrey Warde opened his door to a delightful young woman who claimed to have a recommendation to visit him. I presume you came in disguise, hooded and cowled. You also gambled on the fact that the Wardes were distrusted — not the type of family to be entertaining in a parish where they were so fiercely resented. If there had been any obstacle to your plan, you’d either wait to come back or visit again.’ Athelstan sipped from his goblet. ‘Anyway, why should Warde fear a charming young woman? You are well spoken and courteous. He greets you warmly, you respond. The rest of his household hear this and return to their routine. You follow Warde into his small shop and ask for an opiate. He turns away. You bring up the crossbow you’ve concealed and kill him. Warde, before he died, had prepared a small pouch of opiate for you. You’d also probably learnt that the only people in the house were his family. You intended to deal with all of them, the pretty, smiling young woman who carries death beneath her robe. You moved through that house, swiftly slaying before slipping into the darkness like the demon you’ve become.’ Athelstan took a further sip. ‘God forgive you, at least you spared the baby, but you made a mistake.’

‘What, what are you talking about?’

‘You made a mistake about Huddle’s death, but you also described Warde’s killer moving from chamber to chamber. How did you know that?’

‘I would like a drink,’ Rachael declared loudly. ‘My throat is dry. Have you finished, Brother?’

‘No, because you had not. The Upright Men did not really concern you. They could plot whatever they wanted against Gaunt. At the same time Thibault and his coven were growing more vigilant. So you turned back to easier quarry. You regarded the Straw Men as a coven of traitors, not so much to the Common Good but to the ideals your beloved Boaz died for.’

Athelstan leaned forward, offering her the goblet which she took. ‘I truly believe that you put the entire company under the ban. Samuel was your next victim.’

‘He committed suicide.’

‘No, you made it appear so. Once again with Rosselyn, now much smitten with you. Oh, yes, he was! I saw him watch you play that masque in Saint Peter’s ad Vincula. He, as with so many men you have dealt with, followed you like a dog guarding your ways. You slipped through the dark and into Bowyer Tower. You knocked at Samuel’s chamber. Only the good Lord knows what part you played then: worried, anxious, coy, timid or flirtatious. You also brought along a wine skin and a goblet. I’m sure the wine was laced with the opiate that you had taken from Warde’s shop. You pretended to drink. Samuel certainly did and fell into a dead swoon. You summoned up Rosselyn. You took the fire rope, fastened it around the senseless Samuel’s throat and thrust him out of the window to strangle. You then cleared the room and put anything you’d brought back into a sack. You leave. Rosselyn locks and bolts the door behind you and climbs out of the window. He uses the rope then the corpse to reach the chamber directly below. You were waiting for him. You opened the shutters and Rosselyn climbed through. You then close and bar the window. You would wipe away any wet, perhaps even sprinkle a little dust, but who would really notice in that darkened chamber? Moreover, those same shutters were violently disturbed — broken — when Thibault decided to force the chamber. What evidence could they offer? You hoped that would happen, which is why you locked that chamber and slid the key under the door.’ Athelstan paused and went to stand over her. She gazed coolly back.

‘Samuel was not your only victim. Rosselyn was much taken with you but you, unbeknown to our captain of archers, had unfinished business with him. Rosselyn constantly played the two-faced Janus, acting as Thibault’s henchman yet also spying for the Upright Men. In your eyes he could have informed the Upright Men about the trap being planned at the Roundhoop, but he didn’t.’ Athelstan chewed the corner of his lip. ‘As I have said, I could understand why: that would have been too dangerous for Rosselyn.’ Athelstan bent down, holding Rachael’s strange, green-eyed stare. ‘But to you, Rosselyn was just another traitor, a coward who could have saved Boaz but didn’t. In that darkened chamber in Bowyer Tower, lit only by a scrap of candle, you decided on both judgement and punishment.’ Athelstan returned to sit on his bed. ‘We men are easy to scrutinize, Rachael. Our lusts are our weaknesses. Rosselyn must have been full of his own prowess. He viewed himself as your partner with hopes of becoming your paramour. He’d flirt and demand a kiss. You sat him on that stool. You bestrode his lap like any tavern wench, pressing yourself up against him, moving backwards and forwards to excite his crotch. You caressed him. You put one hand behind the back of his head, the other, hanging by your side, carried a long Italianate poignard. Once again you act the lover, telling him to close his eyes. Rosselyn did. You struck, a swift killing blow pushing the dagger deep into his left eye while keeping him pressed against the wall. He would jerk and struggle but only for a few heartbeats; you would have two hands on that dagger handle, pushing with all your strength.’

‘True,’ Cranston declared. ‘A blow to the brain like that would be deadly. I have seen the same happen in battle. The shock alone would kill a man.’

‘Once Rosselyn was dead,’ Athelstan continued, ‘you pushed the acclamation into his lifeless hand. You also did something else. Before your visit to Master Samuel, you doused yourself in perfume. Now you had cleared his chamber and the shutters were left open. You certainly didn’t want your fragrance being detected on Rosselyn’s corpse. Help was at hand, a bucket of filthy water full of slime and rottenness. You doused Rosselyn’s corpse; the rank smell would kill any scent of perfume on him or in the chamber. To any observer, the killer would be depicted as abusing his victim’s pathetic remains. Once done, you collected what you had to. You left, locking the chamber and the main door of the tower. On each occasion you pushed the key beneath the door to delay, to mystify, to deepen the confusion.’ Athelstan breathed out. ‘I wonder who was next. Samson? Gideon? Judith?’

‘How say you, mistress?’ Cranston leaned forward. ‘The case presses heavily against you.’

Rachael glanced up, eyes crinkling into a smile. ‘What can I say, Brother, except that you have much to say and even more to prove.’ She moved restlessly on the stool. ‘What about Judith? She is also a player, a mummer, a mistress of disguise?’

‘Concedo,’ Athelstan replied. ‘I concede. I did speculate about Judith. She could have done this and she could have done that. She could have been here or there yet she flies against all logic as the killer. Firstly, she is not as courageous as you. She has a mortal fear of bears. Secondly, she suffers an affliction of the eyes, and so finds it difficult to calculate distances. I noticed that when she stares at people some distance away. How could she release a bolt, an arrow shaft? Finally and most importantly, and you know this, Rachael.’

‘Know what?’

‘Judith is very much in awe of you. She has very little time, if any, for men. She can act the role of a braggart in a tavern but such parts only help her express the contempt she has for men in general. I cannot see her seducing Barak, Eli, Master Samuel or Rosselyn. When you asked me to shrive you, you implied that Boaz and Judith had been close friends. I am sure if we brought her in here and questioned her closely, she would strongly deny this and perhaps point the finger at you. Nor would Samson describe himself as your betrothed, another fiction to confuse me.’

‘Still, you have little evidence against me.’

‘Oh, I can obtain that; as I said, you made mistakes.’ Athelstan gestured at her gown. ‘We will search your chamber. We’ll find, among other things, a green gown heavy with perfume but stained here high in the chest with thick blood — Rossleyn’s blood. It must have spurted from his eye like juice from a pressed grape. I doubt if you’ve had time to wash it. We would also be able to trace the stains left from that bucket of filthy water.’ Athelstan shook his head. ‘I’m sure Thibault’s interrogators will discover more.’ He spread his hands. ‘Mistress, you are young and fair yet you have the blood of many on your hands. You can expect little or no mercy from Thibault. There is nothing I can do to save you. They will spend days, if not weeks, torturing you and, if you survive that, it will not be a swift hanging at Smithfield. You are a woman: they will burn you before the gates of Saint Bartholomew’s. Knowing Thibault, the wood will be green and the executioner will not move through the smoke to strangle you swiftly. You could confess. I could take you into sanctuary, I could. .’

Rachael moved with the speed of a lunging cat. She threw the goblet at Sir John as she rose, clutched the stool and hurled it at Athelstan, then she was at the door fumbling with the latch before they could recover. Athelstan immediately sensed what Rachael was going to do. But, by the time he had reached the door, she was already racing up the steps to the top of the Tower. Athelstan, with Cranston lumbering behind, climbed as fast as he could but it was fruitless. Rachael was young, energetic, nimble on her feet and, by the time a breathless Athelstan burst through on to the icy windswept tower top, she was already standing between two of the crenellations, the wind tossing her beautiful hair and fanning out her thick murrey robe. Dusk was sweeping in, grey and freezing cold. Sounds from below echoed up. Athelstan, fighting for breath, walked carefully around the beacon brazier.

‘Please?’ He extended a hand.

‘Brother, do not be foolish. You are correct — what can you do? Save me from Thibault’s demons? They will strip me naked, rape me and abuse me before they even start their questions. You know that.’

Athelstan sensed she was smiling through the murk.

‘You will find evidence in my chamber. I never had time to hide everything. Your indictment is sound.’ She waved a hand. ‘Some details are wrong but, in the main,’ she fought for breath, ‘Boaz was the only person I ever loved. Samuel and the rest are Thibault’s creatures, body and soul despite their protests. They are what they are, Straw Men. Their words mere mumbling, they were weasel people who serve a weasel lord. All of them.’ Her voice turned hard and defiant. ‘Rosselyn was no better, a turncoat to the heart. The Upright Men despised him. Thibault would have discovered his treachery sooner or later. Rosselyn was weak, uncertain. He tried to stride either side only to blunder. He did not inform the Upright Men about the Roundhoop. He failed to reveal the plot to trap the Upright Men in the Tower. Once that happened, I received notice: Rosselyn, the Wardes and Huddle your painter were placed under the ban. Grindcobbe personally decided that.’

‘You were given permission to slay at will?’

‘Oh, yes, and I enjoyed it. Ah, well, I won’t see Thibault smirk. I won’t burn at Smithfield. I don’t want to spend weeks in a filthy cell in this ghastly place.’

‘Please?’ Athelstan begged, even though he knew it was fruitless.

‘Remember, Brother, those lines from the book of Ruth? “Wherever you go I shall follow”,’ then she was gone, slipping back into the gathering darkness, red hair flaring, gown billowing, her body plummeting to smash on the cobbles below.

Athelstan sat in Master Thibault’s warm, luxurious council chamber. Lascelles was there, standing behind his master’s chair like the shadow he was.

‘So?’ Thibault picked up a stick of sealing wax, weighing it in his hands. ‘Rachael the vixen, the treasonable bitch! What a pity she escaped, to fall like that. She could have told us so much but,’ he smiled, ‘now you can do that, Brother Athelstan.’

‘No, I shall not,’ Athelstan retorted.

Cranston stiffened, breathing in noisily.

‘Cannot, shall not?’ Thibault queried. ‘I can make you.’

‘Do not threaten us,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Please, Thibault, don’t be so stupid. You have powerful friends, but so do I. I am a Dominican priest, a cleric protected by the full power of Holy Mother Church. I will tell you in return for four favours. Firstly, Rachael is to be given honourable burial here in God’s Acre. I do not want her corpse dismembered.’

‘I see no problem with that.’

‘Secondly,’ Athelstan dipped into his chancery satchel and brought out the book of plays, ‘I keep this as a gift. My parishioners would benefit from it.’

‘Sic habes,’ Thibault quoted. ‘You have it. And thirdly?’

‘The woman Judith is allowed to settle in Saint Erconwald’s.’

Thibault shrugged. ‘And finally?’

‘You take a solemn oath,’ Athelstan indicated the Book of the Gospel on the lectern, ‘here in the presence of Sir John Cranston, Coroner of the City of London, that Mistress Eleanor, who calls herself Mara, your prisoner in Beauchamp Tower, will be kept safe and sent to the Domincan convent of Saint Frideswide outside Oxford. I know the Mother Superior, a Scottish lady, Isabella Urquhart. You will swear that Eleanor will be kept safe, lodged most comfortably and given a pension for as long as she lives.’

Thibault looked as if he was going to object.

‘Do so,’ Athelstan urged. ‘She is religious, protected by the church. She has committed no crime. She is innocent of any wrongdoing and I know she will pose no threat. Saint Frideswide lies near the palace of Woodstock. She can be, in a most careful manner, watched without being bothered.’

Thibault sucked on his lips and smiled. ‘Brother Athelstan, Sir John, I agree. You have in fact solved a problem. Can you assure me your order will guarantee the Lady Eleanor will cause no trouble?’

‘Believe me,’ Athelstan grinned. ‘The Lady Urquhart will see to that.’

Thibault rose and took the oath, his right hand planted firmly on the Book of the Gospel, and returned to his seat. Athelstan then described what had happened, moving swiftly through the evidence and citing the proof he had found in Rachael’s chamber: certain scraps of parchment, an arbalest, a pouch of opiate and that blood-soaked gown.

Once he had finished, Thibault, his face contorted in fury as Rosselyn’s treachery was described, sat head down. Eventually he glanced up. ‘I heard about the business in Flanders. I sent the Straw Men and other agents to hunt the rumours down — the rest is as you describe it, Athelstan. As for Rosselyn, he must have been suborned very recently, possibly in the early winter but, there again,’ Thibault blinked and glanced away, ‘I wonder how many of those who eat My Lord of Gaunt’s bread act the Judas once darkness falls. I did wonder about the attack near Aldgate; perhaps that was Rosselyn’s offering, a guarantee of his word to the Upright Men.’

‘That business in Flanders,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Master Thibault, you have been very honest in taking the oath. I accept your assurances about the Lady Eleanor but there is one thing you haven’t told me. And I swear, if you keep your oath, so will I.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Evangeline was a former midwife, a royal nurse or whatever she called herself. I have no doubt that the tales she spun were based on rumour, lie, wishful thinking,’ Athelstan shrugged, ‘or court gossip. Well, you can take your choice.’ Athelstan could feel the rise in tension. Thibault pulled himself up in his chair; Lascelles’ hand slipped to the hilt of his dagger.

‘When I was a boy,’ Athelstan continued softly, ‘my father had a small holding. Most of our summers were dry and I always remember my father being anxious lest a fire be started in the wheat field. He and other villagers hired Machlin, a former mercenary, to guard against this. Machlin was given a small hut on top of a hill. He was provided with food and drink and accepted into our community.’

‘And?’ Thibault asked.

‘Machlin was very good, extremely vigilant in reporting the outbreak of fires until, of course, my father became suspicious. He discovered that Machlin was starting the very fires he was reporting. Machlin wanted to be a hero, a saviour.’

‘The business in Flanders?’ Lascelles rasped.

‘Now I think,’ Athelstan continued, holding Thibault’s gaze, ‘that Evangeline would have gone to her grave and kept to herself the farrago of lies about My Lord of Gaunt. But someone approached her posing as Gaunt’s great enemy, enticing her greed with the prospect of fat profit.’

‘My Lord of Gaunt has many enemies.’

‘I just wonder,’ Athelstan replied, ‘if this mysterious messenger was sent by Gaunt’s friends, someone who wanted to depict himself as a saviour, the man who crushed filthy lies and rumours about our glorious Plantagenet Prince. Someone who started the fire then posed as the saviour who extinguished it.’

‘And whoever could that be?’

‘Oh I would have to prove that, but Sir John here could help. We would go through the licences issued to those who have travelled to Flanders. We would make careful enquiries about why they went, where they went and what they did.’ Athelstan now stared at Lascelles, who moved uncomfortably.

‘I don’t think that would be necessary,’ Thibault remarked.

‘No, neither do I,’ Athelstan smiled. ‘I’m sure the Lady Eleanor will remain safe. I am also confident, Master Thibault, that you will always hold the parish of Saint Erconwald’s in tender respect, and that you will regard my flock as more misled than malevolent.’ Thibault smiled and nodded. Cranston bit his lip to stop laughing.

‘In which case. .’ Athelstan pushed back the chair and raised his hand in blessing. Thibault opened the small coffer on his right. He took out a small purse of clinking silver which he tied securely and pushed across the desk for Athelstan to take.

‘Please distribute that among the poor of your parish, Brother Athelstan.’ He gestured at the coroner. ‘Sir John, you have done my master a great service — it shall not be forgotten. Now, it’s best if you go.’

Within the hour Cranston and Athelstan had left the Tower and joined the noisy, colourful throng on the approaches to the bridge.

‘Athelstan!’ Cranston paused and pointed to the severed heads displayed above the gatehouse.

‘Do you ever despair at the sheer, squalid wickedness, the weariness and waste of it all?’

‘Isaiah, twenty-six,’ Athelstan replied. ‘God’s promise that one day he will wipe away the tears from every eye. I truly believe that, Sir John. In the end, time will run backwards and full justice will be done.’ Athelstan closed his eyes. He shivered as he recalled that beautiful young woman falling against the coming night, tumbling into the hands of God and those other souls cruelly snatched from life and dispatched to judgement.

‘I must not despair,’ he whispered. He opened his eyes and tugged at Cranston’s cloak. ‘For the moment, Sir John, let me wipe away a few tears and what better place than the Holy Lamb of God!’