Текст книги "The Devil's domain"

Автор книги: Paul Doherty

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER 18

Confusion broke out as de Fontanel and Vamier protested their innocence. Gresnay, however, remained quiet, gazing intently at his companion. Athelstan realised that Gresnay himself must have seen something which he now judged suspicious.

‘How could I do this?’

Only the presence of Gaunt’s guards forced de Fontanel back into his seat.

‘Oh, it was quite easy,’ Athelstan replied. ‘You visited the prisoners. You were allowed to talk to them, bring them gifts. Who would object to a set of rosary beads for men far from hearth and country? Vamier would be given secret instructions. You, of course, had been in the city and visited Mistress Vulpina who kept every known poison under the sun. You really didn’t care if the prisoners died! You would be rid of a spy, no ransoms would have to be paid while the Goddamns would take the blame. What you didn’t realise was that my Lord of Gaunt was deeply interested in these murders. Mercurius might come out of the shadows. His masters in Paris were both furious and frightened: two great warships lost. Mercurius, himself, would have to deal with the matter. A truce was arranged and you were immediately despatched to England as an official envoy. Your appearance has changed, you speak French fluently, and you have all the protection protocol dictates. My Lord of Gaunt, of course, did not know this but he suspected Mercurius was in England. So, he sent in his most feared investigator, the lord coroner, Sir John Cranston.’

Sir John bowed his head and beamed at the compliment.

‘Questions were being asked,’ Athelstan continued. ‘So Vulpina had to disappear. You killed her and her two henchmen then burnt their infernal den to the ground. You also had other orders: Sir Maurice Maltravers had to be punished. You hired those two shaven-headed assassins.’ Athelstan’s voice rose. He felt a hot flush of anger in his cheeks. ‘They crossed to Southwark to kill both him and me. Life to you, Mercurius, is very, very cheap!’

‘This is nonsense,’ de Fontanel rushed in. ‘You have no evidence. Nothing but conjecture.’

‘He has evidence.’ Gresnay spoke up, his eyes fixed on Vamier.’ I was in your room, Pierre, a few days ago. I saw your rosary beads were broken; some of the beads were missing. You kept it well hidden, underneath the candlestick on your table.’

‘That’s how poor Lucy died,’ Sir John said. ‘Vamier here was careless. Some of the beads fell on the ground. Poor Lucy was always picking things up and putting them in her mouth.’

‘A useless and futile death,’ Athelstan said. ‘A poor, witless innocent.’

Vamier dropped his gaze.

‘Didn’t you care?’ Gresnay burst out. ‘Pierre.’ He spoke quickly in French but Athelstan could follow him. ‘They were our friends. We fought back to back against a common foe. Aye, we burned and we pillaged, but murder like this? Of your own friends and companions?’

‘Mercurius’ real work,’ Athelstan went on, ‘was here at Hawkmere and it was quite easily done.’ He pointed at the French envoy. ‘You met Vamier and handed over the poisonous Ave beads. You convinced him how they were only noxious to chew. Vamier had no choice but to accept. After all, he wanted to return to France as quickly as possible.

‘Serriem was the first to die. He’d be easy to persuade, especially after he had seen you swallow the seeds and suffer no ill effects. How did you describe them?’ Athelstan asked. ‘As a herb which would help? And was it the same for Routier? He would be the most gullible victim. He would need his strength, be ready to take any medication which might help his escape. Again, you showed him the seeds were not noxious, probably just before he climbed that wall and made his escape. Both men, even in their dying agonies, would never suspect the seeds were the cause of their deaths. Not from a friend who had eaten them himself and suffered no ill effects.’

‘That’s true, Vamier!’ Gresnay’s voice rose to a scream. ‘You always were persuasive, a senior officer whose hatred of the Goddamns was well known.’ He beat on the table. ‘You were playing chess with Serriem the night he died! That poor bastard would take anything you offered, as would Routier!’ Gresnay blinked back the angry tears. ‘He trusted you completely. He was worried that he might not have the physical strength to make his escape. I offered him some food. You gave the poor fool those damn seeds. What did you do? Swear him, and poor Serriem, to secrecy? Tell them how you didn’t have enough to share among the rest? I suppose,’ he added bitterly, ‘I was next.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Athelstan said. ‘I suspect de Fontanel would offer to pay for your and Vamier’s ransom from his own pocket, or take a loan from the merchants in the city. He would act all concerned. However.’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘Monsieur Gresnay, I do not think you would have survived long in France.’

‘And Maneil?’ Gresnay asked.

‘Ah. Mercurius, or Monsieur de Fontanel, was very clever. Two men had died from poisoning but the death of Limbright’s daughter, well, it muddied the pool a little. You see Mercurius wanted the blame for all these deaths to be laid firmly on the doorstep of the Goddamns. None of the prisoners were armed so, when Mercurius last visited Hawkmere, he probably came armed with a small arbalest for his own protection. However, in the confusion following Routier’s escape, Mercurius decided to seize his opportunity. The arbalest and the bolts were hidden away. Vamier was told of their whereabouts, behind a chair, a bench or even a latrine. He was allowed to mix with you?’

‘Yes,’ Gresnay snarled. ‘And he had a word with each of us.’

‘That’s true.’ Sir Maurice spoke up. ‘The manor was in uproar.’

‘Mercurius simply exploited the opportunity,’ Sir John added. ‘Limbright was mourning for his daughter. The guards were still recovering from the hunt for Routier. Mercurius realised that death by a crossbow bolt would simply confirm suspicion that the assassin could not possibly be one of the prisoners.’

‘Is that possible?’ Aspinall asked. ‘I mean, to dispose of?’

‘There are privies here, aren’t there?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Yes, yes there are, along the top gallery where Maneil had his chamber.’

‘The arbalest would be small,’ Athelstan explained. ‘Like one ladies use when they go hunting. How long would it take Mercurius to tell Vamier that an arbalest was hidden in a certain place, a few seconds? Vamier acted quickly, exploiting the chaos: he collected the arbalest, concealed it beneath his doublet, knocked on Maneil’s door and killed him. He then dismantled the crossbow and probably threw it down a privy where it would sink in the mud and ordure, never to be found.’

‘You still have no real evidence,’ de Fontanel screamed.

‘Oh, we have evidence,’ Athelstan replied. ‘As well as the sheer logic of my conclusion. I began to suspect there were two killers. One inside and one out. First, let’s take Routier’s escape. Why did he choose that particular way? How did he know the shutters of the window in that outhouse weren’t locked? The prisoners were never allowed to go there, so the information must have been given by someone visiting the manor. Secondly, Mercurius, on your last visit, you said something intriguing just before you left Hawkmere. You came here and sat beside Vamier. You told the prisoners to fall to their prayers. I recalled the gift of Ave beads and wondered if your words were a code, a secret message.’

De Fontanel got to his feet. ‘I am an envoy of the French court,’ he said. I know nothing of this Mercurius. I certainly have no responsibility for the terrible deaths which have occurred here or elsewhere.’ He swallowed hard, glancing at the door. ‘I have hardly left my lodgings! Why should I wander around Whitefriars?’

‘Who told you Vulpina lived there?’ Sir John jibed. ‘You went there disguised as a priest; that was a mistake, strangers never visit Whitefriars.’

‘And, as for your lodgings,’ Gervase smiled, ‘one of your retinue could act the part, especially with that ridiculous popinjay hat you wear. How did you leave there, disguised as a servant? Our intelligence is that Mercurius is a master of disguise.’

‘My movements are my own concern! As are my conversations with my countrymen!’

‘I saw you whispering,’ Gresnay declared, hot-eyed. ‘I saw you, Monsieur, talking to Vamier here on a number of occasions before the murders began!’

‘Monsieur Gresnay, remember where you are,’ de Fontanel snarled. ‘You are a prisoner of the English but one day you must return to France.’

Gaunt stared at Athelstan: from the Regent’s look, the friar realised that more proof would have to be given. He nodded slowly.

‘We have all the evidence we need,’ he said. ‘It’s here in this hall, so sit down, Monsieur de Fontanel!’

‘What evidence?’ The envoy looked shaken, nervous.

‘First, we will search for Monsieur Vamier’s Ave beads and we will find them. We know you gave them to him! Secondly, Monsieur Gresnay here is going to rack his brains, and he will start recalling the minutiae, helpful little details.’

‘And?’ de Fontanel asked.

‘We have Monsieur Vamier. If we can prove, and we will, that his Ave beads are highly poisonous Abrin seeds then Vamier is a murderer. Be he French or English, my Lord of Gaunt will have him taken to the dungeons in the Tower where the interrogators will begin to work. Oh, they’ll piece the story together like I did. You don’t know Godbless, do you? He’s a poor beggar who lives in my cemetery; once he was a soldier and visited Venice. He talked of a man who should die but didn’t. And then I visited a Venetian galley berthed in the Thames. The captain was a merry fellow. Of course he knew about the Abrin seed, how the Council of Ten gave it to their criminals. He simply confirmed what I had learned from our librarian in Blackfriars as well as the gossip of little Godbless. A short while later I visited an apothecary near Cheapside. He confessed it was one of the secrets of his trade; he told me all about Abrin’s noxious properties.’ Athelstan ticked the points off on his fingers. ‘Venice, you have been there. Abrin seeds were on the Ave beads you gave to Vamier, he still has these.’ Athelstan gazed straight at Sir Maurice. And, finally, one of those assassins, the shaven-heads you sent against us? He didn’t die. He’s lodged in the Tower. I suspect he will recognise you and your voice. It’s wonderful what a man will do to escape the noose.’

‘Both men are dead,’ de Fontanel insisted. He closed his eyes at his terrible mistake.

‘How do you know that?’ Gaunt asked, getting up. He grasped de Fontanel by the shoulder. ‘How do you know, Monsieur, about assassins who attacked a poor priest in Southwark?’

‘I–I heard the rumours. My Lord Gaunt, I must leave here.’ He broke free and walked towards the door.

Sir John looked helplessly on. The arrest of a foreign envoy was a serious matter.

‘What about me? What about us?’ Vamier shouted.

De Fontanel turned, his face pallid.

‘You are going to leave me here to rot, aren’t you? I tell you this.’ Vamier strode forward. ‘I’ll not go to the Tower! I’ll not dance on the end of a Goddamn’s rope for you!’

‘Hush man, keep your nerve!’

‘Keep my nerve!’ Vamier screamed. ‘Here among the Goddamns! Have my flesh torn, my limbs racked!’

‘Enough!’ Gaunt looked up into the darkness of the musicians’ gallery. ‘Sir Walter, you have heard enough. Let sentence be carried out!’

De Fontanel whirled round. There was a whirr through the air like a bird beating its wings, then the goose-quilled arrows struck their targets. De Fontanel’s neck was cruelly pierced, the shaft going through one side and out of the other. Vamier took two arrows, one in the shoulder, the second deep in his heart. Both men fell, legs kicking, choking on the pools of blood spilling out of their mouths. Gresnay sprang to his feet. He tried to run towards the door. Athelstan quickly seized him, shielding his body from the archers in the musicians’ gallery.

‘For God’s sake!’ Athelstan hissed. ‘If you move away from me, you are dead!’

‘Ah, he’s safe enough,’ Gaunt called out. ‘Only the guilty suffer.’ He held his hand up. ‘Brother Athelstan, you have my word. Well done, Sir Walter, you may join us now.’

There was a movement in the music loft and, a short while later, Sir Walter, accompanied by three master bowmen, entered the hall. Before anyone could stop him, Sir Walter kicked both corpses and walked threateningly towards Gresnay.

‘My Lord of Gaunt,’ Athelstan protested, pushing Gresnay back on to the bench.

‘I wondered what was going to happen,’ the Regent said. ‘I know you, little friar, you ferret out the truth! So, I placed Sir Walter and the bowmen in the shadows of the musicians’ gallery.’ Gaunt sighed and sat down in the high-backed chair. ‘They were there if judgement had to be carried out.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘Moreover, if I am to meet Frenchmen it’s best to be prepared, especially if Mercurius is in their midst. I wondered if de Fontanel would go for his dagger. The death of John of Gaunt would be a great prize for the French court.’ He snapped his fingers.

The bowmen picked the corpses up by the legs and dragged them out of the door, leaving a trail of sticky, red blood on the wooden floorboards.

‘They could have stood trial,’ Sir John said.

‘I don’t think so,’ Gaunt answered. ‘Mercurius was a traitor and a murderer. Vamier no better. The evidence was there but hard to grasp. The French could protest, perhaps even threaten English prisoners in France. They would have certainly worked hard for Mercurius’ return.’

‘And so what will be your story?’ Sir John asked. ‘The French will appeal to the Pope in Avignon. You will have the cardinal of this or the cardinal of that knocking on the door of the Savoy Palace.’

‘Oh, I’ll tell them the truth.’ Gaunt smiled. ‘Well, some of it will be truth. I’ll say that Mercurius was unmasked in my presence; that he and his accomplice Vamier drew their daggers and tried to kill me. I’ll have his corpse searched while Gervase will scurry among the records. We’ll point out that Mercurius and the English clerk Richard Stillingbourne were one and the same person and, therefore, came under my jurisdiction. Vamier was just a casualty of war!’ He gazed round menacingly. ‘What can anyone say? They were a threat to the Crown! Traitors and assassins! Lawful execution was carried out!’

‘And how, my lord, will you explain your discovery of Mercurius?’ Athelstan asked. ‘By an angel come down from heaven?’

Gaunt laughed softly, clicking his tongue as if savouring a secret. ‘What do you think, little friar? How do you think I’ll explain it?’

‘Oh, my lord, you’ll let the dance continue. You and Gervase will suggest, both here and abroad, that not only did you have a spy on board the cogs of war but another one closeted in the most secret councils of the French court. You will let it be known, by whisper and rumour, that you knew who Mercurius was from the start and enticed him into your web. The Papal envoys will be informed about the true reasons for Mercurius’ visit to England as well as the hideous murders he committed. You will insinuate how your alleged spy at the French court told you all this.’ Athelstan sighed. ‘You will be exonerated, a truly virtuous prince, while the French will tear themselves apart hunting for a traitor who doesn’t exist.’

Gaunt threw his head back and roared with laughter, the tears sparkling in his eyes.

‘Oh, I love this game. You are very good, Brother. Yes, that’s exactly what Gervase will do.’ His eyes slid to Gresnay, who sat transfixed like a rabbit before a weasel. ‘And now, sir, we come to you.’

‘My lord,’ Athelstan broke in. ‘He is an innocent man.’

‘He’ll be a dead one if he returns to France,’ Gervase said. ‘No one will believe or accept his story.’

‘I have done no wrong,’ Gresnay burst out, half-rising from the bench.

Athelstan pushed him back.

‘Don’t worry.’

Gaunt was now examining a spot on his hand.

‘I’ll tell you what, Monsieur Gresnay: you go to Monsieur Gervase here. Tell us all there is to know about the fortifications along the French coast. We’ll send a letter to France saying that you, too, were a victim of this traitorous poisoner. You can change your name, take a reward from the English exchequer. Go down to the south coast and hide in one of our fishing villages. It’s either that or back to France.’

Gresnay quickly agreed.

‘In which case,’ Gaunt concluded, ‘all is in order, all is finished. Two French ships have been destroyed, Mercunus killed and further mischief planned for the French court. A good day’s work, eh?’

He smiled at Athelstan, who stared coolly back. Gaunt stepped off the dais and clapped Sir John on the shoulder.

‘Good work, Jack, eh? Sir Walter, this manor is yours, to do with as you wish. It’s a reward, a little compensation for your sad loss.’ He sketched a bow. ‘Brother Athelstan, remember me in your prayers. Gervase, join me at the Savoy. Sing me that madrigal you’ve composed.’

And, with his arm round his spy-master, Gaunt walked down the hall. He turned at the doorway.

‘Maurice, you’ll join us? Or are you going back to see the Lady Angelica?’

‘Sir Thomas Parr has invited me to supper, my lord.’

‘Sir Thomas Parr is a most gracious man,’ Athelstan observed.

‘Aye.’ Gaunt smirked. ‘And pigs fly along Cheapside.’

‘In which case, my lord,’ Athelstan quipped, ‘you’ll find plenty of pork in the trees!’

Gaunt let go of Gervase’s shoulder and walked back up the hall, striking his heavy leather gloves against his hand.

‘And how are your parishioners, Brother?’

Athelstan looked over Gaunt’s shoulder. Gervase glanced warningly and shook his head.

Gaunt pushed his face closer. ‘And those arrows?’

‘Hidden, my lord, by rebels but discovered by loyal subjects and reported immediately to the Corporation.’

‘So, they are all hale and hearty?’

‘My lord, they are in remarkably good health. They work hard, eat little and constantly pray for the welfare of the King.’

‘Then pray keep them that way.’

‘I do, my lord. I pray every day that, if they be not in the King’s grace, they will speedily return to it and, if they are in the King’s grace, God will keep them in it.’

‘And when the revolt comes?’ Gaunt asked, his face now drained of all good humour. ‘Which side of the fence will you stand on, little friar?’

‘Why, my lord, I’ll be in my church, celebrating Mass, preaching the Gospel and looking after those in my care. That is the purpose of a priest, a member of the Order of St Dominic.’

‘So it is, so it is.’ Gaunt opened his purse and slipped some coins into his hand. He gave these to Athelstan, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. ‘Well, buy a hogshead of ale, Brother. Let them drink my health and that of the King.’

Gaunt sauntered out of the hall, slamming the door behind him. Sir Maurice stepped off the dais and clasped Sir John’s hand, then embraced Athelstan, squeezing him tightly.

‘I cannot thank you enough, or you, Sir John.’

‘Nothing to it, my boy.’ Cranston took out the miraculous wineskin. ‘You’ll celebrate with me now?’

Sir Maurice spread his hands. ‘A few pots of ale and a pheasant pie, eh, Brother?’

Athelstan put the coins Gaunt had given him into his wallet. He picked up his writing pouch.

‘I have other duties,’ he said. He turned and clasped Gresnay’s hand. ‘Do not worry, sir, the Regent will keep his word, you will be safe. Have nothing to fear from Sir Walter.’

He, Sir John and Sir Maurice then left the hall. Already it was becoming less of a prison, no sentries on duty, doors and casement windows flung open. They walked out and, as they did so, glimpsed Gaunt and Gervase, surrounded by their retainers, gallop through the gatehouse back towards the city.

‘I knew Gaunt’s father,’ Sir John mused. And his elder brother, Edward the Black Prince, God bless and rest him. Gaunt is a cunning one. I think he plays the game for the sheer enjoyment. Come on!’

They walked down, through the gatehouse and on to the deserted heathland.

‘Are you coming to the city, Brother?’

Athelstan shook his head.

‘We should have made our farewells to Sir Walter.’ The friar paused. ‘Sir John, Sir Maurice, I am tired and not in the mood for rejoicing. You go into the city then, tomorrow, come to Southwark. We’ll celebrate your happiness in the Piebald, perhaps tomorrow evening when the excitement has died down?’

He watched the coroner, arm in arm with the young knight, walk across the heathland towards the old city wall. Then he turned back and walked up to the gloomy entrance of the manor. He found a retainer and, after a short while, the servant brought Sir Walter down to where Athelstan stood just outside the doorway.

‘Why, Brother?’ Sir Walter looked more composed, as if the deaths of the two Frenchmen had purged something from his soul.

‘I simply came to say farewell, Sir Walter, and offer the thanks and good wishes of Sir John.’

‘A good man, the coroner.’ Sir Walter beamed. ‘And you, Brother.’ He shook his head. ‘A spider’s game,’ he added. ‘But I am cleared of any wrong-doing though it’s a pity that my daughter had to pay with her life.’

‘She’s at peace,’ Athelstan replied. ‘And so are you, aren’t you, Sir Walter?’

‘I confess, Brother. I was in the musicians’ gallery. I enjoyed giving the order, watching those two traitorous murderers die.’

‘But you knew, didn’t you?’ Athelstan asked.

‘What do you mean, Brother?’

‘Sir Walter, it’s a question of logic. You sat here guarding those Frenchmen. I wager you watched them day and night. Oh, I am not saying you knew who the assassin was or how the murders were carried out. However, you must have seen Monsieur de Fontanel whispering, talking, perhaps more to Vamier than the rest?’

‘I saw nothing, Brother.’ Sir Walter held his gaze. ‘I simply did my duty.’

‘Oh, come, come, Sir Walter. You hired Master Aspinall the physician. You knew he was above suspicion. You also were aware of your own innocence. I wager you were only too pleased to see the French kill each other, men who slaughtered your own family?’

‘I had no knowledge of who Monsieur de Fontanel really was, or how the murders were carried out.’

‘No, but you had your suspicions and you did not share them with us and that, Sir Walter, is why your daughter died. You hated those men. And perhaps with good reason. You resented their arrogance, their whisperings, their quiet laughter. You knew you were innocent of any foul play. Let them kill each other, you thought; Sir Jack Cranston can resolve it, and the more who die, the better.’

‘I hear what you say, Brother, but…’ Limbright shrugged. ‘That’s why you let Routier escape, wasn’t it? You told your guards to look the other way. I think you knew what he was planning and looked forward to the hunt. A way of releasing some of the bile in your own soul. Show these French who was the master?’

‘I would have been blamed for Routier’s escape.’

‘Come, come, Sir Walter, a tired, dispirited Frenchman alone in England. You would have enjoyed hunting him down with your dogs.’

‘Even if what you say is the truth, Brother, what is the use now?’

‘The truth always matters,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Good day, Sir Walter.’

St Erconwald’s was very quiet when Athelstan arrived back later that afternoon. Both church and house had been cleaned, Philomel was dozing in his stable. Athelstan took the second key he always carried and opened the church and stepped inside. Huddle had been busy drawing on the far wall with a piece of charcoal. Athelstan went over and crouched down to study what the painter had drawn: a stern Christ in Judgement. On his left, the goats, on his right the lambs. But, this time, Huddle had taken liberties with Holy Scripture: members of the parish stood among the lambs. Pernell, even Godbless holding a little Thaddeus, while others, whom Huddle disliked, such as Pike’s sharp-tongued wife, were placed in the centre so people would wonder if they were a lamb or a goat.

‘That will have to go,’ Athelstan commented. ‘Otherwise civil war will break out on the parish council.’

He crouched down, his back to the wall. Gaunt had said everything was neatly tied up but was it? He thought of all those souls thrust unprepared into eternity: the hapless prostitute hanged at the Golden Cresset, and those Frenchmen who never would see their families or homes again. Did Mercurius have a family? Did anyone grieve for Vulpina? Or those shaven-headed assassins?

‘A long list of dead!’ Athelstan whispered. Tomorrow he would say Mass for all of them, that Christ would have mercy on their souls.

The door swung open and Godbless came in, Thaddeus trotting behind him.

‘God bless you, Father. All is well?’

‘Aye,’ Athelstan replied.

Godbless knelt before him, one arm round Thaddeus.

‘What am I to do, Father?’ he pleaded. ‘I have got no home to go to.’

Athelstan dug into his purse and brought out one of the coins Gaunt had given him. He flicked this at Godbless, who deftly caught it.

‘This is your home, Godbless. By the power given to me by Holy Mother Church,’ he raised his hand in blessing, ‘not to mention the provisions of Canon Law, I forget which clauses, I now make you custos, guardian, of God’s acre, of our cemetery here at St Erconwald’s. Your official residence will be the death house. I’ll get those two reprobates Watkin and Pike to build a new one near the wall.’ Athelstan rubbed his hands. ‘Aye, the dead will be able to sleep in peace now. Your task, Godbless, and Thaddeus, will be to guard that cemetery with your life.’

The beggar chortled with glee, hugged Thaddeus and kissed the goat between its ears. Athelstan glimpsed a furry movement down near the porch, lithe and quick.

‘Oh, and go tell Ranulf,’ he said, I think I know where his ferret is hiding!’