The hanging tree, p.18
The Hanging Tree, page 18
‘I didn’t know that our fame had spread,’ the coroner mocked. ‘Surely Italy has its own periti – skilled men – in our law as well as that of other kingdoms?’
‘No Sir John, English law is quite unique. Its aspects most fascinating. The Commons, the Lords, the role of the Crown, the writings of jurists like Bracton, who espoused the principle that “what affects all must be agreed by all”. Such teachings strike a chord in the heart of many Italian citizens.’ The prior waved a hand. ‘They are intrigued by the way the Commons propagates statutes of common interest. How they have the power to impeach and try royal officials, indeed all those who wield power in the name of the King. No, no, Sir John, what I have listed is enough to whet the appetite of any scholar in law, and there’s more. They have also learnt about your role, and that of Athelstan, as maintainers and defenders of the King’s peace.’
‘But the invitation came in months ago?’
‘Yes it did, Brother, I put it to one side. You and Sir John are busy enough. Since the collapse of the Great Revolt, you have moved from one murderous mystery to another. Isn’t it only a few weeks ago that you were caught up in that business at Westminster Abbey over the Coronation Stone? You work for the Crown which, in practical terms, means my Lord of Gaunt and Thibault, his Master of Secrets. I have no desire to alienate them by taking you away from what they want you to do.’ Anselm smiled bleakly at Athelstan. ‘You are a very busy priest, my Brother.’
‘I accept what you say,’ Cranston demanded, ‘but what is the relevance of all this now? Why have you come to inform us about an out-of-date invitation?’
‘It is not out of date, Sir John.’ The prior sighed noisily. ‘Though perhaps it is now.’
‘For God’s sake, Father Prior, tell us what you want.’
‘Very well, my Lord Coroner.’ Anselm turned to Ignacio. ‘Now you must explain.’
‘Prior Anselm,’ the old prior replied, chomping on his gums, ‘told me about the invitation. I would have supported you both going. However, you and Athelstan were very busy, then the great robbery at Westminster occurred. You became involved and I began to wonder.’
‘What?’
‘The original invitation to you may well have come from the Dominican House and Faculty of Law at Bologna. However, unknown to those scholars, the actual invitation could have been inspired by the Carbonari: powerful figures in the city and university who nourish a secret allegiance to this den of thieves.’
‘Impossible!’ Athelstan breathed.
‘No, listen.’ The old friar closed his eyes then opened them and smiled. ‘No doubt, Brother,’ he declared, pointing at Athelstan, ‘you are famous but—’
‘Not that famous,’ Athelstan retorted.
‘Precisely, my Brother. Now the Carbonari plundered the treasury at Westminster. They are proud of their achievements, you know that. Perhaps what you have not realized is how painstaking the Carbonari are at plotting such a crime. To be blunt, the Carbonari committed this crime in January, the year of our Lord 1382. However, I would go on oath that they must have been planning it for months. In doing so they listed the possible dangers, challenges and threats they might face …’
‘And we are included in that?’ Cranston countered.
‘Yes, you are. The Carbonari took every precaution in plotting their crime and its possible aftermath.’ Ignacio gestured around. ‘And they were correct yes?’ Cranston and Athelstan could only gape back in amazement. ‘Do you think I romance? That I am some troubadour, a minstrel with a tale to tell? Listen, my friends,’ the old friar continued. ‘Many years ago, the jewel house of the dukes of Mantua was broken into and plundered. Now the jewel house was a squat, circular tower; its walls were at least a yard thick – great, heavy blocks cemented into each other. Anyway, the Duke decided to strengthen the jewel house, removing its sole window, as well as fortify the only entrance with an iron-plated door. No other aperture existed.’
‘Yet the jewel house was pillaged?’
‘It certainly was. The Duke of Mantua failed to realize that the Carbonari had suborned the master mason refurbishing his treasury. Whilst he was busy on the Duke’s behalf, he was also secretly working away at dislodging one of the great stone blocks, hacking at the cement until the stone became so loosened it could be slid in and out. Once done, the gap, broad enough for a man to crawl through, was smoothed so the stone could slide in and out like a polished bolt. Any mess created was swiftly cleared or dismissed as part of the refurbishment. Early one morning, after the work was considered done, the jewel house was robbed. Caskets and pouches full of precious stones were taken, and a sack of mouldering charcoal ash left as a mocking farewell. No one could understand how such a robbery could have taken place. In fact, once it had, the stone block which had been used to allow the robbers in and out, was repositioned and made fast by a quick-drying cement that the master mason had carefully created. Moreover, the stone in question was on the base, in a darkened corner of the jewel house. No one would even suspect what had happened.’
‘So how was the theft discovered, and by whom?’
‘By myself.’ Ignacio grinned. ‘Brother Athelstan, as you may well know, I was once an inquisitor like yourself. I was commissioned to investigate. My real challenge was not who had broken in but how? I scrutinized every inch of that jewel house; floor, wall and ceiling. It was just a matter of time and logic that I eventually discovered lines of cement slightly different from the rest.’ The old friar shrugged. ‘And so it was. The master mason was questioned and confessed his guilt.’
‘And what happened to him?’ Athelstan asked.
‘He was torn apart by horses in the piazza at Mantua.’
Athelstan swiftly crossed himself.
‘I quote that,’ Ignacio continued, ‘to demonstrate my point. The Carbonari always plot well in advance and it is true here. To put it bluntly, they wanted you and Sir John out of the kingdom before they struck. They had correctly guessed that once the robbery occurred, the investigation would be entrusted to you.’ Ignacio tapped the table. ‘And so it was. The Carbonari, through their secret associates in Bologna, arranged for that invitation to be sent. When Prior Anselm first told me about it, I thought: what an honour! However, when the robbery occurred, I became highly suspicious. I mean why you? They also made a further mistake. Why now? It’s winter. Sea passages are rough. Travel by roads is equally uncomfortable and dangerous. Why didn’t they keep their invitation to the spring or full summer?’
‘So the Carbonari wanted us out of the kingdom and, when that failed, they tried to murder us?’
‘Now that I do find puzzling. So tell me,’ Ignacio declared, ‘what exactly happened?’ Athelstan did so, describing the attack in the crypt, on his own house in Southwark, as well as the execution of Luke Whitby in the very tavern where they were now meeting. Once he had finished, Ignacio sat, eyes closed, hands clasped, lips slowly moving. He then opened his eyes and stared pityingly at Athelstan.
‘I am so sorry, Brother.’
‘For what?’ Athelstan asked.
‘For the enemy within. Listen, the Carbonari very rarely resort to murder. They are not assassins. They do not nourish deep, devious plots against Church and Crown. They are thieves, as simple as that. Great thieves, but nothing more.’
‘Except in this situation.’
‘No, Sir John, two things! Remember my story about the master mason of Mantua. Well, the Carbonari suborned him.’
‘And they have done the same here?’
‘Certainly, my Lord Coroner. Someone in the service of Richard, King of England, was their catspaw. In a sense, their key to the treasure chamber. This is the enemy within.’
‘And who might that be?’ Anselm demanded.
Athelstan just shook his head.
‘Secondly,’ Ignacio continued, ‘the attack on you and the murder of Whitby? I suspect that – during the robbery – a potentially serious mistake was made.’
‘Yes yes,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Whitby maintained something was wrong. He spoke in parables. How their plainchant that morning had been sorely disturbed.’
‘And who would inform the Carbonari about what Whitby had said?’
‘God knows, Sir John.’ Ignacio shrugged. ‘Whitby could have been overheard. What he said relayed from one mouth to another. After all, I do understand that details about the robbery spread like a mist over the city. More to the point, the Carbonari and their associates realized that a mistake, whatever that might be, had been made. Consequently, Whitby and, indeed, anyone else such as yourselves who might fasten on that mistake, had to be silenced.’
‘They have not tried again.’
‘No, no, they won’t, Brother Athelstan, which means they have the treasure and are close to spiriting it away. They believe the danger you and others posed is receding. And that,’ Ignacio sighed, ‘is all I can say.’
The old friar gathered up his cloak. Both visitors got to their feet, as did Cranston and Athelstan, to clasp hands and exchange the kiss of peace.
‘Prior Anselm, Brother Ignacio, we are most grateful for your help.’
‘Sir John, it was our duty to inform you about what we suspect. We had to speak to you.’ Anselm sighed. ‘Let me know what happens.’
‘One thing,’ Athelstan declared. ‘Brother Ignacio, how do you know so much about the Carbonari?’
The old friar grinned, a boyish smile which made him look much younger.
‘Brother Athelstan, I know so much about the Carbonari because in my ill-spent youth, I was one of them.’ He chuckled. ‘Indeed, I know them better than they know themselves.’ Ignacio patted Athelstan on the shoulder. ‘Just be very careful. The Carbonari may have the treasure but they also know they are cornered. This is not their kingdom, their country. They must also be aware of you and Sir John closing fast. Swift and sure as hawks on the wing. If trapped, they will fight and it would be to the death.’ Ignacio sketched a blessing. ‘God be with you, Brother.’
PART SIX
‘Much more often I am compelled by greed.’
Brother Ignacio was correct. The Carbonari believed they had eluded the trap and were preparing for the end of their journey. The chosen ones, those skilled in the English tongue, gathered in a derelict woodman’s cottage deep in an ancient copse on the edge of Epping Forest. They had unhitched the two powerful dray horses which pulled their battered cart, which was carrying the treasure as well as a good store of weaponry and heavy sacks of hay. Indeed, they looked the part, garbed in soiled tattered jerkins, hose, cloaks and mud-splattered boots. Six of the Carbonari had been chosen for this perilous journey. Three rode on the cart, the rest trudged behind them. They had plotted well. It was a common enough sight to see peasants tramping from one holding to another, apparently bereft of anything of value except their horses and cart. However, these would be well protected by the swords, daggers and arbalests hidden away but easy to grab and wield. Outlaws, of course, would not dare to take on a party of six labourers. The wolfsheads who roam the lonely places hunted for more attractive quarry, some plump merchant or the occasional well-furnished pilgrim or tinker. The Carbonari had carefully mapped out their route, keeping to the lanes, farm tracks and coffin paths. At night, they would gather, as they did so now, in some derelict farmhouse or cottage. There were certainly enough of these since the Great Pestilence had swept the land some thirty years previously, wiping out entire communities in a matter of days. Ghostly, haunted places. The Carbonari were glad they had lit a fire, whilst the lanternhorns they carried on the cart also flared brightly. Light and fire kept the darkness at bay.
‘I’ll be glad to be out of here. We are going to the coast?’ one of the Carbonari asked their leader. ‘I just want to be away from the trees and empty fields.’
‘Of course we head for the coast. Others will soon join us,’ the leader replied. ‘God willing, we will reach an inlet known only to me. Once we do, we must wait for the Ludovico. When that arrives, we will all be safe.’ The leader stretched and pulled his cloak closer around him, staring into the leaping flames of the fire burning in the centre of the cottage floor.
‘Master Thibault will be beside himself with fury.’ Another of the group spoke up. ‘I heard all the gossip along the quayside. They say he is riding for a fall, and what a fall it will be!’
‘I’ve also heard,’ the leader retorted, throwing more dry bracken onto the fire, ‘that Thibault and his master face a veritable storm of problems, and it serves them right. As you know, he began this dance. The English Crown owes vast sums of money to the Bardi. We gave the English Crown generous loans in good faith. Since last autumn, we have been preparing to receive repayment in full. Indeed, we gave Gaunt more time due to the recent revolt, and what does he do? According to our spies, Thibault, like the snake he is, was preparing to lunge at the hand that fed him. We heard stories – received sound information –that when the gold was repaid and safely stowed on board the Ludovico, Thibault would strike. The Ludovico would have sailed out of London and, somewhere on the Northern Seas, be attacked by a small fleet of English cogs masquerading as pirates. They would attack, insist on the crew surrendering and so seize the gold.’
‘But he could do the same now.’
‘Could he?’ The leader mocked. ‘How does Thibault know we have the treasure? After all, it’s been robbed.’ He paused at the laughter of the others. ‘Moreover, Thibault has, due to the robbery, lost both power and influence. I do wonder if he has the authority to unleash some murderous venture by sea, an attack, my friends, which would be resolutely beaten off.’
‘How so?’ one of his companions asked.
‘When we reach the place we are journeying to,’ the leader replied enigmatically, ‘we have to wait for the Ludovico.’ He paused, scratching at his beard. ‘Listen now; it will not be coming alone. Our masters, who will join us soon, have hired Venetian carracks to escort the cog.’
Their leader’s announcement provoked cheers and clapping from the group.
‘Yet,’ another called out when the laughter subsided, ‘that great mountain of moving flesh Cranston, and his familiar Athelstan, could still check our plans. We should have killed them along with all those clerks when we had the chance. Remove anyone who could threaten us.’
‘I agree,’ the leader replied softly. ‘It’s now a race between us getting this treasure safely out of the kingdom and that little ferret of a friar, Brother Athelstan, closing with us fast and exploiting the mistakes which have been made …’
Cranston and Athelstan sat long after Prior Anselm and Ignacio had left.
‘Interesting,’ Cranston murmured. ‘An invitation to the sun-drenched vineyards of Italy. At this moment in time, a most attractive prospect.’
‘Come Jack,’ Athelstan teased. ‘Perhaps we will journey there and take Lady Maude and the poppets along with us. We could make such a journey when spring arrives and this business has finished.’
‘True, true,’ the coroner replied. ‘Indeed, we may have no choice but to go. Well, I am speaking about myself. A short stay away from this kingdom, or even longer, might be necessary.’
‘Sir John?’
‘The theft of the treasure is a most grievous blow to both Gaunt and Thibault for many reasons. Little Friar, Gaunt and Thibault could fall, and what a fall it would be! If they do, the net will be cast far and wide. Fingers will be pointed at any who Thibault favoured, and that includes us. No, no,’ Cranston held up a hand, ‘let us be honest. I know, you know, we know what we really think of our Master of Secrets. Nevertheless, because of our work trapping this murderer or that; because, on more than one occasion, we have saved him from acute embarrassment, Master Thibault has rewarded and patronized us both. Now you, my friend, cannot be touched. You are a priest, a cleric and a much-loved one. Both Holy Mother Church and your Order would give you every protection. I cannot say the same about myself. Oh yes, I know the role I act. Honest Jack! Blunt Jack! Jack who likes his beer, sups his ale and feasts on the softest meat and the best Bordeaux. Nimble Jack! Good old Jack! Rest assured, Athelstan, all that could change at the drop of a coin. I have enemies both in the Guildhall and at court. You know how they act, like a wolfpack beginning to stir. They’ll scent the air for prey. Some will want to settle old scores; others just love the hunt and the prospect of blood.’ Cranston’s face became harsher, leaner, even younger, his light blue eyes were not so merry. ‘I’ll have to protect Lady Maude and the poppets. Some of those lords at the Guildhall have about as much compassion as a fox on the hunt. In short, Brother, matters could turn very nasty.’
‘Perhaps not. Remember, Jack, you have friends, very powerful friends.’
‘Such as?’
‘First myself, and secondly the young King, who has, on more than one occasion, solemnly vowed his patronage and protection.’ Athelstan leaned over and squeezed Cranston’s hand. ‘This is Sir John Cranston, Lord High Coroner of London, who stood by his young King and single-handedly confronted Wat Tyler and his horde of rebels at Smithfield not so long ago. Young Richard may have many faults. He sees himself as God’s vicar on earth, and God help Gaunt when Richard comes of age. But you, Jack, he will never forget. You are his sworn man, and I believe one of Richard’s greatest virtues is that he has, he does, and he will, stand by his friends. Merry Jack, rest assured, if your enemies move, so will I.’
Cranston gazed at Athelstan in amazement then burst out laughing.
‘Sir John?’
‘I’d forgotten, little friar, how highly young Richard regards you. So,’ the coroner breathed out, ‘on the day of the great slaughter, when the strongholds fall, I will put all my trust in you, little friar. Very well, back to the business in hand!’
‘Jack.’ Athelstan peered at the coroner. ‘I believe Thibault intended to steal the treasure, but … wouldn’t that be obvious, if the English Exchequer suddenly received, as it were, a gift from God?’
