The hanging tree, p.24
The Hanging Tree, page 24
More good news followed. Master Thibault now controlled the Exchequer, promising that all the Crown’s debts would be paid, that they would disappear like smoke in the wind or wax before the fire. On his return to the Guildhall, Sir John had discovered the same. All the great and good of London were now a choir singing of the Master of Secret’s prowess; the Commons had openly declared themselves delighted, all chatter about impeachment faded. Indeed, there were rumours that Master Thibault might be given one honour after another. Festivities and banquets were being arranged at both Westminster and the Guildhall and, of course, the guest of honour would be Master Thibault, henchman of my Lord of Gaunt. Even in Athelstan’s own parish where everything else was peaceful, the likes of Watkins and Pike had seized on the good news, as indeed they would do anything to celebrate and rejoice in The Piebald. At the same time, however, Thibault was also busy exerting his authority, summoning people to task and enforcing decisions. Both Cranston and Athelstan had received curt messages demanding that the mystery surrounding the murder of London’s hangmen be resolved.
‘Well it’s going to be …’ Athelstan whispered to himself. He walked back to scrutinize the corpses, almost oblivious to Cranston and the Fisher of Men talking in hushed tones. The friar leaned down and studied the bruised, bloody, jagged necks. He tried to impose order, a logical sequence of events and, as he did so, talked quickly to himself.
‘Brother Athelstan, Brother Athelstan.’ The friar peered up at Sir John, who was gently shaking him by the shoulder. ‘Brother Athelstan, the hangman has arrived.’
‘Oh yes, yes of course. Please ask him to join us, Sir John.’
The coroner did so and the hangman strode in; he immediately knelt before Athelstan.
‘Father,’ he murmured, ‘your blessing.’
‘Gladly my friend.’ Athelstan blessed the hangman who then got up, his light blue eyes watchful.
‘I have been away, Father. I was visiting the grave of my wife and children in that little churchyard outside Rochester on the Canterbury Road.’
‘Of course.’
‘Father, I came back this morning, just after you’d left to join Sir John. Benedicta said you wanted to see me, that it was urgent?’
Athelstan opened his wallet and handed over the letter Bloxhall had sent him, Benedicta had held this until Athelstan’s return to St Erconwald’s. The hangman opened it and read the message, lips soundlessly moving as he spelled out the words. The hangman then thrust it back into the friar’s hands.
‘Lies,’ he declared. ‘Lies, all lies and, by the way, I have heard the same. I have just visited my wife’s grave, wept tears over her and my children, that’s my true home. I know who I am, Father, I am a stranger here.’
‘Not to me.’
‘Thank you, Father, I just wish others would share your charity. I look eerie, I act strangely. I once heard you give a homily, Father, on the scapegoat, and I thought of myself. Well of course, I do understand it. I was in the taproom of The Hanging Tree when Bloxham’s comrade Whitby was slain. People asked if that was a coincidence? Such gossip is only fanned by jealously from the Guild. Sir John, you know how the sheriffs wish to hire me as opposed to others.’ The Hangman smiled. ‘People might even say how it is strange that I have never been attacked.’
‘They could say the same of others.’
‘True, Brother Athelstan, I would also add that I very rarely visit The Hanging Tree. I have little, if anything, to do with the other hangmen.’
‘So why do you think Bloxhall wrote that?’ Cranston asked.
‘Sir John, there’s gossip in the taproom of The Hanging Tree as there is in every tavern and alehouse across London. Gossip, gossip, gossip! It thrives like weeds in a field. I am a hangman, a most skilled one. What Bloxhall says simply reflects some people’s nasty tongues. Look at Bloxhall, trying to mitigate the disgrace he and his comrades suffered after the great robbery.’ The hangman cleared his throat. ‘But above all, they do not understand, they do not realize …’
‘What?’
‘Brother Athelstan, I am a hangman. I execute felons mercilessly and swiftly.’
‘I would certainly agree with that.’
‘Thank you, my Lord Coroner. What you do not know is I cannot stab another human being.’ He shook his head. ‘Hanging is simple. You thrust the hood on, you push the condemned up the ladder, down I come. I twist the ladder and the condemned man or woman falls like a stone and their neck is snapped as easily as you would a twig. However, that is very different from using the knife. To hold someone close, as you would a lover, only to cut the very life breath out of them. No, no,’ the hangman waved a gauntleted hand, ‘Brother Athelstan, Sir John, for many reasons, you must believe my innocence in those murders. I have simply informed you of one more.’
‘Oh we do, we do.’ Athelstan leaned over and squeezed the hangman’s wrist. ‘Pax et bonum, my friend. I know your soul. I just wanted to hear your response. No, that’s not the full truth. We are also going to need your services. Now my friends,’ Athelstan pointed to the Hangman and Fisher of Men, ‘what I am going to say is part of a story, a deadly tale. I am talking sub rosa, so what I say is highly confidential.’ Athelstan cleared his throat and pointed at the corpses. ‘One is Adrian Bloxhall, the other is Ralph Calpurne, both royal clerks, both caught up in the dire events following the great robbery at Westminster. They were released along with Beaumont, the real sinner. Beaumont was invited to the Tower where he was trapped into compliance with us. Now I call Beaumont a real sinner and he was. A killer to his very marrow. He was determined, absolutely determined, to flee this kingdom and create a new life in the sun-drenched valleys of Northern Italy. God knows when this rottenness appeared, what truly motivated him. However, let me make it very clear: Beaumont’s involvement was crucial to Conteza’s plot. If Beaumont had not cooperated, I doubt very much that the robbery would have even been planned. Now Beaumont demanded a high price.’
Athelstan paused to sip from the beaker of water that the Fisher of Men thrust into his hand. ‘I’m sure some of the treasure would have been given to him in order for him to resurrect a new life hundreds of miles away from here. Beaumont used the Carbonari to deal with any threat, either to himself or the robbery. However, he demanded more. He wanted people to think that he had died. So, part of his cooperation with Conteza was that when he and the others were released, they should make it look as if Beaumont had been murdered, along with Bloxhall and Calpurne: seized, beheaded, their remains flung into the Thames.’ Athelstan leaned down and touched one of the corpses. ‘Master Thibault released three men, Beaumont was seized as soon as he entered the Tower, Calpurne and Bloxhall were allowed back to their lodgings and their old way of life. Now remember, Conteza did not realize Beaumont had been seized until he reached St Osyth. Of course, by then it was too late to change arrangements. Indeed, it was too late for anything. Conteza had promised Beaumont that the two remaining clerks, Calpurne and Bloxham, would be murdered, but evidence would be left on one of the corpses to suggest that it was the cadaver of Master Henry Beaumont.’
‘Which explains, does it not,’ Cranston intervened, ‘why their heads were removed. I am sure they were tossed into a weighted sack and now lie rotting at the bottom of the Thames.’
‘I agree,’ the Fisher intervened. ‘Because the heads were removed, we would label each cadaver according to the information found on them.’
‘And what about Calpurne?’ the hangman demanded.
‘Oh, I am sure people would think he had been murdered as well. After all, some corpses are never found. To all intents and purposes,’ Athelstan continued, ‘Henry Beaumont of Colchester simply ceased to exist. Unbeknown to anyone, he would board the Ludovico and sail south to his new life of wealth and ease.’ Athelstan smiled thinly. ‘On one matter, my good teacher Brother Ignacio was wrong – perhaps matters have changed over the years. The Carbonari will kill and kill again to protect their interests and further their plans. They sent two of their men to Galliard with those coins proclaiming that the treasure must be somewhere in London. They whetted the appetite of the riffler captains and gave false information about Genova and his cog the Serafino, who paid a most terrible price. The Carbonari didn’t care; the chaos and confusion only deepened. Oh yes, they are Murder’s own sons.’
‘Do you think,’ Cranston asked, ‘that Conteza will let Beaumont live?’
‘Oh Sir John, I agree thieves turn on each other, but there’s every possibility that Beaumont would be allowed to profit from his wickedness. Bloxhall and Calpurne are dead. Beaumont would also want that for another reason. You see, Whitby, and I am sure Crossley, began to think, to reflect and to remember. Sir John and I reached certain conclusions – maybe those remaining clerks might, in the months – even years – ahead, reflect and recall things. They might emerge as a real threat to Beaumont and Conteza, so their murder was a logical conclusion to the benefit of men who would kill for their own profit.’ Athelstan fell silent. He was tired, weary.
Cranston opened his wallet and shook two coins out onto the table.
‘My friend,’ he pointed to the Fisher of Men, ‘give these two unfortunates honourable burial. Arrange for some priest to sing the requiem. Brother Athelstan, are we finished here?’
‘I think we are, Sir John, and I will pray for all the dead, nine clerks; nine royal clerks, slaughtered. I am sure in the months ahead, Master Thibault will make his displeasure known to the Bardi. However, we have more pressing business. My friend,’ Athelstan plucked at the hangman’s jerkin, ‘we need your presence, perhaps your skill.’
‘Brother for where, for what?’
‘The Hanging Tree. It’s time other demons were brought to judgement.’
Athelstan reflected on these words hours later as, sitting beside Cranston, he stared at the two individuals the coroner had summoned to this summary Court of Oyer et Terminer in the taproom of The Hanging Tree. Both Mine Host and his wife Isabella looked highly nervous. The tavern had been closed, the taproom emptied except for Cranston, Athelstan, the accused and Master Flaxwith with three of his bailiffs.
‘This is a lawful inquisition into an unlawful killing,’ Cranston began. ‘In your case,’ the coroner thundered, ‘more than one such killing.’
‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan, we have just been summoned. Tiptoft served the writ immediately after the Angelus. We have had no time to prepare our defence.’
‘Do you need a defence?’ Athelstan countered. ‘This is only an inquisition. If you are innocent you could be back to serving ale by Vespers.’
‘And who brings the indictment?’
‘I do,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘And I admit this indictment has not yet been proved but if it is, you must know that you are subject to summary judgement. So.’ Athelstan picked up a sheet of parchment. ‘You, Isabella Penon, were the sole and only child of your parents, who owned The Hanging Tree tavern. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘You married Columba, son of Clement the Key-Master?’
‘Yes I did.’
‘Now Clement the Key-Master fell from grace in a most spectacular manner. He had fashioned four unique locks with special keys for the royal treasury at Westminster. Clement, a royal appointment, had promised, even sworn, that all documentation and anything else used in the fashioning of those keys and locks would be destroyed. Clement, for God knows what reason, did not do this. I suspect he simply forgot. He was careless. Other people were not, and somebody informed Master Thibault and the Exchequer about this serious lapse. Clement’s house and workshop were raided and the evidence found. Clement was disgraced in the eyes of everyone: the court, the city and the Guild.’
‘We know this,’ Isabella stammered.
‘Of course you do. I suspect you, mistress, informed the authorities about Clement. No, no,’ Athelstan raised a hand, ‘don’t object.’
‘I do object. Why should I do that? Why?’ Her voice rose. ‘I was Clement’s daughter-in-law, I had married his son, my beloved Columba. I was part of the family. I had no reason to do that.’
‘That’s what protected you.’ Athelstan retorted. ‘People would say you had no motive for such a betrayal, a few may even describe what you did as part of your civic duty. It must have been you, mistress. A Key-Master’s workshop is carefully guarded, but you knew exactly what Clement had done and where the evidence could be found. Who knows, you may have learnt something, though unwittingly, from Clement or Columba. Anyway, the real reason for your betrayal was a hidden secret. At the time, you just hoped both father and son would be caught and punished vigorously. I understand Clement and Columba were mentioned in the information given. However, in the end the family’s only punishment, because of their former good service, was nothing more than disgrace and destitution. You must have been surprised at such leniency?’
‘I loved Columba.’
‘Perhaps you once did, until you met the strapping Robert here and both of you were swept up in illicit lust.’
‘Nonsense,’ Mine Host shouted, making to rise then changing his mind as Flaxwith stepped forward and his mastiff Samson growled threateningly.
‘It’s the truth, mistress,’ Athelstan continued. ‘You were tired of Clement, tired of Columba and, after their fall, matters only grew worse. Both men were broken. Clement was publicly disgraced and Columba tarred with the same brush. For all I know he may have even mistakenly blamed himself for his father’s disgrace. I doubt whether either man would think of blaming you.’ Athelstan drew a deep breath. ‘You became impatient, desperate to see the back of your husband and his moody ways, his absorption with the past and his father’s failures. You, Isabella, were gravely smitten with Mine Host here. Perhaps even before Columba’s disappearance, you were playing the two-backed beast with your lover.’
‘Never, we did no wrong.’
‘Aye, but you certainly did no right.’ Athelstan tried to maintain his temper. ‘You decided enough was enough. Clement and Columba were disgraced. You, mistress, regarded them as a millstone around your neck, so you both plotted murder. You eventually carried it out where, I believe, you perpetrated other abominations.’
‘This is—’
‘The truth, Master Taverner. God’s own truth. Oh, by the way, you may soon hear sounds from your large cavernous cellar.’
‘Oh my God no!’ Isabella moaned.
‘Oh my God yes,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Some of Master Flaxwith’s bailiffs are supervising a group of men who have their orders—’
‘My orders,’ Cranston interrupted, quietly marvelling at the sheer speed of Athelstan’s attack.
They had arrived at the tavern around the time of the Angelus bell. Cranston, at Athelstan’s behest, had confined Mine Host, his wife and household whilst he ordered a thorough scrutiny of the place. Secretly Athelstan must have also given orders to the leader of the labourers to dig as well as to search. Cranston turned in his chair to stare at the little friar, now fully absorbed as he pored over his sheets of parchment. Athelstan had outlined his indictment earlier. Cranston had asked about evidence but Athelstan had countered with the enigmatic reply, ‘The dead would rise to indict the living.’ Cranston now understood what the friar meant; this precious pair sitting opposite him would be condemned by their own house.
‘Oh yes, my Lord Coroner’s orders. To continue the indictment.’ Athelstan raised his head and pointed at the accused. ‘You lured Columba down to the cellars beneath this tavern. You murdered him, then buried his corpse somewhere in that unholy crypt. You then cleared away all his personal items so it would appear that Columba had finally broken and fled. Time passed. No one could prove otherwise so you were left to revel in your sins.’ Athelstan paused to collect his thoughts. ‘The years roll by. Columba has disappeared completely from hearts and minds, except for that of his poor father. Now Clement of course drifted back to this tavern and you made a most dreadful mistake, or eventually you did. The Hanging Tree is an ancient hostelry. I’ve been down to its cellar; it’s sprawling, with a path leading down into the darkness. You probably hired Clement as a temporary cellar man. Perhaps you gave him some menial tasks to do but, of course, that cellar is a death pit, isn’t it? It houses so many mysteries and murders.’
‘What do you mean? If I had anything to hide in that cellar, why would I let anyone go down there?’
‘Because if you didn’t, that would raise suspicion, alert people to the possibility that something was wrong. Oh no,’ Athelstan shook his head, ‘at the time you were not frightened of any gruesome or grisly discovery. Anyway, you were wrong, because Clement took to wandering the cellar and discovered something deeply disturbing.’
‘What?’ the taverner shouted. ‘What did he find?’
‘This.’ Athelstan bent down, opened his chancery satchel and held up the Walsingham, turning it to catch the light. The taverner just gaped whilst his wife put her face in her hands. ‘Clement found this,’ Athelstan declared softly. ‘We discovered it on him whilst we were preparing his corpse for burial.’
‘A statuette, a pilgrim’s gift,’ Mine Host yelled.
‘Ah yes, but a special one. Eh Isabella? Columba took this everywhere, didn’t he? He had a deep devotion to the Shrine of Walsingham. Didn’t he?’ Athelstan insisted harshly. ‘Didn’t he?’ He shouted so his voice echoed around the taproom. Isabella reluctantly murmured her agreement.
‘Finding this,’ Athelstan declared, ‘transformed Clement. He knew Columba would never have gone anywhere without this statuette, what he called “the Walsingham”. Clement began to talk about his son’s disappearance. Only the good Lord knows what he reflected on.’
