The hanging tree, p.5
The Hanging Tree, page 5
‘Oh Lord be thanked,’ he murmured.
‘Oh Lord help us, my Lord Coroner.’
‘What do we have here?’
Athelstan picked up the napkin and dabbed his lips. ‘We have, Sir John, a truly challenging mystery. Two locked, fortified doors, a spiral staircase made even more dangerous by trip cords. We have five fighting clerks. We have a treasure, bulky and heavy to carry, and yet the robber passes through those two doors like some disembodied spirit. They managed to float up those steps without tripping or alerting anyone. Sir John, they went up, then they came down. As for the clerks, they were fairly young men, skilled in arms, yet there is no sign of resistance. If someone attacked me, Sir John, you would come to my assistance. Nevertheless, there is not a shred of evidence to indicate any of those clerks defended either themselves or their comrades. All five appeared to have just sat there and almost welcomed a cruel death. One thing does bother me slightly.’
‘What’s that, little friar?’
‘We know about the doors, the steps and the clerks, but was there any other guard? After all, Flambard’s Tower stands in a lonely, desolate part of the royal precincts. If you leave the antechamber and turn left, there are the exchequer buildings; Flambard’s Tower stands in its own ground to the right. And that overlooks what? Common land? Indeed, something like God’s Acre at St Erconwald’s. An untilled and unused stretch of countryside, where only gorse, bramble, briar and other weeds prosper, along with the occasional copse of ancient oak or sycamore.’
‘I see what you mean, little friar, but what did you expect? A comitatus of men-at-arms camped out there? Mounted archers on constant patrol? But to what purpose? Anyone attacking the tower would soon alert the rest of the royal precincts, where you have soldiers enough. What’s the use of bringing an army against such a tower? At the end of the day, you have to get through those two doors, plunder whatever’s there and leave. No, no, placing some comitatus around Flambard would not make matters better, though I take your point, Athelstan. It wouldn’t hurt for a mounted patrol or some other cohort to be present and vigilant during the night watches. Ah well, what’s the use of speculating about that? The treasury was robbed and we are still faced with that question: what do we have here?’
PART TWO
‘I labour to fetch them in and not to punish vice or sin.’
Master Thibault asked the same a few hours later when Cranston and Athelstan met him, Signor Conteza and, in Cranston’s words, ‘Lord God Almighty, John of Gaunt, self-styled Regent of the kingdom’. They gathered in the council chamber of the Secret Seal, deep in the chancery mansion at Westminster. A cold, stark room, its whitewashed walls bereft of any ornament except for bleak black crosses, nailed on the walls either end of the chamber. A retainer, garbed in black and gold, served small beakers of chilled white wine and slices of buttered bread. Athelstan used the occasion to study those sitting across the highly polished chancery table.
Lord Gaunt looked very angry, his usual smooth, fair skin suffused with red spots of fury. The Regent kept clawing at his hair, golden as ripe corn, his eerie light blue eyes flitting, full red lips moving soundlessly. Athelstan couldn’t decide whether this Plantagenet Prince was praying or quietly cursing. Elegantly garbed in a gorgeous surcoat depicting the royal arms, his fingers and wrists festooned with jewelled rings and bracelets, Gaunt looked what he was: the master of the royal house which had just been plundered of its treasure. Thibault, garbed as usual in black from head to toe, looked his angelic self, his furious temper now carefully hidden, like the true Master of Secrets he proclaimed to be. Signor Conteza was swathed in a thick, heavy military cloak. From the moment they met, the banker constantly complained about the cold. He insisted that more braziers should be brought in, and extra logs thrown on the fire that was now raging in the black stone hearth. The Lombard’s face was harsh, sour and unforgiving. Athelstan suspected the banker had a heart of stone and a will of iron. Oh, Conteza would be full of sympathy for the plight of those who borrowed from him and his associates. Nevertheless, Conteza and his pack of wolves would still insist on repayment of every penny of their loan, and this must be sooner rather than later.
Once the servants had left and a guard had been set up outside, Master Thibault, bowing towards Gaunt, posed the question that Athelstan had. ‘What do we have here?’
A wall of silence greeted his question so he repeated it, pointing at Athelstan.
‘My Lord,’ the friar replied. ‘We have just been admitted to the place of murder. What can we say?’
‘Whatever you say is important. Therefore, whatever you have on your mind, say it. Yes, Sir John?’
‘Some questions first.’ The coroner leaned across the table. ‘The Exchequer of Coin is not like any other office of state. It gathers only when bullion, royal treasure, is being moved, yes? Quite a long process, which begins with gold and silver being taken to the Tower Mints, and so the journey begins, yes?’ Cranston simply pressed on, not waiting for an answer. ‘The Mint does its work; the coins are weighed, counted, and poured into small treasury bags, which are fastened with twine at the neck and sealed with a wax signet.’
‘That is correct,’ Thibault murmured.
‘Once ready, the money is taken and handed over to whoever it is intended for?’
‘Of course,’ Thibault snapped.
‘And this present business?’ Cranston demanded.
‘Oh, it’s been a few months in preparation,’ Thibault replied.
‘So,’ Athelstan intervened, ‘yesterday evening, the Clerks of the Dark arrived to take over from the Clerks of the Light. Magister Despencer received a set of four keys from you, Master Thibault?’
‘Of course. They always do and, before you ask, Brother Athelstan, each key is as unique as the lock it turns. There are three such sets. One for me, the other two being used on a daily or nightly basis by either Magister Beaumont or Despencer. They collect the keys at Prime or Vespers from me alone, then return them immediately once their horarium is complete.’
‘To you alone?’
‘As I have said, Brother Athelstan, to me alone.’
‘Nothing strange or out of the ordinary has occurred in or around the Exchequer of Coin?’
‘Nothing, Brother Athelstan, I assure you of that.’
‘So this morning Beaumont collected the keys from you? Oh, by the way …’ Athelstan opened the chancery satchel he had placed on the table. ‘I have Beaumont’s keys, Master Thibault. I will need them, yes?’ The master simply shrugged. ‘And these are the keys taken from Despencer.’ Athelstan plucked out a second set.
‘Note the royal arms on the head of the key,’ Gaunt rasped.
‘I have, my Lord.’
‘That means,’ Gaunt beat his fist against the table, ‘no copy can be made. Such an act would be treasonable.’
‘Treason or not,’ Athelstan retorted, ‘could it be done?’
‘No.’ Cranston picked up the keys, pointing to the teeth. ‘These are specially made by a skilled craftsman.’
‘I must inform you,’ Thibault said, ‘that we had the keys fashioned by a leading member of the Guild. He was supposed to destroy all drawings and anything to do with the fashioning of the twelve keys – three sets of four. It took months to complete. Our intention was to create perfect replicas, so each of the three sets could open the four locks. Unfortunately, our Key-Master did not destroy everything associated with this enterprise.’
‘And what happened?’ Athelstan’s curiosity was pricked. One of his parishioners, Crispin the Carpenter, had mentioned someone called Clement the Key-Master, surely? As a friend, kinsman or both? Was it this person?
‘That was years ago,’ Thibault continued. ‘We raided the Key-Master’s house and workshop.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Oh, some informant left a note with one of the guards of the Secret Chancery. A stark, simple message that the Key-Master was, perhaps, intending to make a fourth set, for he had certainly not destroyed everything.’
‘Oh yes, I heard about this.’ Cranston spoke up. ‘Yet it came to nothing surely?’
‘It came to nothing, my Lord Coroner.’ Thibault half smiled. ‘As I said, we ransacked Clement’s house and workshop. We found items he should have destroyed but nothing more. Clement fell from grace. It’s not really a matter for our present concern.’ Thibault jabbed a finger at Athelstan. ‘I tell you this, my good friar, keep safe the two sets of keys you have. One day,’ he breathed out noisily, ‘the treasure chamber will be used again. But not now.’ Thibault shook his head. ‘So, Brother Athelstan, tell us what you have learnt from our good clerks.’
‘According to Beaumont, the Clerks of the Light opened the first door, pulled at the bell rope and began their climb. On their slow way up, Beaumont carefully removed the trip cords stretched across each step.’
‘None of these had been cut or loosed?’
‘Apparently not. Beaumont and his companions reached the door to the treasure chamber. No one greeted them. No bell had been pealed in response to theirs. He unlocked the door and entered the treasury.’ Athelstan then emphasized his points on the fingers of his right hand. ‘All five clerks sat garrotted, each in their enclave, their flesh cold with a faint odour of putrefaction.’ Athelstan paused. ‘I believe the murders took place shortly after Despencer and his clerks arrived in the treasure chamber: this would explain why the food had barely been touched whilst their corpses had started to stink.’
‘And no other sign of violence?’
‘Apparently none whatsoever.’
‘No evidence of poison or some other noxious powder?’
‘No sign, though I have ordered every scrap of food and drink to be taken to the Guildhall for the most thorough scrutiny.’
‘Good, good,’ Thibault murmured.
‘And so?’ Gaunt demanded.
‘And so,’ Athelstan retorted, ‘we come to the heart of the mystery. The treasury chamber is formidably fortified, sealed by two heavy, reinforced doors, which can only be unlocked with special keys. No other obvious aperture exists. There are windows but these are heavily barred, sheeted with horn, and they manifest no sign of forced entry or violence. Then, of course, there’s the latrine.’ Athelstan waved a hand. ‘A stool closet, a garderobe, it houses nothing more than a narrow stone chute. I scrutinized that but have yet to inspect where the chute actually ends.’
‘In the cellar below,’ Thibault replied. ‘There’s a cesspit, a shit barrel. This is periodically taken away and replaced with another, all scrubbed and drenched with pinewood juice.’
‘Has it been replaced recently?’
‘In Heaven’s name,’ Thibault shouted, ‘I don’t know when shit buckets are emptied, but I will investigate as you,’ Thibault smirked, ‘must examine what’s there. Indeed, Sir John, Brother Athelstan, I thought you would have done that already.’
‘We will. We will,’ Athelstan replied softly, gently pressing a sandalled foot against the toe of Cranston’s boot. A reminder to the coroner not to be provoked or riled by men Cranston secretly despised.’
‘My Lord of Gaunt,’ Athelstan continued, ‘we plan to return to the treasury chamber, but in the meantime we must define the mystery confronting us. How did the assassin enter that chamber? Were doors deliberately left open? However, that would have been noticed, surely? One door perhaps, but two?’ Athelstan pulled a face. ‘How did the assassin climb those steps and not be tripped by the cords? If not going up, surely on his way down, carrying how many sacks?’
‘At least forty,’ Thibault wearily replied.
‘Someone may have had new keys fashioned,’ Gaunt murmured.
‘Impossible, my Lord,’ Thibault hurriedly whispered. ‘How could they, they would need the locks.’ Thibault rapped a fist against the tablecloth. ‘Never mind the doors, or the trip cords; all those killed were young, able-bodied clerks who served in the royal array.’
‘So they were soldiers, more than capable of defending themselves,’ Athelstan declared. ‘Yet there is nothing to demonstrate they offered the least resistance. How could it be done? So how could all five be killed so expertly without the others intervening?’
‘Could they have been poisoned beforehand?’
‘It’s possible, my Lord Gaunt,’ Cranston declared. ‘But we detected no sign of poison. No symptoms on their face. What I saw of the food and drink, I would say it was untainted but, of course, we will have to wait to establish that.’
‘And Beaumont and his comrades are trustworthy?’ Athelstan demanded.
‘Royal clerks,’ Thibault replied. ‘I trust them as much as I trust anyone. Indeed, once they had finished in the Exchequer of Coin, I was going to ask Beaumont and Despencer to investigate a string of murders committed across the city.’ He shrugged. ‘But that will have to wait. I shall come back to it.’ He smiled thinly. ‘We are going to need your help – Sir John, Brother Athelstan – to resolve this string of murders but, for the moment, let us concentrate on the present mayhem. Our treasure has been stolen,’ he continued flatly. ‘Sack after sack,’ Thibault swallowed hard, ‘of gold and silver coin. But how was it moved?’
‘They could have dropped it down the chute in the garderobe,’ Cranston offered.
‘But the bags must have been bulky,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘It would be so easy for one to become stuck, caught fast further down the chute. Even human waste can block a latrine. How it was moved is a further mystery.’
‘More importantly,’ Gaunt drew himself up, ‘we do not know who was responsible.’
‘I do,’ Conteza spat out.
‘In a while, signor,’ Thibault declared. ‘Let my lord finish.’
‘We do not know who or how,’ Gaunt declared. ‘A king’s treasure was taken and five royal clerks slaughtered in one of this kingdom’s most secure chambers, an arca in itself—’
‘As for the who,’ Conteza intervened, ‘I understand that sacks of spent charcoal were left? Some sort of mocking farewell? This raises the possibility that the Carbonari were involved in the robbery. Indeed, even responsible for it.’
‘What!’ Cranston declared. ‘Who in God’s name are the Carbonari?’
‘Charcoal burners,’ Athelstan declared. ‘That’s what Carbonari means, isn’t it, charcoal burners?’
‘And more, Brother Athelstan. The Carbonari are a secret,’ Conteza pulled a face, ‘or perhaps not so secret, society.’ Conteza shrugged. ‘They are a close-knit federation of Italian families, be it in Florence or Naples. Unlike other secret societies, they are not against church or state, prince or prelate. They are just thieves, expert and skilled in all kinds of robbery, and they are very proud of what they do. They would regard the plundering of the royal treasury chamber at Westminster as a great achievement. Two years ago, they raided the treasure house of the Knights Hospitallers in Venice. A year later, they plundered the Duke of Milan’s jewel house.’
‘And the dusty charcoal?’
‘Their insignia, their escutcheon. It symbolizes their so-called poverty, which compels them to steal from the rich.’ Conteza wiped his lips on the back of his hand. ‘They are no poorer than I am. They are certainly much richer this morning. The Carbonari have struck again, I am sure of it.’
‘But they are far from Italy,’ Athelstan protested. ‘Are you saying the Carbonari would cross land and sea to rob this kingdom’s secure treasury? To make such a journey is challenging enough. Moreover, as you have just pointed out, there are enough palaces in Italy to keep them plundering for many a day.’
‘No, no.’ Conteza plucked at a hair on his costly jerkin. ‘I am a banker, Brother Athelstan, but I could also be a member of the Carbonari.’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘I am not, but remember how many of us Italians – what you call money men – live along your Lombard Street in this city. A great number of households; families, together with their servants and retainers, not to mention the crews of our ships, berthed along London’s quayside. We Italians flow in and out of this kingdom. For God’s sake, Brother Athelstan, we even have a street named after us, a part of the city retained for our banking activities. A good many of our merchant bankers are powerful lords. They have large retinues, many of them fighting men.’
‘In other words, there are hundreds of possible suspects amongst the Lombard community here in London?’
‘In truth yes, Brother Athelstan. Indeed, I do assure you, we will keep a sharp eye out and an open ear for any evidence which might suggest that the perpetrators of this murderous mystery are members of our community.’
‘Master Thibault.’ Cranston made to bring the wineskin from his cloak but thought again when Athelstan nudged him.
‘Sir John?’
‘All the details of the robbery are being voiced along the streets by tale-tellers, heralds of the alleyway, ballad-mongers and the rest. Meanwhile beadles and bailiffs are making careful search for anyone offering freshly minted silver or gold coin. Is it wise? I mean, such publicity?’
‘News of the robbery is all over the city, Sir John. You know how these things play out – servitors, servants, retainers, guards.’ Thibault pulled a face. ‘They will get to know anyway. We have described what happened, be it the wealth taken or the sacks of charcoal left. Anyway,’ Thibault drew a deep breath, ‘what more is there to say? Sir John, we have to alert the city, the merchants of Cheapside and others. A great robbery has taken place, and I hope, I pray, that the perpetrators, or at least one of them, makes a mistake. Gold and silver coin carry their own message.’ He smiled. ‘Spend me!’
‘There is little more we can say about the robbery,’ Athelstan agreed. ‘At this moment on God’s good candle, we can do nothing but question and search. Which means we have to return to the treasury probably time and again.’ Athelstan paused and stared up at the ceiling. He was tempted to ask about whether there had been other guards and, if there had been, why hadn’t Thibault mentioned them? Athelstan decided to leave that for the moment, however, as other matters were more immediate.
