The Relic Murders (16 page)
'It's begun,' he announced. 'The news that the Orb has gone is already having effect. Sir Hubert Berkeley is missing from his shop. Apparently, he left last night and has not been seen since. Moreover, yesterday evening, a well-known seller of relics, Walter Henley, visited a chamber in the Rose and Crown tavern. He met a stranger, cowled and hooded. They went upstairs to the chamber, and the landlord took up a tray of food and drink. Henley was heard laughing. The stranger then left. They thought Henley was staying the night but a servant maid, going round to check the candles, noticed a pool of blood seeping out under the door. When the landlord opened it, Henley was found with his throat slit from ear to ear.' He breathed in. 'Since the Orb has disappeared, my men have had their eye on the likes of Henley.'
Egremont got to his feet, indicating Cornelius to join him.
'These are matters for you,' he declared. He put his bonnet on his head and looked even more like a falcon on its perch. 'If the King of England cannot protect his treasures, and those of other princes, against outlaws and cutthroats, if he cannot rule his own city, let alone his kingdom, how, in heaven's name, can he take armies abroad?'
And, before any of us could reply, he and Cornelius swept out of the room. Benjamin immediately got to his feet, beckoning me to follow, and went out into the gallery.
'Master Cornelius, a word, if you please?'
The Noctale came back.
'You do want the return of the Orb?' Benjamin asked. 'Of course.' Cornelius's eyes were as hard as flint 'And you will agree that we have been as honest and as open with you as possible?'
Cornelius pulled a face. 'So it would appear.'
'But you, Master Cornelius, have not been so open with us!'
The Noctale's eyes widened.
'Every day,' Benjamin continued, 'you took the cooks into the manor and at six o'clock collected them again, locking and unlocking the front door, yes?'
Cornelius's face creased into a suspicion of a smile as if he knew what my master was going to ask.
'Now Jonathan would show the cooks into the house and out, yes? And, while you stood at the door, Master Cornelius, you must have asked for a report, if anything was wrong or amiss?'
Cornelius opened his mouth.
'Of course,' Benjamin continued. 'You might say that Jonathan had nothing to report, but that wouldn't be true, would it? Come with me!'
Benjamin took him down the passageway. Cornelius, ignoring Egremont's shouts, followed Benjamin and myself into the parlour where the corpses had lain. The weapons of the dead soldiers had been stacked against the wall. Most of them were gone but
Benjamin opened a chest and took out a quiver and a long bow.
'I noticed this,' he said. 'Count the arrows here. There are only six. However, in the other quivers, there were at least a baker's dozen. Now in the attack, only a dagger and arbalest were used, never a long bow.'
'So?' Cornelius asked in mock innocence.
'The English archers were put here by Kempe,' Benjamin replied. 'Jonathan would not have trusted them. He would have kept them under close watch. Now, the manor is well guarded from the front but, on both sides, it looks out beyond the walls to wild heathland.'
Cornelius threw his head back and laughed.
'Master Daunbey, if you ever wish to leave England, you will find employment with my master, His Most August Imperial Highness. You are sharper than you look. I'll be honest with you. Jonathan was suspicious, particularly of Kempe's archers. He believed that one of these archers was communicating with Sir Thomas by sending messages wrapped round the end of one of his arrows. Your English archers and their long bows are famous. A master bowman could send an arrow out across the walls, aiming at a certain tree or other pre-arranged landmark.'
'Why should Kempe want information?'
'I don't know,' Cornelius replied. 'But if Sir Thomas Kempe is going to watch us, I assure you, we will watch him.'
And, patting Benjamin on the shoulder, Cornelius went out to where Lord Egremont waited.
'You never told me about that?' I said, pointing to the quiver.
Benjamin put it back in the chest.
'It's one of the first things I noticed. What intrigued me about all this, Roger, is that there was no sign of a struggle, so a half-empty quiver soon caught my attention.'
'What is Kempe up to?' I asked.
'That,' Benjamin replied, 'like the rest of the mystery, remains to be seen.'
'What are you whispering about?' Kempe stood in the doorway.
'About the subtleties of life,' Benjamin replied enigmatically. 'Sir Thomas, this relic-seller?'
'His corpse is still at the Rose and Crown,' Kempe replied. 'We would like to see it.'
'And see it you shall.' Agrippa came out into the hallway, hat on his head, eyes twinkling.
I went and opened the door, to see that Egremont, Cornelius and their entourage were now sweeping through the gatehouse.
'What has happened to Lady Isabella's remains?' I asked.
'The Friar Minoresses at St Mary of Bethlehem have agreed to inter her remains,' Kempe replied. 'The archers and Noctales are to be buried in Charterhouse. The King has agreed to give grants to their relatives.'
'And the Orb?' I asked. 'The replica?'
'Safely stowed away,' Kempe replied.
I stared at this most secret servant of the King's. Why should one of his archers send messages to him? Was he involved in this knavery? Was the Great Beast's rage genuine? But if Kempe had stolen the Orb, to whom would he sell it? Some merchant who would pay a fortune to have it hidden in his vaults? Or some foreign power? The French? Or even the Papacy?
'You mentioned Sir Hubert Berkeley?' Benjamin declared. 'You said he was missing?'
'Left his home last night,' Kempe replied. 'Slipped out through an alleyway. He told no one where he was going or when he would be back. By dawn this morning his master jour
neyman,
alarmed at his master's prolonged absence, sent word to the court.'
'Could he be involved in this mischief?' I asked.
'God knows,' Benjamin replied before Kempe could. 'But, come, let's view the mortal remains of Walter Henley.'
We gathered our horses. Benjamin himself locked up the manor and the gates. Kempe promised he would send some of the men to guard it as well as our few paltry possessions stowed away in the gatehouse. Castor also stayed, and I promised him that I would return with some sweetmeats. The dog just looked mournfully at me as I locked him in our room before going down to join the rest. Kempe informed us the Rose and Crown was just opposite the Priory of St Helen's, within sight of Cripplegate.
Benjamin, however, insisted on taking a detour and we stopped for a while at Master Oswald's cookshop. Benjamin threw the reins of his horse at me and went inside. It looked a cheerful, busy place, the ground floor of a three-storey house. The smells made my mouth water; I was tired of the dried meat and rather stale food at Malevel, so I went inside and bought a pie from a tray held by a boy. The crust was golden, carefully sculpted, and the meat was fresh and sweet. As I ate, a memory was jogged but I couldn't place it. I looked down towards the back of the shop, past the tables where customers sat on overturned barrels or hogsheads, to where Benjamin was busily talking to Oswald and Imelda. He was asking them questions, They replied quickly. After a while Benjamin shook their hands and came back to join me.
'Well, master?'
'One thing I have established, Roger. On the night all those men were killed, our good cooks roasted some meat and set the table. They are certain that Jonathan did not order the soldiers to clean up after the evening meal, which is strange, isn't it? Because, on the night they were all ma
ssacred, someone cleaned up the
kitchen and removed all traces of the food and drink?' 'You mean the assassins?'
'Possibly.' Benjamin grimaced. 'But, there again, it may have been a mere coincidence. Imelda did say Jonathan was complaining about mice and the need to keep the kitchen clean.'
'Then you have an answer,' I replied.
'Of sorts,' Benjamin declared. 'But we'll see, we'll see.'
We went out to join the other two. Kempe was waiting impatiently but Agrippa looked as if he was half asleep. When we had first arrived in the city, the market stalls were only just opening but now the crowds were milling about. I was glad to be out of Malevel Manor with its corpses, bloody mysteries and moonlit galleries. We had to dismount and walk our horses, and I fell behind watching a group of Lacrymosi. These belonged to a strange cult, men as well as women, who shaved the top part of their heads, painted their faces red and dressed from head to toe in brown serge cloth tied round the middle by a cord. They carried staves in one hand and Ave beads in the other: before Henry struck against Rome, they could often be seen in the great cities from Dover to Berwick. Their leader always bore a cross and they got their names because they were constantly crying -shrieking would be the more accurate description. They would throw their hands up in the air, mournfully exclaiming about their sins and those of others. This group of about sixteen helped the tears along by hitting each other with knotted ropes. An amusing set of noddle pates! Behind them a blind boy, his eyes covered in patches, beat on a drum whilst beside him two little girls, obviously the daughters of one of the Lacrymosi, held out begging bowls towards the crowds. I watched them pass. Benjamin called at me to keep up, and as I hurried to do so, I saw a shift in the crowd. Cerberus, Charon's dog-faced lieutenant, stood glaring at me. Apparently, Lord Charon had not forgotten me and, once again, I wondered if those deaths at Malevel Manor were his work.
At last we reached the Rose and Crown, a pleasant hostelry which stood fronting an alleyway. We left the horses with a groom and went inside. Mine host took one look at Sir Thomas's ermine-lined jerkin and came running up, his face bright at the prospect of profit.
'Some wine, my lords? A dish of meat, your Excellencies?' 'Shut up!' Kempe retorted. 'I want to see the corpse. You have not moved it, have you?' The landlord's smile faded.
'It's on the upper gallery,' the fellow whined. 'A soldier still stands on guard.'
He led us up the rickety staircase; halfway down the gallery, an archer lounged against the wall, chewing a piece of sausage. He clambered to his feet, licking his fingers as he recognised Sir Thomas. Mine host, taking a bunch of keys from his belt, unlocked the door. The room inside was no more than a garret, containing a trestle bed, a rather shaky lavarium with a cracked bowl and jug, a bench under the windows, a small table and two stools. The corpse lay just within the door, covered by a dirty blanket. Kempe pulled this back.
Henley had been no beauty in life. In death his fat face, with its popping eyes, half-open, slobbering lips and the angry red gash in his throat made him look grotesque. Agrippa, as if bored, went and sat on the bed, playing with a buckle on his belt. Kempe looked down at the corpse and turned away in disgust at the flies hovering over a pool of blood. I felt for the man's wallet but there was nothing there.
'I didn't take it,' the landlord bleated from where he stood in the doorway.
Of course the thieving magpie had, but he wasn't going to admit it to us, was he?
Tell us what happened?' Benjamin straightened up. He pulled the landlord inside the chamber by his jerkin.
The landlord wetted his li
ps, blinking as he considered whether to lie or not.
'Tell us the truth,' Benjamin said, 'and you can keep what you took from him. His coins, his rings: I also see the knife sheath on his belt is empty. You could hang for such thefts.'
'He arrived here just after Vespers,' the landlord replied in a rush. 'He hired a chamber, a jug of wine and two cups. A short while later a stranger entered the room.'
"What did he look like?'
'I am a busy man, not the parish constable,' the landlord whined. 'I saw a cowl and a hood: the lower half of his face was masked. His voice was gruff. He asked me where Henley was, and one of the scullions took him up. A short while later a message was sent down asking for a pure beeswax candle.'
'Pure beeswax?' Benjamin asked.
'Yes.'
'But they had a candle in here already.' I pointed to the fat tallow sitting in its own grease in a small earthenware bowl.
'Look, I own a tavern. Some people like tallow candles. Others don't. I made a good profit from selling beeswax, so I sent it up. Afterwards, one of the maids,' the fellow smirked, 'was serving one of the customers in the adjoining chamber. Anyway, she heard Henley laugh, a deep-throated bellow as if his companion had told him an amusing story. A short while later the stranger left.