Paul Doherty - The Mysterium

‘Of course.’ Staunton snapped his fingers, and Blandeford leaned down and picked up a small sack. He handed this to Corbett, who undid the knot at the neck and emptied the contents on to the table. The scraps of parchment were all about the same size. The vellum was of poor quality; the writing was large, in dark blue ink. Corbett sifted amongst them even as he realised they could have been written by any scribe, scribbler or clerk at the chancery. Nevertheless the information they contained was striking: allegations that on this indictment or that, Lord Walter Evesham had shown great favour to either Waldene or Hubert the Monk, members of their gangs being released without charge or trial. Corbett quickly calculated that there must be at least ten or twelve such pieces of parchment. Most contained the same kind of information, with names and dates. He organised them into a pile and, ignoring Staunton’s protests, gave them over to Ranulf, who was busy transcribing Corbett’s questions and the answers he received. Ranulf picked up an empty bag off the floor, put the documents in it, tied it securely and placed it in a coffer on the small table beside him. Staunton made to protest.

‘Don’t.’ Corbett lifted a hand. ‘My lord, you know the law. This is a commission of oyer and terminer. I will take whatever evidence I require.’

‘You will return them?’

‘When I have finished.’ Corbett lifted his arms and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair. ‘Of course you received more information.’ He held out a hand. ‘I will have that too.’

Again Staunton nodded, and Blandeford handed over more scraps of parchment. These were different, providing the times and dates of nocturnal meetings between Walter Evesham and the two gang leaders at Evesham’s mansion in Clothiers Lane. Corbett studied them sifting amongst them.

‘At first we couldn’t believe it,’ Staunton murmured, ‘but then we brought the information to the King. We organised a watch and, as you know, entered Walter Evesham’s house and found him deep in conversation with the two riffler leaders. There was the question of gold that had been stolen from the mint. The King decided that Evesham, Waldene and Hubert the Monk should be committed for trial. He hoped to execute all three as a warning to the rest. Evesham threw himself on the King’s mercy. He promised a full confession that would detail everything.’

‘Did you get one?’ asked Ranulf.

‘No, Evesham’s murder ended all that. However,’ Staunton sighed, ‘the information at least gave us the power to arrest and detain Waldene and Hubert’s gangs. We thought it best to keep the leaders separate from their followers. They were all placed in Newgate and would have later gone on trial in Westminster Hall, but of course, Evesham’s murder frustrated all this. His detailed confession would have been vital, but once he was dead, the King had no choice but to free the two gang leaders.’ Staunton shrugged. ‘Ostensibly they had done no wrong. Evesham was holding the stolen gold; there was no evidence linking them to it. They maintained the pretence that they had been summoned by Evesham to his house, and how could they refuse the King’s chief justice?’

‘Yes, yes, I understand all that,’ Corbett waved his hand, ‘but this Land of Cockaigne? Do you know its author, the spy who gave you such information?’

‘Sir Hugh, if we did, we would tell you.’

‘But you do have other information?’ Corbett insisted. ‘Waiting outside is the clerk who rejoices in the name of Lapwing as well as a string of other aliases as long as anyone’s arm.’ He paused as Staunton shifted uneasily in his seat.

‘My lord,’ Corbett sighed, ‘am I to drag it out from you word for word, letter by letter? Lapwing is your man, isn’t he? You are on oath.’

Staunton glanced at Blandeford, who simply stared down at his hands.

‘Answer the question.’ Ranulf lifted his head. ‘My lord, I am waiting for your answer, an answer that is on oath.’

‘There is no need to talk to me like that, clerk.’

‘There’s every need,’ Corbett replied. ‘We are not here to while away the time. I want the truth. The man known as Lapwing is a beneficed clerk. He knows Latin and Norman French. He is well dressed, courteous and educated. He is or was your spy. Yes or no?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then tell me about him. I want the truth.’ Corbett rapped the table. ‘He was caught in the company of those at St Botulph’s who were tried and executed as traitors and felons, and produced a writ signed by the King saying that what the bearer of that document had done, he had done for the good of the kingdom and the welfare of the Crown. That document was witnessed by both of you. So, we have Lapwing, who is your man, yes or no?’

‘I have said yes.’

‘And what is his real name? What is his provenance?’

Staunton closed his eyes and sighed.

‘Answer!’ Ranulf demanded sharply.

The judge opened his eyes and glared at Ranulf across the table.

‘I shall remember you, sir.’

‘And I shall not forget you, sir. Please answer.’

‘Do so,’ Corbett murmured, ‘for the love of God, either here, or I can have the men-at-arms outside put you in chains. We shall then go to the King’s palace at Sheen, where this mummery will be repeated. Lapwing?’

‘Lapwing is a clerk,’ Staunton replied. ‘As you know, his real name is Stephen Escolier. He was educated in the halls of Oxford. He entered the household of the Bishop of Winchester and served abroad. Last autumn, around Michaelmas, he returned to London and took lodgings in Mitre Street, where he lives with his mother. The reason he returned to London is that she is ailing and he needs to look after her. He approached me for service, for employment, a benefice, a sinecure, anything I could give him. Despite the letters from the Bishop of Winchester, I was unable to help, but then Escolier, or Lapwing as he calls himself, made me an offer. He told me that he had a secret grievance against Giles Waldene and Hubert the Monk, and offered to become a member of their coven and betray whatever he discovered. Now as you can appreciate, that was a dangerous enterprise, yet the clerk impressed me: he was razor-witted, intelligent and observant. I agreed, and Escolier became Lapwing, a wandering scholar with a ready tongue and a sharp knife. He joined Waldene’s coven and soon established a cordial relationship with that reprobate. Lapwing can read and write, Waldene could not, so he was glad to acquire such a skilled and enterprising clerk. Lapwing gave us information about what mischief was being planned and plotted: abductions, assaults, but above all, who amongst our so-called city fathers was hiring Waldene. I paid him well.’ Staunton spread his hands. ‘You must also appreciate that he only worked for me for a short while. Evesham’s fate actually hindered us bringing such work to a successful conclusion.’ He shrugged. ‘A few more months and we’d have had enough evidence to indict many of the gang leaders in London ten times over.’

‘But he was not your spy in the Land of Cockaigne, the one who gave you information about how Evesham protected Waldene and Hubert the Monk’s followers.’

‘No.’

‘And you are certain he did not provide you with information about their secret meetings at night?’

‘No. I have asked him about that. He replied that he would have loved to have done so but such information did not fall into his hands.’

‘But when Waldene and Hubert the Monk’s followers were arrested and lodged in Newgate, Lapwing was not taken up?’

‘Of course not. He carried that small roll of parchment that he showed you. No king’s officer would have dared touch him.’

‘And yet he was found with them in the graveyard of St Botulph’s.’