Paul Doherty - The Mysterium

‘Yes, he had visited Waldene in prison. When the riot broke out, he heard about the criminals escaping to St Botulph’s and went there. A keeper from Newgate recognised him near the lychgate. Lapwing was seized and had to continue the pretence.’

‘Had to?’

‘Sir Hugh, he was our spy. He hoped to acquire more information about what had happened. Of course the criminals who sheltered in St Botulph’s had no chance of surviving. Lapwing was arrested, but he made sure he was one of the last to be brought before you, and only then did he produce his letter. You of course had to release him.’

Corbett glanced through his sheaf of papers. ‘Let me go back to Evesham. You visited him at Syon?’

‘Of course we did. Evesham may have become a recluse, a hermit, a man turned to God, but the King was insistent that he should answer our questions.’

‘And did he? What questions did you ask?’ demanded Ranulf.

Staunton dismissed him with a flicker of his eyes and turned back to Corbett. ‘We visited Syon Abbey on a number of occasions. We asked Walter Evesham about certain matters in the city, but he replied that he had become “lost in God” and had no remembrance about what had happened. He did not wish to discuss anything he’d done except confess that he had sinned against God and the King. Remember, Sir Hugh, Walter Evesham was one of us,’ he glanced disdainfully at Ranulf, ‘an Oxford clerk, skilled in logic and debate. He could argue with the best; in the end he told us very little.’

‘Do you think his repentance was genuine?’

‘Of course not! Walter Evesham may have proclaimed he was trying to save his soul, but I suspect he was desperately trying to save his neck.’

‘Do you think he intended to stay in Syon until his natural death?’

‘I cannot speculate on what that viper of a man was plotting, but yes, he may have intended that.’ Staunton leaned forward. ‘Sir Hugh, I do not like the way you are talking to me. Am I a suspect? Do you think that I, or Master Blandeford here, have Evesham’s blood on our hands?’

‘Why not?’ Corbett whispered. ‘Why not? We are royal clerks, not God’s angels. Lord Evesham was proved to be a felon. Boniface Ippegrave was proved to be a felon. It is possible that you and Master Blandeford secretly entered Syon Abbey and executed Evesham for your own mysterious purposes.’

‘How dare you!’ Blandeford blustered.

‘Merely a hypothesis,’ Corbett remarked. ‘You may say not probable, but I say it’s possible. You could have also, on that same evening, gone down to Queenshithe, taken Ignacio Engleat out and murdered him. Both of you are mailed clerks,’ he continued quietly. ‘You have fought in the King’s armies in Wales and in Scotland as I have. You have killed men as I have. You could have entered the tavern of the Angel’s Salutation and executed Waldene and Hubert the Monk. It is possible. You could have visited Walter Evesham’s house, and decapitated Richard Fink and the Lady Clarice. All things are possible and therefore probable.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Staunton protested. He made to rise, but then sat back as Ranulf also moved in his seat.

‘My lord,’ Corbett tapped the table, ‘don’t you understand? Can’t you see? We are all on trial. Walter Evesham was Chief Justice in King’s Bench, yet he was an ally, a close friend, of two of the greatest rogues in the city. He twisted and perverted justice. He profited from robberies. If that happened in the green wood, what might happen in the dry? So yes, my lord, you are a suspect, as is Master Blandeford, as is everybody in this chamber. How far has such corruption spread, how deep does it reach?’

‘I have told the truth,’ Staunton said flatly.

‘Oh my lord, I am sure you have.’ Corbett smiled. ‘I will go on oath that you have told me the truth, but you’ve not told me the full truth, and for that we may have to question you both again. Now go.’ He waved a hand and returned to his papers as Staunton and Blandeford rose noisily, pushed back their chairs and, muttering amongst themselves, left the chamber.

‘Sir Hugh, you have upset them.’

‘Master Ranulf, I intended to. Both of them are ambitious and very ruthless men.’

‘Ruthless enough to murder?’

Corbett turned to face Ranulf squarely. ‘Yes, my friend, to murder. They are King’s men. There’s something here,’ he gestured vaguely, ‘something I cannot form into an idea, an emotion, a feeling, a suspicion. The King has a hand in these matters, but why, where and how I don’t really know. Enough of speculation. Let’s question the mysterious Lapwing.’

The young clerk came swaggering in. He paused just inside the chamber to place a hand on the Book of the Gospels and recite the oath, reading swiftly from the piece of parchment Chanson gave him. Then he walked forward and, without being invited, sat down on one of the chairs. He crossed his legs, playing with the ring on his finger, staring now at Ranulf then back at Corbett.

‘Master Escolier, known as Lapwing,’ Corbett jabbed a finger at him, ‘you were lucky enough not to lose your head at St Botulph’s.’

‘Sir Hugh, all my life I have been fortunate. It’s not the first time, and I doubt if it will be the last, that I have risked losing my head.’

‘Clever-mouthed,’ Ranulf declared, ‘but you’ll answer our questions truthfully. You’ve taken an oath. You can still hang or be crushed to death for perjury.’

‘Have I said I won’t answer? Ask your questions, whatever you wish.’

‘Why did you go to the Angel’s Salutation?’ Corbett demanded.

‘I heard the news, rumours about Giles Waldene and Hubert the Monk being murdered. Of course I wanted to know.’

‘Why?’

‘I hated them.’

‘Ah yes, your masters Hervey Staunton and Master Blandeford claimed you had some grievance against the rifflers.’

‘That’s correct, Sir Hugh. Many years ago my father was a prosperous merchant, a chandler. He sold precious wax both to the city and abroad.’ Lapwing spread his hands. ‘What Waldene and Hubert did was simply demand that he pay them a tax, a sort of protection. My father protested. They assaulted him grievously and wrecked his shop. I never forgot.’

‘And where do you live now?’

‘In Mitre Street, a small house with my mother.’

‘And before that?’

‘I went to school at St Paul’s, then on to the halls of Oxford. Afterwards I took employment with his grace the Bishop of Winchester. I served him well and long, but I had to leave because my mother is ailing.The bishop gave me letters of testimony and I returned to London. I tried to seek employment here and there, but as you know, it is difficult. I approached my lord Staunton, but he could not give me a benefice or office. I later discovered how Waldene and Hubert the Monk had waxed fat and powerful. I told Staunton that I would join their coven and betray them. I would have loved nothing better than to see both of them hang from the Elms in Smithfield.’

‘And were you not afraid?’ Ranulf asked. ‘I mean, a clerk from the household of the Bishop of Winchester mingling with wolfsheads? ’

‘Master Ranulf, like you I have worn armour. I have stood in the battle line in Scotland and Gascony. The letters of his grace the Bishop of Winchester will attest to that. I am not afraid of the cut and thrust. I’ve seen more bloodshed in my life than others do in many lifetimes. It did not concern me. Moreover, I had grievances against both those rogues.’

‘And so you joined Giles Waldene’s coven. He accepted you?’

‘Of course! I am literate, I can write, I can read. I represented myself as a former priest who had to flee from his benefice in Lincolnshire because of certain crimes. How I could sin with the best of them. Waldene accepted me. I sat high in his councils. What information I learnt I passed on to my lord Staunton. I just wish I’d had more time.’