Paul Doherty - The Mysterium

‘That still does not make him the Mysterium,’ Ranulf declared.

‘True,’ Corbett admitted, ‘but there are those other lists of names, Staunton and Blandeford, and that final scrap of parchment with the name of a woman, Emma, followed by Odo Furnival, Stephen Bassetlawe, William Rescales. Who were those? I also wonder what the enigmatic “B” and “M” means, or that square containing the first nine letters of the alphabet. Scraps,’ he murmured, ‘from twenty years ago.’ He sat down on a stool. ‘Let’s go back to Adelicia’s mysterious midnight visitor. Was it Boniface? And why the interest in the woman Beatrice; her name has never appeared before.’ He shook his head. ‘The mysteries of twenty years ago, like those of the present, are impenetrable. I am anxious, Ranulf. Is this one mystery we may just have to leave?’

Ranulf smiled. ‘We have not yet finished. Let’s continue.’

‘True,’ Corbett agreed. ‘So, item — Evesham: why was he in unholy alliance with Waldene and Hubert? For God’s sake, a chief justice of King’s Bench. And who betrayed him? Who was this writer from the Land of Cockaigne?’

‘The clerk Lapwing?’

‘Lapwing was definitely Staunton’s spy, but he openly admits he had no knowledge of Cockaigne. We will return to Lapwing later; let’s concentrate on Evesham. He is disgraced and resigns from his offices. The King allows him to destroy all his records — a great tragedy; those manuscripts might have helped us. Our noble judge then leaves his house, his pretty wife, faithless though she was, his status and wealth, to hide in Syon Abbey as a hermit. He chooses a place close to two people whose lives he has destroyed, Cuthbert and Adelicia.’ Corbett paused.

‘Item — what really happened in the Chapel of St Lazarus at Syon Abbey? We know that Cuthbert and Adelicia met secretly. The murderer must also have known this, but how? Once Brother Cuthbert was occupied elsewhere, the assassin went down into that cell. Evesham did not resist but allowed him in; he must have done. The assassin kills Evesham and leaves. Only later does Cuthbert, whatever he told us, with the help of Adelicia, cover up the crime by posing another mystery, which, they hoped, couldn’t be solved. Our assassin, however, is still determined. On the same evening he deals out gruesome death to Ignacio Engleat, and then disappears for a while.’ Corbett took a drink from his goblet, swirling the wine around his mouth. In front of him flickered the shadow of his quarry. He loved being in pursuit of an assassin, and despite all his anxieties was determined to catch him.

‘Master?’

‘Item — the Newgate riot. What was really being planned? Waldene and Hubert were lowered into the pits, a living death. Who agitated their followers with the rumour that some of them were about to turn King’s evidence? Who supplied them with weapons? Who fed them the lie that if they fled to St Botulph’s, they’d find safety through a secret passage out of that church?’

‘Master, there still might be one.’

‘I doubt it,’ Corbett retorted. ‘And so we move on. Item — who killed Waldene and Hubert? Why? Why were Evesham’s widow Clarice and her steward Richard Fink so barbarously murdered? Why did the assassin leave their heads in the baptismal bowl at St Botulph’s? And why the attack on Parson John?’

‘Because he was Evesham’s son; the same reason Clarice and Fink were killed,’ Ranulf observed. ‘Whilst Waldene and Hubert were his allies.’

‘True, true.’ Corbett nodded. ‘And so we move to other conundrums. Is Boniface Ippegrave really alive and bent on murderous slaughter? If not, who has assumed his name and identity. Brother Cuthbert? Parson John?’

‘Look at Cuthbert’s hands,’ Ranulf pointed out. ‘Could he hold a knife? Parson John is as timid as a rabbit pursued by a fox. He was bound and gagged at St Botulph’s.’

‘What about Staunton and Blandeford? Their names pepper this story,’ continued Corbett. ‘They run like a refrain through this murderous tale. They are mentioned in Boniface’s lists; they were clerks who dealt with the city. Staunton, now a judge, negotiates directly with the Great Ones at the Guildhall. They were the officials who received the information to indict Evesham. Nor must we forget their creature Lapwing, our wandering clerk who has returned to London to look after his ageing, ailing mother. He offered his services to our worthy colleagues to spy on Waldene and Hubert.’ Corbett watched Ranulf’s pen flicker over the surface of the manuscript. ‘Round and round,’ he murmured, ‘and there’s the other matter, the King’s great interest in this. Ranulf, what does it all mean? Where can we look? Evesham’s personal records have been destroyed. I suspect that any found in the chancery are not worth a pot of bird seed. Strange. .’ Corbett paused. ‘So little evidence has remained. In the chancery there’s Evesham’s full, self-congratulatory report but little else. The most interesting evidence is what was actually found in Boniface’s coffer, which was kept and preserved because of the thoroughness of old Rastall. Apart from that, both Evesham and his papers have been removed for ever. We cannot question his widow or her steward, whilst I doubt the other servants know very much. Cuthbert acts very warily; he remains a closed book, which, at this moment in time, I cannot open. Parson John may tell us something. Adelicia may have a few more items or scraps about Boniface,’ he added. ‘But we don’t really know if Boniface is alive or dead. Someone may have just assumed his name. Are any of the people we’ve mentioned the murderer, or has one of them hired a professional killer? I am not even sure about his grace the King and his role in these matters.’

‘You could go to Newgate,’ Ranulf offered. ‘You could question the keeper.’

‘I doubt it, Ranulf. I suspect what happened at Newgate is now well hidden.’

‘What do you mean, master?’

‘I have a suspicion, deep in my heart, that the riot at Newgate was what the King wanted.’

‘Master, you have no proof!’

‘I have admitted that, Ranulf. What if Waldene and Hubert had died in the pit, of gaol fever, as hundreds do every year? What if their gangs were destroyed by royal archers?’

‘But they were.’

‘Precisely, Ranulf. We destroyed both covens, we executed them, but Evesham’s death meant there was no case against Waldene and Hubert. The King couldn’t very well bring them to trial, which he didn’t really want to for fear of further scandal, nor could he detain that precious pair without trial and so create more public furore. He had to release them. He could not prove they had done any wrong with Evesham, whilst they were certainly not involved in the riot. This, in turn, begs another question. What if some royal executioner was responsible for what happened in the Angel’s Salutation?’

‘You’re saying the King is involved in murder?’

‘I know Edward.’ Corbett ran a finger around the rim of his goblet. ‘A prince devoted to the law but one who wishes to keep things silent, hidden. Ah well.’ He drummed his hands on the tabletop. ‘Ranulf, stay in the chancery and go back through the records. Look for anything you can discover on Evesham, Blandeford, Staunton, Hubert the Monk, Waldene — it may be laborious, but,’ he pointed to the now snoring Chanson, ‘he can help. First of all find out about Chauntoys, the merchant arrested with Boniface in the Southwark tavern. Perhaps he left a widow. She may be able to help. In the meantime I will wait for a mistake. All murderers are arrogant, proud as Satan. They invariably do something that betrays them, the Judas kiss of their own malevolence, a mistake, an error that traps them.’