Paul Doherty - The Mysterium

Item: How had Boniface been able to discover the secret machinations of the Mysterium and his use of the great hoarding at St Paul’s? Evesham had only established the truth of that after he had trapped the merchant Chauntoys and Boniface in Southwark.

Item: Why had Boniface listed Emma alongside other victims of mysterious death? She was certainly murdered, but there was no real proof that Bassetlawe, Furnival and Rescales had been. All three deaths could have been accidents, the verdict recorded at the time.

Item: Why had Boniface listed other clerks, Blandeford, Staunton, Evesham and Engleat? For what purpose?

Item: Boniface had protested his innocence.What was that phrase he’d scrawled on the page of the Book of the Gospels at St Botulph’s: ‘I stand in the centre guiltless and point to the four corners.’ What did it mean?

Item: Why did Evesham and others believe the Mysterium was a chancery clerk? Who had reached that conclusion? Why not a scribe at the Guildhall?

Item: Why did the Mysterium always leave that mocking message, ‘ Mysterium Rei — the Mystery of the Thing’, on the corpses of his victims?

Item: Evesham, Engleat, Waldene, Hubert the Monk, Clarice, Richard Fink and now Fleschner had all been killed within a short period of time by the same killer: why? What linked all these victims to this bloody mysterious mayhem?

Item: Nevertheless, there were incidents that seemed out of harmony with this murderous pattern. The writer from the Land of Cockaigne, who was he? The riot at Newgate: who had really caused both that and the furious fight at St Botulph’s?

Item: If Boniface was innocent and, for sake of argument, had survived, why had he returned to his sister to proclaim that he was carrying out vengeance? Why his interest in the woman Beatrice?

Corbett put his pen down. He felt lost, unable to form a rock-hard conclusion on which to construct a thesis that would match the evidence. He rose, paced the chamber, ate some of the stale food left on Chanson’s platter and returned to his chair. He dozed for a while and startled as the door latch rattled and Staunton and Blandeford strode in. Corbett immediately grasped the hilt of his knife. Both men looked sinister in their heavy cloaks and deep cowls, more like monkish rats than judge and clerk. They parted to go around the table, walking swiftly towards Corbett, who, hand still on his dagger, rose to his feet. Staunton stopped abruptly, drew a set of keys out of the pocket of his cloak and waved these tauntingly in Corbett‘s face.

‘We were coming to see you, Sir Hugh. We found the catchpole from Cripplegate wandering the galleries below. One of the guards stopped him. He was demanding to see you, so we took his keys. I gather,’ he smirked, ‘your companions Ranulf and Chanson are savouring the joys of a nearby tavern.’

‘They have worked hard.’ Corbett grasped the heavy bunch of keys and slammed then down on the desk. ‘So these are the keys to St Botulph’s?’

‘So the catchpole said.’

‘And you, sirs, what do you want?’

Staunton, uninvited, sat down on a chair; Blandeford pulled a stool up close.

‘We’ve heard rumours, Sir Hugh. You seem to be concentrating on events of twenty years ago rather than-’

‘I dig for the roots,’ Corbett intervened, asserting himself. He did not like the arrogance of these two men, who seemed slightly menacing in the shifting shadows. ‘Tell me,’ he sat down, ‘Boniface Ippegrave put your names on a list.’

‘So?’ Staunton pushed back the deep cowl from over his head.

‘Were you suspected of being the Mysterium?’

‘What do you mean? What are you implying? How dare you. .’

‘Oh, I dare.’ Corbett laughed. ‘And I would dare again. Listen, Evesham believed the Mysterium was a chancery clerk, someone like us, party to the chatter of both city and court.’

‘That’s logical,’ Staunton conceded.

‘I disagree.’ Corbett crossed his arms and leaned closer, holding Staunton’s arrogant stare. ‘Learned judge, it is not logical. What about the clerks at the Guildhall, or even those of the merchants?’

‘What are you implying?’

‘Who first raised the possibility that the Mysterium must be a chancery clerk?’ Corbett glanced down the floor, waiting for the answer. Outside, the strengthening night breeze rattled the shutters, the icy draught seeping in making the timbers of the ancient palace creak.

‘I don’t know,’ Staunton blustered. ‘I cannot remember. Old Chancellor Burnell was beside himself. An assassin was loose in the city, hired by the great merchants to settle scores with their enemies. The Mysterium was taunting the authority of the law. You know how the King would regard that, especially in London. Burnell turned to his clerks for advice and help; that’s how I suspect the conclusion was reached that the Mysterium was a chancery official.’ Staunton rose abruptly. ‘Sir Hugh, we simply came to give our greetings.’

‘No you didn’t.’ Corbett also stood up. ‘You came to give me a bunch of keys and pry on what I’m doing. Why, sirs, are you reporting to the King? Or are you worried about your clerk Lapwing? I hold you responsible for him.’ He wagged a finger in Staunton’s face. ‘I must have close words with Lapwing on a number of matters. Now, sirs, unless you have further information for me. .’

He ushered them to the door and closed it quietly behind them, drawing across the bolts. If Staunton and Blandeford could wander in here. . Corbett felt uneasy. Why had those sly courtiers visited him? Did they also suspect something was wrong with the accepted story about Ippegrave? He heard a scratching at the door. He drew back the bolts and allowed the two cats through. They immediately went and sprawled near one of the braziers. ‘I wish I could do that.’ Corbett smiled. He crouched beside them, stroking them softly. ‘You’ve been hunting and I think you’ve killed, whilst I’m still prowling in the dark. Now, my two fine sirs, you’re more welcome than the other two who’ve just left, but what do they want? What are they frightened of? What are they concerned about?’ He stared at the fiery mess in the charcoal brazier. ‘What if. .’ He rose and returned to his chair. ‘What if Boniface Ippegrave was not the Mysterium? Then who was?’

Corbett pulled across the crude copy he’d made of Boniface’s diagram of the first nine letters of the alphabet:

A,B,C,

D,E,F,

G,H,I

He was concentrating so hard, his eyes grew heavy and he dozed for a while. He started awake at a cry from the yard below, followed by the sound of swords being drawn. He hastened to the window, pulled back the shutters and stared down at the serjeant-at-arms and liveried guards standing in a pool of torchlight.

‘What is it?’ he called.

The serjeant-at-arms, shading his eyes, gazed up.

‘Is that you, Sir Hugh?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought so, all the other chambers are in darkness. Sir Hugh, it’s nothing. We thought there was an intruder, but it’s only the shadows, perhaps some dog. One of our lads is missing his sweet-heart. He imagines many things.’

Corbett smiled at the laughter this caused, then raised his hand and closed the shutters. Nevertheless, despite the cheery words, he felt uneasy. A prickling fear as if he was walking down some night-filled alleyway. He might be in this sealed chamber warmed and lit by glowing coals and leaping tongues of candle flame, where wall tapestries glowed colour and crucifixes and statues glinted in the jittering light, and yet. . Guards patrolled downstairs, and he had his own sword-belt within reach, but Corbett sensed Murder was prowling, a demon deep in the shadows like some scuttling, ravenous rat. An assassin was loose. Whether it was the Mysterium or not was immaterial; this was a killer who struck swiftly and savagely with a keen eye to his own advantage.