Paul Doherty - The Mysterium

Corbett just sat and nodded in agreement. He remembered Evesham, sharp as a knife, secretive, always busy on this and that.

‘Keen-witted and cunning,’ he murmured. ‘Evesham was a man of many talents.’

‘He certainly was,’ the King agreed. ‘He was born at Ingachin, a lonely manor along the Welsh March, a desolate place. His father did good service for me in Wales. Walter was the apple of his eye, a scholar. He attended the cathedral schools of Gloucester and Hereford; later the halls of Oxford and Cambridge, studying the Quadrivium and Trivium, though his special talent was logic and the law. He served in the royal levies before being schooled at the Inns of Court, where he was professed as a serjeant. He entered the royal service and did excellent work at the court of France. A true and assiduous collector of information, he had to leave Paris one step ahead of the Secretissimi, my sweet cousin Philip of France’s ruthless agents, and returned to Westminster as a clerk in the Chancery of the Green Wax. He later entered the Office of the Secret Seal. I can’t actually remember the details, but Burnell, my chancellor, the same who favoured you, Sir Hugh, entrusted Evesham with one task: to hunt down and trap the Mysterium.’

‘He hid it well,’ Corbett remarked. ‘He still kept busy, busy.’

‘A pretence,’ Edward declared. ‘I shall first move to the conclusion. Evesham actually believed the Mysterium was a chancery clerk, a senior one. Let me explain his logic. Corbett and Staunton, you both know how all the information from home and abroad flows like a river through the offices of the chancery: trade negotiations, alliances, purchases, licences to do this or that, but also the scandal, gossip and chatter from both the court and the city. The faults and foibles of many. Which merchant is playing the two-backed beast, who frequents the stews and bath houses. Above all, the various enmities and hostilities, be it husband or wife, or one guild merchant against another.’ Edward smiled at Ranulf. ‘Even one clerk’s rivalry with a colleague.’

‘And the Mysterium used this?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Yes, he did,’ the King agreed. ‘I said I would first deal with the conclusion. Apparently the Mysterium would learn of an intense hostility, usually hatred, and send a message to one of the parties, the one he believed to be the most susceptible to his advances. All this,’ he waved a hand, ‘can be found in the archives of the Secret Seal. The message would be stark, something to the effect: “Your enemy is my enemy, no mystery. Your enemy can be no more, says the Mysterium. By what name is your enemy called?” Before you ask,’ The King shook his head, ‘the writing on the parchment could have come from a legion of sources.’

‘And the same for how it was delivered,’ Staunton remarked.

‘Slipped into the hand or left at your lodgings,’ added Blandeford, eager to follow his master.

‘But surely,’ Ranulf asked, ‘the recipient would recognise the name Mysterium and realise what this entailed. Wouldn’t someone come forward?’

‘Would they?’ Corbett sipped from the now cooled mulled wine. ‘Very dangerous, Ranulf. A lawyer might argue that you were the Mysterium’s accomplice in some guise or other, whilst God help you if something did befall your enemy.’

‘Precisely!’ Edward tapped the table.

‘But there is something missing, isn’t there?’ Corbett continued. ‘How could the recipient respond?’

‘At the end of the message,’ the King smiled, ‘was a reference; for example, St Paul VI, 2. At first glance the murderer seemed to be referring to one of the Apostle’s letters.’

‘But he wasn’t,’ Ranulf exclaimed. ‘It’s St Paul’s Cathedral and the great hanging board or hoarding in the nave. It’s divided into a hundred and forty-four squares, a reference to the Apocalypse; a wall painting on either side of it depicts how many people will be saved at the Last Judgement.’ He paused. Staunton and Blandeford were smiling at him as if he were a child who’d solved a riddle to which they already knew the answer.

‘Let us hear it, Ranulf,’ Corbett intervened. ‘It’s a long time since I used the great hoarding.’

‘It’s a hundred and forty-four squares,’ Ranulf repeated, wishing the flush in his face would fade, ‘twelve across and twelve down. The horizontal squares are numbered in the Arabic fashion, the vertical in the Roman. VI, 2 would be the square where these two numbers meet. You place your money in an alms box and take a scrap of parchment from a nearby dish. You then write your notice and put it in whatever square you’ve chosen. Everything is advertised there, be it a servant looking for employment, or someone arranging a meeting.’

‘Or a murderer,’ Corbett continued, ‘offering up the name of their intended victim. The Mysterium would come to the cathedral and read what was placed there.’ He pulled a face. ‘Cunning and devious is the human heart. The great hoarding is covered in notices, whilst visitors crowd through St Paul’s many entrances.’

‘And there’s the disguise, the cowl, the visor,’ Staunton declared. ‘People push and shove; who would guess murder was being planned?’

‘So tempting.’ Blandeford’s high-pitched voice held a wistful note. ‘But payment?’

‘The Mysterium always demanded the same: two hundred pounds in pure gold,’ replied the King. ‘Again a short message pushed into the hand once the deed was done. It would list the amount as well as the time and place for payment, usually a tavern or a busy church. Another note would stipulate where the money was to be left: in an empty tankard, under a platter or in some wall niche. Who could object? The Mysterium was the assassin, but so was the person who supplied the name.’

‘But the hirer could refuse payment.’ Ranulf spoke up, then pulled a face. ‘Though of course,’ he added, ‘he could be blackmailed. He’d already provided the name of his victim. The Mysterium would hold on to that and could denounce him anonymously. Suspicion would already be sharp about a rival’s involvement in his enemy’s murder. Such a denunciation supported by evidence, meagre though it might be, would be highly dangerous.’

‘And who would refuse to pay?’ Corbett declared. ‘Many of the rich and powerful would see even two hundred pounds in pure gold as well worth the price. The letter “M” carved on the victim’s brow would proclaim the deed to enhance the assassin’s reputation. I can follow Evesham’s logic. The Mysterium would have to be someone who could plumb the depths of the loathing of one person for another. He’d choose his victim very carefully. Yes, London seethes with hatred and rivalry. We clerks learn about such things. The Great Ones, as we know, hire gangs, rifflers and ribauds to confront their rivals with sword and dagger play in Cheapside. The Mysterium’s method is a better, more silent way. Of course, the person who has hired the Mysterium must ensure that he is nowhere near the scene of his victim’s death. Very, very clever. People might suspect, but there’d be no proof. So how did Evesham eventually trap the killer?’

‘Think, Corbett,’ Edward teased. ‘How would you?’

‘The basic premise,’ Corbett replied slowly, ‘is that the Mysterium knew about the affairs of the Great Ones. Yes, he could well be a clerk.’ He emphasised the points with his fingers.

‘ Primo : Evesham could pretend to nourish a deep grievance against some rival, but that would founder because the Mysterium would have to murder someone, and such a crime would have sent Evesham to the scaffold. Moreover, if the Mysterium was a chancery clerk, he would quickly suspect a trap and not rise to the bait.’ Corbett paused.