Paul Lawrence - The Sweet Smell of Decay

‘No. Thy death will be swift. Then will I take thy body to the river and throw it there. It is time for all of this to end, now that all knoweth that I will be their plagues.’

‘You will be judged after this life if not in it.’ My voice trembled like a woman.

The black-robed figure shook his head. ‘Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace. Anne Giles was innocent, and she shall have her reward in the Kingdom of our Lord. The rest were evil sinners, and I have done God’s work in dispatching them to the eternal flames of Hell.’

‘Richard Joyce was not an evil sinner.’

The blue eyes fixed upon me. ‘That man was dead already. It was God’s mercy that led him here that night. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake; for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.’

I pulled harder, without success. ‘It is not your place to walk the streets of London like the Lord God himself, making judgements as to the worth of men.’

Laughing out loud with real mirth he exclaimed, ‘Ah, but I am the Lord Chief Justice. Indeed it is by my judgement that men live or die in this City. It is my job to dispatch you poor wretches. If I say you are guilty then it is in God’s name that you are pronounced guilty. And the fault is yours.’

‘What was Anne Giles guilty of?’

‘She died for another’s sin. I told her how I got her own husband to steal the key to this church. She wept. Not for herself, but for him, though he did not deserve her tears.’

‘You knew her since she was a baby.’ His blue eyes narrowed. ‘I know who you are, and why you killed Anne Giles.’

‘I just told you who I am.’ The cold blade wormed its way up my right nostril. ‘But it would please me greatly to hear thy account. Speak well, friend, or else I will slit thy nose.’ His voice was black velvet.

‘I will say nothing with your blade up my nose.’

The knife wormed its way higher up my nostril, towards my brain. I felt a lump in my throat and had to cough and splutter, drawing back my head. The knife stayed where it was a while, but then it was slowly withdrawn. I sneezed and wiped my nose hard against my upper arm, desperate to be rid of the foul tickle.

‘Entertain me with thy words of wisdom and insight,’ he mocked me.

I cleared my throat and rubbed my nose again. ‘You are Keeling.’ I looked again into the blue eyes. ‘You killed Anne Giles in fear that William Ormonde would disclose your part in a plot to kill the King. You are a Fifth Monarchist. You knew that Ormonde is too much of a coward to do anything about it, for fear of his own reputation, and for fear of you, I suppose. And he is a wretch. He allowed Joyce to hang for his cowardice, and your sins.’

‘My sins?’ The blue eyes stared at me with such unrelenting intensity that I felt dry-mouthed terror.

‘You killed a sweet, innocent girl for no other reason than to quieten William Ormonde. Why kill her? Why not simply make your intentions clear, it would have been enough? Methinks that you kill for the pleasure it gives you. Why else did you kill Mottram and Wilson, and then go to the trouble of cutting off their heads?’

I held my breath.

Keeling breathed quietly, saying nothing. ‘Your meddling hath served no purpose other than to please your master. And believe me, Lytle, he doth not deserve it.’

‘It was my duty to try and save Richard Joyce from your justice. He died as a murderer.’

‘Not in God’s eyes.’

‘You had no right to kill him, nor her.’

‘Now the Lord of peace himself gives her peace always, by all means.’

‘God didn’t say that. It was a man that said that.’

‘Art thou ungodly, Lytle? What amazement is this? Or indeed, shouldst we be amazed at all? ’Tis true that thou art a drunkard, a dancing fairy that doth frequent whorehouses, and alehouses. All these unlawful pursuits you indulge in on the Lord’s Day, betimes. The Lord saveth such as be of contrite spirit, Lytle, but if you will not turn from all your sins, then ye shall die, ye shall not live.’ He picked up the knife again.

I looked to the pulpit that Anne Giles had been tied to. ‘Torturing a young woman, poking out her eyes from their sockets. How did that feel, Keeling?’ I asked with sick wonder. ‘So great is your mercy. I don’t believe Richard Joyce’s death troubles you one degree.’

‘Quiet!’ He stuck the knife into my ribs.

‘Ah,’ I snorted, ‘you’re a savage brute.’

He growled. ‘I was born a common man, Lytle, like your father. I laboured hard.’ The knife lashed out suddenly. I jerked my head back, yet he still caught my cheek. I took a deep, short breath in shock. If I hadn’t seen the blade coming then I would have been cut to the bone. The sweat prickled on my brow and on my back. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open slightly, panting like a terrified cat. He held the knife out, up and wide to his right, hanging majestically in the air. I waited breathlessly, the blood streaming down my cheek and neck.

Smiling a tight, twisted smile, he lowered his knife and tucked it between his legs. ‘One thing more I will tell thee, before thou art dead. I have watched thee keenly, through my eyes and those of others, to see what sort of man you are, what sort of man it was that Shrewsbury sent against me. I still know not why he picked you. It is my place to ensure that justice is done within my jurisdiction, and that is what I do. I administer justice, not the law, for the law and justice are as far apart as my left ear and my right ear. It is justice that decreed Anne Giles must die, to atone for the sins of her father, and it is not ungodly, for I remind you that the innocent often die for the guilty, so that the guilty might be saved. It is a blessing for her that she died as she did and God will reward her for it. And it is justice that Ormonde now bears the grief and the guilt of his daughter’s death, the knowledge that he killed his own daughter, not me, but him. For he would have betrayed me, and in doing so, betrayed the Lord Jesus Christ. Now justice will see him suffer for it, here, and beyond if he does not repent. You must understand the difference between law and justice. John Giles broke many laws, as did the beasts that Hewitt sent after you. They all had learnt how to dance round the law, but they could not dance away from justice. I am Justice.’

‘What is just about my death?’ I asked with warm tears in my eyes, the cold misery of helpless fear lying heavy on my heart.

‘I am thy salvation, scoundrel! Ye will die because Shrewsbury, who is a devil, hath laid the path for you. But I will save thee. I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean. I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give thee a heart of flesh. For then thou shalt lift up thy face without spot. Repent, Lytle.’

Smiling faintly he seemed to regain his composure. He tested the point of his knife on his thumb, seemingly lost for a moment inside his own reflections. I peered around the inside of the church. This was the view that Anne Giles had seen not so very long ago. And so, I thought, ends the short life of Harry Lytle. I tried to quell the fear that came unwelcome, tried to make peace with the God above that I had supposedly forsaken. My father was a Puritan, John Ray had been a Puritan too, but both of them preached too hard. I needed time to consider for myself. It was too soon to be asked to repent. The church offered no comment. But as I stared at the screen through misty eyes my heart jumped. Movement! Was it Hill, here to fulfil our appointment?

‘Who appoints you justice?’ I asked, seeking time to think and watch.

‘God.’ He held the blade before him.

‘The King, not God! God appoints the King, the King appoints you. Ye must do the King’s bidding!’