Paul Doherty - The Midnight Man

‘What?’ Anselm exclaimed. ‘I deal with magic and things supernal. I’ve seen the crypt: it’s an underground fortress, a bastion!’

‘I know,’ Beauchamp conceded. ‘The abbot at the time, Wenlock, was being blackmailed by two of his leading monks, Sub-Prior Alexander of Pershore and his sacristan, the monk in charge of securing the abbey and keeping it safe, Adam Warfeld. These two reprobates enjoyed an unsavoury reputation with certain ladies of the town. They conspired with Puddlicot, who sowed fast-growing hempen seeds in the monks’ cemetery close to the six windows of the crypt, which are on ground level. They set up a watch and hired a stonemason, John of Saint Albans who, as you will see, worked on the furthest window. They gained entry and passed up the treasure.’

‘But they were caught?’

‘Yes, Stephen, they eventually were. Some of the monks enjoyed a long stay in the Tower. A royal clerk, John Drokensford, who later became Bishop of Bath and Wells, rounded up the ring leaders and their coven.’

‘Including Puddlicot. .?’

‘Including Puddlicot. Drokensford then began to hunt for the missing treasure. Some he found, a great deal he did not. No one has ever discovered the rest of the horde, which included items precious to the royal household. This Saracen dagger was once wielded against the present King’s grandfather when he was on crusade in Outremer. A sect known as the Assassins despatched a killer who entered the royal pavilion and actually struck the King with a poisoned blade.’

‘The same as you’ve just shown us?’

‘Yes, Stephen. The King was wounded but his beloved wife, Queen Eleanor, or so the story has it, sucked the poison from the cut. In thanksgiving Edward dedicated the dagger to the Confessor and had it placed in his treasure house. The Cross of Neath is also symbolic. Once owned by the Princes of Wales, Edward crushed and killed these and seized their most sacred relic, the Cross of Neath, for his own use. Both these sacred items disappeared during the robbery of 1303. They were never seen again until the Octave of Candlemas past.’

‘How did Rishanger come to have them?’ Anselm asked. ‘And what has that got to do with us or the business at Saint Michael’s?’

Beauchamp drew a deep breath. ‘My apologies,’ he murmured, ‘for the secrecy. I wish to finish before the good brothers complete their chanting. We searched Rishanger’s house, which also lies in the parish of Saint Michael’s, Candlewick, within the ward of Dowgate. It was stripped clean. Rishanger had also drawn all his gold and silver from his bankers in Lombard Street. He intended to flee the realm with these items. Rishanger never married. He had a mistress, Beatrice Lampeter — a courtesan, a woman of notorious reputation. She, too, had apparently disappeared, but we found her mutilated corpse, her eyes removed, buried in the garden behind Rishanger’s house. Brother Anselm, you know how the removal of the eyes of a corpse is a curse intended to blight the soul after death. We suspect Rishanger killed Beatrice to keep her mouth shut. We also discovered amulets, inverted crosses, wax figurines, a pentangle.’ Beauchamp shrugged. ‘All the instruments of a warlock. Now,’ Beauchamp kept his head down, ‘the city, the court, even the church, houses those who secretly practice the black rites. Rishanger must have belonged to one of these covens. He certainly hated Sir William Higden.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘According to witnesses, Rishanger once approached Sir William with a scheme to fashion the philosopher’s stone. Higden threw him out of his house. When we discovered Rishanger’s secret cache we also found a wax figure, allegedly of Sir William, wrapped in a scrap of parchment which contained the filthiest curses against the King’s good friend. Sir William also believed Rishanger was one of those who frequented Saint Michael’s graveyard. He and others of that devilish crew were witches and sorcerers.’

‘But the treasure?’

‘To be brief, Rishanger may have been an associate of the Midnight Man and his coven. We know how that warlock held his satanic ceremonies here in the monks’ cemetery, as well as that disastrous attempt at Saint Michael’s.’

‘How do you know this?’ Anselm retorted.

‘For the moment,’ Beauchamp held up a hand, ‘I ask you to be patient. Now, it’s alleged that ghosts throng close about Westminster. An abbey has stood here when all the land around it was described as the Island of Thorns. Generations of monks have lived and died here. Many good, some indifferent, a few downright evil. Stories are rife about this or that haunting. However, recently, frightening phantasms have begun to trouble the monks: screams, cries, ghostly figures, the banging of doors.’

‘Throughout the abbey?’

‘No, just around the pyx chamber and the chapter house, as well as the crypt which lies beneath.’

‘And?’ Anselm shook his head. ‘Your statements, master clerk, are like beads, but what is the string which holds them all together?’

‘Rishanger lodged near Saint Michael’s, Candlewick. The Midnight Man performed his rites there. He did the same here at Westminster. We ask ourselves: did he raise ghosts to question them about where the hidden treasure from Puddlicot’s robbery lay hidden? Did the Midnight Man disturb what you call the spirits, malevolent or not, human or not, to achieve this?’ Beauchamp paused, staring hard at the exorcist. ‘Some would dismiss all you do, Brother Anselm, as arrant nonsense, yet you and I, we have seen the disturbances at Saint Michael’s. Others also have — Sir William Higden is certainly very concerned. More importantly,’ Beauchamp picked up the leather pouches, ‘how did a petty goldsmith find such precious treasures over seventy years after they were stolen? Rishanger must have been part of some coven — hence his pursuit, his taking sanctuary and consequent murder. Finally, Rishanger’s acquisition of such treasure must have been fairly recent. I reckon it was discovered early this year, perhaps in January?’

‘I follow your logic,’ Anselm retorted. ‘It must have been very recent. Rishanger secured possession of those items. He was overwhelmed by their riches. He did not care about the others in his coven. He sells everything he has; in a twisted way he imitated the man in Christ’s parable who finds treasure in a field so he sells everything he has in order to purchase that field. Rishanger was determined to keep such treasures — certainly the Cross of Neath. If he had sold it to the bankers in Marseilles, Genoa or Florence he would have been able to live like Croesus for the rest of his life.’

‘His Grace the King must be greatly concerned,’ Stephen declared, immediately blushing at Beauchamp’s cold, hard stare.

Then the clerk relaxed, smiled and leaned across to touch Stephen lightly on the cheek. ‘We’ll make a courtier of you yet, Stephen. You have said it! That’s why we are really here. Of course,’ Beauchamp emphasized, ‘the Royal Council is concerned at the hauntings both here and at Saint Michael’s. The King, however, in a word, wants that treasure — the precious horde of his warrior grandfather. Look, my dear friars, our King is at war. The Commons sit at Westminster only an arrow flight away. They demand this and that before they vote taxes to the King.’ Beauchamp sighed. ‘That’s before we try to collect such taxes. Now I have seen the list, kept in the remembrance chamber at the Tower, of all the treasures Puddlicot stole but were never returned. Pouches of precious stones, bags of jewellery, gold and silver coins, gold bars by the casket. A King’s ransom, my dear friars — pure, unadulterated bullion. If it’s here, our King wants it.’