Paul Doherty - The Gallows Murders

‘You’ll not believe me.' I grasped his boots and glanced up fearfully. What I saw, Your Grace, was most fearful! A vision from Hell.'

Oh, my arrow struck its mark. Big, fat Henry! As superstitious as any gypsy. 'On your loyalty,' the Beast barked.

'I was in the woods, Your Grace. I was running for my life, aware of how my clacking tongue and stupid wits had brought this sad fate about.' 'And?' Henry asked.

'A rider came out of the trees. Oh, Your Grace, he was fearful. The horse was black as coal, its eyes like burning embers. The harness was ribbons of fire and the saddle was fashioned out of human skin.' I paused for effect. ‘Your Grace, I fell into a swoon.'

Henry crouched down beside me. 'And what happened then?'

When I awoke the rider had dismounted. He was towering over me, tall, dark, black. Only Your Grace,' I added falteringly, "has ever appeared more fearful to me.' Henry smiled knowingly. I knew I had hit my mark. 'And what did this figure say?' Henry asked.

‘I am Herne the Huntsman.' My voice rose. 'His voice was like yours, thunderous and majestic, roaring like the sound of cannon-fire at the height of battle.' 'And how was he dressed?' the King urged.

'Black as night with a great pair of sweeping antler horns on his head. He carried a bow, so huge only someone like yourself could have stretched it.' 'And what did he say?' someone shouted.

Henry turned round and glared. Tell me, Shallot.' He scratched my head as if I was a dog. 'I am Herne the Hunter," the figure repeated. "You, Shallot, are a base-born rogue. You have deserved to die for offending the King's greatness. However, I am here to show you great pardon and mercy. You shall not die today."' I paused, swallowing hard. 'Go on!' Henry hissed.

I glanced up. '"You are to be my most faithful emissary,'' Herne proclaimed. "The servant of my beloved, England's greatest King."' I lowered my voice. ' "You will free him from his present troubles."' Henry was now beaming from ear to ear. 'Continue,' he urged. ‘I am to serve you all your days,' I continued.

'And did he promise anything?' the Great Beast urged, like a child begging for a sweetmeat.

'Greatness of days for yourself^ Sire,' I replied. 'A lusty son and a long line. I asked him for a sign,' I whined. 'And?' the Great Beast asked.

1 "Have I not given you a sign already?" Herne replied. "Did I not rescue you from the sweating sickness in London?"'

(Oh, a beautiful touch! Will Shakespeare would have loved it, for it brought 'oohs', 'aahs' and knowing nods from Henry's companions.)

The King squeezed his lower lip between his fat fingers. True, true,' he muttered. ‘I had heard of that. Go on.'

' "I shall deliver you from this hunt," Herne promised. "I cannot touch my beloved Henry, but I shall punish those who put this idea into his head. Tell the King that when my punishment is done, the matter is forgotten."' I stared up, my eyes full of tears. 'Your Grace, I just ran on. I seemed to fall into a deep slumber, as if I was in a trance. I could hear the dogs behind me, then I found myself on the outskirts of Windsor and walked back here. I am sorry -' a delicious quaver entered my voice – 'about the death of your hounds.' I stared into the Great Beast's eyes. He continued to squat there, scratching his chin. I could see suspicion but, there again, what could he do? ‘I have also won my wager,' I whispered. Henry got to his feet and pulled me up by the shoulder.

‘We saw Herne the Hunter,' he declared. 'As you describe, on the brow of a hill.' He snapped his fingers; one of the huntsmen brought forward three arrows. Henry held them up. 'I have never seen the likes of these before,' he remarked. 'Beautiful, steel-tipped.' He threw them back. 'Norris!' He shouted without turning round. ‘You remember that purse of gold you won from me at gambling last night? Well, now it's Shallot's, give it to him.'

Red-bearded Norris came forward and sullenly handed the prize over. I guessed he must have been the architect of today's villainy: he put the idea in the King's mind that it would be better to hunt poor old Shallot rather than some old boar who would probably have loved a sprint through the woods. The Beast clapped me on the shoulder. 'Faithful, faithful, faithful Roger.'

Again I caught the suspicion in his voice, but he then dismissed me and I returned to my chamber. My master took one look at me, hugged me, then pushed me away, studying me from head to toe.

'Roger, did they hurt you? I heard what happened.' He held his hand up. 'No, don't reply. I'll wait.'

Benjamin went to the door, shouting for servants to bring buckets of hot water. My master waited until I was soaking under deep, thick suds, a bowl of sack in my hand, before continuing his questioning.

I told him everything that had happened. Every so often, he'd go and check the door to ensure there was no eavesdropper. Benjamin heard me out and whistled under his breath. "Who was it?' he asked. 'Herne the Hunter as far as I am concerned,' I replied. That's my story, Master, and I am not changing it.'

Afterwards, feeling heavy-eyed and sleepy, I dressed in the new clothes sent to me by the King and went down to the Great Hall where I was toasted and cheered. People came up to me, slapping me on the back, saying what a good fellow I was. The whole palace had now heard the news, and everyone thronged about to ask about Herne the Hunter. I told my story, embellishing it where I could; now and again I caught the Great Beast's sardonic glance. I could see he was puzzled, but he couldn't come up with a solution. Afterwards, my belly full and my purse swollen with gold and silver, I stumblingly followed Benjamin back to my room. Agrippa was sitting on the bed waiting for us, a large leather sack tied at the neck on the floor between his feet.

'Beloved Uncle sends his compliments, dearest Nephew,' he intoned. Tomorrow you are to take this gold into London. You are to leave it on the steps of St Paul's Cross as the cathedral bell tolls the midday Angelus.' 'And the King will do nothing?'

'Oh, the King will do everything. The place will be swarming with sheriff's men, all in disguise. Royal archers will guard and seal every gateway at the Tower from ten o'clock in the morning onwards.' Agrippa's face broke into a lopsided smile. The King has great confidence in you, Roger. Herne the Hunter has favoured you and vowed you will bring the King safely through this crisis.'

I groaned and slumped down on a stool. The great bag of wind had closed the trap. If Herne the Hunter had appeared to me, then tomorrow I would be successful. If not, ‘I’d be running for my life again!

We left by barge the following morning, just as dawn was breaking. Agrippa walked us down to the quayside, humming some little song under his breath. He helped me to the barge, grasped my hand and pulled me towards him.

‘Next time you meet Herne the Hunter,' he whispered, his eyes bright with merriment, 'do give him my regards.'

I sat down, gaping in surprise as the barge pulled away: Agrippa simply lifted his hand, turned and disappeared into the early morning mist. I'll be honest. I have always wondered whether he was Herne the Hunter. Years later, when old Tom Wolsey had fallen into disgrace because he couldn't get the King a divorce and journeyed south to York to stand trial for treason, I accompanied him. I was there in Leicester Abbey when he fell suddenly sick. (Oh, yes, he was poisoned and, no, it wasn't me.) I knelt by Wolsey's bedside as the death rattle began in his throat, and he confessed all his sins. I squeezed his fat, podgy hand.

Tell me, Tom,' I asked. (By then I was on first-name terms with everyone; even the Great Beast let me call him Hal!) Tell me, Tom,' I said. 'As you hope to meet your Saviour, did Agrippa dress as Herne the Hunter?'