Paul Doherty - The Gallows Murders

'Listen.' Benjamin, who had been studying the manuscript carefully, rolled it up and handed it back to me. 'My good doctor, whatever this villain says, I believe the two Princes in the Tower are dead. The constable, Sir Robert Brackenbury, who looked after them, was killed at Bosworth. Sir James Tyrrell, who may have had a hand in their murder, is also gone. However, Sir Thomas More, in his History of Richard the Third, alleges two common malefactors were involved in the Princes' murders, Dighton and Greene. Does anyone know of their whereabouts?'

'My Lord Cardinal has already thought of that,' Agrippa answered. 'Careful search has been made amongst the public records. Dighton was a northerner, he may have been executed in Durham but we have no real proof. Greene was a Londoner, a young man, a rogue. After Bosworth, a hunt was mounted for him. All we have is a description: lean, narrow-faced, with a terrible scar on his right wrist.' Agrippa sighed and got to his feet. 'But that's all I know. Now I have to report back to Windsor. You have the letter and the King's instructions. I wish you well.'

I made an obscene gesture as the door closed behind him. 'Shall we go to France?' I asked.

Benjamin sniffed the air. 'Isn't Dr Agrippa's perfume strange?' he muttered. 'Some say it is pleasant but others claim it's foul.'

The same goes for a hanging!' I snapped. 'It's pleasant if you're watching, or so they say, but dreadful to experience.' Benjamin got to his feet, picking up his doublet. 'All paths are closed,' he declared, 'except one which you, Roger, have opened.' He smiled down at me. 'Let's ask Master Mallow a few questions.' He picked up the scroll Agrippa had brought and pushed it into one of the saddlebags hanging from a peg on the wall. We've some time yet.'

We left Wakefield Tower. It was strange to be surrounded by the daily retinue of the garrison: soldiers cleaned their equipment whilst children chattered and played in the sun: a cartload of provisions trundled towards the kitchens; masons banged and sang on the scaffolding. Benjamin made inquiries and discovered the hangmen had been busy carrying out executions and would be at the Gallows tavern. We went there but found it empty. Benjamin ordered ale, the landlord assuring us that, before the hour was out, Mallow and his apprentices would arrive. We sat sipping morosely at our ale until they did, coming through the doorway like a collection of demons. This was the first time I had seen them dressed in their official garb: black, high-heeled boots, long leather jackets of the same colour, hoods with a half-mask over their faces. They looked sinister and, as they walked across towards us, I realised how difficult it would be to tell one from the other in some darkened gallery or half-lit room. They greeted us cheerfully enough, pulling back their cowls, taking off the face masks, wiping the sweat from their faces as they shouted for ale. 'A good day's work?' I asked.

They acted like labourers coming in from the fields rather than executioners who had just been dispatching men on the gallows.

'Good?' Mallow queried. 'Of course, it's good, Shallot. London is a safer place. This morning we hanged nine river pirates near Wapping: that's why we were all there.' 'A bad time for river pirates,' I observed.

Mallow smirked and sipped at his tankard. 'Less of the sarcasm, Shallot. Now the sweating sickness is over, the justices of gaol delivery have been busy at the Fleet, Newgate and Marshalsea, so now we are going to be very busy over the next few weeks. Well -' he put the tankard down – "what can we do for you? As you can see, we are all alive and kicking.'

'Unlike the river pirates,' Wormwood quipped. They are just kicking!'

'It's about the murders of Hellbane, Horehound and Undershaft,' I began. 'We've told you all we know,' Snakeroot sneered.

Tell me,' Benjamin asked, ‘How does the Guild of Hangmen function? I mean, who decides which executions will be carried out?'

That's my decision,' Mallow replied. 'I work with the under-sheriffs. Naturally, sometimes we are busier than others. After the quarter sessions or commissions of gaol delivery, execution days are fixed either at Tyburn, in St Paul's churchyard, Smithfield, or at any of the crossroads leading into the city. There is a roster of duties.' ‘Yet today you have all been busy?' I inquired.

'As I have said, the plague is now over. Commissioners of gaol delivery sit at Westminster and the Guildhall, whilst the King's ships have been busy in the Thames estuary. River pirates have been caught and have now been hanged, either at Wapping or along the riverbanks.'

'So,' Benjamin asked, 'are you ever threatened by friends, relatives, or members of the gangs?'

Mallow grinned and sipped from his tankard. 'Now that's strange,' he declared. 'Oh, yes, sometimes. However, Master Daunbey, we are masked and hooded, whilst most felons and cut-throats see capture, imprisonment and execution as an occupational hazard. Amongst the outlaws and wolvesheads there is only one law: don't be caught.' He shrugged. 'And if you are, you pay the price. Why, where are these questions leading to?'

‘We believe that the murders of members of your guild are definitely linked to the blackmailing letters being sent to the King. Now,' Benjamin paused to collect his thoughts, 'God knows the reason, though I suspect it might be connected to the events which occurred in the Tower on the night of the King's birthday.' 'What do you mean?' Wormwood snapped.

'If I knew, ‘I’d tell you,' Benjamin declared. 'Nevertheless,' he continued, ‘Undershaft, Horehound and Hellbane were all slain with a malicious relish. Each of them suffered execution as laid down by the law. Undershaft was burnt in a cage. Hellbane drowned in a sack, and Horehound pressed to death. We believe the assassin has a grudge against all of your company.'

'But, as we have said -' Snakeroot's shifty eyes gazed Wearily at us, his mouth slack and dribbling '- the villains of London leave us alone.'

Think!' Benjamin urged them. Think! Have there been any executions, carried out by all of you, where vengeance was promised?'

Benjamin's words hung like a hangman's noose over this sinister group of men. They had walked into the tavern the roaring, bully boys, used to exercising the power of life and death. Now they were being confronted with the prospect of their own executions, and macabre ones at that.

(Oh, I see my little clerk is tapping his quill. A sign he wishes to ask a question. 'Have you ever been an executioner?' he squeaks. I am tempted to rap him over the knuckles with my ash cane for his impertinence: the answer is no! In all my adventures, despite all the extremities I have been pushed to, I have never taken a life unless I have had to. There, he can shut his mouth and 111 continue.) Think!' Benjamin repeated.

The Sakker Gang!' Toadflax spoke up, running his hands through his yellow hair. 'Of course!' Mallow breathed. The Sakkers!' ‘Who are they?' Benjamin asked.

'A Kentish gang,' Mallow replied slowly. 'A father and five sons. They owned a tavern on the London to Canterbury road. They used to prey on pilgrims. The sheriff of Kent and the local law officers could do nothing against them. They robbed, plundered, raped and ravished. At first no one suspected them. They owned a tavern near St Thomas's watering-hole. Pilgrims would stop there. The Sakkers wined and dined them, carefully scrutinising their intended victims. The following morning, after the pilgrims had left, the Sakkers would take a short cut through the forest and ambush them: heavily armed pilgrims they left alone. They preyed on those little groups: families, merchants alone with their wives. Sometimes they would just rob. However, if they thought there was danger of being identified, they would kill with a cold ruthlessness.' 'And no one suspected them?' Benjamin asked.