Paul Doherty: The Gallows Murders

I glanced at old Quicksilver's face. 'He was an ugly bugger in life,' I observed, 'and now he's dead.' I covered his face with a rag and glanced at my master. 'Do you really think he's Greene?' I asked. 'The man whom Sir Thomas More mentions as being responsible for the Princes' murder?'

‘I think so,' Benjamin replied. 'And that scar proves it. Greene must have been a mere stripling, though ancient in knavery, some forty years ago. He must have had a hand in the death of the Princes.'

Benjamin got to his feet and walked away from the corpse, beckoning me to follow. He closed the door and we sat on the stools. Above us we could hear Pelleter's bailiffs crashing about.

'After 1485’ Benjamin began, "when the Tudors came to the throne, Greene went into hiding.'

‘Yes, yes, that's true’ I replied. 'Quicksilver once told me he had spent many years on the Welsh March’

'Aye’ Benjamin replied. Then he returned to London as Dr Quicksilver. A born charlatan, he took up quackery. His only problem was that scar on his wrist.'

‘Do you think he could have been involved in the blackmail?' I asked.

‘I doubt it’ Benjamin replied. 'A born rogue, Quicksilver would not wish to excite attention. Which brings us to the intentions and true motives of the men we are hunting.' He ran the nail of his thumb round his lips. 'Sakker is definitely involved. An Oxford-trained clerk, he would know all about the Chancery and how to draft and publish a letter.' Benjamin tapped me on the knee. ‘I’m sure your theory is correct. He probably worked in the Tower for a while as Philip Allardyce, clerk of the stores. Somehow he faked his own death, which left him free to run about the city issuing proclamations, killing Undershaft and the rest.'

Benjamin paused, staring into the cold ash in the fire hearth. 'A man like Sakker would love that, cocking a snoot at authority whilst carrying out his own private war against the hangmen who executed his family. But -' he held up a finger – the mystery still remains. Who is his accomplice?’ Benjamin paused. "We know Sakker must hate the hangmen, yet, out of fear or some other motive, one of them might be his accomplice.' He sighed. ‘Whatever, Sakker seems to move in and out of the Tower as he pleases.' He stood up. ‘But come, let's find out what our friends have discovered.'

So far, it transpired, very little, but then old Shallot became involved. One of the great virtues of being a rogue is that you know where people hide things. Oh, the bailiffs had found potion books, elixirs, even a grimoire of black magic, but nothing to prove that Quicksilver was really Greene, or that he had a hand in any dark deeds at the Tower. Nevertheless, I soon corrected that. You see, people always hide things in the same place: they also believe that their bedchambers are, somehow, the safest place: the receptacle of all their great secrets. (Even my little chaplain here, I know he has been moving my great four-poster! He will find nothing there! I have, over the years, learnt never to hide anything in my bedchamber.)

Quicksilver was not so fortunate. His bedchamber had already been plundered, but I pulled the bed aside. I ignored the bailiffs' sniggers as I failed to find any loose board beneath, and I turned my attention to the bed itself. The headboard and posts proved solid, but I pulled the mattress off and beneath found a secret pocket cleverly sewn into its base. I rummaged about and drew out a sheaf of documents. My master cleared the chamber and took these over to the window to examine. The vellum had turned yellow and greasy with old age and the ink had faded. One was a love letter to Greene, probably from some long-dead doxy. Another was an indenture between Robert Brackenbury, constable of the Tower, and Edward Greene, yeoman; the date was January 1484. The third document was much more exciting: it was a plan of the Tower, or at least its walls, showing all the postern-gates and doors. Benjamin studied this closely and became excited.

'Look, Roger, here! In the wall near the Flint Tower, there's a small water-gate. I am sure this was not on Spurge's map.' He rolled it up. ‘We are finished here,' he announced.

He called Pelleter and told him we were leaving, and fairly hustled me out of the house. We hurried down to East Watergate, where we hired a skiff to take us back to the Tower. Once we were there, Benjamin immediately called a council with Kemble, Vetch, Spurge, Mallow and the hangmen. We met in the constable's chamber. Benjamin demanded Spurge's map and spread it out on the table, alongside the faded, greasy one taken from Quicksilver's mattress. 'Study them!' Benjamin exclaimed.

Spurge leaned over the table and did so. 'Where did you get this from?' he asked.

'Never mind! Never mind!' Benjamin replied. Tell me, Master Spurge, can you see any difference?'

For a while we sat in silence. No one dared object: Benjamin's face and curt, clipped words being a stark reminder that he was the King's commissioner in this matter and had to be obeyed. We all waited whilst Spurge ran his finger round both maps; taking eyeglasses out of a velvet pouch, he put these on, whispering to himself. Now and again he would glance up anxiously at Benjamin who was sitting opposite. They are similar,' he muttered. 'Except-' 'Except what?' Benjamin snapped.

'Here, near the Flint Tower, there's a small water-gate I have never seen before.' He glanced anxiously up at the constable. 'Nor was it on the maps I saw when I came here.'

Kemble just shook his head. Benjamin cut any discussion short and we all accompanied him down to Tower Green. After a great deal of searching, we found the water-gate carefully concealed by long grass and bushes which sprouted along the wall on either side of Flint Tower. The gate, or small portal, was no more than three foot high, built in the base of the wall. Nevertheless, despite it being hidden, Benjamin could lift the latch easily, open it, and look down to where the green slime of the moat gently swirled backwards and forwards.

"The gate's been used,' Benjamin said. The hinges and lock are all greased and oiled to make no sound.' He crouched down and peered across the moat. 'Somewhere, in the reeds i on the far side, I am sure we will find a small, flat boat which could be poled across in the darkness’

That could be done very easily,' Vetch interrupted. There are few guards on the ramparts above; we did not believe there was any gate or entrance here to guard’

‘Nor can it be seen from the other side,' Snakeroot spoke up.

We all looked at him expectantly. Well’ he stammered, 'across the moat is a good place to take a doxy. I have never seen the gate.'

The others chorused their agreement. Benjamin listened, then opening the gates, slipped through. We waited a while, then heard a knock on the gate. We reopened it and Benjamin, his coat all covered with mud and slime, stood there grinning from ear to ear.

'If you go out,' he said, 'you'll find gorse and bushes growing along the muddy bank, on this side of the Tower. It's quite simple: when the person left or entered, they pulled the vegetation across, so from the far side of the moat, all you saw were bushes and gorse growing at the base of the wall. Whilst this side was hidden by the same device.' He straightened up, shaking the mud from his gown. Philip Allardyce was clerk to the stores?' he inquired. His question was directed to the constable, who nodded quickly. 'And who hired him?' Benjamin continued. Why?’ Kemble replied.

'Master Constable, the Allardyce who came here was really Robert Sakker!'

Well, Master Daunbey, I did.' Kemble stuttered. ‘I thought he was who he claimed to be.' 'But why him?'

Kemble's face broke into a grin. 'Because no less a person than your beloved uncle, Cardinal Wolsey, recommended him’