Paul Doherty: The Gallows Murders

‘Robert Sakker!' Benjamin exclaimed. ‘I knew it was he.'

He touched the deep scar which showed clearly through the wet and matted beard. I stared down at the strong, clever face, so serene in death: this villain who had led us a merry dance. I pointed to the dust on his hands.

‘Your hypothesis was correct, Master. He worked on the walls.'

‘I saw him! I saw him there!' a voice called. A groom pushed his way to the front. ‘I glimpsed him on the scaffolding, but why should someone kill a poor labourer?'

I examined the crossbow bolt which had torn a great hole in Sakker's neck, a feathered barb sticking out at one end, the cruel arrow-point on the other. The blood from the wound had now dried and caked around the collar of his fustian tunic.

'He must have been killed some hours ago,' Benjamin whispered. ‘Probably earlier in the day, after he had taken care of Dr Quicksilver. We are fortunate,' Benjamin added. ‘I’m sure if we hadn't ordered our search, this corpse would have disappeared through that secret postern-gate.' He drew his knife and ripped open the rough clothing. ‘Ragusa!' he called. The old crone came tottering through the crowd. Benjamin whispered in her ear: she crouched down, pulling back the clothing.

'It's him,' Ragusa muttered, 'Allardyce. But he died of the plague!' 'You are sure?' I asked.

She turned her head, lips curling back like a dog. I'm not stupid, just slightly drunk,' she rasped. There's a mark on his side: I remember it well.' 'And you wrapped him in a canvas sheeting, did you?'

‘Yes, I did, and left him there; then the guards came and collected the body'

Ragusa wiped the dribble from her mouth and went back into the crowd, muttering and shaking her head. Benjamin distributed more largesse and ordered Sakker's corpse to be taken to the death-house. He and I then walked back to our chamber in Wakefield Tower. For a long time Benjamin just stood looking out through the window. If I asked him a question, he'd shake his head and go back to his meditations. He must have stood there for a good hour. I lay on my bed half asleep, trying to decide in my own mind who the villain could be and what evidence we had.

‘You'll stay here.' Benjamin came over and pressed me on my shoulder. 'Stay in this chamber, Roger. It would be very dangerous to wander the Tower alone tonight.'

'And where are you going?' I asked, half propping myself up on one elbow. 'Are we going to arrest Spurge?' I continued. 'He must have known about the secret entrance. He brought the corpse through there so that Ragusa would think it was Allardyce's. He hired Sakker as a labourer. He would also have known when the real Allardyce would be coming here.'

Benjamin put a finger to his lips. 'I'm going to trap a murderer,' he murmured and, grabbing his cloak, was out of the door before I could object or stop him.

I admit I am not very good either at waiting or amusing myself. No doxy, no merry maid to dandle on my knee, no Benjamin to question, no roaring boy with whom to drink the hours away and hear the chimes at midnight. Outside, I heard the sounds of the garrison beginning to die away: doors being slammed, the call of sentries on the ramparts, the occasional song. I began to wonder where Benjamin had gone. I became restless. I decided I was hungry and needed more wine, so I went down to the kitchen. I managed to filch some bread, cheese, apples and a jug of coarse wine. The heavy-eyed cook did not object, and I wandered slowly back to my own chamber. The night sky was like some great dark blanket with small pinpricks of light. The Tower was silent, the peace broken now and again by the occasional barking of a dog or the faint call of the sentries along the ramparts. I knew I was being watched: the hairs on the nape of my neck curled and I thought of all the grim, bloody happenings in that place. Did the ghosts walk, I wondered? Including those of the two young Princes? I reached the Wakefield Tower, slammed the door behind me and climbed the dark, winding steps. I reached the top. My chamber door was closed; I pushed it open and went in. There was no one there, no one lurking behind the arras or under the bed. Yet my uneasiness grew. Like the good dog I am, I knew there was something wrong. Had anybody watched me leave, then come up here to plot some villainy? But what? I went across to the water jug, this was still empty. I checked the bed carefully for a dagger hidden there: some stale bread lay on a platter but, apart from signs that it had been nibbled by a rat, I could detect nothing amiss.

Now the chamber was circular, with arrow-slit windows every few paces. I went around and stared through these, my unease turning to terror. 'Someone came up here,' I whispered.

I had left the door half-open, yet when I had returned it had been firmly shut. Outside, a raven, disturbed from its sleep, suddenly soared up past the window, its black feathery wings flapping like those of the angel of death. I jumped, almost dropping the wine and bread I had brought. What was wrong? No poison, no hidden dagger, no secret assassin! I looked at my bed but couldn't tell whether it had been disturbed or not. I went across and looked at Benjamin's. It was neat and tidy, as it always was. The coverlet was drawn up, except where it had been disturbed by my feeling for some knife in the mattress. I looked at the bolsters and walked slowly backwards. Hadn't Benjamin been sitting on the bed? Weren't the bolsters up against the wall as if he had used them as a rest? And hadn't he thrown something there? I stared round the room. A quilted, tasselled cushion lay in a corner. Had it been there before I left? I took out my sword, a long, evil-looking blade with a wire-mesh guard. I went back to Benjamin's bed. Gingerly using the point of the weapon, I pulled back the coverlet, dragging off one bolster, then the other.

Lord, I screamed, as the viper moved its sleek head, tongue lashing its venom at the person who dared disturb his sleep. Now I have fought rats. I have been chased by wolves, leopards, dogs, and every kind of assassin under the sun. But snakes hold a particular horror for me. I just closed my eyes and lashed out with the sword, chopping down, time and time again. When I opened my eyes, the snake was severed in at least five places, and Benjamin's bed was completely destroyed. I admit I am a coward, and there's nothing like a coward who's narrowly escaped death. I went round that chamber cutting at everything, thrusting my sword through bolsters, blankets, counterpanes, cushions, the straw padding of the two chairs. When I had finished, my arms ached and my body was drenched in sweat. I grabbed the wine jug, sat by a stool near the door, and drank myself stupid. I had eaten little that day, my belly was empty, and within the hour I was as drunk as a bishop. I dimly recall Benjamin returning, his exclamations of surprise at what he found. I remember getting up, solemnly declaiming how Satan had visited me in the form of a snake, before falling into a dead swoon at his feet.

I woke the next morning safe and sound, Benjamin sitting next to me. My mouth was dry as sand, my head thudded like a drum and my stomach heaved. Benjamin asked me to sit up. He fed me water and a rather bittersweet gruel.

'I obtained this from Ragusa,' he explained. 1 don't know what's in it, but she claims it's a universal remedy against intoxication.' He fed me like a baby. 'I found the snake,' he grinned. 'Or what was left of it. I told you not to leave.'

Where did that come from?' I pushed away the horn spoon.

'In the grasslands north of the Tower,' Benjamin replied. ‘You could fill a barrel with vipers and adders.' He held up the spoon. ‘Ragusa says it will work soon.'

I suddenly felt sick, and headed like a greyhound to the latrines. God knows what was in that potion, yet it proved to be an almost miraculous cure. My head eventually cleared, my stomach settled, even my mouth tasted sweet. I hastily washed, shaved, changed my clothes and, at Benjamin's urging, helped him clean up the chamber.