Paul Doherty: Herald of Hell

‘An ugly place,’ Albinus whispered, ‘with an even uglier reputation. Master, we must be prudent.’

‘As always,’ Thibault hissed. ‘You have the lantern, the tinder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then spark the flame.’

Albinus crouched and opened his leather sack. Thibault heard the tinder strike then Albinus lifted the shuttered lantern against the night.

‘Make the signal.’

Albinus obeyed; three times the shutter on the lantern clattered up and down. Thibault stared into the darkness, oblivious now to the raw fog nipping his skin.

‘There,’ he breathed, pointing into the night. ‘Look, Albinus.’

Their signal had been answered by three sharp bursts of pinprick light. ‘We wait.’ Thibault walked a few paces forward. ‘Keep the lantern light turned towards them but stay behind me, Albinus. Prime your crossbow. At the first sign of trickery, loose.’

Albinus stepped back into the darkness as Thibault watched the bobbing light approach. A figure emerged out of the murk, cowled and cloaked. The stranger walked purposefully, the lantern swinging in his right hand, and in his left Thibault glimpsed a small crossbow, probably primed and ready. The figure stopped about a yard from Thibault and lifted the lantern. The Master of Secrets glimpsed an oval face, clean-shaven, a hairlip mouth and beetle brows: this fitted the description Gaunt had given him. Thibault pushed back his own cowl for the stranger to glimpse his face.

‘You choose a peculiar place to do business, Master Thibault, nothing more than blighted heathland with old charcoal burnings. They say the soot still falls like snowflakes garbed in mourning.’

Thibault recognized the prearranged greeting. ‘Safe enough,’ he replied in kind, ‘for men swept up in a carnival of bloodshed. You are what you call yourself, Master Tyler, Wat Tyler?’

‘I am Wat Tyler, I am Jack Straw, I am every man and I am no man.’

‘Yet you are leader of the Upright Men?’

‘One of a few.’

‘How do I know that this is not a device to trap me?’

‘Fear not, Master Thibault, except that you are here and so am I. In the darkness beyond you Albinus waits ready. Behind me stands my escort with his warbow, also primed.’

Thibault nodded in agreement.

‘Then let us do business, Master Thibault. Tonight, at this witching hour, you can call me Tyler, for that is what I am. My true name and identity will only be revealed when we end this game together.’

‘And the game you propose?’

‘Master Thibault, I am a leader amongst the Upright Men, a chief in the Great Community of the Realm which plots to topple prince and prelate and build a New Jerusalem here in London, you know that. We conspire against you, you and your master reply in kind. We despatched the Herald of Hell to haunt your adherents in the city; who he is and where he comes from is my business, not yours. If you caught him you would cut his heart out at Smithfield just as you intend a similar death for our courier, Reynard, seized by you and lodged in Newgate until he hangs.’

‘Or confesses and throws himself on our mercy.’ Thibault regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He could almost see Tyler smile through the dark. ‘Whatever the case,’ Thibault added hastily, ‘we have your cipher, and my clerk Whitfield, a peritus, skilled in cryptic writing, will break it to reveal the truth.’

‘Will he now?’ Tyler mocked.

‘And Reynard will hang for the murder of Edmund Lacy, bell clerk at St Mary Le Bow.’

‘And he deserves to,’ Tyler jibed. ‘He allowed himself to be caught. Reynard can rot in Newgate or dance in the air at Tyburn for all I care.’

‘We are not here for him,’ Thibault declared sharply, eager to gain control of this midnight meeting.

‘No, we certainly are not, Master Thibault. We are here as the deadliest of opponents. The Great Community of the Realm, the Upright Men and our soldiers the Earthworms, hunt you as you do them. Our all-seeing eye watches you as you watch us. Let us face the facts, the revolt is coming. You cannot prevent it and neither can I. The peasant armies will march. London will be stormed, its bridge seized and the Tower besieged. The Earthworms intend to burn Newgate and drag out its keepers by the hair of their heads. Men will die barbarously. I must make sure that I do not, and you too should take great care that you are not swept up in the great slaughter.’ Tyler paused. ‘And your daughter, Isabella. I understand you will lodge her with Athelstan, the Dominican priest at St Erconwald’s …?’

‘He has promised to protect Isabella. We rarely mention it, but he has given his word. I believe he will be her safest refuge.’

‘The Upright Men are strong in St Erconwald’s. You know that, Master of Secrets, you have your own spy there.’ Tyler laughed softly as Thibault abruptly stiffened. ‘Do not worry, Master Thibault, we know there is one, but not his or her identity or name. Fret not, the priest Athelstan and your daughter have nothing to fear. Both will be protected most closely by our representative, someone who sits very high in the Council of the Upright Men.’

‘Enough,’ Thibault snapped. ‘What are our conclusions?’

‘You know what they are. The revolt will occur but its outcome can and will be controlled by you, your master and myself. To achieve that, certain conditions must be met, yes?’

‘My Lord of Gaunt, together with his elder son, Henry, is about to leave for the Scottish March,’ Thibault declared. ‘He will take with him a host of mailed men, mounted and on foot, engines of war and an array of bowmen and hobelars. And for yourself, have you chosen the day?’

‘Very close,’ Tyler replied. ‘As for you, Master Thibault, you must remain ensconced in the Tower along with that bitch of a Queen Mother, Princess Joan. She and her whelp must be kept there whilst we – I – must be allowed entry to their gilded cages.’ Tyler let his words hang in the air. Thibault, even though he was committed to this, felt a chill of deep fear.

‘In storming those cages,’ Tyler continued evenly, ‘certain men will and must die. Make sure you are not one of these. You and I cannot control events, only their outcome. Once this has been achieved, all will be well. The path will be cleared. Gaunt can come hurrying south with his army. Meetings can be arranged, councils held, punishments meted out and pardons proclaimed.’

‘And does the cipher we have seized have any bearing on this?’

‘Master Thibault, until certain conclusions are reached, the war between us continues. The cipher is the work of Grindcobbe and others. I am party to it but I have no control over it. Only a few know its secrets. I am one of these, and to betray it would only deepen suspicions.’

‘About what?’

‘Divisions are already appearing amongst the Upright Men over what we intend, what we hope will happen once the revolt has occurred and the kingdom been shaken. Some of us talk of a republic like those in Northern Italy, others of a commonwealth like the cities along the Rhine, whilst we, Master Thibault, dream of a realm purified, purged and under the strong leadership of a new royal house.’

‘And for you personally, Master Tyler?’

‘Why, Master Thibault, like you I have dreams of power, lordship and dominion, a free and complete pardon from my Lord of Gaunt so like you I can sit high in his councils. No need then to meet along muddy marshes or beside squalid ditches full of filth with the fog curling in about us. However, until then we must shake the dice from the hazard cup and see how it falls. Master Thibault, I bid you adieu.’

Gaunt’s Master of Secrets watched Tyler walk away into the gathering gloom. He strained his eyes, certain that he detected a second figure following him.