Paul Doherty - Herald of Hell

‘Indeed I do. The triangles prove our murdered clerk was making progress, whilst his veiled warning to Matthias to stay away from St Mary’s is proof enough. But still, there’s something very wrong here.’ Athelstan rose and walked to the window. He stared down at the soldiers and archers gathering there. ‘Leave St Erconwald’s alone, Sir John,’ he murmured. ‘I am going to send my parishioners a message, repairs or not. I want my church tower back – that will bring any mischief they are planning to nothing …’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Then I must reflect.’

‘In other words, plot, little friar?’

‘Yes, Sir John, plot. We will be busy soon enough, mark my words. In view of what we have discovered, the Day of the Great Slaughter must be very, very close.’

‘Athelstan, you claimed that, despite all this progress, something was very wrong?’

‘Yes, my learned coroner, so bear with me. First, we know Reynard brought a very important message – that cipher – to Malfort, either to hand to him personally or to leave it somewhere safe in St Mary Le Bow Church. You would agree?’ Cranston nodded. ‘Secondly, Reynard was also tasked with the removal of Edmund Lacy, the bell clerk at St Mary Le Bow, in order to give Malfort a free hand. He does this clumsily and openly flees to Whitefriars, where he is captured along with that cipher which he failed to deliver. Thirdly, the message of that cipher is crucially important, and now we know why, so the Upright Men must have sent a second messenger. On this occasion he or she would carry nothing in writing as time is now of the essence, so secret verbal instructions would be delivered on what Malfort has to do.’

Cranston grunted his assent.

‘Fourthly,’ Athelstan continued, ‘Malfort realizes the cipher has been seized by Thibault and that Whitfield would have been instructed to unlock it and the same for us. For all he knows, we may even have translated it in every detail instead of just discovering the sketchy outline of what is being plotted. In the end, we know what the Upright Men intend to do but not when and how.’

‘And just in case we do,’ Cranston added, ‘I suggest the Great Community of the Realm and the Upright Men would have changed certain details. Brother, we must seize Malfort before the day is out.’

‘I agree, Sir John, but finally there is one other matter. Whitfield was a clerk of the Secret Chancery. Why didn’t he leave the cipher in a strong box at the Tower? Why have it with him when he moved to the Golden Oliphant for the Festival of Cokayne?’

‘Because Thibault wanted him to unlock its secrets as swiftly as possible, even though he had been granted boon days …’

Athelstan smiled and held up a hand. ‘Or Whitfield took it with him so he could translate it and sell it back to the Upright Men, or …’

‘Or what, Friar?’

‘Whitfield was playing the two-backed beast, the duplicitous clerk. He would translate the cipher, win Thibault’s approval and then secretly inform the Upright Men how their plot was now clearly known to Gaunt’s Master of Secrets.’

‘Of course,’ Cranston breathed, ‘and he might acquire more silver for his flight.’

‘And Whitfield’s so-called death, however it was depicted, could be laid at the door of the Upright Men, who punished Whitfield for discovering their secret. Whitfield would have emerged as the faithful clerk who pleased his master and was apparently murdered for doing so. Even if his flight was later discovered, Whitfield could pretend that, because of what he had done and the threats from the Herald of Hell, he had taken fright and fled. Thibault might not be so pleased but at least it’s understandable. There are so many variations to what Whitfield plotted, we will never know the full truth. Suffice to say, Whitfield was going to use the cipher for his own nefarious reasons.’

‘Do you think, despite his sketchy notes, Whitfield had broken the cipher in its entirety?’

Athelstan picked up his cloak. ‘Perhaps, but now we must get going. Our bell clerk awaits us.’

Within the hour, Cranston and Athelstan, accompanied by Flaxwith’s bailiffs and a cohort of Guildhall men-at-arms and archers, swept through Cheapside and up the steps of St Mary Le Bow. Their arrival was not unexpected. Reports of the coroner’s dramatic departure from the Guildhall with a phalanx of heavily armed men had been noted, the news being carried by scampering urchins who leapt like fleas round the busy stalls and booths. At Athelstan’s hushed and breathless instruction, the church was immediately ringed with guards, placed at the Corpse and Devil doors as well as all the narrow postern gates built into that ancient church.

Cranston and Athelstan led their main company up the steps. The beggars, counterfeit men, preachers, relic sellers and tale-tellers swiftly disappeared like snow under the sun. Some attempt was made to swing the huge main door shut, but Flaxwith’s bailiffs thrust this aside. They poured up the nave, hastening towards the entrance to the bell tower. Its heavy oaken door, reinforced with iron bands and studs, had been thrown open. The Earthworms secretly working there had fled and, to judge by the clatter of weapons from outside, Athelstan realized they had encountered the men-at-arms being deployed across God’s Acre, the broad cemetery around the church.

Flaxwith kicked open the door to the bell tower and, sword and dagger drawn, entered the cavernous stairwell which served as Master Malfort’s tooth-drawing chamber. Athelstan glimpsed the heavy, blackened oaken chair which Malfort used for his patients. On a table beside it stood a bowl with broken, rotting teeth, pincers, small implements and pieces of blood-caked string. Athelstan noted the black heavy straps used to pinion patients as well as the pots of crushed herbs and other potions and powders. The dirty, cobwebbed chamber was empty. A noisy scuffling echoed further up the stone spiral staircase. Flaxwith and his men were about to go up, but Athelstan called them back.

‘Master Malfort?’ The friar stood on the bottom step. ‘Master Malfort and those with you, come down or face summary execution. I speak for Sir John Cranston, Lord High Coroner of this city with the power and life and death over all found in arms against the King.’

‘Immediate and without appeal!’ Cranston bawled, joining Athelstan on the step.

‘Athelstan,’ the coroner whispered, ‘what do you think …?’

‘When news of our imminent arrival reached here,’ Athelstan murmured, ‘I am sure the Earthworms were busy further up the tower while Malfort was practising his grisly trade here in this chamber. The tooth-drawer and his patients fled in panic the only way they could, up those steps – listen.’

The sound of angry voices drifted down. Men’s gruff tones and the shrill, strident scream of a woman.

‘You have only the briefest of times,’ Cranston bawled, ‘or I send armed men up. They will take no prisoners.’

At Cranston’s signal, Flaxwith and his men began to rattle their drawn weapons against the walls, an ominous clatter of steel which echoed up the steps.

‘Come down!’ Cranston roared. ‘Come now! The only person we want is Raoul Malfort, bell clerk of this church and alleged traitor. Anyone found aiding, abetting or assisting him …’

This was enough. More shouts and yells, followed by the patter of footsteps, and a veritable gaggle of individuals came clattering down the steps. Two men, a woman and Raoul Malfort, held at the scruff of the neck by one of the men, a burly individual with a thick, heavy apron wrapped about him. He identified himself as Henry Vattier, vintner, his wife Margot and apprentice Simeon who, by his blood-encrusted mouth, must have been the object of Malfort’s recent ministrations before the unexpected arrival of Cranston and his escort.