Paul Doherty - Herald of Hell

Malfort nodded. ‘I was informed of the plot to seize the Tower,’ he gasped, ‘and ordered to wait for a sign.’

‘What sign?’

‘A tile, yes, a tile emblazoned with an all-seeing eye. Once I had received that, I was to fire the beacon light in St Mary’s steeple, a veritable bonfire just as dawn broke: it would be seen all over the city. The Earthworms would move in immediately to seize the designated towers.’

‘When?’

‘I don’t know. I was still waiting for a further message, though I sense that the time is very close,’ Malfort chatted on. ‘In the meantime, I was ordered to pass on what I had been told to the leaders of the Earthworms.’

‘So you know who these are,’ Cranston demanded. ‘Give me their names.’

‘I can’t. Every so often one would appear and I’d deliver the message, which he would pass on. Who and how, I don’t know. Sir John, Brother Athelstan, I beg you to believe me. I was only told what was necessary; that is how the Upright Men work – constantly in the shadows, ever vigilant against spies and traitors.’ Malfort drew a deep breath. ‘I was given further instruction, something only I could do.’

‘What? Who was this messenger?’

‘He sheltered in the gloom of the church porch. I was told to stand well away. I …’ Malfort coughed and spluttered. Cranston ordered the gyves to be unlocked and the bell clerk sat up, rubbing his wrists and arms.

‘Continue,’ Cranston ordered.

‘You know,’ Malfort gabbled, ‘how one of the duties of the bell clerk at St Mary’s is to collect rents from certain tenements the parish owns along Cheapside up to Newgate and Smithfield.’

‘Bequests,’ Cranston agreed. ‘Property left to the church by wealthy parishioners in return for chantry masses being sung for their souls.’

‘I collect them,’ Malfort declared. ‘Some chambers are occupied, others, particularly with the coming troubles, lie empty. I was given money and ordered to place, in certain of these rooms, the finest warbows fashioned out of yew along with well-stocked quivers of arrows. When the revolt began and the Earthworms fortified the tower of St Mary le Bow, I was ordered to leave and go to the taproom of the Lamb of God …’

Cranston whistled under his breath. ‘Is nothing sacred?’ he murmured.

Athelstan held a hand up. Sir John’s favourite hostelry commanded the sweep of Cheapside.

‘St Mary’s,’ Malfort continued, ‘owns tenements there, in the gallery above the taproom. But I was ordered to wait for a stranger. He would show me a tile, glazed white with the word “Actaeon” emblazoned on it. I was to provide him with a list of the tenements. The doors to such rooms would be left open; inside each I was to hide a warbow and quiver of arrows.’ Malfort rubbed dried, cracked lips. Cranston made him take a generous gulp from the wineskin. ‘I was also to warn the ward bailiffs of Cheapside not to interfere with any man at night carrying a small, white tile emblazoned with the word, “Actaeon”.’

‘Of course you would,’ Athelstan agreed. ‘You are the Herald of Hell, aren’t you?’

Malfort nodded. ‘I, with an escort of Earthworms, would meet the bailiffs on their nightly tours and give them instructions on what to do. The same applied to this.’

Troubled, Athelstan rose to his feet. He gestured at Cranston to join him in the murky entrance to the torture chamber.

‘Actaeon,’ he whispered. ‘The hunter from Greek mythology, an archer, a master bowman. Something jogs my memory, Sir John, but I can’t place it.’

Cranston stood deep in thought, staring down at the brackish pools of water coagulating on the paving stones.

‘Sir John?’

‘Tyler,’ the coroner whispered. ‘We have reports, Brother, of a leading captain of the Upright Men, Kentish in origin, called Wat Tyler, a former soldier, a true agitator …’

‘And?’

‘The records are being searched. Tax lists, muster rolls, court proceedings, Commissions of Array, all the sheriff returns every quarter to the Exchequer. However, no trace can be found of a Wat Tyler. He mysteriously appeared about six months ago, very active amongst the Upright Men in Kent …’

‘But no one knows who he is?’

‘Very much so, Brother. But I have my suspicions.’ Cranston spun on his heels and shouted at Flaxwith, ‘Get him!’ The coroner pointed to Malfort crouched crying on the ground. ‘Get him dressed. He is going to take us to all the properties owned by St Mary Le Bow which stand along Cheapside.’

A short while later Cranston and Athelstan left the dungeons. Two of Flaxwith’s bailiffs pushing the bent, bedraggled Malfort out across the great bailey. The bell clerk flinched at the bright sunlight, raising his bound wrists to protect his eyes. Athelstan was aware of shouts and cries, the neigh of horses from nearby stables, the pungent smell of dung, urine and sweat. Men-at-arms milled around. Cranston was shouting at a retainer to fetch his court clerk. Athelstan stared around; his feeling of unease had sharpened. Malfort’s confession had stirred a memory of something he had glimpsed here at the Guildhall. The friar glanced up at the whirring sound like the fast beating wings of a hawk. The sound was repeated. Athelstan spun around. Malfort was choking, screaming. One shaft had struck him high in the shoulder; the second was embedded deep in the bell clerk’s chest. Malfort’s face was twisted in shock, blood already seeping between his gaping lips. A third shaft caught the clerk in the throat, flinging him back on to the cobbles. The brief, abrupt silence of the courtyard erupted into shouts and yells. Men fled for the protection of doorways and walls, as far as possible from that blood-soaked prisoner thrashing in his death throes on the cobbles. Cranston pulled at Athelstan’s sleeve.

‘Brother, come away!’

Athelstan tried to shake off the coroner’s grip as he stared up at the Guildhall. He glimpsed a half-open casement window and remembered what he had seen.

‘The chapel, Sir John. Quickly!’

The friar, followed by a bemused coroner, hastened across the bailey, pushing aside retainers, men-at-arms and servants, now milling frenetically about. Cranston bellowed at them all to stand aside as he followed the friar up the staircase along the narrow gallery leading to the chapel. Athelstan tentatively pushed open the door. Cranston drew his sword and ordered the two archers he had summoned to string their bows. The friar cautiously entered. The chapel was empty; the door-window in the far wall hung open. No sign of the tiler and his sharp-eyed, stave-holding apprentice. The floor tiles had been fitted. Athelstan crossed to the window and picked up the small white square emblazoned with a crudely scrawled ‘Actaeon’. Athelstan sat down on a wall bench. Cranston dismissed the archers and joined him.

‘I saw him,’ Athelstan whispered, ‘and his so-called apprentice. In truth, our bowman and his protector, Wat Tyler. They were here. They must have been alerted by your arrest of Malfort and hastened here, just two more master craftsmen hired by the Guildhall.’

Cranston rose and made to go out.

‘Forget it, Sir John, they will be long gone.’

‘And that,’ Cranston crossed, closed the door and returned, ‘truly disturbs me.’

‘Sir John?’

Cranston made himself comfortable and took a generous slurp from the miraculous wineskin, then offered it to Athelstan, who drank a mouthful of the rich Bordeaux. ‘Little friar, to copy you. Item. We have Malfort the Herald of Hell in more ways than one. He not only suborned ward bailiffs, he was also the herald of chaos. He was to give the signal for certain church towers in the city to be seized and fortified once the revolt had begun. We now know the reasons why.’ Cranston hastened on. ‘Item. Malfort had other secret instructions. As bell clerk he had access to certain properties; I will get a list of these and search them. In these tenements Malfort was ordered to hide a warbow and quivers of yard shafts; we have just witnessed how skilfully they can be used! Item, my dear friar: we know from Grindcobbe that one of the principal captains of the Upright Men plots the sudden murder of our young king and we suspect, with good reason, that this particular captain is an accomplice of Gaunt. The revolt will occur, the church towers be seized and so on. Our king will shelter in the Tower but eventually he will leave, either to meet the rebels, be it with their envoys at Westminster, or to process through the city with banners unfurled.’