A Verse to Murder

by Peter Tonkin

‘And he has been all afire and increasingly desperate to get to Ireland for these last six months at least. But is that all your reasoning for this?’

  ‘No my Lord, we though there was more. The supposition we have just discussed that Shakespeare has Catholic leanings.’

  ‘You would have to work harder to convince me of this, especially after what we have just said on that matter. Perhaps you need The Master of Logic to help you as Thomas Musgrave seems to be involved already.’

  Poley chose to ignore the jibe. ‘Furthermore, if that was Essex’s plan, he certainly added power to it by the public spectacle he made of the funeral. This unquestionably succeeded in attracting Her Majesty’s attention - but not, perhaps, in the way he intended. His two major responsibilities clashed, it seems. His responsibilities as putative Lord Lieutenant of Ireland were overridden by those as Earl Marshal. Instead of granting him his coveted command, she has simply demanded that he find the truth of what happened to Spenser. And, it now appears, that he will not be allowed to depart for Ireland until he has cleared the matter up to Her Majesty’s satisfaction.’

  ‘Not only Her Majesty’s,’ purred Lord Robert. ‘To the Council’s as well.’

  ‘But my Lord, if you, the Council and her Majesty are relying on Essex as Earl Marshal to bring everything to light, why am I still employed in the matter?’ wondered Poley.

  ‘You know very well that there are several reasons. First, you as Pursuivant Marshal, a viper in his bosom, are a good measure of how desperate the Earl is and I am happy to keep reminding him of that fact.’

  ‘Furthermore,’ added Poley, ‘if he is sufficiently desperate to gain your support that he continues to let me assume the post of Pursuivant Marshal, then we should keep careful watch for other favours he might be willing to do for other powerful men?’

  Cecil folded his hands, right over left on the table and leaned forward above them. ‘Precisely. But even more importantly, because, no matter what Robert Devereux discovers - or pretends he has discovered - I want to know the truth. It is like something I learned during my studies at the Sorbonne - a good lawyer never asks a question he doesn’t already know the answer to.’

  iii

  ‘Finally,’ said Robert Poley, ‘we come to Sir Walter Raleigh…’

  ‘Currently nursing a sore head all alone and lonely in Durham House if my information is correct. As of course it is. His household may have gone to Sherborne with his wife but there are still one or two servants remaining who I keep fee’d to watch him.’

  ‘I know nothing of his sore head, my Lord, but I am well aware that Lady Raleigh, the family and almost all of the servants set out for Sherborne soon after Twelfth Night. Other than that, nothing. Except that, like Essex, he has a circle of men around him - the School of Night - any one of which is capable of the act and at least one of whom might well have supplied the poisons used.’

  ‘Well, let us start with Raleigh where we started with Sir Thomas - what good would it do him to see Spenser dead?’

  As succinctly as possible, Poley ran through the burden of the various discussions he had been party to.

  Raleigh’s finances - which were not quite as desperate as Chapman’s but under enormous strain. His Irish estates that currently yielded so little - so convenient to Spenser’s which Raleigh therefore coveted both together being worth a great deal as capital and as regular income if Essex could settle the rebellion.

  His absolute reliance on the Queen’s good graces, still by no means guaranteed after his time in the Tower and years of effective exile because of his marriage to Bess Throckmorton - now, as Lady Raleigh, removed from London altogether.

  Those good graces possibly further strained - and to the breaking point - by his identification as The Fox in Mother Hubberd’s Tale; the cunning backstabber willing to do anything to gain preferment - including stealing Royal robes, accoutrements and power. In this case, stealing them not for his own use but for Lady Arbella Stuart or the Infanta of Spain, both of whom he was considering as worthy, Catholic, successors to the throne.

  Finally, to come full-circle, Sir Walter stood at the heart of a coterie of dangerous free-thinkers, whose discussions were at least impious, perhaps heretical and who could certainly be murderous if called upon. The group christened by Shakespeare as The School of Night - a name that clung - to the increasing damage of all concerned. Especially if King James did succeed Queen Elizabeth to the throne with his famously negative attitude to anything smacking of the occult or witchcraft.

  ‘Well,’ said Lord Robert after Poley had finished. ‘I could hardly separate Essex and Raleigh by the thinnest sheet of parchment. Both could be equally guilty in my eyes. Both have means and motivation - and a host of acolytes willing to obey their every wish. And, now I think of it, I do not discount Sir Thomas Walsingham because of his seeming innocence. He is equally powerful, equally capable and equally well-served - dear God, Ingram Frizer is his man of business as Nicholas Skeres is one of Essex’ household and you above all know that they are capable of killing without a second thought.’ Cecil paused, looking calculatingly at Poley who was equally as capable of murder as the other two. And Poley was being careful not to mention that all this was equally true of Lord Robert - who might, in fact, have access to murderous men beyond Poley’s acquaintance.

  Lord Robert broke into the intelligencer’s thoughts. ‘What is your next move in the matter?’

  ‘I must continue to discuss what we already know, my Lord, while searching for yet more clues.’

  ‘I’m afraid you cannot discuss it with me. The Tuesday meeting of the Council will be in session within the hour and I’m bound for West Minster.’

  ‘In that case, my Lord,’ said Poley who had had no intention of discussing anything further with Lord Robert anyway, ‘I will have to find someone else to discuss the matter with.’

  ‘If I were you, Poley,’ advised Lord Robert, ‘I’d talk to Tom Musgrave.’

  *

  ‘What are the motives for murder?’ wondered Tom. ‘It stands high amongst the greatest sins and leads straight down the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire. Why do people do it?’

  ‘For reasons as many and various as there are men and women committing the crime,’ said Will. ‘History provides a million examples all bound together by one thing - to wit the presence of Evil in the world.’ He looked over his shoulder and surreptitiously crossed himself as though naming Evil could summon the Devil. But the only things behind him were the fireplace with Astaroth purring contentedly beside it at his right shoulder and the door though to Tom’s class-room immediately at his back.

  ‘A logical place to start,’ said Tom, seated at the table beside him, his back to the fire and the somnolent cat. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Evil entered the world through the Garden of Eden when the Serpent tempted Eve and she tempted Adam,’ said Will. ‘Original Sin as the Old Religion has it. Total Depravity according to the new philosophy - according to Calvin at least. Through the fault of a woman.’

  ‘But murder did not enter the world until Cain slew Abel,’ countered Rosalind sitting at Will’s left hand, across the table from Tom. ‘Murder is therefore the province of men.’

  ‘Though women might also prove capable of it,’ said Will, ‘if they overcome their natural natures - by appealing to the Devil or the Powers of Darkness to… I don’t know… unsex them somehow.’

  ‘And so we arrive at witchcraft,’ said Poley, who sat at the inner end of the table beside Ugo. ‘That didn’t take long.’

  It was later that afternoon, approaching day’s end and suppertime. Poley’s arrival at Tom’s lodging had prompted the discussion they were currently having but it was Tom who had suggested that rather than go over what little evidence they had in the matter they should go back to basics - to Aristotle’s primum movens or first cause. And the closest they could come to that was the Bible.

  ‘But why did Cain kill Abel?’ wondered Rosalind.

  ‘God pr
eferred Abel’s sacrifice of a lamb to Cain’s sacrifice of fruits from the harvest,’ said Ugo.

  ‘So he was motivated by envy and rage,’ said Tom. ‘I see what you’re driving at.’ He looked down at Astaroth who was purring contentedly as she suckled her kitten, some scraps from Tom’s long-consumed luncheon on the saucer in front of her. ‘Then there’s lust. King David’s sin and the reason he had Uriah the Hittite murdered so he could come to his wife Bathsheba.’

  ‘That’s King Claudius’ motivation in the old play of Hamlet, added Will. ‘Or part of it at least. He kills his brother the King so he can take his throne as well as his wife and sister in law to his bed. I’m still working on Prince Hamlet’s motivation for killing the old advisor Corambis, though. Mad rage seems likely…’

  iv

  ‘Leaving the Bible and the wisdom of the theatre, sane or otherwise, to one side for the moment,’ suggested Poley. ‘Machiavel suggests in Il Pricipe that a Prince should seem peaceful and supportive in public while in private or in secret he murders a range of subjects who are or could be opponents to his reign.’

  ‘As King Claudius does in Ham…’ Will began then he caught Poley’s eye.

  ‘That is murder, not through fear as such, but through policy,’ the intelligencer continued. ‘And yet, I would suggest we could call it fear of opposition.’

  ‘So,’ said Tom, ‘we have rage, envy, fear and lust.’

  ‘And we have Cicero’s cui bono,’ said Will. ‘Murder for benefit…’

  ‘By which I guess we could mean money,’ suggested Ugo.

  ‘More than that,’ suggested Rosalind, ‘someone who has committed an act in secret that they fear will be unmasked in public might benefit from security - the knowledge that the dead victim can no longer expose him; an ordinary mortal might well think that as well as any king or prince.’

  ‘There’s probably a sub-section on that in Il Principe,’ said Tom. ‘Not to mention an entire act in Hamlet. How a king - or any man, indeed - with secret murders hanging on him must keep on killing to avoid discovery. Though of course kings and other men of power would suborn others to do the deed rather than wielding the knife themselves as we have already discussed. What do you think, Poley?’

  ‘I think we are building quite a list,’ answered Poley smoothly. ‘Rage, envy, fear, lust, political ambition and security against discovery. And, of course security against poverty which is just another term for greed - or, as Ugo pointed out - money.’

  ‘That more or less covers the seven deadly sins,’ said Ugo.

  ‘Except for Pride - Satan’s own sin,’ said Tom. ‘And the one that many elders warn is the most deadly of all. Consider how any one of our suspects could be so proud that he would think nothing of snuffing out an inconvenient life as though it were indeed the merest candle-flame.’

  ‘Well, now that we have the list, what should be the next step?’ wondered Will.

  ‘To order them in such a manner as to put at the head of the list those motives that seem most likely - both in theory and in our specific case,’ said Tom.

  ‘Pride,’ said Poley, recounting the list in no particular order, ‘then rage, envy, fear, lust, greed, political ambition and security against discovery. Any of the men on our list could be motivated by one or more of these. They are all proud, most are easily provoked to rage; lustful, politically ambitious; greedy for power as well as desperate for money - though some more so than others; envious of others who appear to have more of these things than they do; desirous of being protected against discovery having committed various sins and solecisms that must never be brought to Her Majesty’s attention.’

  *

  ‘So,’ said Tom, perhaps it’s time to re-approach the problem more directly. We are looking for a man who is proud, easily provoked, lustful, politically ambitious; greedy for power as well as desperate for money; perhaps envious of others who appear to have more than he does; desirous of being protected against discovery having committed some act that must never be brought to Her Majesty’s attention.’

  ‘Both Essex and Raleigh fit that description,’ said Poley. ‘As Lord Robert observed, no more than the thinnest sheet of parchment separating them.’

  ‘The similarities do not stop there,’ continued Tom. ‘They have both - either directly or indirectly and in deathly secret - been seeking occult guidance from Simon Forman.’

  ‘Which means that either one could have easy access to the poisons he concocts,’ added Rosalind.

  ‘The only problem being,’ said the ever-practical Ugo, ‘that if they have a fearsome secret that they will kill to keep from the Queen’s ear, it will take a deal of reasoning and logic on our parts to work it out.’

  ‘Essex is easy,’ said Poley. ‘He has been making preparations to recruit an army that will follow him to Ireland through the good-offices of Sir Thomas North who is famous for translating Plutarch. Who is also a renowned and effective Captain, having fought in the Low Countries as well as in Ireland. Who is so well-thought of that he was put in charge of the defence of the South Coast when Essex’ pursuit of treasure together with the fleet at his command left the Channel open to another Spanish Armada.’

  ‘But,’ continued Tom, ‘I thought Essex was using North as his muster master because he doesn’t trust Sir Ralph Lane the Muster Master General as he is one of Raleigh’s closest associates. That he is hoping therefore to get a larger, better trained and better equipped army than has ever been sent to Ireland in the past.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Poley. ‘But remember that Lord Robert is not the only Councillor worried that such an army might follow Essex back again, no matter how things turn out in Ulster, and be the backbone of an attempt to snatch the throne.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Essex’ concern at the conclusion of either of these enterprises is more than enough to explain the visits from men of his camp to Simon Forman seeking assurance of the outcome. Is it possible that Essex himself could have visited Billingsgate in secret or in disguise?’

  ‘I would think it just possible,’ said Will. ‘Unless Master Poley has had a close watch kept on Forman’s house, anyone might have come or gone in secret.’

  ‘But I think we can all agree that even if Essex did visit Forman there are limits to what his dignity would allow. In which case, all that secrecy would effectively come to nothing. It remains far more likely that Sir Francis Bacon visited on Essex’ behalf.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Poley. ‘Let us turn to Sir Walter…’

  ‘Mercy!’ cried Rosalind. ‘It appears there may be a lengthy set of deliberations in prospect. For God’s sake let us fetch in sustenance to give us strength. Is there no local hostelry whose food is worth carrying home?’

  ‘The White Hart on Cheapside is scarce ten minutes’ walk from here,’ answered Tom. ‘It is where Kate and I always get our food - either to eat there or to carry home.’

  ‘Umble pies and venison,’ elaborated Ugo. ‘Winter fruits and vegetables. They do a fine eel pie, too, on Fish Days.’

  ‘If there’s a fish pie, I’d be happy with that,’ said Rosalind.

  Tom looked around the room. ‘Venison, pies and trenchers it is,’ he said.

  ‘And as much Rhenish as you can carry,’ added Poley with a straight face - and a twinkle of wickedness in his eye.

  ‘Very well,’ said Tom. ‘Ugo, are you happy to help?’

  ‘As ever.’ The Dutch gunsmith gave a theatrical sigh and pulled himself to his feet. ‘Food for five and, by the sound of it, drink for ten.’

  v

  ‘When are you going to bring out the two actual clues in your possession?’ wondered Ugo as the he and Tom strode up Knightrider Street towards St Pauls.

  ‘If you can call them clues,’ said Tom. ‘A love-lock curl of hair tied with a ribbon such as a lover might carry next to their heart in reminiscence of the beloved. And a few threads of hair pulled from the fist of a bloated corpse.’

  ‘The one dropped by someone bathing at Simon Fo
rman’s and the other from a man we are certain died at Simon Forman’s and was kept in that same bath for a while before being secreted in the garden privy.’

  ‘The fact that they both come from the same place adds some weight to them as clues - especially as they come from that particular place. Where almost all of our suspects or their representatives have been at least once and many more than once between Twelfth Night and Saturday week ago, including both of our corpses.’

  This conversation took them through St Paul’s churchyard, past New Change and onto The Cheap. Then it was only a matter of moments before they were pushing into the White Hart. The tavern was as busy as usual but Tom and Ugo still managed to find a table and place an order for venison pies, eel pies, trenchers and Rhenish. Everything soon arrived, together with a couple of pot-boys to help carry the food back to Blackfriars. But, Tom was regretfully informed, there were no eel pies, salmon pies or fish pies of any sort.

  The four men set out, laden with the best that the White Hart could offer, Tom and Ugo bemoaning the lack of fish pies for Rosalind. But as chance would have it, as they came out of Knightrider Street into Blackfriars, another two men joined them. Tom recognised them as being servants from Nonsuch, Sir Thomas Walsingham’s great house on London Bridge. The servants recognised Tom too, for he was a frequent visitor. ‘Master Musgrave,’ called the taller of the pair, ‘well met, sir. We come bearing gifts. Sir Thomas has sent you a pie of lampreys from his fish ponds at Scadbury as were brought up fresh this morning then killed and cooked this noon but they’re cold and well set now!’

  ‘That solves all your problems,’ Ugo observed. ‘The lamprey pie is probably Scadbury’s greatest dish.’

  Tom agreed. It was by far his favorite, though there was little enough to the making of it, especially compared to some of the other culinary delights prepared in Sir Thomas’ kitchens. A case of robust, buttery shortcrust sealed on the inside with more butter, stuffed with gutted, washed and chunked lamprey, layered with shallots and bay, seasoned with salt, pepper and nutmeg, and brimming with yet more melted butter before the shortcrust lid went on and the whole was gently baked to a golden perfection. All in all a heavenly case with a firm, flavoursome filling set hard and best eaten cold with mustard, which Sir Thomas had been thoughtful enough to supply as well.