by Paul Doherty
We arrived back just as the sun was beginning to set. The labourers and stonemasons were putting away their tools in battered canvas bags, shouting and joking with each other. Benjamin strode across, demanding to see the master mason whom he'd spoken to previously. He was indistinguishable from the rest, covered in a fine white dust. At first he was reluctant to stay, wiping dry lips on the back of his hand.
'Master,' he moaned, 'I've done my day's work. I like my ale as much as any man.'
'A moment,' Benjamin replied soothingly. He led the mason away from the rest. "Who hired those labourers?' Benjamin asked.
Well, I did, that's one of the duties of a master mason.'
'And you know them all?'
‘No, I hired them at St Paul's. I know most of them, good workers.'
'Are any of them missing?' Benjamin asked.
The fellow was about to shake his head and move away, then he held up a dusty hand. 'Ah, Ealdred is!'
'Ealdred?' Benjamin asked.
'I don't know where he came from,' the fellow replied. We moved into the Tower, after the sweating sickness. We put up the scaffolding and began to work: one day this tall, hulking fellow appeared, dressed in rags, hair and beard covered in dust. We asked him where he came from. He said he worked as a labourer in the Tower all the time. Master Spurge the surveyor had ordered him to join us. He carried some writ.' The fellow shrugged. ‘I didn't have to pay him, and he proved to be a good worker.'
'All the time?' I asked.
Well, no, sometimes he'd disappear. Yet, when he was here, he worked like a stoat, up and down the scaffolding like a monkey.'
'Sakker!' Benjamin hissed.
Who?' The master mason asked.
'I don't suppose the man Ealdred is here now?'
‘No.' The master mason shook his head. ‘Yesterday afternoon was the last time I saw him.'
Benjamin thanked him and hurried away, shouting for Vetch.
‘I want the guard turned out!' my master explained. ‘I want every able-bodied man in the garrison out here on the green.'
Vetch was about to protest. My master plucked the Cardinal's warrant from his wallet and shoved it in his face.
What's this? What's this?' Kemble came hurrying out of the royal apartments, Spurge trailing behind him.
'I want a search of the Tower,' Benjamin declared. ‘I want every rubbish and midden-heap, every nook and cranny scrutinised.' Benjamin gazed steadily at Spurge. ‘We are looking for the corpse of Robert Sakker: a born actor, a master of disguise known to some people as the clerk in the stores Philip Allardyce, and to others as the labourer Ealdred.'
Spurge stared back, slack-jawed. Benjamin pointed across to where the labourers were standing, intrigued by the excitement my master was causing.
'Oh, for the Lord's sake!' Kemble snapped. 'Are you saying this Sakker, having left the Tower faking his own death, had the impudence to return as the labourer Ealdred? Surely he would be recognised?'
Benjamin stared up at the sky, where the great ravens were cawing raucously at being disturbed.
This Tower,' Benjamin murmured, 'is a narrow, straight place, full of doors and entrances, secret gullies and dark alleyways. Master Constable, it would be easy for a man to slip in and out, particularly if he changed the colour of his hair, or the way he walks, or his voice.' Benjamin pointed across to where the masons were now shuffling down towards Lion Gate. 'Could you tell one from the other? Do you ever look, Sir Edward, at a labourer as you would a court lady? To see the colour of his eyes, or the shape of his mouth, the cut of his beard? Master Spurge!' Benjamin beckoned the surveyor over. 'Did you give a labourer, calling himself Ealdred, the right to work on the walls?'
Spurge nodded fearfully. 'He came here when the Tower opened, said he was a mason, ready to work for nothing except his victuals.'
'And you accepted that?'
'Of course,' Spurge stuttered. 'Skilled labour is scarce, the work is done faster. It's not the first time—'
'Aye,' Benjamin interrupted, 'but will your accounts show he was paid?'
Spurge blushed at being caught out in one of his trade's ancient vices; submitting bills for labourers who were not paid a penny.
‘Well,' Benjamin glanced at an angry Kemble, 'he was really Sakker!'
And, spinning on his heel, my master walked across the green, which was now thronged with scullions, men-at-arms, even grooms from the stable. They stood, some of them sleepy-eyed, others moaning at being pulled away from their duties. Benjamin went up the steps leading to the great keep. He stopped half-way and, clapping his hands, indicated for them to draw near. He opened his wallet and drew out a pure gold coin. He immediately had everyone's attention.
'Pure gold!' Benjamin shouted. 'A pure gold crown for whoever finds the man I am looking for!'
'Who is?' Vetch shouted.
'A corpse,' Benjamin replied.
‘Where could it be?' a soldier shouted.
'Anywhere,' Benjamin replied. 'I don't know what he looks like, how he is dressed, but he is a corpse, freshly killed. This gold crown for the man who finds him. And,' he raised his voice, 'for all those who assist, a shilling to be paid from His Grace the Cardinal's bounty, as well as a hogshead of wine to celebrate!'
I tell you this, if Kemble or Vetch had tried to stop them, a mutiny would have broken out. Everything in the Tower ceased, even old Ragusa came staggering out, recovered from her drunken stupor, to join in this search.
Daylight began to fade, torches were lit and the task continued. Kemble and his officers, snorting with annoyance, retreated to their own quarters. However, just as darkness fell, a soldier, enterprising enough to search amongst a midden-heap, found what we were looking for: a corpse of a man, a crossbow quarrel through the side of his throat. The body had been hidden in the refuse, covered with manure and rotting straw from the stables. Benjamin congratulated the man, handing across the gold piece and distributing coins to others. It was dark in that small corner of the Tower, so Benjamin had the corpse brought out, carried like some ancient warrior, ringed by torchlight, on to the green. Water was brought from the well, the dirt and ordure washed off. Once this was done, Benjamin and I crouched down on either side, oblivious to the people pressing around us.
‘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, mutt
ering 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.
There's no real hurry,' he remarked. 'Our meeting with all our acquaintances here in the Tower is not until four o'clock.'
'Four o'clock, Master!' I exclaimed. What time is it now?'
'I let you sleep until noon,' Benjamin rejoined.
I finished tidying the room. Benjamin refused to be drawn on where he had been the previous night, but he seemed very pleased with himself. He went back and sat at the table until a bell began to toll and we left for the royal quarters.
I remember the sky was overcast: it had been raining and the breeze was strong and fresh. I stretched till my limbs cracked, and watched as others made their way to the constable's chamber, including Ragusa, hobbling on a stick. Kemble, Vetch and Spurge were waiting for us, chairs had been placed round the table, torches and candles lit, giving the room a ghostly appearance. Mallow and his two hangmen sat at a distance from Ragusa, who squatted on a stool, swaying backwards and forwards. Benjamin and I sat on Kemble's left.
Well, Master Daunbey-' Kemble drummed his fingers on the table — 'you have brought us here.'
‘Yes, Constable, I have,' Benjamin replied quickly. 'I have asked all of you to be present to see the King's justice done.'
And, without a by-your-leave, my master rose and walked round the table. He gently laid his hand on Mallow's shoulder.
'John Mallow, formerly known as John Dighton, henchman of the usurper Richard of York, I arrest you for murder, horrible conspiracy, and treason against Your Sovereign Lord, King Henry the Eighth.'
Well, you could have heard a pin drop. Even old Ragusa seemed to have regained her wits and stared, open-mouthed, at Mallow. He just sat there, lips tight, swallowing quickly.
'You have proof, Master Daunbey?' Kemble asked, his eyes wide in surprise. 'Mallow, a traitor, a murderer!'
'Let me explain. Master Vetch, I would be grateful if you would sit on Mallow's right and hold this.' Benjamin quickly bent down and plucked out Mallow's dagger and threw it down the table.
Vetch hurried to obey.
'Master Mallow,' Spurge squeaked, 'I have kn
own you for some years.' The little surveyor put out his hands. ;For the love of God, tell us this is not true!'
'My name is John Dighton,' Mallow admitted. He rubbed his face in his hands. ‘Forty years ago, when I was a mere stripling, I was hired by one of Richard the Third's henchmen. I worked here in the Tower as the body squire to the two Princes.' He gazed across at Benjamin and, from a flicker in his eyes, I knew something was dreadfully wrong. 'After Richard was killed, I fled to the Isles of Scilly. I married, but my wife died. I became involved in a fight and fled back to London, where I became an apprentice hangman’
"No, no,' Benjamin intervened, that's not the full story, Master Mallow. In the chaos following Bosworth, and before you fled the Tower, you found a leather pouch containing the seals of the young king, Edward the Fifth. You took these treasures, keeping them safe and fresh. On your return you became involved with the Sakker gang, particularly Robert, an able but villainous clerk. Whether you were involved with him before the rest of his family were hanged is neither here nor there.' Benjamin played with the ring on his finger. He refused to look at me. 'No one ever explained why Robert was not arrested by Master Pelleter the under-sheriff.' He straightened in his chair. 'Anyway, out of your friendship with Sakker came these horrible conspiracies. A new clerk of the stores had been appointed, a bachelor, a man with little family, Philip Allardyce. You knew when he was coming from Dover and what road he would be travelling. Sakker either followed or was waiting for him. Whatever, Sakker killed Allardyce and took his identity. He then disguised his appearance and came to work here as a competent, industrious clerk of stores.'
Benjamin paused. I stared round at the rest. They all sat, eyes intent on Benjamin, like his pupils back at our manor school outside Ipswich.
‘You then developed your treasonable design,' Benjamin continued. 'However, on the night of the King's birthday, a party was held here. God knows what happened. I suspect you and Master Sakker were deep in conversation and your words were overheard.