by Paul Doherty
They acted like labourers coming in from the fields rather than executioners who had just been dispatching men on the gallows.
'Good?' Mallow queried. 'Of course, it's good, Shallot. London is a safer place. This morning we hanged nine river pirates near Wapping: that's why we were all there.' 'A bad time for river pirates,' I observed.
Mallow smirked and sipped at his tankard. 'Less of the sarcasm, Shallot. Now the sweating sickness is over, the justices of gaol delivery have been busy at the Fleet, Newgate and Marshalsea, so now we are going to be very busy over the next few weeks. Well -' he put the tankard down – "what can we do for you? As you can see, we are all alive and kicking.'
'Unlike the river pirates,' Wormwood quipped. They are just kicking!'
'It's about the murders of Hellbane, Horehound and Undershaft,' I began. 'We've told you all we know,' Snakeroot sneered.
Tell me,' Benjamin asked, ‘How does the Guild of Hangmen function? I mean, who decides which executions will be carried out?'
That's my decision,' Mallow replied. 'I work with the under-sheriffs. Naturally, sometimes we are busier than others. After the quarter sessions or commissions of gaol delivery, execution days are fixed either at Tyburn, in St Paul's churchyard, Smithfield, or at any of the crossroads leading into the city. There is a roster of duties.' ‘Yet today you have all been busy?' I inquired.
'As I have said, the plague is now over. Commissioners of gaol delivery sit at Westminster and the Guildhall, whilst the King's ships have been busy in the Thames estuary. River pirates have been caught and have now been hanged, either at Wapping or along the riverbanks.'
'So,' Benjamin asked, 'are you ever threatened by friends, relatives, or members of the gangs?'
Mallow grinned and sipped from his tankard. 'Now that's strange,' he declared. 'Oh, yes, sometimes. However, Master Daunbey, we are masked and hooded, whilst most felons and cut-throats see capture, imprisonment and execution as an occupational hazard. Amongst the outlaws and wolvesheads there is only one law: don't be caught.' He shrugged. 'And if you are, you pay the price. Why, where are these questions leading to?'
‘We believe that the murders of members of your guild are definitely linked to the blackmailing letters being sent to the King. Now,' Benjamin paused to collect his thoughts, 'God knows the reason, though I suspect it might be connected to the events which occurred in the Tower on the night of the King's birthday.' 'What do you mean?' Wormwood snapped.
'If I knew, ‘I’d tell you,' Benjamin declared. 'Nevertheless,' he continued, ‘Undershaft, Horehound and Hellbane were all slain with a malicious relish. Each of them suffered execution as laid down by the law. Undershaft was burnt in a cage. Hellbane drowned in a sack, and Horehound pressed to death. We believe the assassin has a grudge against all of your company.'
'But, as we have said -' Snakeroot's shifty eyes gazed Wearily at us, his mouth slack and dribbling '- the villains of London leave us alone.'
Think!' Benjamin urged them. Think! Have there been any executions, carried out by all of you, where vengeance was promised?'
Benjamin's words hung like a hangman's noose over this sinister group of men. They had walked into the tavern the roaring, bully boys, used to exercising the power of life and death. Now they were being confronted with the prospect of their own executions, and macabre ones at that.
(Oh, I see my little clerk is tapping his quill. A sign he wishes to ask a question. 'Have you ever been an executioner?' he squeaks. I am tempted to rap him over the knuckles with my ash cane for his impertinence: the answer is no! In all my adventures, despite all the extremities I have been pushed to, I have never taken a life unless I have had to. There, he can shut his mouth and 111 continue.) Think!' Benjamin repeated.
The Sakker Gang!' Toadflax spoke up, running his hands through his yellow hair. 'Of course!' Mallow breathed. The Sakkers!' ‘Who are they?' Benjamin asked.
'A Kentish gang,' Mallow replied slowly. 'A father and five sons. They owned a tavern on the London to Canterbury road. They used to prey on pilgrims. The sheriff of Kent and the local law officers could do nothing against them. They robbed, plundered, raped and ravished. At first no one suspected them. They owned a tavern near St Thomas's watering-hole. Pilgrims would stop there. The Sakkers wined and dined them, carefully scrutinising their intended victims. The following morning, after the pilgrims had left, the Sakkers would take a short cut through the forest and ambush them: heavily armed pilgrims they left alone. They preyed on those little groups: families, merchants alone with their wives. Sometimes they would just rob. However, if they thought there was danger of being identified, they would kill with a cold ruthlessness.' 'And no one suspected them?' Benjamin asked.
'Well, no. As I have said, it was a father and five sons. The eldest, Robert, would stay in the tavern and pretend that his father and brothers were with him. They'd amassed quite a fortune. One day a merchant stayed at the tavern, months earlier one of his comrades had been attacked and killed. Now this merchant had given his friend a bracelet, a midsummer present which he saw on the wrist of one of the Sakkers. The merchant immediately returned to London and laid this information before the sheriffs. The gang was caught by Theophilus Pelleter.'
‘Who?' I interrupted, intrigued by such a strange name.
Theophilus Pelleter. One of the under-sheriffs,' Mallow replied. 'He lives with his daughter in Catte Street.' His eyes softened. 'A good man, straight and true. I understand that when the plague visited the city, Pelleter stayed at his post and did what he could.'
I stared across the tavern where a cat, a rat caught between his jaws, padded out from the kitchen and disappeared into the stableyard.
'Anyway,' Mallow continued, 'Pelleter laid a trap. The entire gang was rounded up and appeared before King's Bench where, because of their crimes, the judges ruled that their tavern be levelled to the ground. They were to be hanged on special gibbets constructed on the site.' 'And did they all die?' Benjamin asked.
That's when the threats were made!' Wormwood snapped. The father and only four of his sons were captured. The eldest, Robert, escaped. Apparently, the night Pelleter and his men ringed the tavern, Robert was away. He returned to find his father and brothers captured.'
'So, why didn't he swear vengeance against the under-sheriff?' Mallow looked shamefacedly away. The rest of his guild shuffled their feet and stared into their cups. 'Well?' I asked.
Mallow looked up. To answer your question, the under-sheriff and the other law officers were responsible for taking the gang back to the tavern and making sure lawful execution was carried out.' ‘Yes, yes, I can understand that,' Benjamin replied.
'Before the tavern was razed,' Mallow continued, ‘We er…' 'Helped yourselves?' Benjamin asked.
Well, we claimed the prerequisites of our office. Most of the tavern had been looted. What was left we took. Pelleter refused to have anything to do with it.' 'But hangmen always claim their dues,' I insisted.
'Oh, tell him!' Wormwood snapped. Tell him what really happened!' 'I will,' Snakeroot declared. When you hang a man, Master Daunbey, you can do it fast or do it slow. The Sakkers were an evil, malicious coven. By slipping the knot around the back of their heads, we ensured they strangled slowly. All five of them took a long time dying.' And the under-sheriff allowed this?' I asked.
Mallow answered. 'Like any law officer, once the ladder was turned and the men were hanged, he and his assistants rode back to London. If you look at the rules, Master Daunbey, the hangmen must attend the bodies until they are dead.' And the threats?' I asked.
Mallow breathed out a sigh. The executions took place at noon. Three or four hours later, as we prepared to return to London, a mysterious archer began to loose arrows at us from the trees. We concealed ourselves behind the death-cart, then we heard a man shout. He was Robert Sakker and he vowed he would seek vengeance for what we had done. We waited a while, then we left for London.' 'And you've heard nothing of it since?' I asked.
'A few
days later,' Toadflax replied, 'the sheriff of Kent came to inspect the corpses we had gibbeted; he found all five had been removed for secret burial. A note, signed by Robert Sakker, declared vengeance against those responsible for the slow and malingering death of his father and brothers. The note vowed that the perpetrators would suffer just as bitterly.' And was Undershaft part of this?'
'Oh yes,' Mallow answered. 'Like me, he knew about the Sakker crimes. The women who had been raped, their throats cut. Master Undershaft believed in the notion of "eye for eye and tooth for tooth". He was party to what we did. But nothing happened, even though we received many threats.' He stared round at his companions. ‘We forgot it.'
'Do you think?' Wormwood interrupted. 'Sakker is behind the deaths of our colleagues?'
'It's possible,' Benjamin replied. 'He may have come into London to pursue a path of retribution.'
'But you said that these deaths are linked to the blackmailing letters being sent to the King,' Mallow said.
Benjamin looked at me and shook his head. 'I believe so, but I have no proof.' He replied. That is a complete mystery.' "What was Robert Sakker like?' I turned to Mallow.
The chief hangman shook his head. 'I don't know, sir. You'd have to ask Pelleter, the under-sheriff.' 'Do you have anything else to add?' I asked.
'We've spoken enough,' Mallow replied. He leaned over and pushed a stubby finger into my chest. We've talked to Sir Edward Kemble,' he continued. The constable says you were sent into London to end this villainy, yet you haven't.' He waved round at his companions. ‘We are still being threatened and the letters are still being sent.' His words dropped to a whisper. "You should be careful, Master Shallot; otherwise we may have a meeting of a different sort.'
I stood up, kicking the stool away, my hand going to the dagger in my belt. Benjamin intervened. He rose, genially thanked Mallow and his companions and, tugging me by the sleeve, took me out of the tavern. 'I could tickle his ribs with my dagger!' I swore.
Benjamin stopped. 'And that will get us nowhere. I understand your fear, Roger. The King will not forget our future.' He pulled me into a corner of a narrow, dark alleyway, staring around to make sure we were not being followed. 'If we can make no progress in this,' he whispered, 'then, Roger, I will follow your advice. I have money with a goldsmith in London. If we have to flee beyond the seas, then we shall do it, but it shall be in my way and at a time of my own choosing.' 'And what now?' I asked desperately. "We go and see Pelleter.' We found the under-sheriff's house just near the Guildhall. Benjamin, hoping the law officer was at home, pounded on the door of the thin, narrow house which looked as if it had been pushed in between the mansions on either side. It was not well kept: the hall windows were dusty and holed, the beams cracked, whilst the front door hung askew on its hinges. Benjamin knocked again. We heard a soft footfall and the door was opened by a young woman.
Oh, the precious sight! Even now, down the long, dusty corridors of the years, I can picture her. How can you describe a song in flesh? She was about seventeen or eighteen years old, tall and slender. Large, beautiful brown eyes in an angel's face: the hair was a dull gold, her skin glowed. Benjamin and I just stood there like two schoolboys drinking in the sheer beauty of her: high cheekbones, perfectly formed nose and the sweetest of mouths. She stared coolly back, though you could see the laughter in her eyes.
'Good morning, sirs!'. Her voice was soft and rich. 'Good day, sirs!' she repeated. I saw a flicker of alarm in her eyes as she went to close the door.
'I am sorry,' Benjamin stammered. ‘We need to see Under-sheriff Pelleter.'
The laughter returned to those beautiful eyes. 'I'm his daughter. Miranda.' We are from the Tower,' Benjamin explained.
Miranda smiled. She was dressed simply enough in a blue gown, not too tightly fitting; really it hung on her like a sack, whilst the ruff round her neck had seen better days. But that smile! Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds! She laughed softly and beckoned us in; her eyes never left Benjamin and a stab of jealousy made me catch my breath. (No, Benjamin was not the most handsome of men. He was tall and strong and his black hair tended to straggle but his eyes were good and clear. Women were always attracted to him. And me? Oh, poor Shallot! I look what I am, a rogue born and bred! Attracted to the doxies, the molls, the besoms, the saucy tavern wenches, but women like Miranda? Miranda! Miranda! She still lives, you know? Well, not in the flesh: read Shakespeare's play The Tempest, you'll find her there with old Prospero.)
Ah well, on that summer's day so many years ago, she took us along a dusty passageway and into a small writing office at the back of the house. The man seated at a desk beneath the window, rose as we came in. He was dressed in the city livery, a chain of office round his neck. His square, honest face and clear eyes were a testament to his strength and integrity. He shook our hands, asked Miranda to pull up stools and bring refreshments for his guests. He turned his chair round to face us and sat down grimacing, favouring his back. ‘You are in pain, sir?' Benjamin asked.
'I was attacked.' Pelleter replied. 'About two weeks ago, an assassin outside Whitefriars. A flesh wound, but the pain is still there. Well?' he asked, pausing as Miranda returned with a tray bearing jugs of ale.
She served us delicately, smiling at her father, though her smile widened as she handed Benjamin a tankard. She didn't ignore me, but stared shyly at me from under her eyelids. She then sat on a stool beside her father and returned (oh Lord save me from jealousy!) to studying Benjamin. My master, too, was distracted. Pelleter leaned forward and tapped his tankard against my master's.
‘Your good health, Master Daunbey. You know who I am, where I live. You know I have a pain in my back,' he smiled. 'And you have met my lovely daughter, the light of my life. But why are you here?' 'Robert Sakker,' Benjamin declared brusquely.
Pelleter groaned and sat back in his chair, favouring his wound.
'God have mercy!' he breathed. 'Sakker's responsible for this!'
Chapter 11
We must have sat there for at least two hours whilst the under-sheriff described the depredations of the Sakker gang on the Canterbury road. I must admit I did not object. Why should I? Miranda was sitting there like a rose in full bloom, as fascinated by Benjamin as he was with her. I knew why jealousy is such a terrible sin. My stomach curdled, my blood boiled. I heartily wished that Benjamin wasn't there. She seemed impervious to me, apart from the odd kind smile or an offer to fill my tankard. Now and again Benjamin would turn, gaze adoringly at her, then return to questioning her father. When he had finished, Benjamin told Pelleter the reason for our visit: the blackmailing letters sent to the King and the grisly murders of the hangmen. Pelleter leaned back in his chair, whispering under his breath and shaking his head.
'I always thought Undershaft was a good man,' he said quietly. 'So his death was murder.'
‘But do you know he's dead?' I asked. I was tempted to tell him how I had seen Undershaft's corpse, but I was fearful this might lower my status in Miranda's eyes.
Pelleter looked at me, bushy eyebrows raised. 'What makes you think he isn't?'
I explained about the blackmailing letters: how both Benjamin and I believed there was one villain in the Tower and another outside.
'In which case I’ll make inquiries,' Pelleter offered. 'I’ll ask the bailiffs and wardsmen to keep their eyes and ears open. But – ' he pointed a finger at Benjamin – 'if I follow the gist of what you are saying, you believe Robert Sakker's involved in this villainy?' ‘Do you think it's possible?' Benjamin retorted.
'Robert Sakker was the most intelligent member of the gang. He went to Stapleton Hall in Oxford. He was quite skilled as a clerk and served for a while in one of the royal palaces.' 'So, he could draft a letter?' I asked.
'Possibly, but where would he get the seals of Edward V?' ‘What did he look like?' Benjamin asked.
‘Like all his family: tall, dark with reddish hair, cleanshaven, deep-chested; a merry-looking rogue despite the scar on his che
ek. The sort who'd smile as he slipped a dagger between your ribs. A man who could act many parts: the boisterous soldier or the crafty clerk.'
Benjamin and I glanced at each other: the description fitted no one we had met in our inquiries.
'And so he escaped?' Benjamin continued. 'And has now threatened you?'
Pelleter put his cup down and spread his hands. 'Master Daunbey, I have no real evidence, but there was an attack on me recently. On two other occasions I've had scraps of parchment pushed into my hands. One was of a gibbet with me dangling from it.' He paused and glanced sideways at his daughter. The second, well, it was my daughter. That's what made me think it was Sakker.'
That beautiful smile faded from Miranda's lovely face, but I could see the steel in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw. She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. (Oh, most fortunate of men!) 'Have you made inquiries?' I asked.
Pelleter snorted with laughter. 'Of course. I offered rewards, even the prospect of pardon from the Mayor and Aldermen to any felon who could give me the smallest scrap of information.' He shrugged. 'But I couldn't discover anything.'
‘What happens if Sakker isn't living in London?' I asked. What if he has returned to his old haunts.'
The Sakkers' tavern near St Thomas's watering-hole has been torn down,' Pelleter replied. Though they did have a lair: an old hunting lodge deep in the forest.' 'Could we go there?' Benjamin asked.
Pelleter blew his cheeks out. 'Not today: it's too late and I have other business. But tomorrow at dawn? ‘I’ll meet you at the tavern in Southwark.' He grinned. The Tabard, the place Chaucer's pilgrims left from. Now, sirs, I do have other business.'