by Paul Doherty
‘I was there being watched. .’
‘Nonsense! Who really cared for you, a strolling player? Above all, you were helped by Rosselyn. I remember him that day in his heavy military cloak.’ Athelstan picked up his goblet and offered it to Rachael; she snatched it from his hand and drained it before handing it back. Athelstan carefully refilled the cup.
‘The rood screen in front of the sanctuary was a barrier, as were the heavy drapes or arras hanging on either side stretching into the transepts. You and Rosselyn waited until there was no one behind that barrier, an easy enough task on a cold winter’s day when everyone was hungry and intent on food and delicious wines. Indeed, it was Rosselyn who came to invite us all to join Gaunt and his guests. I stayed. Rosselyn returned to ensure I also left. He wanted that sanctuary cleared. He was successful and moved to the next step of your plot. Rosselyn provided the arbalest, one of those small hand-sized crossbows. You went behind the arras and waited.’
‘I could have been seen.’
‘No, you had prepared well. Rosselyn had wedged small pouches of cannon powder into two of those braziers. The confusion caused by the explosions diverted attention. You pulled the curtain aside, took aim and, probably shielded by Rosselyn, released the catch, killing Lettenhove. Again, attention was diverted. All the guests had been distracted by the explosions; now Lettenhove’s bleeding corpse was all that mattered. You moved swiftly behind the rood screen to the other side where Rosselyn had hidden another crossbow already primed, like before, a narrow gap between curtain and wall was all you needed. Everything was now in chaos. You loosed again, not as accurately as you would have wished, but Oudernarde was struck.’ Athelstan turned to Cranston. ‘Sir John, how long does it take to loose a crossbow bolt?’
‘I could patter an Ave and not get far.’
‘But the chapel was crowded!’ Rachael protested.
‘No. You had people diverted by explosions then by a bolt being released by you standing in no more than a slit between arras and wall. No one was behind that rood screen — Rosselyn had seen to that. As I have said, who would go there with all the food and wine on offer in the nave? Rosselyn also protected you. Did he stand in front of the gap for a brief while then step aside, providing you with a clear aim? Ah, well.’ Athelstan stared across at the window. How much of this, he wondered, could he really prove before the Justices of Oyer and Terminer or King’s Bench in Westminster Hall?
‘Rosselyn would take care of the small arbalests by hiding them somewhere in the chapel,’ Athelstan narrowed his eyes, ‘or on those hooks on the war belt beneath his heavy cloak. Who would dream of searching him?’
‘And the severed heads?’ Cranston asked, brimming with curiosity.
‘Oh, they’d been snatched from the care of Master Thibault during the attack at Aldgate. As a taunt to My Lord of Gaunt, the Upright Men handed them to you and Rosselyn to return to him. First a sharp reminder that, during the attack at the Roundhoop, Thibault did not find what he hoped for. Secondly, Rachael, ever the player, the severed heads provided you with a macabre climax to your murderous assault in the chapel.’ Athelstan rolled the goblet between his hands. ‘I suspect Rosselyn brought the severed heads — that’s why he was so valuable. Who would distrust Thibault’s captain of archers? Who would dare ask him to open a bag or a chest or even bother to note where he stored something?’
‘And how were the heads placed?’ Cranston asked.
‘During the confusion caused by the attacks, Rosselyn collected the heads, carried them beneath his cloak and walked by the rood screen. Twice he stopped to place a head. Look,’ Athelstan rose and swung his own heavy cloak about him; he then took two small cushions from a bench beneath the window, holding both up with his right hand. ‘These are about the same size. I grasp these grotesques with that parchment scrap pushed deep into one of those dead mouths, and I hide them beneath my cloak.’ Athelstan did so. ‘Now I walk, see?’ He passed his own bed and swiftly crouched twice, on each occasion releasing a cushion to lie on the floor alongside the bed.
‘No more than the blink of an eye,’ Cranston murmured.
‘And you are watching me,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Remember, we are describing a chapel where all attention had been diverted by a man being killed, another seriously wounded. Most of the guests were trying to leave the other way.’ Athelstan undid his cloak. ‘Of course, it could have been you, mistress, carrying some cloak or costumes, crouching down to leave those heads as if the cloths were difficult to hold or to pick up something from the floor. You could do it just as quickly, just as adroitly. Did Rosselyn screen you, or did you him? I confess I can’t be precise except to demonstrate how the positioning of those severed heads would not be difficult either after the explosions or, more probably, immediately after one of the attacks.’
Athelstan fingered the vow knots on his waist cord. ‘It was easily done. Attention was on the victims and, after that, the doorway: people wanted to flee. Indeed, Lascelles was ushering them away from the rood screen. I have not asked him yet; I did not wish to rouse his suspicions. However, I am sure Lascelles will confirm that Rosselyn asked him to do just that while he left to ensure all was well in Beauchamp Tower.’
‘And Barak?’ Cranston asked.
Athelstan stared at Rachael. She sat so composed, eyes unblinking, watching him carefully as if weighing his every word. What was she thinking? Would she have the stubborn courage to deny all this?
‘Yes Barak,’ she whispered, half smiling. Athelstan felt a stab of pity. Rachael was undoubtedly highly intelligent: she had been as assiduous in plotting murder as any scholar in the schools or halls of Oxford would study his horn book. A talented young woman, but had her wits turned? Had the savage death of her beloved truly twisted her soul?
‘You are beautiful, Rachael, fair of form and lovely of face, graceful and lithe. You possess a keen mind and sharp wits. I have watched you play the mummer’s part. You shape shift, you become whatever you want to be.’
‘Brother, flattery is a perfume: you smell it but you never drink it.’
‘Ah, yes, mistress, your perfume. I shall return to that by and by.’ Athelstan cleared his throat. ‘As for Barak? Well, he was easy for you with your winsome ways. Somehow, very soon after the attack in the chapel, you enticed him down to that long, gloomy crypt beneath Saint John’s. You fled with the rest but I can imagine you separating yourself from the others, plucking at Barak’s sleeve, telling him to shelter with you in the crypt. Who would notice? Or perhaps you told Barak to go there and you’d join him? Anyway, you lured him into that darkened recess. Rosselyn was lurking there. Again, I cannot say who struck the blow but Barak was hit, probably twice, to ensure he was either truly senseless or dead already. Perhaps you stood on guard while Rosselyn moved swiftly. He put the war belt around Barak. He made a mistake: the quiver for the bolts was on the wrong side, while it didn’t make sense for Barak still to be carrying one of the arbalests. Nevertheless, you were intent on making it look as if Barak was the assassin. Once ready, you opened the shutters of that far crypt window. You threw out the fire rope to make it look as if Barak had tried to use it during his abortive escape but, in truth, poor Barak was hurled through that window with great force. He would be depicted as an adherent of the Upright Men, a subtle plan — the flaws in your plot could only be detected through careful scrutiny.’
‘Why?’ Rachael retorted. ‘Why Barak?’
‘No real reason. You grew to hate all of them, didn’t you? What did it matter? Perhaps Barak was the easiest to persuade, to follow you into that darkened crypt. He was just a sacrifice. The real reason for Barak’s murder was to spread terror, cause mayhem, deepen suspicion, proclaim that Gaunt’s much-lauded acting group the Straw Men could not be trusted, that no one was safe, even in this grim great fortress. Barak was a sacrificial lamb on your altar of vengeance. Eli was no different. He too was much smitten with you.’ Athelstan rose and walked to the door of his chamber. He pulled the eyele
t shutter backwards and forwards, ‘Strange,’ he mused loudly, ‘how the shutter in Eli’s chamber was stuck and had to be prised loose. This one isn’t. The same is true of Master Samuel’s chamber. Rosselyn claimed it was a common problem yet it only occurred with Eli’s chamber door.’
‘But it did!’
‘Oh, I agree. Do you remember when we first talked? How Samuel maintained that all members of his troupe were skilled in arms? How you had to be ready with weapons to fend off dangers on the road?’ She did not answer. ‘And aren’t you mistress of the wardrobe? Responsible for the scenery?’ Again, there was no reply. ‘On the night you visited Eli? Oh, yes,’ he stilled her protest, ‘oh, yes you did! Just before you entered his chamber, you put in that small recess near the door a pot of glue with a small horsehair brush and another hand-held arbalest already primed. Outside that tower prowled Rosselyn to conceal and protect your coming and going. I am certain he started that fire to divert attention away from you.’ Athelstan sat down. ‘You visited Eli. You acted the loving wench, flirtatious and coy.’
‘Why should I kill Eli?’
‘First, he had sheltered beneath a table near the rood screen. Did he see something untowards, Rachael? Something he mentioned to you?’ She did not answer.
‘Secondly, Eli was a member of the troupe who spied for Thibault and brought about your beloved’s death.’ Rachael blinked and glanced away. ‘I will be brief.’ Athelstan hurried on. ‘You made sure there was no sign of you being there. You probably drank from the same goblet as Eli, a token of your loving pledges to him. Eli must have been delighted. You were acting the fair damsel in considerable distress, shocked by the hideous death of poor Barak.’
‘Eli died in a locked, barred chamber.’
‘I agree. You left that chamber like the amorous wench you pretended to be. You told Eli to lock and bolt the door, to take great care; after all, a killer did stalk the Tower. You then drew him into a loving but deadly game. Once outside the chamber, the door secured, you picked up that small arbalest and knocked on the door. Eli would hear your voice and pull back the eyelet shutter — he may have even offered to let you in but you teased and flirted. The hour was late, you’d return soon enough. I do not know what lies you spun but you asked Eli, peering through that shutter at his new-found love, to close his eyes.’
‘Why should he do that?’
‘Oh, come, Rachael! Lovers often close their eyes when they kiss. Are there not games when you tell the beloved to close his or her eyes to wish and, if they do, you’d tell them a secret, some promised pleasure at the next tryst? Rachael, the possibilities are infinite. Eli was staring through that eyelet at this beautiful young woman who was promising to be his. He’d do anything — certainly some innocent lovers’ game, or so he thought. All aflame with the wine he’d drunk and the prospect of impending seduction, of course he agreed. You played the game. You whispered that he should keep his eyes closed, not to open them until you said. You brought up that small crossbow. You released the bolt as fast as a bird across the briefest of distances; it sped through that eyelet, smashing into Eli’s face. Stricken, dying on his feet, Eli stumbled away and collapsed to the floor.’ Athelstan turned to Sir John. ‘My friend, calculate the time it would take: Eli peering out through that squint, eyes firmly closed, the crossbow coming up, the release of the bolt only inches from its victim’s face?’
‘A few heartbeats,’ the coroner agreed. ‘Eli would never suspect.’
‘Eli died,’ Athelstan continued. ‘You then took that pot of glue, the same substance you use in creating and setting up scenery. A few drops on the old dusty shutter and, by the time the alarm was raised, the eyelet is stuck fast. The glue had hardened, the shutter just another task waiting to be done, an ancient piece of wood in an ancient door in an ancient place.’ Athelstan pointed at Rachael. ‘You are not only a very skilled mummer, you are also a weaver of dreams and illusions.’ Athelstan sat staring at the young woman’s face. ‘Very soon afterwards you removed all the evidence, didn’t you?’
‘What evidence? Brother, what are you talking about?’
‘Well, not you precisely — Rosselyn saw to that. I checked with the surveyor of the King’s works here in the Tower. Our late departed captain of archers was most insistent that the door to Eli’s chamber be mended. He personally supervised it, including the eyelet. He himself freed it with his dagger, thus removing any evidence of what had actually happened.’
‘Rosselyn was no friend of mine.’
‘Of course he wasn’t. You have more than proved that but, while he was alive, he was a useful foil for you.’
‘When?’ she protested. ‘How?’
‘I was attacked near Saint Peter’s ad Vincula, when you were close by. The same is true when Maximus escaped and the Upright Men attacked the Tower.’
‘Are you saying I had a hand in those assaults, that I even freed the bear?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you did. Your accomplice, Rosselyn, probably helped you. He had no choice. The Upright Men, as I have said, ordered him to assist you. He had a foot in either camp. The Upright Men probably despised him for that; they wouldn’t really trust him. However, for the moment, he was useful to you as well as to them. On one occasion Rosselyn took the lead. That arrow attack on us near St Peter ad Vincula? Rosselyn loosed those bolts from his hiding place near the White Tower then later appeared as the concerned, loyal captain of archers.’ Rachael simply glanced away, scratching her brow.
‘And the bear?’ Rachael peered at him from under her hand.
‘Artorius would have nothing to do with the likes of Rosselyn but he’d be very susceptible to your flirtation. I suspect Rosselyn, in this dark, freezing narrow place, let you slip down Red Gulley to Saint Thomas’ Tower. You’d be all simpering and pretty-faced as you knocked on that door. In a matter of seconds your charms and a little silver persuaded Artorius to allow you in to view Maximus. The door closed behind both of you. He would lead you off down the narrow aisle. He’d feel your hand on his shoulder and, when he turned, you loosed that bolt straight into his forehead. You took his keys and opened the cage door. You hastened out but not before you released the bear chain on the bar of the cage and left the door to Red Gulley open.’ Athelstan gestured to the bailey outside. ‘Maximus would be curious. He’d smell the blood of his keeper. You realized he’d soon find his way to the gore-drenched corpse of his former master then make his way out. The great snow bear Maximus was free to prowl; there was only one way for him to go but, by then, you were busy with the next part of your plan.’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘Either you, Rosselyn or both, once Maximus was on the loose and the alarm raised, opened the postern gate near Bowyer Tower.’
‘But the Upright Men would be vulnerable to a rampaging bear.’
‘I don’t think so!’ Cranston spoke up. ‘The royal beastmaster and his retinue had one task: to check and drive back that bear. While all this was going on the Upright Men also had one task: to storm Beauchamp Tower, release the prisoner and, using the mayhem as a shield, withdraw as swiftly as they’d entered.’
Rachael stared down at her feet, tapping her ankle-length boots against the floor.
‘Surely,’ she glanced up, ‘if Rosselyn was a traitor, why didn’t he inform the Upright Men that Thibault was bringing down war cogs as a defence against any attack?’
‘Very sharp!’ Athelstan retorted. ‘There are two possibilities. First, as with the assault on the Roundhoop, Rosselyn dare not inform the Upright Men; the number of people who knew about that would be very limited. Rosselyn was frightened that the finger of suspicion might be pointed at him. Secondly, perhaps Thibault decided to inform nobody in his entourage about what he was planning. After all, there was a traitor in his camp. Thibault is no fool; he’d have his own suspicions that something was wrong.’
‘Or Rosselyn was just unfortunate,’ Cranston declared. ‘He was never given the opportunity. Nevertheless, the Upright Men must have been furious.’
&nbs
p; ‘Oh, I suspect they were. Rossleyn’s days were numbered.’ Athelstan rose to his feet. ‘Such is the problem with traitors.’ He sighed. ‘Judas discovered that, in the end, nobody really trusts you and nobody allows you back. Rosselyn wasn’t your concern. You were looking after yourself. How would anyone possibly suspect the fair Rachael, who was always close by, the distressed maiden when these assaults occurred?’ Athelstan picked at a loose thread on his robe, rolling it between his fingers, ‘And, of course, there were other occasions when you couldn’t possibly have been involved, or so you would have everyone believe.’
‘What are you talking about, Brother?’
‘Huddle the painter was killed leaving Saint Erconwald’s Church. You, along with the others, were supposed to be detained here in the Tower. ‘Quis Custodiet custodes?’ As the great Augustine said, ‘Who will guard the guards?’ Rossleyn provided you with the weapons and allowed you secret passage in and out of the Tower. You are a master or mistress of disguise. You followed Sir John and I across the bridge and waited. A figure wearing the black and white garb of a Dominican left Saint Erconwald’s, you loosed and killed Huddle.’
A smile flittered across Rachael’s face.
‘Or was it me that you intended to kill? Did you suspect, or were you informed, that Huddle was the real traitor? I cannot be precise about everything in this hideous affair and, to a certain extent, it does not matter now. Huddle lies cold in the soil. However, you did make a mistake over that poor painter’s death as well as your other doings in my parish. What did you know of them? You talked about me burying a parishioner. You implied he had been killed — but how did you know that? I never told anyone here, nor did Sir John. None of my parishioners know you or you them. So how?’
‘I confessed under the seal.’
‘Not as a sin. Are you doing that now? Then your confession must be public.’
Rachael flicked her hair, rubbing her face between her hands.