by Paul Doherty
The countess’s voice trembled with emotion. ‘Conwar, as you know, was the oldest of the group, a henchman of my late husband, a soul I truly trusted. God save us all. Conwar never gave my suggestion a second thought. He whispered that all this mysterious, murderous nonsense must be brought to an end once and for all. He added that if his death could achieve this then, like any warrior, he would gladly give up his life for me and mine. Once I knew he fully agreed, I gave him a medal, a pilgrim badge from the shrine of St Swithun’s. I warned him that if you were the traitor, you’d act swiftly and ruthlessly. I advised Conwar that he would only be given a few heartbeats. God rest him, Conwar still agreed to what I asked. If you emerged as the traitor, he was to grasp that medallion tightly in his right hand. If not, he was to hold it in his left. As simple as that. The confrontation, when it took place, would certainly be in the dark, so you would scarcely notice him moving something from one hand to another. After all, you didn’t really care for Conwar. All you wanted was his life and, once dead, the Dragon Cipher, allegedly hidden away in the lining of Conwar’s warbelt.’
‘No, no.’ Pembroke protested, though his voice betrayed his deepening desperation. ‘Your father, Sir Thomas, led the cortege. He was keen to ensure that all the sanctuary men safely reached the coast. He had the power to seize and search any belt. He did not want one of those in his custody to be killed. Archdeacon Blackthorne and Parson Austin were clear in their warnings.’ Pembroke rocked himself backwards and forwards in the chair. Urswicke felt a touch of pity. Pembroke knew he was going to die and he was simply trying to delay the final confrontation for as long as possible in the hope that something might happen, a futile hope! Sir Thomas would be riding back to London and, even if by chance he heard about the sinking of the Flemish carracks, it would be fruitless for him to return. By then Pembroke would be dead, buried deep in his grave, and who else could betray them? Edith the maid had her own reason to remain silent whilst the carters were not only the countess’s liege men but also deeply involved in the capture and interrogation of this prisoner. ‘Sir Thomas,’ Pembroke’s voice was almost a wail, ‘did not want any of the sanctuary men killed.’
‘A farrago of lies,’ Urswicke retorted. ‘Sir Thomas had no power to search any of these sanctuary men. Canon law is strict on this issue. The bodies and possessions of sanctuary seekers cannot be violated. Archdeacon Blackthorne and Parson Austin would certainly enforce these regulations. True, my father would be most reluctant to order such a slaying, but once he learnt what you did about Conwar, he would give you every support, that would be easy enough. When we arrived here, it was dark and cold, people milling about in the courtyard. My father pushing his way through, then a brief conversation with you in the shadows and the matter was settled. He would give you every assistance. He wanted that cipher before the sanctuary men were bundled aboard The Galicia on their short voyage to destruction. He did what he could. You and the others were placed in cells below the manor house, a row of narrow closets locked by the same key. My father, very much the lord of this manor, gave you a second key.’
‘My hands were chained! I was manacled, a prisoner …’
‘No you were not,’ Bray snapped. ‘Oh, you had gyves fastened around the wrists and ankles but they were simply clasped, not locked. Once that passageway was deserted, you took off your manacles and grasped the arbalest Sir Thomas had hidden away. Using that common key, you slipped into Conwar’s cell; the tunnel below is dark and cold. Oh yes there were guards at both ends but Sir Thomas was cunning. He’d tell them for comfort’s sake they could stand outside, and soldiers of course make themselves as comfortable as possible. You however, became busy enough. You slipped silently into Conwar’s cell. He would immediately realise the truth of the situation. My Lady the countess was correct. Conwar grasped that pilgrim badge in his right hand even as you loosed the killing bolt. You then took his belt and left, locking the door behind you. You re-entered your own narrow closet, locked the door and hid the arbalest beneath the dirt piled there. God knows there was enough to hide a chest of weapons.’
‘And the belt?’
‘Oh you probably strapped that around your own waist whilst you waited for an opportunity to hand it over.’
‘Naturally,’ Countess Margaret spoke up, ‘Sir Thomas would have been truly mystified. After all, I had allegedly informed Pembroke who was carrying the cipher. Conwar’s belt was searched but nothing was found. However, time was short, the pilgrimage was drawing to an end. Our good Recorder would have loved to seize that cipher but he also knew what was planned. The sanctuary men were to be led to the coast, embark on The Galicia and perish with everybody else when those Flemish carracks swept in. Perhaps the captains of both vessels were given strict instructions to search the corpses of everyone aboard The Galicia, the countess smiled thinly, ‘and that would include yours. You were also marked down for death, wasn’t he Christopher?’
‘Oh yes!’ Urswicke replied. ‘Believe me, Pembroke, when you made an agreement and entered into an alliance with my father, you truly sat down to sup with demons. According to your understanding, you would join the other sanctuary men and eventually reach Brittany, where you would continue your treacherous ways until you and my father had done what could be done, and then what? A return to England? A royal pardon? Your thirty pieces of silver? A small manor house with lands where you, your mother and sister could live serenely and securely? Ah well,’ Urswicke rubbed his hands together, ‘as I said, when you sup with demons, you must be prudent and bring a very long spoon to the table. Our noble Recorder had studied you, Pembroke, and offered one further inducement, a great favour to entice you to play the Judas man to the very full.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Zeigler Pembroke. As I said at the beginning of my indictment, my father promised you that the man who had blighted your life would be captured and you could watch him slowly strangle on that great gibbet over Tyburn stream. If the hangman was paid correctly, that could take a very long time. You and your loved ones could watch him die. This was a bait you could not refuse.’ Urswicke spread his hands. ‘You know what happened. Zeigler was captured, imprisoned, tried and condemned to death. You even saw him hoisted on to the execution cart but then Zeigler escaped. You may have been suspicious, but my father would reassure you that the malefactor would soon be recaptured, detained and hanged. Now that was a lie and, believe me, Pembroke, just the beginning of what was being plotted in this deepest, darkest nightmare. You see, we know Sir Thomas organised Zeigler’s escape.’ Urswicke ignored Pembroke’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh yes, the execution cart should have been more closely guarded. Those rifflers, the Sangliers appeared, flaunting their scarlet livery led by Joachim, Zeigler’s henchman. They freed the criminal and my father protected him. Now Zeigler loved to dress as a Franciscan friar. I glimpsed both Zeigler and Joachim in their brown robes sheltering on board the Flemish carrack The Sea Hawk, berthed at Queenhithe. Bray suspected both The Sea Hawk and its sister ship The Gryphon had been undoubtedly hired to stand off Walton and destroy The Galicia and kill everyone on board, including you.’
‘And Zeigler?’
‘Zeigler was a former Yorkist mercenary, a man who hated the Welsh and the Red Dragon Battle Group in particular. Zeigler was a born killer but he had sharp wits, he needed these to survive as a man constantly in battle harness. Zeigler was proficient in the Breton tongue: he was to be taken to Brittany where he would inveigle himself into the household of our mistress’s one and only beloved son.’
‘Impossible!’ Pembroke shouted.
‘Who would gainsay him?’ Urswicke demanded. ‘Who could contradict? Our mistress? If Sir Thomas’s plot had achieved success, the Countess Margaret Beaufort would have few envoys or trusted messengers to send to Rennes in Brittany. It might take weeks for her to learn and recover from the disaster which was supposed to take place off Walton. By then, Zeigler may have carried out his murderous mischief. And, as I’ve asked you
, who could gainsay him? Master Pembroke, you and all the other members of the Red Dragon Battle Group, together with the crew of The Galicia, would have been wiped off the face of the earth. The Flemish carracks should have been victorious, the pirates would have pillaged the corpses, taking their belts along with any letters or documents. These would be seized and later used in Sir Thomas’s planned deception. We learnt that the Flemish carracks, once they had achieved their task, would sail back to Queenhithe where their captains would undoubtedly secretly account to Sir Thomas Urswicke. Zeigler would be prepared, armed with letters and whatever else he needed. Zeigler would then be despatched to Brittany to present himself as the only fortunate survivor of the murderous mayhem perpetrated off Walton-on-the-Naze.’
‘Zeigler would not be believed.’
‘Oh yes he would,’ the countess retorted. She sighed deeply. ‘I am certain that Sir Thomas would secretly advise and prepare him. Zeigler would be convincing enough and all he had to do was wait for the moment to strike.’
‘My father did not,’ Urswicke resumed his indictment, ‘care for you or yours. Sir Thomas is as cunning as Reynard. You now realise that, don’t you Pembroke? You might have entertained suspicions about Zeigler’s escape but, only when you were on board The Galicia, with those two Flemish carracks closing in, would you have realised you had been deceived, trapped and condemned.’ Urswicke gestured at Bray. ‘Tell him now.’
‘I killed Zeigler.’ Bray leaned closer, staring intently at the prisoner. ‘I boarded The Sea Hawk and I killed Zeigler as I did his accomplice. Both men were fit for Hell as any I have met, but listen.’ Bray took a deep breath. ‘Zeigler discovered that your mother and sister were lodged at the Minoresses’. Perhaps someone at the Guildhall let slip to him where they were. Perhaps my father, he doesn’t give a fig for anyone. There again, Zeigler may have surmised it himself as he glared down at you and your womenfolk from that execution cart.’ Bray ignored Pembroke’s heart-chilling moan, as if he realised what was coming. ‘Zeigler and his accomplice Joachim were received by the good Minoresses who accepted them for what they appeared to be, Franciscan friars bearing important news. This is nothing out of the ordinary, the good brothers are often used as trusted messengers. Zeigler was allowed to go alone to the chamber where your mother and sister were lodged. He killed both of them, swift and deadly, with the crossbow he’d concealed. Rest assured …’
Bray broke off at the hideous cry which seemed to come from the very marrow of Pembroke’s soul, a heart-rending shriek which trailed away to a mixture of curses and muttered prayers. Pembroke rocked himself backwards and forwards, then abruptly tore the mask from his face, hands free, he unloosed the buckles, undid the clasps and let the mask fall to the ground. In the dancing light of the fire, Urswicke could only stare in horror at the mangled face beneath. Pembroke’s right cheek was wholesome but the entire left side of his face was simply a hardened, blood-red scar darkened by the years. A most gruesome wound which stretched from the corner of his eye down to just above his chin. Pembroke raised his hands, lips moving soundlessly, tears streaming down his wounded face. Urswicke stared pitifully at him then he recalled the prisoner’s treachery, the murders he had committed, the devastating damage he had caused. Pembroke had chosen the Judas path, he had sown the tempest and now he was reaping the whirlwind.
‘Master Pembroke,’ the countess’s voice was sharp, ‘Master Pembroke, I weep for you but I also weep and mourn for your victims, good men loyal and true.’
The prisoner simply pointed to the mask on the floor. ‘I have lived with that,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘so I shall die with it, please.’
Bray glanced at the countess, who nodded. The steward rose, picked up the mask, handed it to the prisoner and helped him buckle the straps and secure the clasps. Once finished, Bray returned to his chair while Pembroke, bound tight by the cords around his chest and the back of the chair, simply slouched, head down, staring at the floor.
‘Master Bray,’ he murmured, ‘was it swift? My mother …’
‘God rest them, it was very swift. I doubt if they realised what was truly happening.’
‘All finished,’ Pembroke murmured. ‘All dark. What can I do? What can I say? Master Urswicke, your indictment is true, it’s lawful, and I recognise my guilt. Oh, you have the detail wrong on some of your accusations, but what does it matter now? My Lady, I confess my perjury and my betrayal. I have no defence. I simply became tired of being hunted, of living in constant fear of being arrested, tortured and suffering the most excruciating death. I was separated from my beloved family. I wanted to be with them. I had enough turmoil. I wanted peace and Parson Austin showed me a path I might follow. I took that path. Let me say Parson Austin was only the conduit, a messenger, an envoy, nothing more, nothing less. Oh, I am sure he nourished his own suspicions but that’s the good parson. He does what he’s told and, provided it sits easy with his conscience, he will not demur. Your father, Christopher, was the true architect of my misfortune. Naturally, when Zeigler escaped, I wondered. Only when I saw those Flemish carracks sweep in, did I realise the full depth of Sir Thomas’s treachery.’
‘How did you meet?’ Urswicke demanded.
‘Oh, before I took sanctuary. It was easy enough, flitting like a shadow around London, this place, that place. The same is true of our journey to Thorpe. Ah well.’ Pembroke stretched out a hand towards the countess, ‘Mistress, I never intended to hurt you and yours, not really. I was just tired, exhausted.’
‘But you did hurt, most grievously.’
‘Sir Thomas Urswicke,’ Pembroke continued defiantly, ‘is determined on your total destruction. He sees this as his great prize to offer the House of York. He set his mind and soul on annihilating the Red Dragon Battle Group completely. You too, Master Bray, were marked down for destruction, though he gave orders that his son,’ Pembroke spat the words out, ‘should be separated from the countess through stealth and treachery.’
Urswicke, thoughts racing, held up his hand to silence. ‘Oh yes,’ he whispered, ‘I see how the dice was meant to finally fall in this hellish game of hazard. The Galicia, a cog which offered great assistance to our mistress, is utterly destroyed, as are the last remnants of that battle group, and there is more. Zeigler the assassin, on the loose like a hunting wolf in the court of Brittany, watching, waiting ready to pounce. If he was successful, the Tudor cause beyond the seas would have been completely annihilated. In England, the countess is bereft of husband and child, her loyal steward and henchman cut down in some stinking alleyway or dingy taproom. And, as for me? Oh yes, suspicions sprouting as thick and rich as weeds amongst the remnants of the countess’s adherents. They would point out that I am Sir Thomas’s son, that there was no attack on me. Oh yes,’ Urswicke rose to his feet, ‘that’s why my dear father has been, at least publicly, so benevolent towards me: that purse of silver and the robe despatched for me, there’d be a record kept of that and other such gifts.’ He glanced at the countess and held her stare. ‘Heaven help us, mistress but, if all that happened, you could scarcely be blamed for beginning to wonder about my true allegiance.’
‘There’s more,’ Pembroke grated. ‘Much more. I do confess the indictment laid against me is true. I killed Cromart as you said. I visited him earlier in the day pretending to be a dung collector busy about the jake’s pot outside the sacristy door. I informed Cromart that I would return at a certain hour and wait for him to open that door. Cromart was ill and disconcerted, some humour of the belly, but that had nothing to do with me. Cromart was, like myself, exhausted.’
‘But still loyal,’ the countess interjected. ‘A good, true soul.’
‘I returned that night.’ Pembroke seemed hardly aware of what the countess had said. ‘I returned at the hour we agreed. I followed him back into the sacristy.’ Pembroke shrugged, ‘The rest you know. Ratstail had to be silenced. He was a coward, easy to frighten, but I did not trust him. I knew it was only a matter of time, so I killed him. An
easy enough task. The Recorder’s men hid an arbalest for me deep in the shadows of that church. Once I had finished, they collected it from beneath the lancet window I slipped it through. I did open that door to create a false impression of someone fleeing. Parson Austin’s watchers glimpsed figures moving through God’s Acre – they were the Recorder’s men. You see, once I had dropped the arbalest through the agreed window, it was a sign for everything else to happen—’
‘All an illusion,’ Urswicke interrupted. ‘You created an illusion of an assassin loose in the church and then fleeing. And Conwar’s murder?’
‘As you described it. I did wonder about a possible trap. Conwar seemed so hostile, as soon as I entered his cell, he began to challenge me. I killed him immediately and took his belt. Oh, it was simply done. The Recorder had given me a key and I knew there was no one in the passageway outside. Robert Vavasour also had to be silenced and I achieved that the way you described.’
‘You said there was more?’ Urswicke demanded.
‘Guido Vavasour,’ Pembroke breathed out noisily, ‘he truly believed there was a traitor, a spy in the countess’s household. Now I became very wary of him. When we landed on the beach at Walton, Sir Thomas’s comitatus appeared out of the dark. They circled us but Sir Thomas allowed a gap for me to slip through. Vavasour followed. I grew extremely worried that, on reflection, he might regard my escape as truly suspicious. Now during our flight from Walton, Guido was obsessed with this notion of a traitor in our midst. I had to divert him. I, I …’ Pembroke turned his head away. ‘I had to do this.’ Pembroke’s voice had fallen to almost a whisper. ‘True, your father offered me enticing bribes but he also threatened dire consequences for my mother and sister if I did not cooperate with him.’