The Devil's Domain (32 page)

‘I – I heard the rumours. My Lord Gaunt, I must leave here.’ He broke free and walked towards the door.

Sir John looked helplessly on. The arrest of a foreign envoy was a serious matter.

‘What about me? What about us?’ Vamier shouted.

De Fontanel turned, his face pallid.

‘You are going to leave me here to rot, aren’t you? I tell you this.’ Vamier strode forward. ‘I’ll not go to the Tower! I’ll not dance on the end of a Goddamn’s rope for you!’

‘Hush man, keep your nerve!’

‘Keep my nerve!’ Vamier screamed. ‘Here among the Goddamns! Have my flesh torn, my limbs racked!’

‘Enough!’ Gaunt looked up into the darkness of the musicians’ gallery. ‘Sir Walter, you have heard enough. Let sentence be carried out!’

De Fontanel whirled round. There was a whirr through the air like a bird beating its wings, then the goose-quilled arrows struck their targets. De Fontanel’s neck was cruelly pierced, the shaft going through one side and out of the other. Vamier took two arrows, one in the shoulder, the second deep in his heart. Both men fell, legs kicking, choking on the pools of blood spilling out of their mouths. Gresnay sprang to his feet. He tried to run towards the door. Athelstan quickly seized him, shielding his body from the archers in the musicians’ gallery.

‘For God’s sake!’ Athelstan hissed. ‘If you move away from me, you are dead!’

‘Ah, he’s safe enough,’ Gaunt called out. ‘Only the guilty suffer.’ He held his hand up. ‘Brother Athelstan, you have my word. Well done, Sir Walter, you may join us now.’

There was a movement in the music loft and, a short while later, Sir Walter, accompanied by three master bowmen, entered the hall. Before anyone could stop him, Sir Walter kicked both corpses and walked threateningly towards Gresnay.

‘My Lord of Gaunt,’ Athelstan protested, pushing Gresnay back on to the bench.

‘I wondered what was going to happen,’ the Regent said. ‘I know you, little friar, you ferret out the truth! So, I placed Sir Walter and the bowmen in the shadows of the musicians’ gallery.’ Gaunt sighed and sat down in the high-backed chair. ‘They were there if judgement had to be carried out.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘Moreover, if I am to meet Frenchmen it’s best to be prepared, especially if Mercurius is in their midst. I wondered if de Fontanel would go for his dagger. The death of John of Gaunt would be a great prize for the French court.’ He snapped his fingers.

The bowmen picked the corpses up by the legs and dragged them out of the door, leaving a trail of sticky, red blood on the wooden floorboards.

‘They could have stood trial,’ Sir John said.

‘I don’t think so,’ Gaunt answered. ‘Mercurius was a traitor and a murderer. Vamier no better. The evidence was there but hard to grasp. The French could protest, perhaps even threaten English prisoners in France. They would have certainly worked hard for Mercurius’ return.’

‘And so what will be your story?’ Sir John asked. ‘The French will appeal to the Pope in Avignon. You will have the cardinal of this or the cardinal of that knocking on the door of the Savoy Palace.’

‘Oh, I’ll tell them the truth.’ Gaunt smiled. ‘Well, some of it will be truth. I’ll say that Mercurius was unmasked in my presence; that he and his accomplice Vamier drew their daggers and tried to kill me. I’ll have his corpse searched while Gervase will scurry among the records. We’ll point out that Mercurius and the English clerk Richard Stillingbourne were one and the same person and, therefore, came under my jurisdiction. Vamier was just a casualty of war!’ He gazed round menacingly. ‘What can anyone say? They were a threat to the Crown! Traitors and assassins! Lawful execution was carried out!’

‘And how, my lord, will you explain your discovery of Mercurius?’ Athelstan asked. ‘By an angel come down from heaven?’

Gaunt laughed softly, clicking his tongue as if savouring a secret. ‘What do you think, little friar? How do you think I’ll explain it?’

‘Oh, my lord, you’ll let the dance continue. You and Gervase will suggest, both here and abroad, that not only did you have a spy on board the cogs of war but another one closeted in the most secret councils of the French court. You will let it be known, by whisper and rumour, that you knew who Mercurius was from the start and enticed him into your web. The Papal envoys will be informed about the true reasons for Mercurius’ visit to England as well as the hideous murders he committed. You will insinuate how your alleged spy at the French court told you all this.’ Athelstan sighed. ‘You will be exonerated, a truly virtuous prince, while the French will tear themselves apart hunting for a traitor who doesn’t exist.’

Gaunt threw his head back and roared with laughter, the tears sparkling in his eyes.

‘Oh, I love this game. You are very good, Brother. Yes, that’s exactly what Gervase will do.’ His eyes slid to Gresnay, who sat transfixed like a rabbit before a weasel. ‘And now, sir, we come to you.’

‘My lord,’ Athelstan broke in. ‘He is an innocent man.’

‘He’ll be a dead one if he returns to France,’ Gervase said. ‘No one will believe or accept his story.’

‘I have done no wrong,’ Gresnay burst out, half-rising from the bench.

Athelstan pushed him back.

‘Don’t worry.’

Gaunt was now examining a spot on his hand.

‘I’ll tell you what, Monsieur Gresnay: you go to Monsieur Gervase here. Tell us all there is to know about the fortifications along the French coast. We’ll send a letter to France saying that you, too, were a victim of this traitorous poisoner. You can change your name, take a reward from the English exchequer. Go down to the south coast and hide in one of our fishing villages. It’s either that or back to France.’

Gresnay quickly agreed.

‘In which case,’ Gaunt concluded, ‘all is in order, all is finished. Two French ships have been destroyed, Mercunus killed and further mischief planned for the French court. A good day’s work, eh?’

He smiled at Athelstan, who stared coolly back. Gaunt stepped off the dais and clapped Sir John on the shoulder.

‘Good work, Jack, eh? Sir Walter, this manor is yours, to do with as you wish. It’s a reward, a little compensation for your sad loss.’ He sketched a bow. ‘Brother Athelstan, remember me in your prayers. Gervase, join me at the Savoy. Sing me that madrigal you’ve composed.’

And, with his arm round his spy-master, Gaunt walked down the hall. He turned at the doorway.

‘Maurice, you’ll join us? Or are you going back to see the Lady Angelica?’

‘Sir Thomas Parr has invited me to supper, my lord.’

‘Sir Thomas Parr is a most gracious man,’ Athelstan observed.

‘Aye.’ Gaunt smirked. ‘And pigs fly along Cheapside.’

‘In which case, my lord,’ Athelstan quipped, ‘you’ll find plenty of pork in the trees!’

Gaunt let go of Gervase’s shoulder and walked back up the hall, striking his heavy leather gloves against his hand.

‘And how are your parishioners, Brother?’

Athelstan looked over Gaunt’s shoulder. Gervase glanced warningly and shook his head.

Gaunt pushed his face closer. ‘And those arrows?’

‘Hidden, my lord, by rebels but discovered by loyal subjects and reported immediately to the Corporation.’

‘So, they are all hale and hearty?’

‘My lord, they are in remarkably good health. They work hard, eat little and constantly pray for the welfare of the King.’

‘Then pray keep them that way.’

‘I do, my lord. I pray every day that, if they be not in the King’s grace, they will speedily return to it and, if they are in the King’s grace, God will keep them in it.’

‘And when the revolt comes?’ Gaunt asked, his face now drained of all good humour. ‘Which side of the fence will you stand on, little friar?’

‘Why, my lord, I’ll be in my church, celebrating Mass, preaching the Gospel and looking after those in my care. That is the purpose of a priest, a member of the Order of St Dominic.’

‘So it is, so it is.’ Gaunt opened his purse and slipped some coins into his hand. He gave these to Athelstan, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. ‘Well, buy a hogshead of ale, Brother. Let them drink my health and that of the King.’

Gaunt sauntered out of the hall, slamming the door behind him. Sir Maurice stepped off the dais and clasped Sir John’s hand, then embraced Athelstan, squeezing him tightly.

‘I cannot thank you enough, or you, Sir John.’

‘Nothing to it, my boy.’ Cranston took out the miraculous wineskin. ‘You’ll celebrate with me now?’

Sir Maurice spread his hands. ‘A few pots of ale and a pheasant pie, eh, Brother?’

Athelstan put the coins Gaunt had given him into his wallet. He picked up his writing pouch.

‘I have other duties,’ he said. He turned and clasped Gresnay’s hand. ‘Do not worry, sir, the Regent will keep his word, you will be safe. Have nothing to fear from Sir Walter.’

He, Sir John and Sir Maurice then left the hall. Already it was becoming less of a prison, no sentries on duty, doors and casement windows flung open. They walked out and, as they did so, glimpsed Gaunt and Gervase, surrounded by their retainers, gallop through the gatehouse back towards the city.

‘I knew Gaunt’s father,’ Sir John mused. And his elder brother, Edward the Black Prince, God bless and rest him. Gaunt is a cunning one. I think he plays the game for the sheer enjoyment. Come on!’

They walked down, through the gatehouse and on to the deserted heathland.

‘Are you coming to the city, Brother?’

Athelstan shook his head.

‘We should have made our farewells to Sir Walter.’ The friar paused. ‘Sir John, Sir Maurice, I am tired and not in the mood for rejoicing. You go into the city then, tomorrow, come to Southwark. We’ll celebrate your happiness in the Piebald, perhaps tomorrow evening when the excitement has died down?’

He watched the coroner, arm in arm with the young knight, walk across the heathland towards the old city wall. Then he turned back and walked up to the gloomy entrance of the manor. He found a retainer and, after a short while, the servant brought Sir Walter down to where Athelstan stood just outside the doorway.

‘Why, Brother?’ Sir Walter looked more composed, as if the deaths of the two Frenchmen had purged something from his soul.

‘I simply came to say farewell, Sir Walter, and offer the thanks and good wishes of Sir John.’

‘A good man, the coroner.’ Sir Walter beamed. ‘And you, Brother.’ He shook his head. ‘A spider’s game,’ he added. ‘But I am cleared of any wrong-doing though it’s a pity that my daughter had to pay with her life.’

‘She’s at peace,’ Athelstan replied. ‘And so are you, aren’t you, Sir Walter?’

‘I confess, Brother. I was in the musicians’ gallery. I enjoyed giving the order, watching those two traitorous murderers die.’

‘But you knew, didn’t you?’ Athelstan asked.

‘What do you mean, Brother?’

‘Sir Walter, it’s a question of logic. You sat here guarding those Frenchmen. I wager you watched them day and night. Oh, I am not saying you knew who the assassin was or how the murders were carried out. However, you must have seen Monsieur de Fontanel whispering, talking, perhaps more to Vamier than the rest?’

‘I saw nothing, Brother.’ Sir Walter held his gaze. ‘I simply did my duty.’

‘Oh, come, come, Sir Walter. You hired Master Aspinall the physician. You knew he was above suspicion. You also were aware of your own innocence. I wager you were only too pleased to see the French kill each other, men who slaughtered your own family?’

‘I had no knowledge of who Monsieur de Fontanel really was, or how the murders were carried out.’

‘No, but you had your suspicions and you did not share them with us and that, Sir Walter, is why your daughter died. You hated those men. And perhaps with good reason. You resented their arrogance, their whisperings, their quiet laughter. You knew you were innocent of any foul play. Let them kill each other, you thought; Sir Jack Cranston can resolve it, and the more who die, the better.’

‘I hear what you say, Brother, but . . .’ Limbright shrugged. ‘That’s why you let Routier escape, wasn’t it? You told your guards to look the other way. I think you knew what he was planning and looked forward to the hunt. A way of releasing some of the bile in your own soul. Show these French who was the master?’

‘I would have been blamed for Routier’s escape.’

‘Come, come, Sir Walter, a tired, dispirited Frenchman alone in England. You would have enjoyed hunting him down with your dogs.’

‘Even if what you say is the truth, Brother, what is the use now?’

‘The truth always matters,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Good day, Sir Walter.’

St Erconwald’s was very quiet when Athelstan arrived back later that afternoon. Both church and house had been cleaned, Philomel was dozing in his stable. Athelstan took the second key he always carried and opened the church and stepped inside. Huddle had been busy drawing on the far wall with a piece of charcoal. Athelstan went over and crouched down to study what the painter had drawn: a stern Christ in Judgement. On his left, the goats, on his right the lambs. But, this time, Huddle had taken liberties with Holy Scripture: members of the parish stood among the lambs. Pernell, even Godbless holding a little Thaddeus, while others, whom Huddle disliked, such as Pike’s sharp-tongued wife, were placed in the centre so people would wonder if they were a lamb or a goat.

‘That will have to go,’ Athelstan commented. ‘Otherwise civil war will break out on the parish council.’

He crouched down, his back to the wall. Gaunt had said everything was neatly tied up but was it? He thought of all those souls thrust unprepared into eternity: the hapless prostitute hanged at the Golden Cresset, and those Frenchmen who never would see their families or homes again. Did Mercurius have a family? Did anyone grieve for Vulpina? Or those shaven-headed assassins?

‘A long list of dead!’ Athelstan whispered. Tomorrow he would say Mass for all of them, that Christ would have mercy on their souls.

The door swung open and Godbless came in, Thaddeus trotting behind him.

‘God bless you, Father. All is well?’

‘Aye,’ Athelstan replied.

Godbless knelt before him, one arm round Thaddeus.