‘At the time,’ the anchorite continued, evenly lost in his own nightmare past, ‘I was too full of hatred and vengeance to mourn. I’d done good service for the sheriff of Kent in his castle chapel. I took my family’s corpses to him for burial. I also invoked the blood feud and he agreed to help. He raised the hue and cry and issued writs summoning up both the posse comitatus and the shire levies. The outlaws, five in number, were trapped in a wood outside Rochester. They were caught red-handed and immediately sentenced to hang from the Keep of Rochester Castle. You know it?’
Athelstan nodded.
‘I was their hangman. I took each of those wicked souls put the noose around their necks and tossed them over. I watched each do the dance of death. My reputation spread. Rochester hired me as its hangman.’ He laughed a short, bitter bark. ‘I painted their churches and hanged their wolfsheads until I met Alice Rednal.’
‘Alice Rednal — I am sure my Lord Coroner. .?’
‘I know Sir John Cranston, Brother; he hired me as Rednal’s executioner at Smithfield. I was given a chamber in St Bartholomew’s Priory which lies nearby. I didn’t just hang her but others. On execution days I would journey from Newgate to Smithfield in the execution cart with those condemned to die sitting at my feet. I also continued to do some paintings; you can see them in St Sepulchre’s which stands close to Cock Lane.’
‘Alice Rednal?’ Athelstan persisted.
‘Sorry, Brother,’ the anchorite paused, ‘you know I should go back to my cell. I want to. I always like to be alone after a hanging. However,’ he sighed, ‘Alice Rednal! She was the wickedest fiend from the darkest ward of hell. She murdered children, drowned them in the Thames. Sir John caught her and arraigned her before the Justices of Oyer and Terminer where she was condemned to hang. I collected her in the execution cart. No sooner were we out of the prison than she started to mock me. She whispered how, hanging or not, she’d taken quite a liking to me, as those others who’d murdered my wife had taken such a liking to her. I then realized, somehow, she’d been a member of their coven. She named their leader, a malignant called Wolfsbane. I challenged her, claiming she was lying, but it was obvious — she knew so much about them.’
‘What was she like physically?’
‘Oh, tall with wild, greyish hair. Harsh-faced with a full figure.’ The anchorite blinked furiously. ‘She also told me something else.’ He pointed at Athelstan. ‘Is this why I am being brought to the bar for questioning?’
‘What do you mean?’ Athelstan asked.
‘According to Rednal, after I left Beatrice, she and our child were resting under a shade of trees. Beatrice realized she was being watched by Wolfsbane and his coven and as she prepared to flee, a group of mounted archers journeying to Rochester galloped by. Beatrice tried to persuade them to help but they were in too much of a hurry. They mocked her fears and left her to herself.’
‘These mounted archers?’ Athelstan felt a coldness creeping through him as if from the hard stone around him.
‘Rednal claimed they were the Wyvern Company on garrison duty at Rochester.’
‘The same who now lodge here?’
‘I presume so, Friar.’
‘So why did Rednal tell you that?’
‘She said they were on duty when I hanged Wolfsbane and his coven. She claimed I should have executed them as well.’
‘Is that why you came here, hangman, to pursue vengeance?’
‘No, no, let me finish. Rednal, sitting on her own coffin, continued to ridicule me. She pointed out how the world was truly cruel and no one really cared. I slapped her face and told her to shut up. She replied that we would certainly meet again. Anyway, I hanged her at the Elms. I kicked her off the ladder and watched her struggle and twist, then I went my way. Oh yes, thoughts of further vengeance on those archers who refused to help Beatrice curdled and boiled, but then Rednal’s ghost intervened.’
‘Pardon?’ Athelstan turned on the bench.
‘I was lodged in my chamber at St Bartholomew’s. The door had a small grille at the top which could be opened. One evening, about a week after Rednal’s hanging, I heard a knocking. I thought it was a servitor. I crossed and opened the grille. I swear I saw this: Rednal’s face all liverish, eyes glaring, stared in at me, her full foul lips moved. “I told you”, she whispered, “we would meet again”. I slammed the grille shut yet when I opened the door I saw nothing but shadows. Since then I have seen her face again and again peering at me through a dusty, latticed window or from a crowd. .’ His words trailed away.
Athelstan crossed himself.
‘Do you believe in ghosts, Brother Athelstan?’
‘Yes,’ the friar answered. ‘Some you see and some you don’t.’
‘Do you think I am madcap, fey and witless?’
‘No, my friend.’ Athelstan tapped the man’s wrist. ‘But you are a painter,’ he smiled, ‘with wild imaginings, who saw his family slaughtered. You yourself were cruelly baited about this. In the end what is real enough to you is also the truth to you.’ Athelstan paused. ‘You must anticipate my next question as you would if you faced a magister in the schools. I have asked it once, I do so again. Did you come here to seek vengeance on the Wyvern Company?’
‘No, no, Brother, here in this church I swear. I arrived here a broken man. I fled to escape from the ghost of Alice Rednal, to atone for my many sins. I arrived at St Fulcher’s to execute certain paintings in the south aisle. Abbot Walter had three prisoners waiting to be hanged. No one would do it so I performed the task.’ The anchorite got to his feet, visibly agitated. ‘One thing led to another. I told Father Abbot my story. I expressed my desire for peace and he granted me the anker house.’ He turned to face Athelstan. ‘I continue both to paint and to hang.’ He laughed drily. ‘Look at me, Brother — do I look like a swordsman? Despite my wild imaginings I’m no fool. You do not confront, challenge or cross the likes of Wenlock and Mahant — cruel men, professional killers who fear neither heaven nor hell. Oh yes, I could tell you more about the dire events here but,’ he strode as if in a panic towards the entrance to the chantry chapel then glanced over his shoulder, ‘I have much more to say,’ he whispered, ‘much more to judge, much more to condemn but not for now.’
For the rest of that Advent week Athelstan kept to himself. Cranston did not return but sent a message with Flaxwith that all was well. The coroner had even visited St Erconwald’s and announced how ‘that coven of sinners’ were walking the path of righteousness. Benedicta also despatched Crim the altar boy with similar reassurances. Athelstan truly missed his parish. He thought of appealing to Blackfriars but he knew John of Gaunt, the silver-tongued Regent, would have already convinced Athelstan’s superiors that the friar’s presence at St Fulcher’s was vital for the Crown’s interests. Accordingly Athelstan distracted himself, becoming immersed in the daily horarium of the abbey. He stayed well away from those he intended to investigate later: the Wyvern Company, Richer, the abbot and his niece, that anchorite and his grim paintings in the south aisle. Athelstan closely studied these even as he was aware of that eerie soul staring at him through the aperture of the anker house. He also stayed away from the watergate and the nearby gallows where poor Fleischer’s corpse was to hang for three turns of the tide. Athelstan did attend the felon’s hurried burial in the Field of Blood, that deserted derelict stretch of the cemetery reserved for the corpses of malefactors and vagabonds.
Athelstan merged like a shadow into the rule of the black monks. He woke with them when the sub-prior rang the cock-crow bell in the dormitory and joined the sleepy, lantern-lit procession into the choir. Once there he’d watch the sacristan lay out the purple and gold vestments of the Advent season, trim the great lantern horn above the lectern and go round the brothers in a glow of candle light to ensure none of them had fallen asleep during matins. Sometimes he joined the brothers in their stroll around the cloisters. He learnt a little of their sign language when talking was forbidden, though he was never invited to their chapter where duties were assigned, notices proclaimed and corrections carried out. The food in the refectory was good: fish, vegetables, fruit, cheese, spices, figs and ale with pork pies, capon pastry, apple tarts and all kinds of blancmange being served. On occasions he played nine pins and provoked laughter due to his clumsiness, though he soon retrieved his reputation at the chess board.