‘All things are possible, Sir Hugh, but there again, why should I? My only interest was Waldene and Hubert the Monk.’
‘I don’t deny that,’ Corbett retorted. ‘What I want to establish is what role you may have had in these other horrid deaths. So, sir, you reside with your mother in Mitre Street. Well, do not go far, and wait to be summoned again.’
Lapwing left. Corbett picked up a quill and began to sharpen it with a small paper knife.
‘You don’t believe him, master?’
‘Far too glib, pretty-tongued, sharp-witted, but one thing he cannot hide.’ Corbett smiled at his companion. ‘His hair.’
‘Yes, master?’
‘His hair,’ Corbett murmured, ‘dark-flamed red like that of Boniface Ippegrave.’
‘Which means?’
‘I don’t know, Ranulf, it’s something we have return to. Let’s deal with the others.’
Ralph Sandewic and an old bailiff named Osbert bustled in next to take the oath. Sandewic was gruff, rushing through his words; he then had to walk back to help Osbert recite them, bellowing at the man to keep his hand on the Book of the Gospels. Once they were seated, Corbett bowed towards Sandewic. He liked the old constable. Absolutely fearless in battle; Sandewic had only one weakness: he believed that the King sat on God’s right hand, so what Edward wanted could never be wrong. Nevertheless, he was honest and blunt. He could no more tell a lie than a pigeon could sing plainchant. Dressed in his half-armour, the veteran glared at Ranulf, who found it deeply amusing that the Guardian of the Tower was garbed as if expecting attack at any moment. He had even whispered to Corbett how ‘The constable must go to bed armoured and his lady wife must surely protest at the sharp chain mail and the spurs on his boots.’ This morning, however, Ranulf kept his head down and his face impassive, and when he did have to grin, he brought up a hand to hide his mouth. Corbett decided to move matters swiftly.
‘I am asking you a great favour, Master Constable: go back twenty years to the arrest of Boniface Ippegrave. Were you there?’
‘No I wasn’t, but Osbert was. He was a bailiff in Cripplegate ward and was taken up in the posse organised by Walter Evesham to go across to a certain tavern in Southwark.’ Sandewic turned and poked Osbert in the chest. ‘Well, tell them, you’re on oath, tell them what happened.’
Corbett, however, was still distracted. He was not satisfied with the answers he’d received from Staunton or Lapwing. He held up a hand for silence.
‘Chanson,’ he called, ‘hasten now. Go out after Staunton, Blandeford and the creature who calls himself Lapwing. Tell them I am not finished with them. I have further questions; they are to return here and wait.’
Chanson leapt to his feet and left, slamming the door behind him so hard that Osbert startled in alarm. Corbett smiled at the bailiff.
‘Now, sir, you still hold office?’
‘No, I’m well past my sixtieth year. I can’t run or chase villains as I used to.’
‘Twenty years ago,’ Corbett said quietly, ‘you were part of a comitatus, a posse,’ he explained, ‘summoned by Walter Evesham, who later became Chief Justice in the Court of King’s Bench. You remember it?’
‘Oh yes, sir, I was a bailiff in Cripplegate ward. We had to muster outside St Botulph’s Church and Evesham joined us there. Some of us went by barge and others followed him across London Bridge. We were told to assemble outside a tavern.’ He screwed his eyes up. ‘The Liber Albus, that’s what it was called. It was a bright summer morning, very quiet. Evesham and his henchman, an arrogant clerk. .’
‘Engleat?’
‘Yes, sir, that’s right, Engleat. They went into the tavern. We heard shouts and cries. Engleat came out and summoned us in. The taproom was fairly deserted. You know Southwark, sir, it only comes alive at night. The clerk Boniface Ippegrave was there. He looked startled. In a window-seat enclosure sat a prosperous-looking merchant. Evesham had confronted both men.’
‘Can you recall precisely what happened?’ Corbett pleaded. ‘It’s very important.’
‘Yes, sir, I was at the front. Ippegrave had surrendered his sword and so had the merchant. Evesham asked the merchant what he was doing in a Southwark tavern. The man was beside himself with fright; he was trembling, face pale as a ghost. He kept plucking at his cloak and looking towards the door. He could give no honest explanation.’
‘And the clerk Boniface?’
‘He produced a piece of parchment and handed it over. Evesham read it. If I remember rightly, it was simply a message that if Ippegrave came to the Liber Albus tavern in Southwark at a certain hour, it would be of great profit to both himself and the King.’
Corbett nodded; he’d seen such a scrap in the archives of the Secret Seal.
‘Then what?’
‘Both Boniface and the merchant were searched. Apart from that note and some coins, nothing else was found on the clerk, but the merchant carried a heavy purse of gold. I remember Evesham weighing it in his hand. He declared that both men were under arrest and they were to accompany him to Newgate. I think it was Newgate.’
‘Not to Westminster?’ Corbett asked.
‘No, sir, it was definitely to Newgate, or the Fleet. I am sure it was Newgate. So we left.’
‘Did Evesham bind his prisoners?’ Ranulf asked.
‘I offered to do that, but Boniface objected and so did the merchant. They maintained that whatever they were being accused of, they had not been indicted. Evesham accepted this; after all, he had a heavy guard. Some of my companions went back by barge, and the rest followed Evesham and Engleat across London Bridge. We ringed the two prisoners.’
‘How did they behave?’
‘Both men were crestfallen, rather frightened; they no longer protested. The merchant glared at Boniface but he seemed locked in his own thoughts. We left the bridge and made our way along Thames Street and up towards St Paul’s. As we reached Milk Street, neither prisoner offering resistance, the crowd surged around us, and that is when it happened. Boniface appeared to slip, going down on one knee.’
‘Who was next to him?’
‘I don’t know, sir. At one time he and Evesham were walking by themselves. Anyway, there was confusion. You know what it’s like, we bailiffs are not liked. There were catcalls, some refuse thrown. Apprentices darted in trying to sell things. There were beggars, cunning men, street prowlers, pimps and their whores, people who revel in a commotion. As I said, Boniface went down on one knee as if he’d slipped, and suddenly he was gone, fast as a whippet. He snaked through the line of bailiffs into the crowd, and you can imagine what happened.’
Corbett nodded. People always felt sorry for a prisoner, hence escape was common.
‘The hue and cry were raised.’ Osbert paused.
‘Continue,’ Corbett demanded.
‘Well, we cried, “Harrow! Harrow!” and tried to pursue, but of course our path was blocked. Boniface was a fairly young man, swift on his feet. He went down an alleyway and disappeared. We followed and caught sight of him. He was fleeing across St Botulph’s cemetery, then he entered the church.’ Osbert shrugged. ‘We knew the law. We didn’t want to be excommunicated. A man who has taken sanctuary has taken sanctuary. Our job was finished.’
‘And Evesham?’
‘He organised the pursuit. When Boniface reached St Botulph’s he was beside himself with rage. He tongue-lashed us for being incompetent, cursed us and said he wished he’d bound both captives.’
‘And the merchant?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Oh, he tried to escape in the confusion, but he was seized, bound and safely lodged in Newgate.’