Corbett leaned back against the stone and stared up at a gargoyle’s face, a monkey with devil’s horns; next to it was a jester, bauble and stick in one hand, eyes protuberant, lips parted in a carved stone grin. Mouseman’s news confirmed his own suspicions. Waldene and Hubert the Monk had been moved to the pits to die and then their followers had been deliberately agitated. Somehow or other they were given weapons and easy passage out, as well as false information that a secret passageway from St Botulph’s would take them to freedom. Or was it false?
‘Well, my lord, what have I earned?’
‘Mouseman, you are well named. There’s many a door you can enter, and you’ve just entered by the most narrow one.’ Corbett patted the man on the shoulder. ‘Welcome to the light.’ He opened his purse, and took out a silver coin and a wax cast of his seal. ‘For your comfort,’ he advised. ‘Tomorrow, around the bell for sext, present yourself at the Chancery Chamber of the Green Wax, give your full name, show them the seal and ask for Ranulf-atte-Newgate. ’
‘I’ve heard of him.’
‘He will prepare the necessary letters. Then, Edmund Arrowsmith, also known as Mouseman, I suggest you visit a barber. Have your head and face shaved, buy some new clothes and, once your pardon is sealed, go back to St Albans and live in peace.’ He patted the outlaw on the shoulder and, with his thanks ringing in his ears, escorted him out of the palace back down the path to the Sanctuary. Mouseman was about to step out of the light when he turned abruptly.
‘Evesham?’ he called out. ‘The judge who proved to be a bigger sinner than all of us?’
‘What about him?’
‘We heard of his death. According to rumour, Waldene and Hubert the Monk were deeply troubled.’
‘Why is that?’ Corbett followed him into the night air.
‘Apparently they had been comrades of Evesham for many a year and a day. People said it was time all three of them fell, that’s all,’ and Mouseman disappeared into the darkness.
9
Lyam hound: a bloodhound
Corbett hurried back up the stairs and along the gallery to the oyer and terminer chamber, where Chanson was sitting just within the door gnawing a piece of bread filched from the kitchens. He chewed the crust like some angry dog. Ranulf was laughing at him while sorting out the manuscripts on the table. He immediately told Corbett about the King’s visit. Corbett stood chewing the corner of his lip, studying Ranulf intently. His comrade nourished burning ambitions, which Edward was always eager to exploit.
‘Is that all, Ranulf?’ he asked.
‘Why yes, Sir Hugh. The King seemed in good humour,’ Ranulf replied evasively. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘And there was never anyone more given to double-dealing than he,’ Corbett murmured.
‘Master?’
‘Oh, just a line from Scripture about one of Israel’s kings. Now, the Mouseman. .’ Corbett swiftly told them what he’d learnt, impressing upon Ranulf that when the Mouseman appeared at the Chancery of the Green Wax the following day, he was to be given every help and assistance. Ranulf assured him that he would be. Corbett then sent Chanson down to the kitchen with his seal, asking the cooks to provide them with what he called ‘a feast for the King’s good servants’. A short while later Chanson returned with two servants trailing behind him bearing trays carrying pots of hot quail covered in a spicy sauce, dishes of vegetables, small white rolls in napkins to keep them warm, pots of butter and a flagon of the best claret with three goblets. Ranulf had cleared the chancery table, pulling back the leather cover, and Corbett ushered Chanson to his seat, saying that it was time they feasted like princes. They ate and drank in silence. Now and again Ranulf would ask a question about what the Mouseman had said, but Corbett just shrugged and said that they would have to wait and see if his information fitted with the rest. Corbett ate and drank slowly. The more he’d reflected during his time in the abbey, the more he believed the roots of this mystery lay with Evesham and the events of twenty years ago. Yet where should he begin to dig? How could he delve deep and unmask an evil that had lain dormant for decades until abruptly manifesting itself in horrid murder?
Once they’d finished their supper, Chanson offered to take the platters and goblets down to the kitchen. Knowing that the groom wanted to sit and gossip with the other clerks of the kitchen and stable, Corbett let him go. Then he and Ranulf washed their hands at the lavarium and prepared the chancery table. Ranulf sat in Corbett’s chair, whilst Sir Hugh walked up and down trying to marshal his thoughts.
‘The beginning. .’ He paused. ‘What do we have here, Ranulf? The Mysterium Rei — the Mystery of the Thing. It’s well named. Over twenty years ago a murderer prowled London, a professional assassin who carried out crimes on behalf of the rich and powerful. The Mysterium would remove undesirables, individuals the Great Ones wanted dead: a business rival, or a wife who’d served her purpose. He seemed to enjoy his work. He didn’t just kill silently, he left his own message. Why such revelling in heinous sin?’
Ranulf paused in his writing and lifted his head. ‘You’re saying he could have worked more secretly?’
‘Instead he had to boast, to proclaim. I detect a relish, a deep pleasure in what he did, a pride in his bloody handiwork. Most murderers kill stealthily; the Mysterium was arrogant, openly baiting judges, sheriffs and the Crown itself. According to what we know, Burnell the old chancellor hired an ambitious clerk, Walter Evesham, with his faithful lieutenant Ignacio Engleat, to trap the Mysterium. Evesham dedicated all his energies to the task. He must have studied the killer very closely. We now know how the Mysterium worked, but at the time, Evesham didn’t. What he did was watch and wait, sitting like some spider in the chancery listening for news from the city. One day he was fortunate. A merchant’s wife was murdered. The Mysterium left his taunting message, and although merchant Chauntoys might be suspected, he could go on oath that when his wife was killed he was elsewhere. Evesham’s logic was brilliantly simple. He waited for that merchant to return to London and brought him under close scrutiny. For a while Chauntoys acted the role of the grieving widower, but one day, like a fox hidden in the brambles, he decided to break cover. He went to the Liber Albus in Southwark, Evesham followed and lo and behold, in the same tavern, he found the clerk Boniface Ippegrave.’
‘Why was Evesham,’ Ranulf interrupted ‘and therefore Chancellor Burnell, so trusting in his belief that the Mysterium was a chancery clerk?’
‘You heard the King, Ranulf; the chancery receives all kinds of gossip: who hates whom, rivalries, animosities, husband and wife at each other’s throats.’
‘True, master, but so does the Guildhall and its clerks. Why was Evesham so insistent that the Mysterium must be a chancery clerk?’
Corbett paused in his pacing. ‘You are right,’ he conceded. ‘Clerks in the Guildhall also hear the gossip of the city, but that will have to wait. To return to what actually happened. Evesham arrests both Boniface and Chauntoys. The merchant acts guilty; he cannot really explain why he is there. More importantly, he is carrying a heavy purse of gold, an amount he would not take to a Southwark tavern unless he truly had to. Above all he holds a scrap of parchment informing him where to leave that gold. Chauntoys blusters but his guilt is obvious. Boniface, however, carries only a message that could have been scrawled by anyone, saying how his presence in that particular tavern at that hour would be for the greater profit of both himself and the King.