‘He hid it well,’ Corbett remarked. ‘He still kept busy, busy.’
‘A pretence,’ Edward declared. ‘I shall first move to the conclusion. Evesham actually believed the Mysterium was a chancery clerk, a senior one. Let me explain his logic. Corbett and Staunton, you both know how all the information from home and abroad flows like a river through the offices of the chancery: trade negotiations, alliances, purchases, licences to do this or that, but also the scandal, gossip and chatter from both the court and the city. The faults and foibles of many. Which merchant is playing the two-backed beast, who frequents the stews and bath houses. Above all, the various enmities and hostilities, be it husband or wife, or one guild merchant against another.’ Edward smiled at Ranulf. ‘Even one clerk’s rivalry with a colleague.’
‘And the Mysterium used this?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Yes, he did,’ the King agreed. ‘I said I would first deal with the conclusion. Apparently the Mysterium would learn of an intense hostility, usually hatred, and send a message to one of the parties, the one he believed to be the most susceptible to his advances. All this,’ he waved a hand, ‘can be found in the archives of the Secret Seal. The message would be stark, something to the effect: “Your enemy is my enemy, no mystery. Your enemy can be no more, says the Mysterium. By what name is your enemy called?” Before you ask,’ The King shook his head, ‘the writing on the parchment could have come from a legion of sources.’
‘And the same for how it was delivered,’ Staunton remarked.
‘Slipped into the hand or left at your lodgings,’ added Blandeford, eager to follow his master.
‘But surely,’ Ranulf asked, ‘the recipient would recognise the name Mysterium and realise what this entailed. Wouldn’t someone come forward?’
‘Would they?’ Corbett sipped from the now cooled mulled wine. ‘Very dangerous, Ranulf. A lawyer might argue that you were the Mysterium’s accomplice in some guise or other, whilst God help you if something did befall your enemy.’
‘Precisely!’ Edward tapped the table.
‘But there is something missing, isn’t there?’ Corbett continued. ‘How could the recipient respond?’
‘At the end of the message,’ the King smiled, ‘was a reference; for example, St Paul VI, 2. At first glance the murderer seemed to be referring to one of the Apostle’s letters.’
‘But he wasn’t,’ Ranulf exclaimed. ‘It’s St Paul’s Cathedral and the great hanging board or hoarding in the nave. It’s divided into a hundred and forty-four squares, a reference to the Apocalypse; a wall painting on either side of it depicts how many people will be saved at the Last Judgement.’ He paused. Staunton and Blandeford were smiling at him as if he were a child who’d solved a riddle to which they already knew the answer.
‘Let us hear it, Ranulf,’ Corbett intervened. ‘It’s a long time since I used the great hoarding.’
‘It’s a hundred and forty-four squares,’ Ranulf repeated, wishing the flush in his face would fade, ‘twelve across and twelve down. The horizontal squares are numbered in the Arabic fashion, the vertical in the Roman. VI, 2 would be the square where these two numbers meet. You place your money in an alms box and take a scrap of parchment from a nearby dish. You then write your notice and put it in whatever square you’ve chosen. Everything is advertised there, be it a servant looking for employment, or someone arranging a meeting.’
‘Or a murderer,’ Corbett continued, ‘offering up the name of their intended victim. The Mysterium would come to the cathedral and read what was placed there.’ He pulled a face. ‘Cunning and devious is the human heart. The great hoarding is covered in notices, whilst visitors crowd through St Paul’s many entrances.’
‘And there’s the disguise, the cowl, the visor,’ Staunton declared. ‘People push and shove; who would guess murder was being planned?’
‘So tempting.’ Blandeford’s high-pitched voice held a wistful note. ‘But payment?’
‘The Mysterium always demanded the same: two hundred pounds in pure gold,’ replied the King. ‘Again a short message pushed into the hand once the deed was done. It would list the amount as well as the time and place for payment, usually a tavern or a busy church. Another note would stipulate where the money was to be left: in an empty tankard, under a platter or in some wall niche. Who could object? The Mysterium was the assassin, but so was the person who supplied the name.’
‘But the hirer could refuse payment.’ Ranulf spoke up, then pulled a face. ‘Though of course,’ he added, ‘he could be blackmailed. He’d already provided the name of his victim. The Mysterium would hold on to that and could denounce him anonymously. Suspicion would already be sharp about a rival’s involvement in his enemy’s murder. Such a denunciation supported by evidence, meagre though it might be, would be highly dangerous.’
‘And who would refuse to pay?’ Corbett declared. ‘Many of the rich and powerful would see even two hundred pounds in pure gold as well worth the price. The letter “M” carved on the victim’s brow would proclaim the deed to enhance the assassin’s reputation. I can follow Evesham’s logic. The Mysterium would have to be someone who could plumb the depths of the loathing of one person for another. He’d choose his victim very carefully. Yes, London seethes with hatred and rivalry. We clerks learn about such things. The Great Ones, as we know, hire gangs, rifflers and ribauds to confront their rivals with sword and dagger play in Cheapside. The Mysterium’s method is a better, more silent way. Of course, the person who has hired the Mysterium must ensure that he is nowhere near the scene of his victim’s death. Very, very clever. People might suspect, but there’d be no proof. So how did Evesham eventually trap the killer?’
‘Think, Corbett,’ Edward teased. ‘How would you?’
‘The basic premise,’ Corbett replied slowly, ‘is that the Mysterium knew about the affairs of the Great Ones. Yes, he could well be a clerk.’ He emphasised the points with his fingers.
‘Primo: Evesham could pretend to nourish a deep grievance against some rival, but that would founder because the Mysterium would have to murder someone, and such a crime would have sent Evesham to the scaffold. Moreover, if the Mysterium was a chancery clerk, he would quickly suspect a trap and not rise to the bait.’ Corbett paused.
‘Secundo: he could watch other clerks in the chancery, but that would be very difficult and take too much time.’
From the darkness outside, an owl hooted, long and mournful, to be answered by the strident bark of a fox.
‘Tertio?’ Staunton asked.
‘Tertio,’ Corbett announced slowly: ‘I would watch. I’d ask myself who wanted a certain person dead. What was the chatter, the gossip? Now, undoubtedly that would be difficult. If you, my lord Staunton, were my enemy — though of course,’ he added drily, ‘you are not — people might suspect me of your murder, but suspicion is not proof. Moreover, my lord, a man like you, difficult though it is to accept, might have more than one enemy.’
Edward lowered his head. Ranulf put his face into his hands. Staunton merely smirked.
‘Trial and error,’ Corbett continued. ‘I’d search around and listen to all the information flowing into the chancery. Remember, the Mysterium would not be paid until the deed was done and the victim identified. Therefore I’d listen to the news about all the sudden mysterious deaths amongst the Great Ones and I’d narrow the possibilities. The most opportune is a man getting rid of a rival, or, even better, his wife. If the latter occurred, the husband would ensure that he was many miles distant from the incident. He’d be able to go on oath with a host of witnesses to claim he was far away and had no hand in the murder.’