The Straw Men (33 page)

‘No, I shall not,' Athelstan retorted.

Cranston stiffened, breathing in noisily.

‘Cannot, shall not?' Thibault queried. ‘I can make you.'

‘Do not threaten us,' Athelstan murmured. ‘Please, Thibault, don't be so stupid. You have powerful friends, but so do I. I am a Dominican priest, a cleric protected by the full power of Holy Mother Church. I will tell you in return for four favours. Firstly, Rachael is to be given honourable burial here in God's Acre. I do not want her corpse dismembered.'

‘I see no problem with that.'

‘Secondly,' Athelstan dipped into his chancery satchel and brought out the book of plays, ‘I keep this as a gift. My parishioners would benefit from it.'

‘Sic habes,' Thibault quoted. ‘You have it. And thirdly?'

‘The woman Judith is allowed to settle in Saint Erconwald's.'

Thibault shrugged. ‘And finally?'

‘You take a solemn oath,' Athelstan indicated the Book of the Gospel on the lectern, ‘here in the presence of Sir John Cranston, Coroner of the City of London, that Mistress Eleanor, who calls herself Mara, your prisoner in Beauchamp Tower, will be kept safe and sent to the Domincan convent of Saint Frideswide outside Oxford. I know the Mother Superior, a Scottish lady, Isabella Urquhart. You will swear that Eleanor will be kept safe, lodged most comfortably and given a pension for as long as she lives.'

Thibault looked as if he was going to object.

‘Do so,' Athelstan urged. ‘She is religious, protected by the church. She has committed no crime. She is innocent of any wrongdoing and I know she will pose no threat. Saint Frideswide lies near the palace of Woodstock. She can be, in a most careful manner, watched without being bothered.'

Thibault sucked on his lips and smiled. ‘Brother Athelstan, Sir John, I agree. You have in fact solved a problem. Can you assure me your order will guarantee the Lady Eleanor will cause no trouble?'

‘Believe me,' Athelstan grinned. ‘The Lady Urquhart will see to that.'

Thibault rose and took the oath, his right hand planted firmly on the Book of the Gospel, and returned to his seat. Athelstan then described what had happened, moving swiftly through the evidence and citing the proof he had found in Rachael's chamber: certain scraps of parchment, an arbalest, a pouch of opiate and that blood-soaked gown.

Once he had finished, Thibault, his face contorted in fury as Rosselyn's treachery was described, sat head down. Eventually he glanced up. ‘I heard about the business in Flanders. I sent the Straw Men and other agents to hunt the rumours down – the rest is as you describe it, Athelstan. As for Rosselyn, he must have been suborned very recently, possibly in the early winter but, there again,' Thibault blinked and glanced away, ‘I wonder how many of those who eat My Lord of Gaunt's bread act the Judas once darkness falls. I did wonder about the attack near Aldgate; perhaps that was Rosselyn's offering, a guarantee of his word to the Upright Men.'

‘That business in Flanders,' Athelstan retorted. ‘Master Thibault, you have been very honest in taking the oath. I accept your assurances about the Lady Eleanor but there is one thing you haven't told me. And I swear, if you keep your oath, so will I.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Evangeline was a former midwife, a royal nurse or whatever she called herself. I have no doubt that the tales she spun were based on rumour, lie, wishful thinking,' Athelstan shrugged, ‘or court gossip. Well, you can take your choice.' Athelstan could feel the rise in tension. Thibault pulled himself up in his chair; Lascelles' hand slipped to the hilt of his dagger.

‘When I was a boy,' Athelstan continued softly, ‘my father had a small holding. Most of our summers were dry and I always remember my father being anxious lest a fire be started in the wheat field. He and other villagers hired Machlin, a former mercenary, to guard against this. Machlin was given a small hut on top of a hill. He was provided with food and drink and accepted into our community.'

‘And?' Thibault asked.

‘Machlin was very good, extremely vigilant in reporting the outbreak of fires until, of course, my father became suspicious. He discovered that Machlin was starting the very fires he was reporting. Machlin wanted to be a hero, a saviour.'

‘The business in Flanders?' Lascelles rasped.

‘Now I think,' Athelstan continued, holding Thibault's gaze, ‘that Evangeline would have gone to her grave and kept to herself the farrago of lies about My Lord of Gaunt. But someone approached her posing as Gaunt's great enemy, enticing her greed with the prospect of fat profit.'

‘My Lord of Gaunt has many enemies.'

‘I just wonder,' Athelstan replied, ‘if this mysterious messenger was sent by Gaunt's friends, someone who wanted to depict himself as a saviour, the man who crushed filthy lies and rumours about our glorious Plantagenet Prince. Someone who started the fire then posed as the saviour who extinguished it.'

‘And whoever could that be?'

‘Oh I would have to prove that, but Sir John here could help. We would go through the licences issued to those who have travelled to Flanders. We would make careful enquiries about why they went, where they went and what they did.' Athelstan now stared at Lascelles, who moved uncomfortably.

‘I don't think that would be necessary,' Thibault remarked.

‘No, neither do I,' Athelstan smiled. ‘I'm sure the Lady Eleanor will remain safe. I am also confident, Master Thibault, that you will always hold the parish of Saint Erconwald's in tender respect, and that you will regard my flock as more misled than malevolent.' Thibault smiled and nodded. Cranston bit his lip to stop laughing.

‘In which case . . .' Athelstan pushed back the chair and raised his hand in blessing. Thibault opened the small coffer on his right. He took out a small purse of clinking silver which he tied securely and pushed across the desk for Athelstan to take.

‘Please distribute that among the poor of your parish, Brother Athelstan.' He gestured at the coroner. ‘Sir John, you have done my master a great service – it shall not be forgotten. Now, it's best if you go.'

Within the hour Cranston and Athelstan had left the Tower and joined the noisy, colourful throng on the approaches to the bridge.

‘Athelstan!' Cranston paused and pointed to the severed heads displayed above the gatehouse.

‘Do you ever despair at the sheer, squalid wickedness, the weariness and waste of it all?'

‘Isaiah, twenty-six,' Athelstan replied. ‘God's promise that one day he will wipe away the tears from every eye. I truly believe that, Sir John. In the end, time will run backwards and full justice will be done.' Athelstan closed his eyes. He shivered as he recalled that beautiful young woman falling against the coming night, tumbling into the hands of God and those other souls cruelly snatched from life and dispatched to judgement.

‘I must not despair,' he whispered. He opened his eyes and tugged at Cranston's cloak. ‘For the moment, Sir John, let me wipe away a few tears and what better place than the Holy Lamb of God!'

The Straw Men
is, of course, a work of fiction, though the main threads of my story have a firm historical basis.

John of Gaunt was the magnificent medieval prince as described in these pages. Like his brother, the Black Prince, he was a savage and ruthless soldier. The Siege of Limoges would, today, be regarded as a serious war crime. Gaunt lived in great splendour at the Palace of the Savoy (the site of the modern hotel). Of course when the Peasant's Revolt broke out and the rebels invaded London, they burnt this marvellous edifice to the ground. Gaunt was also a sinister figure, abrogating powers to himself above and beyond what Parliament decreed. He never entertained aspirations for the English throne, though his son, Henry of Lancaster, deposed Richard II in 1399, and so began that long and bloody conflict between the Houses of York and Lancaster.

The leaders of the Peasant's Revolt, Grindcobbe et al, are as I describe in this novel. God rest their souls but, within a year, all of them were dead, either executed or killed in the savage repression which followed the Revolt. It is interesting to note that when the Revolt did break out in the summer of 1381, London Bridge was stormed and taken by force. In addition, the peasant rebels laid siege to the Tower of London. Unable to storm it, they gained, as described in this novel, admission through a traitor who let them in by a postern gate. Once in, they ransacked the royal apartments and executed leading ministers including the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Tower is as described in this novel. Many people think this great fortress was built to defend London. It wasn't. The Tower was always held by royal favourites and its main function was to serve as a royal palace as well as overawe the turbulent Londoners. Of course, some of the buildings described in my novel, such as the guest house and royal apartments, have long gone. The escapes mentioned in the novel did occur, the most successful being that of Roger Mortimer whom Edward II imprisoned there.

The Tower menagerie did house a great polar bear, though I have changed the dates. In his excellent book
The Tower Menagerie
(2004. London: Pocket Books), Daniel Hahn points out that a polar bear was swimming in the moat as early as Henry III's reign in 1252!

The story that John of Gaunt may have been a changeling is based on Thomas of Walsingham's
The St Albans Chronicle,
Volume I
(2003. Edited by J. Taylor et al. Oxford: Clarendon), page sixty-one. This story did seep out and was used by Gaunt's enemies.

Finally the mummers and London's underworld are, I believe, a fair reflection of the vividly turbulent London society though which Athelstan and his good friend Sir John Cranston moved and worked.