An Unholy Alliance (40 page)

For a moment, Bartholomew thought his speech had not had its desired effect, since the men merely stood and watched. Eventually, one of the men gestured impatiently at Stanmore. ‘So what are your orders?’ he asked.

‘No,’ yelled de Belem. “I have power over you. You saw what I can bring into this world!’ He pointed towards the wall where Bartholomew’s goat silhouette had been.

Michael raised one of the hands and made the shape of a duck on the wall behind him.

‘Children’s tricks!’ he said. ‘Is that not so, Matt?’

De Belem looked in disbelief at Michael’s duck and then down the church to where Bartholomew was

holding a struggling Janetta, and sagged in defeat.

AS DAWN BROKE, ALL THAT WAS LEFT OF DE BELEM’ S storehouses was a smouldering heap of wood.

Bartholomew turned to Father Lucius.

‘What will happen to the people?’ he said. ‘How will they live without the saffron?’

Lucius smiled. ‘I have some tucked away that I stole as we laboured in the fields. We will be able to sell it at the inflated price forced by de Belem. I hear the labourers can earn high wages these days for their toil, and now that we are free, some may well look elsewhere for work.’

‘Were you at St Mary’s Church about two weeks ago?’

Bartholomew asked, wanting to get certain things clear in his mind.

The priest looked surprised. ‘No. I have never been to Cambridge. I have heard it smells like a sewer in the hot months and have no wish to go there.’

‘How long has de Belem been here?’

‘He was buying land here before the Death, but I was foolish enough not to guess that it was he who came in the guise of this high priest later. After the Death took so many, it was easy for him to buy, or simply take, all the remaining stocks, and the few who resisted selling were threatened with demonic devices until they sold too.’

‘Demonic devices?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘Goats’ hooves left in their houses, black birds flying around at night. All things with a rational explanation,’

said Lucius. He turned to Bartholomew. ‘Not like that thing he called up in my church,’ he added, shuddering.

Bartholomew smiled. ‘I did that,’ he said, and, seeing the priest’s expression of horror, added quickly, ‘with my hands against the light, like this.’

Lucius looked blankly at him for a moment and then roared with laughter. ‘Is that what it was?’ he said. ‘Are you telling me that de Belem, who had fooled so many with tricks, was fooled by one himself?’

Bartholomew nodded and watched Lucius, still laughing, stride off to tell his parishioners. He went to join the group of soldiers who had Janetta, de Belem, and several others carefully guarded. Tulyet had arrived when all was still confusion. De Belem had underestimated him, and the Sheriff had not trusted the words of a conveniently alert villager to send him down the London road.

“I owe you an apology,’ said Tulyet. ‘But they had my son. After you came to see me, Brother, they sent me some of his hair, and said if I spoke to you again, they would send me one of his fingers. I had to be seen to be following their demands, which is why I threatened you so vociferously. One of the soldiers was watching my every move and reporting to de Belem.’ He smiled grimly.

‘He is now in the Castle prison awaiting the arrival of his high priest’

‘Did you have any idea de Belem was involved in all this?’ asked Michael, waving a hand at the smouldering storehouses.

Tulyet shook his head. “I had only begun to suspect that the high priest was de Belem recently. After his daughter was killed, he told me that he had been the high priest of the Guild of Purification, but that he had given that up in grief. I now realise that there was never a Guild of Purification, that it was simply a ruse set up by de Belem to keep his other coven in fear.’

‘That cannot be,’ said Michael. ‘Hesselwell and your father told us the new priest arrived only a month ago after Nicholas died.’

‘But he had spies in the Guild of the Coming,’ said Tulyet, ‘right from the start. Nicholas’s death was simply an opportune moment for de Belem to step in and

control directly what he had been controlling indirectly for some time.’

‘But why bother with the covens at all?’ asked

Stanmore. ‘It all seems rather elaborate.’

‘Because it gave him power over people,’ said

Bartholomew. ‘Everyone who had become embroiled

was terrified - like old Richard Tulyet and Piers Hesselwell. Once they were in, it was impossible to leave, and tricks, like the ones we saw used in All Saints’, were employed to keep them frightened. The murders in the town, too, aided his purpose. He claimed they were committed by his satanic familiar, showing his presence to his followers.’

‘But why did he need this power over people?’ persisted Stanmore.

‘Because all over the country, labourers are leaving their homes to seek better-paid work elsewhere. De Belem had no intention of paying high wages to the villagers here, although he needed their labour. He realised that he could use tricks to make them too terrified to do anything other than bend to his will.’

“I had worked that out myself,’ said Stanmore impatiently.

‘But why bother with the likes of old Tulyet and Hesselwell? They did not labour for him.’

‘In Hesselwell’s case, de Belem wanted a contact in Michaelhouse where Michael and I were working for the Chancellor. Hesselwell said the high priest asked him many questions.’

‘And my father?’ asked Tulyet.

‘De Belem had a monopoly on saffron and was the

only dyer in the town. As Oswald will attest, he was sufficiently confident of his monopoly that he was even beginning to sell cloth, the prerogative of drapers, not dyers. De Belem would want to know of plans by cloth merchants and tailors to attempt to buy dyeing services from anyone else. Oswald arranged to buy coloured cloth from London, but his carts were attacked and the cloth stolen. That was because Oswald had mentioned it to your father, and your father told his high priest: de Belem.’

Stanmore nodded. ‘The stolen cloth is in de Belem’s storerooms in Milne Street if you have any doubts,’

he said.

Tulyet sighed and looked at where his men were

guarding de Belem and his helpers, waiting for full daylight. Tulyet was taking no chances by travelling too early, and running the risk of being attacked by outlaws.

‘So that was it,’ he said. ‘The note I received said my son had been taken to ensure I did not investigate the guilds, but what I was really being stopped from looking into were de Belem’s business dealings. I should have thought harder: my son was taken when I began to investigate the theft of Sir Oswald’s cloth. To me, the theft was far less important than the whore murders, but to de Belem, it was obviously paramount. Well, we have him now.’

Stanmore gazed about him. “I am astonished this is all so well organised,’ he said. ‘You say Buckley overheard that half the mercenaries were garrisoned here and half in Primrose Alley?’

‘Primrose Alley?’ said Tulyet sharply. ‘Where Froissart lived?’

‘Froissart and his family were among the few people who survived the plague in Primrose Alley,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Because there were so many empty

houses, and because no one wanted to live there if they could be somewhere better, de Belem used it to garrison his mercenaries. Poor Froissart probably discovered something incriminating. He ran to the church for sanctuary not for killing his wife, but to escape de Belem. That night, Gilbert hid in the crypt, to which he has the only set of keys, while the church was locked. He emerged from his hiding place, garrotted Froissart, and waited for “Father Lucius” to come to help him hide the body where it would not be found. Father Lucius, was, of course, de Belem, and he was let into the church by Gilbert, and not by Froissart, as the guards believed.’

The guards saw de Belem, and described him as

mean-looking with a big nose,’ elaborated Michael.

‘For de Belem, used to dealing with the trappings of witchcraft, it would not have been difficult to make himself unrecognisable to guards more interested in dice than in watching the church, especially a man wearing the hooded robe of a friar.’

‘Gilbert is involved in all this?’ asked Tulyet, amazed.

‘The Chancellor’s clerk? I will send a man for him before he realises something is amiss and escapes.’

‘That is not necessary,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Have you noticed that you never see Janetta and Gilbert together?

That is because they are one and the same.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Michael, Tulyet, and Stanmore

simultaneously. Michael continued, ‘That is outrageous, Matt! Gilbert has a beard for a start, and Janetta is a woman! That fall you had at de Belem’s has addled your wits!’

‘Go and see,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You will find that splendid head of hair will come clean off if you give it a tug.’

‘You do it,’ said Michael primly. ‘Monks do not pull women’s hair!’

Bartholomew went to where Janetta was being guarded with de Belem in the back of a small cart, followed closely by the others. Janetta smiled falsely at Bartholomew, and he smiled back as he reached out a hand

towards her hair. Her smile faded, and she tried to move away.

‘No! What are you doing?’

Bartholomew grabbed some of the hair and Janetta screamed. It was held in place firmly, so he pulled harder. Then the wig was off, and Gilbert’s thin, fair hair emerged, plastered to his head. De Belem watched impassively, while Gilbert, barely recognisable without his beard, spat and struggled.

‘How did you know?’ asked Tulyet in astonishment.

‘Because the wig may have fooled us, but it did not fool the town prostitutes,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Matilde told me the hair was a wig. I looked closely when I met Janetta in St Mary’s churchyard, and I saw that she was right. And I was puzzled that a woman, obviously concerned with her appearance, would not take pains to hide her scarred face with the thick powders she wore on her cheeks on occasions.’

‘That would not be easy to do,’ mused Tulyet

thoughtfully. ‘My wife has a mark on her neck that she does not like to be seen. When she cannot cover it with her clothing, she applies powders. The whole business is very time-consuming. If Janetta had needed to make a sudden appearance, there would not be time to start such a lengthy process. Better to be open about the scars from the start than try to hide them and have them exposed at a point that might be inconvenient.’

“I also noticed that Janetta’s hair partly hid her face when she spoke to me, but not when she spoke to

the men. That was because I knew Gilbert, and he was taking precautions against being recognised. I was certain, however, when I grabbed him in the church earlier. It did not take a physician to know that the person I held was no woman!’

Michael continued. ‘Cuthbert drew attention to

the fact that the woman in Nicholas’s grave had

sparse hair. She died a month ago, at the precise time Janetta made her appearance with her luxurious black hair.’

‘Nicholas’s lover,’ said Stanmore. ‘Was she killed for her wigs, then?’

Bartholomew was stumped. It was a possibility he had not considered.

Michael answered instead. ‘No, she was killed for something far more serious. The woman had thin, fair hair just like Gilbert’s.’

He looked at Gilbert, who refused to look back.

Bartholomew gave an exclamation as Janetta’s relationship with Gilbert suddenly became clear.

‘She was his sister!’ he said. ‘She was small like him, too. Tiny, in fact.’

‘Yes, his sister,’ said Michael, still looking at Gilbert.

‘Janetta of Lincoln was no fictitious character, was she?

She was your sister who was summoned from Lincoln to help with de Belem’s plan. You knew Nicholas

was working on a book, and that it might contain information dangerous or detrimental to you. Janetta came to insinuate herself into Nicholas’s affections in order to discover exactly what he had learned. Cuthbert told us Nicholas was deeply in love, and that the woman seemed to reciprocate these feelings, so perhaps her affection turned her from her true purpose, and that was why she was murdered.’

‘And why Gilbert stole her body away from the crypt,’

said Bartholomew. “I hope she lies somewhere peaceful now, without the desecration of that foul mask.’

Gilbert gave a half-smile. ‘You will never prove anything other than the fact that I occasionally assumed another identity,’ he said.

Tulyet shrugged. ‘It does not matter. There is evidence enough to hang you already. Anything we learn now will make no difference to the outcome. We can prove two cases of kidnapping and the practice of witchcraft.’

‘We have never practised witchcraft,’ said de Belem.

‘Everything we did had a rational explanation, and was only harmless fun. A joke. It is not my fault that people were afraid. We have killed no one, and all my property came to me perfectly legally. My lawyer, Piers Hesselwell, will attest to that. You have no proof, just a series of unfounded suppositions. I have powerful friends in the town and in Court. You will not hang me.’

Bartholomew had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that de Belem might well be right. They had strong evidence - Tulyet’s baby in de Belem’s house, Buckley’s kidnapping, and Stanmore’s stolen cloth but it was so complex that he imagined a good lawyer could easily find alternative explanations that de Belem’s powerful friends would choose to believe as the truth.

He walked away, finding de Belem’s confident gloating unbearable. He ached all over from his hard ride, and his head was beginning to throb from the hours of tension.

A small stream trickled behind one of the rows of houses, and he crouched at the edge of it to scoop handfuls of water over his face. He heard a sound behind him and spun round, thinking it might be one of de Belem’s men still lurking free, but relaxed when he saw it was only Michael.

‘Father Lucius has some potage for us,’ he said. ‘Come.

We need something warm inside us if we are to face the rest of the day.’