‘Of course! I am literate, I can write, I can read. I represented myself as a former priest who had to flee from his benefice in Lincolnshire because of certain crimes. How I could sin with the best of them. Waldene accepted me. I sat high in his councils. What information I learnt I passed on to my lord Staunton. I just wish I’d had more time.’
‘But you knew nothing of Waldene or Hubert the Monk’s relationship with Walter Evesham, the chief justice?’
‘I did not. I now understand there was another spy, someone who described himself as being from the Land of Cockaigne, but I knew nothing of that.’
‘And the prison riot?’ Corbett asked. ‘You visited the coven in Newgate?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I wanted to maintain the fable that I was their ally, worried about what might have happened to my friends. I told them I’d escaped the clutches of the sheriffs’ men. They didn’t realise I secretly carried a letter that provides me with all the protection of the Crown.’
‘And when was this?’
Lapwing blinked, and his lips tightened. You’re lying, Corbett thought, you are not telling the full truth.
‘When was this?’ Ranulf barked.
‘Shortly before the riot. I continued to pose as one of them. I did not see Waldene; he was held in one of the pits. I brought wine, bread and fruit for his followers. I chattered with them, I assure you, nothing of importance.’
‘And that is all?’
‘I have told you, that is all.’
‘So why did you join the other criminals and felons in the cemetery of St Botulph’s?’
‘The Chief Justice’s disgrace came as a surprise to me. I hoped to learn more information that could tie Waldene and Evesham more closely together. I didn’t. The following day, hearing of the riot and the consequent escape, I went down to St Botulph’s. By sheer chance, a mere accident, I was recognised and taken prisoner. I maintained my pretence till I appeared before you.’
‘What now, Master Clerk?’ Corbett asked. ‘What will you do?’
‘I hope to gain from what I’ve achieved. Lord Staunton might well appoint me to his household or secure some other benefice for me.’
Corbett sat back in his chair.
‘You know, Master Escolier, Lapwing or whatever you call yourself, I am half minded to put you in irons and send you back to Newgate.’
‘Sir Hugh, why? What crime have I committed?’
‘Like your masters,’ Corbett replied, ‘you haven’t told a lie, or I don’t think you have; you just haven’t told me the full truth. You are far too glib, sir! The words trip off your tongue like a well-rehearsed speech, some lesson learnt by rote in the halls of Oxford. To put it bluntly, I do not trust you. I think you know more about the villainy that has occurred than you reveal. You are, by your own admission, a mailed clerk. You’ve served in the King’s armies. It’s possible that you entered the Halls of Purgatory, took Ignacio Engleat out and murdered him at Queenshithe. It’s possible that you entered the grounds at Syon Abbey and executed Walter Evesham. It’s possible that you entered the Angel’s Salutation and slaughtered two men you nurse deep grievances against. Finally it’s possible that you entered Walter Evesham’s house and, for reasons known only to yourself, decapitated Clarice, our former justice’s second wife, and her lover Richard Fink.’
‘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.’
‘And at St Botulph’s?’ asked Corbett. ‘What happened there, apart from Evesham cursing and shouting?’
‘He told us not to disperse but to guard the four doors, the main one, the corpse door, the Galilee porch on the north side and the sacristy door. We examined the windows in both the tower and the church itself; these were too narrow for any man to push himself through. We thought this was an ordinary case of sanctuary. The fugitive would stay there for forty days then either flee, give himself up or agree to be taken to the nearest port and sent to foreign parts, if he survived the walk.’ The old man ran a finger around his mouth and smacked his lips.
Corbett whispered to Ranulf, who rose, filled a wine cup and handed it over. Osbert smiled, raised it in a toast and took a deep gulp.
‘Evesham?’
‘Evesham and Engleat were like men possessed, and only then did we realise that the fugitive was such an important prisoner. The two of them went into the church. By then the priest had appeared, and he made it very clear that Boniface Ippegrave had taken sanctuary and that whilst he remained in the church, Evesham and Engleat must do nothing about it. Then . . .’ Osbert turned and gestured at Sandewic, who snatched the wine cup from the former bailiff and finished the wine, smacking his lips and grinning at Corbett before taking up the story.
‘I was at the Tower. I received a message from Evesham that an important prisoner had fled for sanctuary, so I brought guards, some soldiers and archers as well as a few market beadles I collected on the way. Sir Hugh, we ringed that church. A mouse couldn’t leave. All four doors were carefully guarded. We even got ladders and put people on the roof. We inspected the tower, whilst the priest assured us that no secret passageway, crypt or cellar existed.’
‘And who approached the church?’
‘I think you know, Sir Hugh.’
‘Boniface’s sister?’
‘But she was refused entry,’ Sandewic replied.
‘Anyone else?’
‘Your two colleagues, Lord Staunton and Master Blandeford.’
By the sly grin on Sandewic’s face, Corbett could see that the constable had no love for either of them.
‘They also wanted to see Boniface, but Evesham was hot and choleric. He said it was none of their business and no one could see the prisoner. Apart from Evesham and Engleat, the only person allowed in was Parson Tunstall, who brought food or took out the jakes pot to be emptied. No one else entered. On the morning of the third day, Evesham followed the priest into the church, and they found that Boniface had disappeared. And to answer your next question, Sir Hugh, I don’t know how, when or why. I’ve never seen the likes before, a man vanishing off the face of God’s earth.’
‘You’re sure each door was guarded?’
‘Sir Hugh, the cemetery of St Botulph’s thronged with armed men. Evesham had sent letters to the King; by then royal men-at-arms and hobelars had joined us.’
‘It’s a sprawling cemetery, isn’t it?’ Corbett mused. He paused as Chanson slipped back through the door, nodded and sat down on his stool.