The clerk reached the foot of the steps and stared up at Simon Roseblood, resplendent in his gorgeous alderman’s robes. On his right, Raphael was also richly garbed in hose, tunic, soft boots and ermine-lined cloak. On his left, a sight that made Sevigny catch his breath. Katherine stood attired like a great court lady in an exquisite sky-blue dress powdered in gold and silver and trimmed at neck and cuff with the costliest lace from Bruges. Her beautiful auburn hair lay hidden under a thick gauze veil, and a jewelled cross on a silver chain circled her swan-like neck. Her lovely face had been painted to emphasise her lustrous eyes and delicate mouth. She looked slightly amused, her snow-white hands, shimmering with rings, resting against a gold-brocaded stomacher.
In front of Roseblood and his family, on the lower steps, stood Ignacio and other minions whom Sevigny recognised from the tavern. These were all dressed in their master’s livery and well armed with swords, daggers and maces. On the bottom step, three members of the Fraternity of the Doomed, garbed completely in black, grasped the long poles bearing the severed heads of Blackshanks and his two companions. Neatly shaven at the neck, these gruesome trophies had been as skilfully pickled and tarred as any of those decorating the parapet along the gatehouse on London Bridge.
On either side of the great Tun stood carts laden with barrels of ale as well as wicker baskets heaped with fresh bread, fruit and dried meats, which servants from the tavern were now preparing to distribute to any citizen who asked. Roseblood and his family, however, just stood there like figures in one of those glorious pageants the city would organise to welcome the return of a conquering king. Sevigny quietly marvelled at the sheer effrontery of the taverner, who seemed to be waiting for other leading citizens and officials to gather and witness the unfolding of this elaborately staged masque.
Hand on sword, the clerk edged closer. Roseblood caught his eye and nodded; Raphael glowered down at him. Katherine’s smile, however, widened as if she and Sevigny were fellow conspirators, and try as he might, he could not resist smiling back. Roseblood saw this and took it as a sign to begin. He gestured, and three of his retainers flourishing trumpets came round and stopped just before Sevigny. The clerk stepped back as the trumpets brayed commanding silence. Once they had finished, Roseblood raised his hands.
‘Fellow citizens!’ His powerful voice carried clear as any clarion. ‘Fellow citizens of this great city, I come before you as your alderman, a member of your council, a true subject of His Grace our saintly and well-beloved King. I, who have worked so hard and striven earnestly for this city, have been feloniously threatened and attacked by these malefactors.’ Roseblood flourished a hand at the three impaled heads. ‘Mark my words, these are not fellow citizens but aliens, foreigners to this great city and, what is more, wolfsheads from the wilds of Essex. These felons had the temerity to trespass on my dwelling, to threaten, menace and subvert the King’s peace and that of this city.’
Roseblood’s words were greeted with growls and shouts of approval, though Sevigny noticed that some just stood silently staring up at this audacious alderman.
‘In the presence of a host of witnesses, now here before you,’ Roseblood continued, ‘these wretches dared to draw weapons on me, your alderman, in direct contravention of this city’s ordnances. If they can do that in my home, what protection does an ordinary citizen have?’ The taverner had hit his mark, his words being greeted with roars of approval and shouts of ‘Harrow! Harrow!’ the usual proclamation when the hue and cry was raised. Roseblood again lifted his hands.
‘Fellow citizens, I swear by God, the Virgin and all the angels and saints, especially my patron, Fisherman Peter, that I shall now proceed to the Guildhall, where I will meet my accusers. Mark my words, however: God will strike them down as he did Agag and the Amalekites.’
Roseblood paused to nod at the clear calls of approval. Sevigny stared at Katherine, who grinned impishly back. Sevigny was sure that she and the rest of her family knew about Candlemas and Cross-Biter being long gone to God. He raised one hand in salute before returning to Roseblood, who was now thoroughly enjoying himself.
‘In the meantime,’ that cunning vintner continued, ‘let me share my hope in God’s justice as well as that of the King by welcoming you, my fellow citizens, to a celebration fitting for such vindication. Moreover,’ Roseblood stilled the growing cheer as the crowd stared hungrily at the heaped carts, ‘such hospitality will also be available at my tavern, where true and loyal subjects of our King and this glorious city may raise their tankards and chorus “Alleluia!” in the cause of right.’
Without further ado, Roseblood turned to his trumpeters, and the entire procession, horns and clarions ringing out, standards and pennants fluttering, moved down the conduit steps and along the broad thoroughfare, winding past the stalls, shops and stately mansions of Cheapside to the imposing gateway leading into the great bailey of the Guildhall. Sevigny followed behind. At the gatehouse, a line of Sheriff Malpas’s archers and men-at-arms allowed the Roseblood household through but pressed back the accompanying crowd. The throng had now turned into a mob, growing increasingly unruly as the midnight folk of the city, sensing mischief and with a sharp eye to easy pickings, swarmed through. Sevigny was recognised and also permitted through. He hurried to join Malpas, dressed in half-armour, waiting on the steps beneath the soaring statues of Justice, Faith and Wisdom and blocking the entrance to the principal court of the Guildhall. Behind him stood men-at-arms and, on either side, members of the council hostile to Beaufort, as well as two judges of oyer and terminer in their scarlet robes and caps all fringed with the purest lambswool.
Roseblood turned, gesturing at his entourage to stand peaceful before walking forward to confront Malpas. The exchange was swift and rancorous. Roseblood immediately demanded that the witnesses justifying his summons be produced. Malpas, his leathery brown face twisted in anger, gauntleted fingers fluttering about his grey hair, moustache and beard, shrugged and retorted that there was no case as both witnesses had mysteriously died during the night. Of course this was posed as a true mystery, but everyone knew that Candlemas and Cross-Biter had been cunningly slain and that Simon Roseblood was probably responsible. Malpas openly hinted at this. Roseblood, swift as an arrow, declared how God had vindicated him and punished two liars and oath-breakers. Wasn’t this, Malpas retorted, pointing at the severed heads, a crime? Roseblood seized the opportunity to repeat everything he had said at the conduit. All three of his victims were beyond the law, proclaimed as wolfsheads by the sheriff of Essex and to be slain on sight.
‘Indeed,’ he proclaimed, turning so that his voice filled the spacious cobbled bailey, ‘I understand that a reward, a bounty, is posted on their heads. Accordingly, Sir Philip, I now claim that reward. I will also submit a schedule of costs and expenses to the city treasury.’ He paused. ‘So, gentle friends,’ the mockery in his voice was obvious, ‘rejoice with me that such malice has been frustrated. God’s will has been done. All assembled here whose precious time has been wasted are invited to my tavern for an evening of delicious food, good ale and the finest wine ever shipped from Bordeaux. The celebrations will begin in five days. I look forward to seeing you all.’ And with this dramatic proclamation, a flourish of trumpets and the heavy beat of a tambour, Roseblood and his brilliantly attired retinue turned to leave the Guildhall precincts.
At any other time, in any other place, Sevigny would have burst out laughing, but one look at the sheriff’s face, mottled with anger, discouraged this. Moreover, he was trying to catch Katherine’s gaze, but that young lady was acting her part, all cold and severe like Susanna from the Scriptures after she had been vindicated by the prophet Daniel. Sevigny sighed with disappointment and, eyes narrowed, lips puckered, watched the Rosebloods leave. Once the gates closed behind them, Malpas bowed curtly to the justices, mumbled what might be taken as an apology and stormed back up the steps, gesturing at Sevigny to follow him.
A short while later, Sevigny, Ramler and Skulkin joined Malpas in his dark-wood exchequer chamber with its hard-tiled floor. The pink plaster above the panelling was covered with smoke-tinged tapestries depicting the exploits of King Brutus and the legends of Gog and Magog. For a while, Malpas just sat, face in hands. At last he lifted his head, groaned loudly, tore off his sheriff’s collar and threw it on the chancery desk.
‘My lord of York must be informed. I’ll send a courier. Amadeus, you… I… we…’ Malpas sighed noisily. ‘We thought we could trap Roseblood with the law. We have failed to do that. His pageant will be relayed all over the city. I received your message about Candlemas and Cross-Biter. Roseblood is claiming both deaths as an act of God. We know he gave God more than a helping hand! Not that it really matters now, but how was it done?’
Sevigny turned on his stool and stared at Skulkin and Ramler by the door.
‘The dregs of both food and wine,’ the scribe stammered, ‘were left for the rats that teem in the cellars below. The vermin remained unharmed. Skulkin’s men have kept me informed.’
‘And the physician?’
‘Took his coin, pronounced the obvious – that both of them were dead – then listed the chief symptoms: faces liverish, bellies swollen—’
‘Poison?’ Malpas demanded.
‘Poison, some deadly contagion, a breakdown of the humours, fear or even an act of God,’ Ramler gabbled. ‘He concluded, like the physician he is, that he truly couldn’t say.’
Malpas raised a hand, gesturing that Ramler and Skulkin withdraw.
‘A major reversal?’ Sevigny demanded once the door closed. ‘Is it really, kinsman? If those two miscreants had lived, Roseblood would have produced a host of witnesses to reject their story. I admit, I underestimated our noble taverner.’ He rose; he had his own ideas about those two mysterious murders, but he needed evidence to test his hypothesis.
‘True,’ Malpas snapped. ‘Roseblood would have produced witnesses, evidence even; challenged both men to trial by combat. Still, an indictment would have hurt and hindered our noble taverner. As it is, he has made a fool of me and the office I hold.’
‘Why the hatred?’ Sevigny asked. ‘I mean, we know what star each of us follows.’
‘It is not the stars we follow now,’ the sheriff murmured, ‘but those we followed in our green and salad days when Roseblood and I were young, allies, even friends.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘But the past is sealed.’ He pointed at Sevigny. ‘Try and discover how those men were murdered. For the rest, you are busy on York’s other affairs in this city?’
Sevigny agreed.
‘Then know this.’ Malpas leaned across the table. ‘It will be common knowledge soon enough. The King and Beaufort have called a great council at Leicester to discuss certain matters.’
‘But York has not been invited,’ Sevigny declared. ‘Nor have any of his allies such as Neville of Warwick or Howard of Norfolk.’
‘York,’ Malpas replied, ‘has moved to Ludlow in Shropshire to be near his allies along the Welsh border. He can march within the day, if he and his do not receive a writ of summons for Leicester.’ The sheriff looked under finely shaven eyebrows at this enigmatic, close-souled clerk who kept his own counsel. ‘And the physician, Argentine?’ he demanded.
‘I cannot say, kinsman, except York wishes to have him. Yet he remains most elusive.’
‘Why does he hide?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sevigny lied. ‘But when I find him, I shall certainly ask him that.’
‘And the attack on you at St Mary-le-Bow? One of Skulkin’s bailiffs informed me about it.’
‘God knows!’ Sevigny shrugged. ‘Outlaws, Beaufort, Roseblood…’ He walked towards the door. ‘We live in dangerous times, kinsman.’
‘Amadeus?’
The clerk turned.
‘Be careful whom you trust.’
Sevigny left the room. He walked down the stairs, nodded at Skulkin and Ramler and crossed the great bailey to stand just within the shadow of the Guildhall gatehouse. Once again the clerk quietly marvelled at Roseblood’s sheer effrontery. Sir Philip was correct: the damage to the sheriff’s pride and reputation was devastating. Roseblood’s warning not to meddle in his affairs was clear and stark, though Sevigny was determined not to forget Katherine, a most remarkable young woman. She was definitely a dreamer who lived deep within her own soul and viewed the rest of the world with detached amusement. She reminded him of the Children of the Sun, or so they called themselves, young men and women who tramped the highways and byways of France owing allegiance to no one, proclaiming how everyone was equal before God, that owning property was a sin and that all goods, especially those of Holy Mother Church, should be held in common. Katherine Roseblood had said nothing about that, yet her attitude and her absorption with Camelot reminded him sharply of the fairy-like innocence of those wanderers.
He opened his wallet and brought out the crude medal one of these young women had given him, an act of kindness to an English foreigner. He turned it so it would catch the light, tracing his finger around the three-stemmed fleur-de-lis resting on the back of the Agnus Dei. Other Frenchmen were not so tolerant. Sevigny had heard about the massacre at LeCorbeil. York had informed him about those mysterious mercenaries, supported by the masters of secrets at the Louvre in Paris, intent on stirring up as much unrest in England as possible whilst at the same time pursuing their own blood feud against the Beauforts, whom they held responsible for the slaughter in their home town. The details of all this were vague. Sometimes Sevigny thought LeCorbeil was an individual; at other times a group or the title of the leader of that coven. York was certainly playing a very dangerous game. Apparently he had reached some sort of understanding to use LeCorbeil against Beaufort as he had during Cade’s revolt. In the end, though, LeCorbeil was a beast that could well devour the hand that fed it. York should be extremely prudent.
Sevigny put the medal away. He recalled Roseblood’s invitation and wondered whether he should join the celebrations. Perhaps he should collect his great warhorse Leonardo, and ride into the tavern yard as Mordred come to Camelot! He turned as his name was called. A Guildhall retainer hurried across and pushed a thin square of parchment into his hands.