'Do you have any other requests, Master Daunbey?' Kempe asked.
'Yes, I would like to know,' Benjamin said, 'why, when I inspected the quiver of one of your archers, Sir Thomas, some of the arrows were missing? Now in that silent massacre, no long bow was used. I just wondered, Sir Thomas, if one of the archers was sending messages?'
Kempe's face paled. He opened his mouth to reply but stamped his feet and looked up at the sky.
'We have to hurry,' he declared. 'I know nothing of what you say, Master Daunbey, but Berkeley's corpse is waiting. Lord Egremont and his creature Cornelius will be joining us.'
Benjamin let the matter rest. I went up to our chamber where Castor threw himself on me, bouncing up and down, licking my face. I took him for a walk on the heathland and the mad beast ran around chasing crows and rooks and leaving any rabbit stupid enough to come out of its burrow in a state of mortal fear. At last, exhausted, he trotted back. We returned to the gatehouse where Benjamin had packed our saddlebags and, accompanied by a very sullen Kempe, we rode into the city to hire chambers at the Flickering Lamp.
We had no difficulty getting through the crowds. I tied a piece of rope round Castor's collar and everyone, including the beggars and counterfeit-men, gave us a wide berth. Boscombe seemed pleased to see me. He was in one of his strange moods and had changed his appearance, this time dressing in Lincoln green as if he was one of Robin Hood's men.
'It's good to see you again,' he grinned. 'I, too, have been away, business in the West Country. You still want your chamber and for your friend ... ?'
Boscombe readily agreed to provide a further chamber. He also had the sense to offer Castor a piece of meat. The dog wolfed it down and immediately trotted after Boscombe to a make-shift kennel in a small plot behind the tavern stables. I left our saddlebags in my chamber, came down and pushed my way through the thronged taproom. Even as I did so I glimpsed Cerberus sitting in the corner watching me unblinkingly, his tankard half-raised to his lips.
We left by Cripplegate, galloping hard along the deserted path. It's a strange place north of the Tower. The soil is poor, its sprawling wild heathland is the haunt of footpads and outlaws. This bleak landscape is broken by thick copses of trees, small wood and the occasional dell where the land abruptly dips. A lonely, brooding place, the silence broken only by the sound of the crows which nested in the trees or the occasional howl of a dog from some lonely farm. At the top of a small hill, Kempe paused: behind us in the far distance I could make out the outlines of the Tower. We caught the salty taste of the river. Kempe pointed to a lonely copse further east, well away from the trackway which wound across the heathland.
'Amongst the trees,' he explained, 'there are ruins. Some people claim the Romans built an outstation there: others that it was a small castle built by William the Norman.'
'It's a lonely place,' I replied. 'How was Berkeley's corpse discovered so quickly?'
'Two journeymen coming into the city,' he replied, 'stopped there last night. At first they didn't see anything wrong but, at dawn, they noticed the crows were massing on the walls at the far side of the ruin. They went over, and found Berkeley's body lying in a ditch. He was wearing a gilt bracelet with his name inscribed on it.' Kempe cleared his throat and spat. 'They brought this into the city and went straight to the Guildhall. I have a man there, a clerk, who brought the news to me.'
I strained my eyes and caught a flash of colour amongst the trees.
'I think Lord Egremont is waiting for us.'
Kempe put spurs to his horse and we galloped across the grass, not reining in until we entered the trees. We dismounted and followed Kempe into a large clearing where the ruins sprawled: crumbling walls and towers, covered in lichen and creeping ivy. Egremont and Cornelius were waiting for us inside: the Imperial envoy had his cowl pushed back, his long, dyed hair tumbling down on either side of his unshaven face.
'We've been waiting, Sir Thomas, at least a good half hour!' He looked sinister standing there, legs apart, sword and dagger in their sheaths. Beside him, Cornelius, hands pushed up the voluminous sleeves of his gown, looked even more threatening, the hilt of his dagger just peeping out from the edge of his cloak. Behind him was a silent half-circle of Noctales, an eerie sight with their shaven heads and monkish garb, yet all the more threatening as they were armed to the teeth. They stared at us without a flicker of friendship or camaraderie.
'They hold us responsible,' I whispered to Benjamin. 'You can see it in their eyes!'
'Where's Berkeley?' Kempe asked.
Cornelius snapped his fingers. Two of his men came forward, carrying a small stretcher, a piece of canvas between two poles. They pulled back the covering sheet. Lord have mercy! Berkeley was a good man, he deserved a better death. His boots and hose had been removed, his half-closed, blood-filled eyes gazed blankly up. His mouth was simply a gaping hole of blood and his throat had been slashed, drenching what had been a costly blue and gold jerkin.