'He was a good man, at least to me!'
I knelt down beside the corpse, closed my eyes and said a quick prayer. Benjamin on the other side was already examining the corpse.
'Look.' He held up Berkeley's hand. 'Someone has sliced off the top of each finger. The same with the left hand.'
The soles of the poor man's feet were scorched, while long dagger furrows ran down either side of his bare legs.
'He was tortured,' Cornelius exclaimed. 'Tortured for a while. A small fire lit beneath his feet, the tips of his fingers removed. Now who would do that to Sir Hubert?'
'Anything else?' Benjamin asked. 'How did he come here?'
'There are signs of horses,' Cornelius replied, crouching beside us. 'Whoever did this undoubtedly enjoys his work.'
Benjamin got to his feet. 'Sir Thomas, where were you last night?' he asked abruptly. 'And you, my Lord Egremont?'
The Imperial envoy strode over, a riding crop in his hand. He
laid this gently on Benjamin's cheek. 4 Are you accusing me?'
I rose, hand on my dagger hilt. Egremont caught the movement and laughed deep in his throat.
'Tell him, Sir Thomas. Tell him where we both were last night.'
'We were guests of His Grace the King and his Eminence Cardinal Wolsey. We were in the court from late afternoon. Master Daunbey, you know the King: we hunted, we feasted, we were entertained by one masque after another and the festivities went on until just before dawn. Master Berkeley here disappeared yesterday. He told his workers he was going out and that's the last we know of him.'
'And where were you?' I asked Cornelius.
'We have lodgings in the old Temple buildings near Fleet Street,' the Noctale replied.
'And?'
'Like you, Shallot, and you, Master Daunbey, I cannot guarantee where I was every single hour.' He gestured at the corpse. 'This is the work of a professional assassin. I believe he kidnapped Berkeley.' He bent down and turned the corpse over. 'Struck him on the back of the head and brought him here for questioning.' He gazed slyly up at me. 'But God knows why?' He pointed to the dagger marks on either side of the knee. 'These would be particularly painful; when a man tenses his legs and the muscles are tight beneath the knees such cuts would make him scream.' He looked over his shoulder at Egremont and said something in German.
'What was that?' Benjamin asked, who knew a little of the tongue.
'We talked of the Schlachter, the Slaughterer. Years ago,' Cornelius replied, 'before I joined the Noctales and his Imperial Excellency was pleased to promote me in his favour, there was another Noctale, a master torturer, called the Schlachter. He served the Emperor Maximilian but—' Cornelius wiped his hands on his brown robes and stared up at the crows complaining raucously in the trees around the ruin. 'This man became over-enthusiastic in his work. He made the mistake of torturing an innocent merchant and was dismissed by Emperor Charles. His name was Jakob.' Cornelius narrowed his eyes. 'That's right, Jakob von Archetel. He fled the empire and warrants were issued for his arrest. His apprehension was my first task.' He smiled thinly. 'At which I failed.'
'Are you saying this could be the work of the Schlachter?' I asked.
'Possibly,' Cornelius replied. 'It bears all the hallmarks of his handiwork. The removal of the tips of fingers, the dagger wounds on the legs.' His face became grave. 'If Archetel is involved in this business, then it doesn't bode well. He would like to hurt the Emperor as well as line his own purse.'
'And what about your outlaws?' Egremont intervened. 'This Lord Charon you mentioned?'
'Ah yes.' Kempe came forward, the bastard was smiling from ear to ear. 'We discussed what you told us, Master Shallot, with His Grace the King. He wants Lord Charon trapped, arrested and interrogated.' He tweaked my cheek. 'And you, my dear Roger, are to be the bait.'
Chapter 9
We returned to the Flickering Lamp: it was late in the afternoon and I was torn between rage and fear.
'Always poor Shallot,' I snarled as we sat in the taproom.
Boscombe came over: this time he was garbed as a friar, even his face was pulled in a sanctimonious expression and his little mockery did something to restore my good humour. Benjamin introduced himself fully, thanking Boscombe for his kindness to me during my recent troubles. The landlord simply pushed his hands up the sleeves of his gown, smiled beatifically, sketched a blessing in the air and walked away. Benjamin watched him go curiously.
'Master?' I asked.
Benjamin picked up his blackjack, tossing the remains of his chicken on the floor for Castor to eat.
'I am sure I have seen him before,' Benjamin declared. He put his tankard down. 'I am sure I have,' he repeated.
'Perhaps when we came here first?' I retorted. (Oh yes, I regret I was so dismissive.) 'Maybe you glimpsed his face then? But, never mind him, what am I to do about Lord Charon?'