The Straw Men(53)
‘Nations in their greatness, he struck.’
‘For his love endures forever.’ The voices of the fifty fighters rolled back like a crashing wave.
‘Kings in their splendour he slew.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
‘Sihon, King of the Amorites.’
‘For his love endures forever.’ The response grew even stronger.
‘On the earthworms their land he bestowed.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
‘Kings in their splendour he slew.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
‘Og, the King of Bashan.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
‘On the earthworms their land he bestowed.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
‘Kings in their splendour he slew.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
‘Edward, tyrant of England.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
‘Gaunt the usurper.’
‘For his love endures forever.’
Grindcobbe turned. The fighters, heads and shoulders cowled and mantled in tarred leather, faces hidden behind black mesh masks, were now in a trance, chanting the responses to John Ball’s hymn of destruction. Grindcobbe rose and walked up the crumbling sanctuary steps into the darkened sacristy. ‘Are you there, Basilisk?’ he called out.
‘I am.’
Grindcobbe peered through the murk; the far outside door, hanging off its latch, swayed in the breeze. ‘You have met our spy in Gaunt’s household? You must be surprised?’
‘No surprise, Master Grindcobbe. This entire city seems up for sale.’
Grindcobbe laughed softly. ‘When you decide,’ he added, ‘deal with him. He has served his purpose. He only feeds us morsels, what he wants to. One day Gaunt will catch him out. The torturers will tug him apart to discover what he knows. More importantly, to protect himself, he might kill you. Anyway,’ he continued, ‘tomorrow, just after the Angelus bell, let all chaos break out. Have the postern gate loosened. You have wreaked great damage. More must be done.’
‘Who is that prisoner?’ The basilisk’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.
‘Rumour abounds,’ Grindcobbe replied evasively. ‘Once we seize her, we shall have the truth about Gaunt’s shame. We will topple him off his high throne. We will make the people wonder. We will present him as a spectacle, a prince who can’t even rule the Tower. Remember, once the Angelus bell has tolled.’
‘I shall remember,’ came the whisper. The sacristy door swung open and the basilisk slipped like a ghost into the night.
‘There is an assassin on the loose who swept through my parish like some winged demon. This murderer annihilated an entire family.’ Athelstan gripped the lectern in the chapel of St Peter ad Vincula. The friar had returned to his lodgings in the Garden Tower late the previous day; he’d immediately demanded an audience with Magister Thibault, where Cranston had passed on Duke Ezra’s warnings. Thibault had heard them out, tapping fingers against the arm of his chair before informing them that he would reflect on all this and meet them on the morrow.
‘The Straw Men must also be present,’ Athelstan demanded.
Thibault had nodded and said he would reflect on that as well. Now Gaunt’s Master of Secrets, together with his henchmen and the bland-faced Cornelius, sat on a cushioned bench before Athelstan; on the other side ranged the Straw Men. Judith was openly agitated, her eyes screwed up in fear. She stared at Athelstan, who once again sensed the tension between Judith and her male companions, whose attempts to sit close were brusquely refused. Rachael leaned forward, red hair straggling down, green eyes wide in shock. Master Samuel sat combing his beard with chewed fingers. The burly Samson had the look of a pole-axed ox while the effete Gideon twirled a lock of hair between his fingers. Next to these, leaning against the pillar stood Rosselyn, hood pulled back, his grim face twisted in a look of disbelief.
‘I mourn for you, Brother,’ the captain of archers spoke up, ‘but I swear, nobody here left the Tower yesterday. Ask my men. I was here all day; I can vouch for everyone else. My Lord of Gaunt’s instructions, reinforced by Master Thibault, are most clear. None of us are to leave. None of us did.’
‘Who was murdered?’ Rachael asked, shifting the hair from her face.
‘Nobody you know.’ Athelstan sighed. ‘A spicer and his family,’ he glanced swiftly at Thibault, ‘though I believe they were known to you.’
The Master of Secrets just shrugged as if that was a matter of little concern. ‘We cannot leave here,’ Samson protested. ‘Brother Athelstan, I thought we were to visit your parish to perform a passage from a mystery play?’