surely?’
‘Oh, yes, surely, mistress. Rosselyn was of peasant stock — he would not find it difficult to be sympathetic to the earthworms. More importantly, like many in this city, he was preparing against the evil day, the hour of reckoning. To put it succinctly, Rosselyn had a foot in either camp. The Upright Men wanted to ensure that he was with them. I suspect Rosselyn informed them about the cavalcade bringing Gaunt’s mysterious prisoner to the Tower; at the same time he could act the loyal henchman and advise Thibault to take great care, hence the summons to Sir John here to strengthen the cavalcade as it approached the Tower.’
‘If that was so,’ Cranston, full of curiosity, spoke before he could stop himself, ‘why didn’t Rosselyn warn the Upright Men about the impending attack on the Roundhoop?’
‘Yes,’ Rachael taunted, ‘why not, Brother?’
‘I shall come to that in a while. Suffice to say that you and Rosselyn met secretly here. Like pieces on a chess board, you checked each other. Neither of you could betray the other without rousing deep suspicions about yourself. As if in a play, Rachael, you would be the principal actor. Rosselyn was your support. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Directing a man such as Rosselyn as you would some lurcher in a hunt? You decided to cause mayhem here at the very heart of Gaunt’s power.’
‘Why would Rosselyn agree?’ Rachael interrupted. ‘Surely it would be too dangerous?’
‘It would have been dangerous for him not to cooperate. The Upright Men could kill him or, even worse, betray him to his master. You know full well they would demand Rosselyn’s complete cooperation or else. . First came the attack at Saint John’s Chapel. I was puzzled by that. How could an assassin strike twice so swiftly as well as leave those severed heads? I first believed the assault was launched from Hell’s mouth wedged into the entrance to the rood screen. You are a mummer, mistress, you create illusions, perhaps that’s what you intended.’
‘I was there being watched. .’
‘Nonsense! Who really cared for you, a strolling player? Above all, you were helped by Rosselyn. I remember him that day in his heavy military cloak.’ Athelstan picked up his goblet and offered it to Rachael; she snatched it from his hand and drained it before handing it back. Athelstan carefully refilled the cup.
‘The rood screen in front of the sanctuary was a barrier, as were the heavy drapes or arras hanging on either side stretching into the transepts. You and Rosselyn waited until there was no one behind that barrier, an easy enough task on a cold winter’s day when everyone was hungry and intent on food and delicious wines. Indeed, it was Rosselyn who came to invite us all to join Gaunt and his guests. I stayed. Rosselyn returned to ensure I also left. He wanted that sanctuary cleared. He was successful and moved to the next step of your plot. Rosselyn provided the arbalest, one of those small hand-sized crossbows. You went behind the arras and waited.’
‘I could have been seen.’
‘No, you had prepared well. Rosselyn had wedged small pouches of cannon powder into two of those braziers. The confusion caused by the explosions diverted attention. You pulled the curtain aside, took aim and, probably shielded by Rosselyn, released the catch, killing Lettenhove. Again, attention was diverted. All the guests had been distracted by the explosions; now Lettenhove’s bleeding corpse was all that mattered. You moved swiftly behind the rood screen to the other side where Rosselyn had hidden another crossbow already primed, like before, a narrow gap between curtain and wall was all you needed. Everything was now in chaos. You loosed again, not as accurately as you would have wished, but Oudernarde was struck.’ Athelstan turned to Cranston. ‘Sir John, how long does it take to loose a crossbow bolt?’
‘I could patter an Ave and not get far.’
‘But the chapel was crowded!’ Rachael protested.
‘No. You had people diverted by explosions then by a bolt being released by you standing in no more than a slit between arras and wall. No one was behind that rood screen — Rosselyn had seen to that. As I have said, who would go there with all the food and wine on offer in the nave? Rosselyn also protected you. Did he stand in front of the gap for a brief while then step aside, providing you with a clear aim? Ah, well.’ Athelstan stared across at the window. How much of this, he wondered, could he really prove before the Justices of Oyer and Terminer or King’s Bench in Westminster Hall?
‘Rosselyn would take care of the small arbalests by hiding them somewhere in the chapel,’ Athelstan narrowed his eyes, ‘or on those hooks on the war belt beneath his heavy cloak. Who would dream of searching him?’
‘And the severed heads?’ Cranston asked, brimming with curiosity.
‘Oh, they’d been snatched from the care of Master Thibault during the attack at Aldgate. As a taunt to My Lord of Gaunt, the Upright Men handed them to you and Rosselyn to return to him. First a sharp reminder that, during the attack at the Roundhoop, Thibault did not find what he hoped for. Secondly, Rachael, ever the player, the severed heads provided you with a macabre climax to your murderous assault in the chapel.’ Athelstan rolled the goblet between his hands. ‘I suspect Rosselyn brought the severed heads — that’s why he was so valuable. Who would distrust Thibault’s captain of archers? Who would dare ask him to open a bag or a chest or even bother to note where he stored something?’
‘And how were the heads placed?’ Cranston asked.
‘During the confusion caused by the attacks, Rosselyn collected the heads, carried them beneath his cloak and walked by the rood screen. Twice he stopped to place a head. Look,’ Athelstan rose and swung his own heavy cloak about him; he then took two small cushions from a bench beneath the window, holding both up with his right hand. ‘These are about the same size. I grasp these grotesques with that parchment scrap pushed deep into one of those dead mouths, and I hide them beneath my cloak.’ Athelstan did so. ‘Now I walk, see?’ He passed his own bed and swiftly crouched twice, on each occasion releasing a cushion to lie on the floor alongside the bed.
‘No more than the blink of an eye,’ Cranston murmured.
‘And you are watching me,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Remember, we are describing a chapel where all attention had been diverted by a man being killed, another seriously wounded. Most of the guests were trying to leave the other way.’ Athelstan undid his cloak. ‘Of course, it could have been you, mistress, carrying some cloak or costumes, crouching down to leave those heads as if the cloths were difficult to hold or to pick up something from the floor. You could do it just as quickly, just as adroitly. Did Rosselyn screen you, or did you him? I confess I can’t be precise except to demonstrate how the positioning of those severed heads would not be difficult either after the explosions or, more probably, immediately after one of the attacks.’
Athelstan fingered the vow knots on his waist cord. ‘It was easily done. Attention was on the victims and, after that, the doorway: people wanted to flee. Indeed, Lascelles was ushering them away from the rood screen. I have not asked him yet; I did not wish to rouse his suspicions. However, I am sure Lascelles will confirm that Rosselyn asked him to do just that while he left to ensure all was well in Beauchamp Tower.’
‘And Barak?’ Cranston asked.
Athelstan stared at Rachael. She sat so composed, eyes unblinking, watching him carefully as if weighing his every word. What was she thinking? Would she have the stubborn courage to deny all this?
‘Yes Barak,’ she whispered, half smiling. Athelstan felt a stab of pity. Rachael was undoubtedly highly intelligent: she had been as assiduous in plotting murder as any scholar in the schools or halls of Oxford would study his horn book. A talented young woman, but had her wits turned? Had the savage death of her beloved truly twisted her soul?
‘You are beautiful, Rachael, fair of form and lovely of face, graceful and lithe. You possess a keen mind and sharp wits. I have watched you play the mummer’s part. You shape shift, you become whatever you want to be.’
‘Brother, flattery is a perfume: you smell it but you never drink it.’
‘Ah, yes, mistress, your perfume. I shall return to that by and by.’ Athelstan cleared his throat. ‘As for Barak? Well, he was easy for you with your winsome ways. Somehow, very soon after the attack in the chapel, you enticed him down to that long, gloomy crypt beneath Saint John’s. You fled with the rest but I can imagine you separating yourself from the others, plucking at Barak’s sleeve, telling him to shelter with you in the crypt. Who would notice? Or perhaps you told Barak to go there and you’d join him? Anyway, you lured him into that darkened recess. Rosselyn was lurking there. Again, I cannot say who struck the blow but Barak was hit, probably twice, to ensure he was either truly senseless or dead already. Perhaps you stood on guard while Rosselyn moved swiftly. He put the war belt around Barak. He made a mistake: the quiver for the bolts was on the wrong side, while it didn’t make sense for Barak still to be carrying one of the arbalests. Nevertheless, you were intent on making it look as if Barak was the assassin. Once ready, you opened the shutters of that far crypt window. You threw out the fire rope to
