‘Oh, Sir John, you couldn’t!’
‘Oh, Sir John, I can,’ Cranston quipped back. ‘What’s so special about them? Most of them are dead and have been replaced, whilst we know enough about Alcest to send him to do the hangman’s dance at Tower Hill or Tyburn.’
‘Agreed.’ The Vicar of Hell sat back in the corner. ‘If I tell you, Sir John, these chains are loosed?’
‘If you tell me,’ Cranston replied, ‘you’ll be a free man by dusk. However, if you are caught in the city again, it’s summary justice: down on your knees, neck against a piece of wood and off goes your head!’
‘It’s like this, Sir John,’ the Vicar began. ‘People like myself have to — how can I put it? — move around. Go to this city or that. Travel beyond the seas. Or, when the fire becomes too hot, seek retirement by gaining a position in some merchant’s household. To do that I need letters, warrants and licences. Now, what am I going to reveal will mean the closing of a loophole much loved by us villains. Tell me, Sir John, if I want such a letter or a licence what have I to do?’
‘Well, you can apply to the mayor, sheriff or Corporation of London.’
‘Yes, yes, Sir John, but you know me, as the good shepherd knows all the black sheep of his flock. So where else can I go?’
‘You could apply to the Chancery but such letters are only written at the behest of the Chancellor.’
‘And it takes time,’ the Vicar of Hell snapped. ‘So what we do is this, Sir John. We take the name of a dead person. We then get a clerk like Alcest to petition the Chancellor on our behalf…’
‘Of course,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘And if the petition has the recommendation of a clerk then it goes ahead and there’ll be no delay.’
‘Precisely, Sir John.’
‘So,’ Athelstan said stepping forward ‘if Philip Stablegate wishes to leave the country with a considerable amount of silver, he approaches Alcest. The clerk will then go through the records and extract the name of someone long dead. Let’s call him Richard Martlew. The petition goes to the Chancellor, who will undoubtedly grant it because it’s got a recommendation. Alcest will not even wait for the Chancellor to reply: he will draw up the document, Master Lesures seals it and the letter is issued. There are no forged seals.’
‘In a word, yes,’ Cranston replied. ‘Now, let us say this Martlew decides to leave England by one of the Cinque Ports. The reeve or harbourmaster probably can’t even read. He doesn’t give a fig if Martlew is Stablegate but he is trained to examine the seal. False seals can soon be detected but, if it’s genuine, he won’t even dream of stopping the person concerned.’
‘Isn’t a record kept?’ Athelstan asked. ‘I mean, the petition itself and the Chancellor’s reply endorsing it? And what happens if someone can prove that Richard Martlew is long dead?’
The Vicar of Hell clapped his hands in a crash of chains. ‘What’s the use of that, Brother? Can’t you see the subtlety of the scheme? It was the Chancery office which authorised the letter to be written, not Alcest or Lesures. Moreover, Alcest could easily prove that he thought it was Martlew and that he didn’t even dream anything was wrong. He simply received a petition which he endorsed and sent to the Chancellor. Such requests are never refused: the letter, licence or warrant is drawn up and sealed. That’s what Alcest did. And who is going to betray him? To do that would be sealing your own death warrant.’
‘But stop! Surely,’ Athelstan asked, ‘there would be a discrepancy over the date? I mean, it’s issued almost immediately.’
‘No, Brother,’ Cranston retorted. ‘I can now see what our good friend means by a loophole. Let’s say you petitioned the Chancellor to travel to Calais: you put the petition in through Alcest, he would recommend or not recommend. He would also ensure the wrong date, perhaps ten days later, is put on the petition and dispatched to the Chancery Office. The Chancellor doesn’t see it, some clerk in his office simply writes “approved”, or the Latin placet, “it pleases”, and then it’s sent back. Alcest, meanwhile, has drawn up the licence, perhaps adding another two days on. Accordingly, a petition which looks as if it was drawn up on the tenth of August and issued, let’s say, on the twenty-second, really only took a day or two. It’s been done before, everybody abuses the system. What Alcest did was not just accept pennies, as other clerks have done for approval of a petition: he knowingly arranged for letters and licences to be issued to wolf-heads, outlaws and counterfeit men. Most clerks would certainly baulk at that. Alcest didn’t.’
‘And that was the source of their wealth?’
‘Of course!’ the Vicar of Hell scoffed. ‘And no one dared betray Alcest. For the first time, Brother, people like myself could travel freely, and protected by the law thanks to him.’
He rattled his chains at Sir John. ‘Alcest and his coven are for the dark, if they haven’t gone there already. Our good coroner here will ensure the Chancery office strikes hard and either closes this loophole or cuts it off. There will also be some interesting times when the Chancellor orders the scrutineers to go through past records. I certainly don’t want it bruited abroad that it was I who betrayed Alcest. I may have my life but Sir John has received very valuable information in return.’
‘Aye, you’re right,’ Cranston sighed. ‘And it would have gone on. Alcest’s replacement would be approached and the offer of gold for a simple letter is very hard to resist.’ He squatted down before the Vicar. ‘Did Lesures know about this?’
‘Oh come, come, Sir John! Lesures is well known for his love of a pretty pair of buttocks. Alcest would have known that.’ He shrugged. ‘Lesures had nothing to fear: there was no forged seal, so he just had to turn a blind eye.’
Athelstan crossed his arms and wondered if Lesures really was the plaintive old man he pretended to be. Or did he have a hand in these deaths? Had he grown tired of Alcest’s blackmailing or did he wish to take over the counterfeiting for himself?
‘And that’s all you can tell us?’ Cranston barked.
‘Do I have my freedom, Sir John?’
‘I’ll leave instructions with the chief jailer. You’ll walk free this evening.’
‘You’ll not let it be known what I told you about Alcest?’
‘No. I’ll keep it as if Athelstan heard it under the seal of confession. However, I don’t want to see your pretty face in London for many a summer.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, Sir John.’ The Vicar of Hell welted his lips. ‘I think it’s time I travelled. Perhaps Clarice can join me. But I have your word I won’t hang?’
Cranston agreed again.
‘And mine,’ Brother Athelstan added, turning to shout for the jailer.
‘You are good men.’
Cranston laughed.
‘You are good men,’ the Vicar of Hell repeated, his face now serious.
For the first time ever Athelstan could see this young man as a priest, celebrating Mass or speaking from the pulpit.
‘I am a villain,’ the Vicar continued, ‘and the world is full of knavery, but neither of you are corrupt. What Alcest and the rest did, well, there’s not a Crown Official who doesn’t take a coin slipped under the counter, but you are different. You are honest as the day is long So I’ll give you two pieces of information free. First, that other clerk, the one who was fished from the Thames?’
‘Chapler?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. He was like you, Sir John. He didn’t take bribes. He never consorted with the whores. All my villains steered well clear of him. They did business with Alcest.’
‘That is interesting,’ Athelstan murmured.
‘Aye, Brother, it is, and I’ve got something for you. I’ve heard about your miraculous crucifix. Even the cut- throats and footpads around Whitefriars are wondering whether to pay it a visit.’
‘But you don’t think it’s a miracle, do you?’
‘No, Brother, I don’t The Good Lord is too busy to visit Southwark. You’re the next thing to Christ that lot will get!’
Athelstan sketched a bow in compliment.
‘Now, if our good coroner lets me go before the curfew bell, I know someone who can help, provided he can enter and leave Southwark without arrest.’
‘Who?’ Athelstan asked.
