The Gallows Murders

Benjamin, flanked by Dr Agrippa, was sitting on a turf seat watching the carp in the stewpond snap at flies. My master fell on my neck, clasped me to him, squeezing me tightly, then he stood back, his eyes full of tears.
    'Roger, I thought you were dead! We searched high and low'
    'It's not time for Roger's death,' Agrippa murmured. He took off his black, broad-brimmed hat and gazed up at me, his cherubic face creased into the most benevolent smile. He looked like someone's favourite uncle, except for the black leather he wore from head to toe and those gauntlets which covered the secret red crosses on the palm of each hand.
    'Roger will live for a long time,' Agrippa added. The Fates will not cut his life too short.' He got up and glanced at Prior Houghton who was watching us curiously. The devil takes care of his own, Roger.'
    Agrippa grasped my hand: as he did so, the colour of his eyes changed. I don't know whether it was some shadow or trick of the light; suddenly they became like black pebbles and his face became white and drawn. He gripped my hand a little longer than he should have and my heart sank. Agrippa was warning me that we were about to enter the lair of the Great Beast.
    Prior John Houghton became uncomfortable. He kept glancing sideways at Agrippa, even as he told Benjamin about my miraculous recovery. After that, the Prior left us, saying he would send out a lay brother with some white wine and pastries. I stayed, telling Benjamin everything that had happened. (Or, at least, what I thought he should know.) I accepted his teasing of my sudden conversion as a member of the Carthusian Order. For a while we just sat and chatted, sipping the wine and enjoying the fragrance of the flowers and the steady hum of the honey-hunting bees. Now and again, the bells of Charterhouse would toll, calling the Brothers to service, and I realised I could not stay there for ever. 'How did you find me?' I asked.
    'Well, I went to Swaffham -' Benjamin pulled a face – 'and I guessed the rest. After that, with the good doctor's help, I searched the city. One of the corpse collectors recognised your description so I came here.' His face became sad. 'Roger, I have been searching for you for two weeks. I thought you were dead!'
    'I was robbed!' I wailed. ‘I had no money, whilst the Poppletons were waiting for me in Ipswich.'
    'Roger, Roger.' Benjamin leaned forward. The Cardinal has sent a letter to the Sheriff of Norfolk instructing the Poppletons to offer you no harm.' He smiled mirthlessly. They're so terrified they are running backwards and forwards to the jakes again!'
    'And, if your dearest uncle had intervened,' I answered tartly, 'that means he needs us.'
    'Dearest Uncle does need us,' Benjamin declared, putting his cup down. ‘We are to go to the Tower, Roger, then on to meet the King at Windsor.'
    I stared round that peaceful, perfume-filled garden. 'I can't stay here,' I murmured, ‘but I don't want to go to Windsor.'
    Benjamin opened his wallet: he drew out a writ, sealed with the Cardinal's own signet. I read it quickly. I had no choice: Benjamin Daunbey, the Cardinal's beloved nephew, and his manservant Roger Shallot, on their allegiance to the King, were to go in all haste to the royal castle of Windsor. I threw the letter back. On reflection the death-cart, the sweating sickness and those terrible burial pits didn't seem so dreadful! If Wolsey wanted me, then I was about to enter the House of Shadows! Murder and treachery would be my guides. I quickly packed my belongings and bade a fond farewell to Prior Houghton and his kindly brothers. I never saw Houghton again. Years later, when Fat Henry broke with Rome over dark-eyed Boleyn, Houghton, true to his own soul, refused to take the Oath of Supremacy. I was out of the country at the time, the unwilling guest of the Spanish Inquisition (splendid gentlemen!). I returned to learn that Houghton and some of his Brothers had been hanged over their own gatehouse: I sat in the darkness and wept. He was a good man. He deserved a better death…
    Agrippa, Benjamin and I left, keeping well away from the city. We walked by Gray's Inn, skirting the Temple and Whitefriars to a barge waiting to take us up-river to the Tower. The oarsmen were all the good doctor's henchmen, a bigger group of flea-bags you never hope to meet. Cut-throats, rascals, scum of the earth! As usual they greeted me like a long-lost brother. I was glad of the rapturous welcome because, as we