The Gallows Murders
Kemble and his two officers had already gone out to vomit in the small privy chamber.
‘Lord have mercy!' Benjamin breathed. The poor bastard's been pressed!'
Now I shall spare your sensibilities, but pressing is the most terrible of deaths. It is carried out in three places in London: the yards of Fleet and Newgate prisons, or in the Tower. It’s not a torture but a special punishment reserved for those who refuse to plead either guilty or not guilty. In my long and troubled life I have been in many a scrape but, when taken before the justices, I would never refuse to plead. Once you do that, you have very little chance. Sometimes the press can be heavy boards which are weighted with bricks on top, but the pressing door in the Tower was of a special kind. Small wheels were fixed on the bottom, and a rope fixed to the top. This ran through a pulley system, so it could be lowered gently on to the victim who would lie spread-eagled on the ground. No such delicacy had been shown to Horehound.
Benjamin pointed to the pulley hanging from the ceiling, and explained. Horehound must have been laid out on the ground. The door was tipped and the rope cut till finally it slammed down, reducing his body to a bloody pulp.'
Kemble and his two officers returned, accompanied by Mallow, who looked as if he had drunk the wine jug dry. Toadflax, Snakeroot and Wormwood, under Kemble's direction, slowly lifted the door, pushing it back on its wheels and leaning it against the far wall. On the inside of the door were small arrow points of sharpened steel; these had turned Horehound's body to a tangled, gory mess. Once the corpse was exposed, all stood away: even the hangmen, experienced as they were in death, could not bear the sight. My stomach heaved, though, I'll be honest, at that moment in time, I was more terrified of the Great Beast than the pulpy remains of one of London's hangmen. Benjamin showed no fear but crouched down, ignoring the mess: he carefully examined Horehound's wrists and ankles.
'He wasn't fastened down, was he?' Wormwood came forward.
'No, he wasn't,' Benjamin replied. There are no marks round his wrists or ankles.' He pointed to the iron chain hanging on a wall which would be used to secure a prisoner about to be pressed.
Then how was it done?' Kemble's voice was muffled behind a pomander he held to his nose.
'I don't know' Benjamin replied. 'But Horehound was a man capable of taking care of himself, yes?'
Wormwood nodded. Snakeroot and Toadflax also agreed.
'So how could the killer lie him out on the ground?' Benjamin sounded puzzled. 'Horehound must have made no objection or tried to get away.'
'Perhaps he was already unconscious,' Vetch remarked from where he stood in the doorway. 'A knock on the head or a dagger in the back. His corpse is so torn we cannot tell.'
Benjamin got to his feet and, taking a sconce-torch from the wall, carefully walked round the chamber. He shook his head. There's nothing here.'
‘Well seal the chamber,' Kemble announced. He took a coin from his purse and tossed it at Wormwood. 'He was your friend. Bury him!'
'He was no friend of mine,' Wormwood snapped. He looked coolly at Sir Edward. 'Don't you know, Master Constable, hangmen don't have friends?' 'Well, he was in your guild!' Kemble snapped.
‘Don't worry, don't worry.' Mallow came forward, hands flailing. 'I’ll take care of poor Horehound.'
We left the Tower. I was grateful to be out, breathing God's fresh air. The guards had driven off the curious onlookers. Benjamin pointed across to the church of St Peter ad Vincula.
‘I have further questions to ask,' he declared. He stared round. 'Of all of you!'
No one objected, and we walked into the church as dutifully as a congregation on a Sunday morning. Benjamin led us into the sanctuary, indicating the stalls on either side. We sat down. If I wasn't so frightened, I would have burst out laughing. There we were, Constable and officers of the Tower, the hangmen of London and Old Shallot, the greatest rogue in Ipswich, sitting in benches facing each other like a hanging jury ready to deliver its verdict.
On any other occasion there would have been vociferous objections, but Horehound's ghastly death had knocked any querulousness on its head.
Benjamin sat in the sanctuary chair. 'Gentlemen.' He began softly, yet his words echoed round that cavernous church. 'Gentlemen, there is villainy here, the likes of which I have not seen before. This morning Master
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