The Gallows Murders

'Are you going to answer the constable's question?'
    'Oh, don't come the high and mighty with us!' Snakeroot snapped. We were all in the Tower last night. Wormwood was alive – drunk, but very much alive!' Who saw him last?' Vetch asked.
    We were all drinking outside Bowyer Tower,' Toadflax replied. Then we went to our quarters. After that, you know as much as we do. Why?' He leaned on the table. 'Are you going to claim Wormwood was killed by one of us? Sir Edward, you were in the Tower last night, as were Vetch and Spurge.' His eyes slid towards us. "Not to mention our guests.'
    Benjamin scraped back his chair, stood up and walked over to the window. There's a killer in the Tower,' he said softly, speaking over his shoulder. 'A man whose real name is Robert Sakker.'
    I gazed round quickly: Mallow and his executioners looked disconcerted. 'Sakker!' Toadflax exclaimed. ‘Here in the Tower!' Who is this man?' Kemble demanded.
    'He was an outlaw, the only surviving member of a gang who terrorised pilgrims going to Canterbury,' Benjamin replied. 'Mallow and his confederates hanged the rest of his family. Robert Sakker has returned to wage war against these executioners.' Benjamin walked back to the table. 'Somehow, Master Constable, I believe Robert Sakker is involved in the blackmailing letters being sent to the King.'
    'But there's no Sakker on the muster roll,' Kemble retorted. 'I, alone, am responsible for that!'
    Benjamin shrugged. The felon's probably using another name. Under-sheriff Pelleter described him as a tall, red-haired man with a scar across his chin.' ‘I have seen no one like that,' Vetch replied, 'either amongst the garrison or the servants.'
    'Or the masons working on the wall,' Spurge spoke up.
    Kemble, balancing a quill between his fingers, sat back in his chair, staring narrow-eyed at Benjamin. 'But you, Master Daunbey, believe he is in the Tower?'
    ‘Yes I do,' my master replied. 'And that wouldn't be hard, now the gates are opened.'
    ‘But he would need a pass, or the guards would refuse him entrance,' Kemble pointed out.
    'Well, I believe he's here,' Benjamin said once more. 'And last night he went hunting poor Wormwood. Master Mallow, Wormwood had been drinking, yes?' The chief hangman nodded.
    'So.' Benjamin took his seat. 'Let's just imagine Wormwood staggering round the Tower in the dark, in very much the same condition as poor Horehound. Somehow or other, he is lured into some dark corner. He's knocked on the head, his body dragged and strapped to the rack. The man's half-conscious, drunk, gagged! Small wonder we heard no screams. Whoever killed him must have enjoyed every second!' Benjamin drummed his fingers on the table-top. 'It must be Sakker!' He glanced across where the sunlight was pouring through a half-open window. 'Sir Edward, I want you and your officers to scrutinise every man in the Tower. You have Sakker's description. I want guards put on every postern-gate.' ‘You can't order-!'
    ‘Yes, I can,' Benjamin replied. 'Or I'll ride to Windsor and bring the King himself back here.'
    Kemble hastily agreed. 'You say he's red-haired, scarred?' "Yes, across his chin,' Benjamin replied.
    Now I had been sitting there, as usual, watching everybody. God knows the workings of my own mind, but the mention of Sakker's scar made me think of Greene. You may remember, Sir Thomas More said he was one of the murderers who killed the little Princes. According to Agrippa, Greene had an ugly red scar across his wrist. I remembered being back in our parish church at Ipswich when I had been baiting the Poppletons. Old Quicksilver, outside in the graveyard, hands stretching out to take the purse, the way he covered his wrists, then his drunken boasting about serving in the Tower when the Princes were confined. I was so excited, I sprang to my feet, clapping my hands in glee.
    The rogue! The villain!' I exclaimed. The sparrow-turd! The ancient pig's-dropping!'
    'What on earth?' Kemble half rose from his chair. 'Master Daunbey, has your servant lost his wits?'
    Benjamin was staring at me curiously. 'What is it?' my master asked.
    And then I made my terrible mistake. Oh, I have these bright flashes of intuition, a keenness of wit, a prodigious memory, but I also babble too much, I know that. And that day was no different: I sat down chattering like a child. 'Master, you remember Dr Quicksilver?' 'How could I forget?' Benjamin caustically replied.
    'He's a quack, a cunning man,' I explained to the