The Gallows Murders

summer of 1485, when the King's father landed at Milford Haven, Richard the Third mustered to meet him at Bosworth Field. The Princes were hurriedly moved to this secret chamber, probably under the care of his henchmen, Dighton and Greene. Now, as Kemble knows, Richard was desperate for troops and Robert Brackenbury, then constable of the Tower, took most of the garrison to meet the King in Leicestershire, thinking they would be victorious.' Benjamin leaned against the wooden pillar. 'Of course all went wrong. Richard was killed, as was Brackenbury, at Bosworth. Any Yorkist left in the Tower would have fled at the Tudor's approach, and that included Dighton and Greene.' 'And Mallow is Dighton?'
    Benjamin shook his head. ‘No, no, that was a little mummery I concocted last night. I had glimpsed the panelling before and, remembering Undershaft was a carpenter, wondered if this had provoked his interest. Of course, I couldn't break into it without alarming Kemble here, whom I wished to trap. I went to Mallow and persuaded him, in return for royal preferment, to act out the nonsense you witnessed before.' 'So, where is Dighton?'
    'Probably dead,' Benjamin replied. ‘I suspect the Princes here may have been poisoned by Greene, whom we knew as Dr Quicksilver. The room was then locked and sealed. Greene went into hiding until memory faded and people had forgotten.' He pointed at Kemble. ‘Until this villain appeared. He finds this secret chamber, takes the seals, and begins to plot how to become a very wealthy man. As keeper of the royal palace at Woodstock, he would know of the King's secret fears about anyone with Yorkist blood in them. The visitation of the sweating sickness provided him and Sakker with the ideal opportunity' Benjamin walked towards the constable. ‘You arranged Allardyce's murder at Maidstone: you saw it as a marvellous opportunity to bring Sakker into the Tower. If that hadn't presented itself, you would have found another way. You arranged Sakker's arrival during Yuletide – when you were absent – so no one would ever suspect.' Benjamin tapped Kemble on the chest. 'And where to then, eh? Sakker could not remain Allardyce for ever. Moreover, he wanted his revenge, whilst you desired the King's gold. I'm sure you had a plan, but then the sweating sickness arrived.'
    'You must have been the only men in London to have welcomed the sweating sickness,' I scoffed. There was no need to close the Tower so completely, but you used your accomplice's so-called sickness to achieve that. It would not be hard for you and Sakker to bring a corpse, filched from somewhere, into the Tower. Your accomplice then walked free to carry on his villainy: you, however, could act the innocent and give the labourer, Ealdred every protection.'
    'And what a mystery, eh?' Benjamin intervened. 'Where could the seals have been obtained from? Were the Princes really alive? How could the villain both be in the Tower to deliver the first letter, yet also in the city, issuing proclamations? Of course, you realised the King would intervene but, being constable, you knew exactly what was going to happen. You continued to use Sakker's disguise and that secret postern-gate to deepen the mystery: the attack on Shallot, the delivery of blackmailing letters, the murders of the hangmen, the collection of the gold. On each occasion, you could account for your movements. How alarmed you must have been when we began to suspect that Sakker was involved. You used him for one last murder, the charlatan Quicksilver. After that, all you had to do was sit quiet and secure.'
    Benjamin seized the unresisting Kemble by his jerkin, pushing him against the wall. 'How you must have chuckled when I arrested Mallow! What were you going to do, Sir Edward? Wait until the dust had settled, then taken up your new appointment as envoy to Brussels? You did tell us you were giving up your office to go there. But you intended only to slip away with your new-found wealth.'
    Kemble opened his mouth to protest. Benjamin pushed him again.
    'Now all that remains, Sir Edward, is the gold. Where is it?'
    The constable, in some kind of stupor, licked his lips. I followed his quick glance and saw an old coffer peeping out of the shadows in a corner. I went across: the lock was new. I prised it loose with my dagger and drew back the lid. Inside was a roll of parchment, the best vellum money could buy, inkpots, quills, and a large sack which clinked as I moved it. The King's