My young friend’s report had thrown my thoughts into confusion. To have located the assassin so soon was more than I dared hope for but there were other aspects of Ben’s story that refused to explain themselves.
‘You’re sure that Il Ombra has been bed-bound for three days past?’
‘That’s what we were told — and it would explain why there’s been no sign of him.’
‘Yes it would. It’s just that…’
‘What?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. Did you gain any idea of how long he’s been at the Red Lamb?’
‘No. Do you think it was the leader of that crew who ordered your friend’s execution?’
‘Yes. How came this murdering villain here? As a private mercenary or at Doggett’s invitation?’
‘Doggett?’
Too late I realised that the name had slipped out. I had wanted to keep from Ben the fact that I had some knowledge of the Red Lamb ménage. The less he and his friends knew about that dreadful place, the safer they would be. If Doggett ever suspected that they had been spying on him their lives would be worth little. Now it seemed that I would have to take him into my full confidence.
‘What I’m going to tell you, you must keep to yourself. It’s vitally important that your friends do not know. In fact, they must not be any further involved in this affair. Do I have your word on that?’
Ben regarded me with a wary frown but nodded. He listened intently while I related the story of my own visit to the Red Lamb. Then he sat back with a long exhalation of breath.
‘What a venomous double- and triple-dealing whoreson villain!’
‘Yes, and a very clever one.’
For a while we ate in silence. Eventually Ben posed the question we had both been wrestling with. ‘How exactly do you think the assassin is involved with this Doggett fellow?’
‘I’m not so sure. He may have been recruited overseas or he may have fallen in with Doggett here. It doesn’t really matter which. The point is that he is now completely in Doggett’s power because he needs protection, somewhere to hide, a refuge. You’ve seen the Red Lamb; there can be few places more secure.’
‘And I suppose in return for protection he has to work for Doggett.’
‘Aye, and what a valuable asset he must be. Doggett has connections in high places. He knows powerful people, rich people, people who will pay well to have their enemies removed.’
‘God’s blood! An assassination business!’ Ben ran greasy fingers through his fair hair.
‘I doubt it’s a new business for Doggett. Think of all the unexplained deaths that happen every year. You recall the drowning of the Earl of Stamford’s son? What a convenient tragedy that was for the young man’s cousin when he inherited the estate.’
‘Yes, and there was that case of Tennet, the Essex clothier who lost a fortune gambling. He was a ruined man until his wife had her throat cut on the way to market and he was free to marry the Walmsley heiress. You don’t suppose Doggett…’
I shrugged. ‘Accidents do happen. People do get killed by unknown assailants. Doggett can’t be lurking in the shadows of every suspicious fatality. But where death and money come together I’ll wager the meeting often takes place in the Red Lamb.’
‘So what’s to do? Have the magistrates raid the place?’
I pushed my trencher away. ‘Proof? Evidence? What do we say to Master Kernish? “There’s a villain called Doggett who we think may have paid another villain who calls himself the Shadow to kill Master Packington?” No, a frontal assault would be a bloody business and would probably get us nowhere. We have to outmatch Doggett in cunning. Besides what we… what I… really want to know is the identity of Doggett’s paymaster.’
‘What then?’
‘It’s a problem that needs more thought.’ I yawned. ‘This has been a long day and my brain is sluggish.’
Ben stood up. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘No.’ I shook my head firmly. ‘You’ve done enough… more than enough. I’d never have got this far without you.’ I went to my coffer and took out a bag of coins. ‘Here’s more money for you and your friends. You have earned it but you must not be involved any further. You’ve seen the people I’m up against.’
Ben took the silver coins with obvious reluctance. ‘Well, at least you can sleep easy. As long as Il Ombra is shut up in Doggett’s lair he won’t be hunting you.’
I said, ‘That’s very true.’ I thought, If the Italian didn’t try to kill me on Tuesday night, who did?
That puzzle played havoc with my attempts to sleep. But I soon had bigger problems to worry about.
Chapter 22
The following day, Wednesday 23 November, was one of torrential rain which went on for several hours. Few people were abroad in Cheap and we closed the shop in mid-afternoon. Scarcely had we done so when there came a heavy banging at the door. John Fink went to answer. When he came to find me in the workshop he was trembling so violently that I thought he might collapse.
‘What’s the matter, man?’ I demanded.
‘Armed men… from the bishop,’ he gasped.
I brushed past him into the shop. There I found four pikemen in helmets and long capes that dripped water. There was a captain in charge and he addressed me in a peremptory manner.
‘Master Thomas Treviot, freeman goldsmith?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are to come with me, by order of His Grace, the Bishop of London.’
‘Come with you? Where to?’
‘Just come quietly, Master Treviot. If you will not, I have orders to manacle you.’
‘But why? What is this about?’
‘I’m sure all will be made clear to you later. Meanwhile I have orders to search the house.’ He turned to his little troop. ‘Go through the premises and bring everyone you find into here. Don’t let them out of your sight till you’ve finished the search. Stay here and await my return.’ He grasped my arm. ‘Let’s go.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ I protested. His grip tightened.
Shouts, cries and crashes came from the workshop as the soldiers set about their violent task. I looked round wildly. John Fink stood transfixed, mouth agape, clearly as terrified as I was. I made a grasp for dignity.
‘Don’t worry, John,’ I said as calmly as I could manage, ‘I’ll soon sort out this mistake. Please go and fetch my riding cloak.’
‘No time for that,’ the captain said gruffly. ‘Anyway, we’re not going far.’ He pushed me towards the door.
Outside were six more of the bishop’s personal ‘army’. They formed themselves into two columns and I was thrust between them. The captain gave an order and we set off along West Cheap trudging through mud and puddles.
I was in little doubt about our destination, although for as long as possible, hope wrestled with fear. Houses and shops stood fast-shuttered against the weather and there were few other citizens abroad to stare with questioning eyes at the little posse hastening along the wide street in the last light of fading day. We veered left by St Michaels at Querne, passed through Paul’s Gate and so entered the cathedral yard. With the vast bulk of St Paul’s on our right we passed the preaching place, then the south entrance and the old bishop’s palace and came to a halt before the east face flanked by two towers. They were identical but the one on the right had an atmosphere all its own, due entirely to its sinister use. This was the Lollards’ Tower — a lodging place (often a final lodging place) for those designated as enemies of the Church.
A vigorous hammering on the iron-studded door brought a shuffling jailer to the portal. The captain entered, leaving the rest of us in the wet.