Roseblood by Paul Doherty

Raphael. Katherine is a better man than many we know.’
    His sister seemed lost in her own thoughts. Raphael suspected she had been in the tithe barn earlier that evening. Indeed, he was sure he’d glimpsed her white face between the bales in the hay loft. She had probably witnessed her first executions. Raphael had grown used to them, slaying men who threatened him and his family. For a brief moment he fought a surge of anger at his younger brother, Gabriel, safely closeted away in holy seclusion at Greyfriars. He breathed out; but that was Gabriel! The two of them often laughed at the names given to them, their mother insisting that her sons be named after God’s great archangels.
    Raphael sat back in his chair, relaxing against the softness of the cushion. Ignacio lit more candles and Monkshood served white wine and marchpane. Raphael wondered how he would make reparation to God for the man he’d killed that day: either by creeping to the cross on Fridays or through a rigorous fast on holy days. Sometimes he would reveal the burden of his guilt to the priests, but they just echoed the words of their patron: ‘The life that we have is the life that we lead.’
    ‘In praise of the Blessed Peter, God’s own fisherman!’ Simon Roseblood tapped the table with his hand and took a generous sip, his first of the evening, from the jewel-encrusted Glastonbury goblet. ‘The business before us now…’
    He paused and stared at Raphael, who nodded. All was in order. Men stood on guard outside, the doors were sealed, the windows of thick mullion glass had no gaps or slits for traitorous eavesdroppers. The chamber fell silent, all eyes on Simon Roseblood, the only movement the shifting shadow of flickering candle flame.
    ‘The day of the great slaughter is imminent,’ Simon intoned. ‘The fortresses will fall.’ Raphael watched his father; he had never seen him so tense. ‘York will move south,’ Simon’s voice had fallen to a whisper, ‘and the days of Cade will return. That is why we are facing this sea of troubles. Now you are all sworn men, so I shall reveal to you my most secret thoughts.’ He paused again. ‘Candlemas and his coven, without my authority, were involved in that raid on the silver bullion intended for the royal mint. I can now tell you, as I learned from my own spy at the Guildhall, that the robbery was plotted by no less a person than Sir Philip Malpas, our noble lord sheriff. I learnt a few more details from Bolt-Head, God rest him, before he went into hiding.’ Simon stilled the gasps and exclamations. ‘York needs silver to pay his troops. Malpas intended to enrich York and of course weaken the King and my lord Beaufort.
    ‘Now you all know Candlemas: loud-mouthed, insubordinate, with no real loyalty to me. Malpas easily turned him, but the second part of our good sheriff’s plot was then to betray that stupid moon man to a bloody death. A few of Candlemas’s coven would be pardoned, but this is what Malpas truly revelled in: they would indict me as responsible for the robbery. Somehow or other, a little of the stolen silver would be found in this tavern. I thwarted their plot. My lord of Beaufort was alerted and the silver was replaced with rusty filings not worth a penny. Malpas and Sevigny, who had just arrived in the city, were furious. Four of Candlemas’s gang were apprehended and executed. The city would expect that. This was to terrify the rest: it would only be a matter of time before they were captured and the second part of the sheriff’s plot could go ahead. I would be indicted and Beaufort would lose a most powerful ally in this city. Tomorrow, Candlemas and Cross-Biter will be used to testify against me.’
    ‘And they will do that?’ Raphael exclaimed.
    ‘We shall see, we shall see.’ His father smiled.
    ‘And Blackshanks’s coven?’ asked the Fisher-King, captain of
The Excalibur
barge.
    ‘Monkshood,’ Simon gestured at his grizzled Captain of the Damned, ‘tell