Roseblood by Paul Doherty Page A

them what you have done.’
    ‘Their corpses lie in arrow chests.’ Monkshood grated. ‘Their heads stand poled just inside the gateway below. We have taken them to every tavern in the ward, a clear proclamation of Master Roseblood’s power.’
    ‘Can we justify what we have done?’ Raphael asked.
    ‘My son,’ Simon lifted his goblet in toast, ‘and you the lawyer?’ As he spoke, his fingers translated the words for Ignacio. ‘First, Blackshanks and the others were outlaws; they’d received no royal pardon. Second, they drew their weapons and publicly threatened me, an alderman of this city. Third, they intended to usurp the power of the council at the Guildhall.’ He pulled a face. ‘Blackshanks was arrogant, deep in his cups. He moved too swiftly. He brought about his own death and that of his companions. I will claim self-defence. Any justice of oyer and terminer, not to mention those of the King’s Bench, would agree.’
    Raphael nodded in agreement. Who would plead for three wolfsheads, proclaimed
ut legati
– beyond the law – in the surrounding shires?
    ‘They had their uses.’ Simon murmured, provoking laughter.
    Raphael glanced at Katherine, who sat white-faced, staring at the arras on the far wall. He had accompanied Ignacio, Toadflax and Monkshood through the ward, each bearing a severed head on a pole. They had stopped at alehouses, drinking booths and taverns as well as the lychgates of churches and chapels. The message was clear. Here were three wolfsheads, taken red-handed, weapons drawn against Alderman Roseblood; for this they had been brutally and swiftly executed, a warning to everyone to wait and see if Roseblood’s power had been truly weakened.
    ‘What other business?’ Simon gestured at Raphael.
    ‘Candlemas?’
    ‘His candle may have blown out,’ Simon joked. ‘Now listen,’ he continued. ‘Tomorrow we will surprise our noble sheriff with a pageant he’ll never forget.’ He drew himself up and described what would happen the following morning, his plans provoking laughter and further discussion.
    Raphael tapped the table. ‘There is the question of the whores. In the last fortnight, three have disappeared as swift as smoke on a clear day. Now whispers claim that Calista has not been seen. She was supposed to join her sisters here before moving on to the Three Cranes, where the King’s sailors are mustering.’
    Katherine suddenly stirred. She spoke carefully. ‘I was out near the lighthouse ruins this afternoon. I thought I saw Calista. She was with someone.’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘I could not say. I mean, it may not even have been her…’
    Her voice trailed off as she darted a glance at Father Benedict. The parish priest, however, seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Raphael realised that Father Roger was not present: still grieving over the death of his mother? he wondered.
    ‘Anything else?’ Simon asked.
    The Camelot Chamber remained silent. This was not the first time whores had disappeared. Raphael remembered other occasions: how his father had once told him that some men had to be violent to a woman to seek their pleasure. He recalled a line from the Psalms about demons prowling the other side of darkness. For all its beauty, the Roseblood tavern was a battlefield. Shadow armies moved. Ghostly warriors, troublesome spirits armoured in hate and seething malice, envy and jealousy against his father, ran swift like some filthy surging sewer, whilst Roseblood’s constant allegiance to the Beauforts posed a steely threat to York both in the city and beyond. Once again Raphael felt a stab of resentment towards his brother.
    ‘LeCorbeil.’ Simon’s voice was hard. ‘I have been threatened by LeCorbeil.’ He swiftly described what had happened near the lychgate of All Hallows. Raphael could see how agitated Ignacio, Monkshood and Father Benedict became. He spoke without thinking.
    ‘They say that during Cade’s rebellion, Uncle Edmund left the