Roseblood Read Online Free Page B

between these; at the far end stood a huge rounded vat. The sweating, gasping tapster pulled this aside to reveal a darkened tunnel. Even from where he stood, Sevigny could hear the clatter of those he pursued.
    ‘Release Caradoc!’
    Skulkin obeyed. The mastiff’s muzzle was removed, the leash untied and Caradoc darted like a demon into the darkness. Sevigny and the others followed, carrying fluttering lamps, pausing to light the sconce torches fixed into wall crevices. The tunnel was narrow, its ceiling just above their heads, and the walls either side glistened with damp mould. An offensive stench caught mouth, nose and throat. One of the bailiffs murmured that it was an old sewer built by the ancients, a truly macabre place. Now and again they would pass mounds of bones glistening white like snow, tangled skeletons that rattled as the horde of rats nesting there fled from the light.
    The gasps and groans of Sevigny’s escort were abruptly silenced by a deep bell-like bellowing.
    ‘Caradoc’s trapped them,’ Skulkin explained.
    As if in answer, further chilling growls echoed, followed by hideous screams. The bailiffs hastened on, a mob of men in the dim flickering light. Sevigny followed cautiously. He and his uncle, Sir Philip Malpas, had discussed Candlemas’s apparent disappearance from the city. The sheriff’s lurchers, the two bounty hunters Cosmas and Damian, had informed him about these tunnels that ran under Smithfield and led directly to the Great Sanctuary in St Paul’s graveyard; they were the refuge of outlaws and wolfsheads, who could claim ancient privileges against officers of the law. Candlemas and his two companions must have thought they were safe down here, but Caradoc had neatly trapped them, forcing them like fleeing sheep into an enclave. The only protection they carried was torches and knives. Caradoc now lay crouched before them, ready to spring at any aggressive move by his quarry. One of the three had apparently tried to resist and been ferociously savaged, his belly ripped open. The wounded felon lay in a brimming pool of blood, groaning and pleading.
    ‘Well, my friends.’ Sevigny stepped into the torchlight. ‘Master Candlemas, former priest, is it not? You’re well known for your disguise as a Friar of the Sack. I did wonder whether you would let members of your coven die alone. You couldn’t resist the challenge, could you? And these two must be your accomplices. Devil-Drawer, a failed painter, and Cross-Biter, one of London’s finest pimps and panders. All three of you have a bounty on your head. Silence!’ he shouted at Devil-Drawer; the wounded felon was now screaming in agony. ‘All three of you are wanted dead or alive, and you can’t claim sanctuary. Oh, for the love of silence.’
    Sevigny drew his dagger, bent over Devil-Drawer and swiftly sliced the wounded man’s throat from ear to ear. Devil-Drawer kicked and gargled, choking on his own blood until he fell silent.
    ‘As I was saying…’ Sevigny stared at the remaining two terrified felons. ‘You can join your friends on the scaffold, or I could let Caradoc rip you to shreds. Or…’ He paused.
    ‘Or what?’ Candlemas took a step forward, only to halt as this terrifying clerk raised his dagger.
    ‘You could turn King’s Approver and win yourself a pardon. Obtain some money and cross the Narrow Seas for ever.’
    ‘And whom do we accuse?’
    ‘Why,’ Sevigny smiled, ‘Master Simon Roseblood!’

Simon Roseblood
    London, April 1455
    S imon Roseblood, vintner, taverner and alderman of Queenhithe ward on the north bank of the Thames, rose from the great throne-like chair in the sacristy of his parish church of All Hallows. Roseblood had many titles. He had sealed indentures with the city council to manage, control and direct all the scavengers, rakers and gongmen in each of the city wards. His enemies called him Duke of the Cesspool and Lord of the Bum-Pit. They claimed that his family escutcheon should be