The Eye of God Read online

  The Eye of God

  Paul Doherty

  Copyright © 1994 by P. C. Doherty.

  The right of P. C. Doherty to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2013

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN : 978 0 7553 9562 0

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Praise for Paul Doherty

  Also by Paul Doherty

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Letter to the Reader

  Historical Information

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Conclusion

  About the Author

  Paul Doherty was born in Middlesbrough. He studied History at Liverpool and Oxford Universities and obtained a doctorate for his thesis on Edward II and Queen Isabella. He is now headmaster of a school in north-east London and lives with his family in Essex. Paul’s first novel, THE DEATH OF A KING, was published in 1985 and since then he has written prolifically, covering a wealth of historical periods from Ancient Egypt to the Middle Ages and beyond. He has recently published his 100th novel, THE LAST OF DAYS.

  To find out more, visit www.paulcdoherty.com

  Praise for Paul Doherty

  ‘Teems with colour, energy and spills’ Time Out

  ‘Paul Doherty has a lively sense of history . . . evocative and lyrical descriptions’ New Statesman

  ‘Extensive and penetrating research coupled with a strong plot and bold characterisation. Loads of adventure and a dazzling evocation of the past’ Herald Sun, Melbourne

  ‘An opulent banquet to satisfy the most murderous appetite’ Northern Echo

  ‘As well as penning an exciting plot with vivid characters, Doherty excels at bringing the medieval period to life, with his detailed descriptions giving the reader a strong sense of place and time’ South Wales Argus

  ‘Deliciously suspenseful, gorgeously written and atmospheric’ Historical Novels Review

  Also by Paul Doherty

  Mathilde of Westminster

  THE CUP OF GHOSTS

  THE POISON MAIDEN

  THE DARKENING GLASS

  Sir Roger Shallot

  THE WHITE ROSE MURDERS

  THE POISONED CHALICE

  THE GRAIL MURDERS

  A BROOD OF VIPERS

  THE GALLOWS MURDERS

  THE RELIC MURDERS

  Templar

  THE TEMPLAR

  THE TEMPLAR MAGICIAN

  Mahu (The Akhenaten trilogy)

  AN EVIL SPIRIT OUT OF THE WEST

  THE SEASON OF THE HYAENA

  THE YEAR OF THE COBRA

  Canterbury Tales by Night

  AN ANCIENT EVIL

  A TAPESTRY OF MURDERS

  A TOURNAMENT OF MURDERS

  GHOSTLY MURDERS

  THE HANGMAN’S HYMN

  A HAUNT OF MURDER

  Egyptian Mysteries

  THE MASK OF RA

  THE HORUS KILLINGS

  THE ANUBIS SLAYINGS

  THE SLAYERS OF SETH

  THE ASSASSINS OF ISIS

  THE POISONER OF PTAH

  THE SPIES OF SOBECK

  Constantine the Great

  DOMINA

  MURDER IMPERIAL

  THE SONG OF THE GLADIATOR

  THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT

  MURDER’S IMMORTAL MASK

  Hugh Corbett

  SATAN IN ST MARY’S

  THE CROWN IN DARKNESS

  SPY IN CHANCERY

  THE ANGEL OF DEATH

  THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS

  MURDER WEARS A COWL

  THE ASSASSIN IN THE GREENWOOD

  THE SONG OF A DARK ANGEL

  SATAN’S FIRE

  THE DEVIL’S HUNT

  THE DEMON ARCHER

  THE TREASON OF THE GHOSTS

  CORPSE CANDLE

  THE MAGICIAN’S DEATH

  THE WAXMAN MURDERS

  NIGHTSHADE

  THE MYSTERIUM

  Standalone Titles

  THE ROSE DEMON

  THE HAUNTING

  THE SOUL SLAYER

  THE PLAGUE LORD

  THE DEATH OF A KING

  PRINCE DRAKULYA

  THE LORD COUNT DRAKULYA

  THE FATE OF PRINCES

  DOVE AMONGST THE HAWKS

  THE MASKED MAN

  As Vanessa Alexander

  THE LOVE KNOT

  OF LOVE AND WAR

  THE LOVING CUP

  Kathryn Swinbrooke (as C L Grace)

  SHRINE OF MURDERS

  EYE OF GOD

  MERCHANT OF DEATH

  BOOK OF SHADOWS

  SAINTLY MURDERS

  MAZE OF MURDERS

  FEAST OF POISONS

  Nicholas Segalla (as Ann Dukthas)

  A TIME FOR THE DEATH OF A KING

  THE PRINCE LOST TO TIME

  THE TIME OF MURDER AT MAYERLING

  IN THE TIME OF THE POISONED QUEEN

  Mysteries of Alexander the Great (as Anna Apostolou)

  A MURDER IN MACEDON

  A MURDER IN THEBES

  Alexander the Great

  THE HOUSE OF DEATH

  THE GODLESS MAN

  THE GATES OF HELL

  Matthew Jankyn (as P C Doherty)

  THE WHYTE HARTE

  THE SERPENT AMONGST THE LILIES

  Non-fiction

  THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF TUTANKHAMUN

  ISABELLA AND THE STRANGE DEATH OF EDWARD II

  ALEXANDER THE GREAT: THE DEATH OF A GOD

  THE GREAT CROWN JEWELS ROBBERY OF 1303

  THE SECRET LIFE OF ELIZABETH I

  THE DEATH OF THE RED KING

  About the Book

  The second medieval mystery featuring physician Kathryn Swinbrooke.

  As the bloody confusion of the War of the Roses rages through 15th-century Canterbury, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, gives the precious royal relic the Eye of God to his trusted soldier Brandon, just before being killed. Ordered to take the priceless Eye of God to the monks at Canterbury, Brandon is captured and held prisoner in the city. When Brandon dies under mysterious circumstances and the Eye of God is nowhere to be found, soldier Colum Murtagh is summoned by King Edward IV to find the relic and physician Kathryn Swinbrooke to assess the death. Resuming their unlikely partnership, the two find themselves in an increasingly dangerous situation. A corpse is pulled from a river and another murder takes place in Canterbury, while Colum is tracked by threatening pursuers. As all signs point to an intrigue involving enemies of Edward IV, Colum and Katherine must rely on each othe
r’s wits for protection . . .

  To George Witte, Senior Editor at St. Martin’s Press, with grateful thanks and appreciation for all your help over the years.

  Letter to the reader

  History has always fascinated me. I see my stories as a time machine. I want to intrigue you with a murderous mystery and a tangled plot, but I also want you to experience what it was like to slip along the shadow-thronged alleyways of medieval London; to enter a soaringly majestic cathedral but then walk out and glimpse the gruesome execution scaffolds rising high on the other side of the square. In my novels you will sit in the oaken stalls of a gothic abbey and hear the glorious psalms of plain chant even as you glimpse white, sinister gargoyle faces peering out at you from deep cowls and hoods. Or there again, you may ride out in a chariot as it thunders across the Redlands of Ancient Egypt or leave the sunlight and golden warmth of the Nile as you enter the marble coldness of a pyramid’s deadly maze. Smells and sounds, sights and spectacles will be conjured up to catch your imagination and so create times and places now long gone. You will march to Jerusalem with the first Crusaders or enter the Colosseum of Rome, where the sand sparkles like gold and the crowds bay for the blood of some gladiator. Of course, if you wish, you can always return to the lush dark greenness of medieval England and take your seat in some tavern along the ancient moon-washed road to Canterbury and listen to some ghostly tale which chills the heart . . . my books will take you there then safely bring you back!

  The periods that have piqued my interest and about which I have written are many and varied. I hope you enjoy the read and would love to hear your thoughts – I always appreciate any feedback from readers. Visit my publisher’s website here: www.headline.co.uk and find out more. You may also visit my website: www.paulcdoherty.com or email me on: [email protected].

  Paul Doherty

  Historical Information

  In 1471, the bloody civil war for the crown of England between the Houses of York and Lancaster was brought to a brutal close by the Yorkist victories at Barnet in April 1471 and Tewkesbury, May 1471. The war had originated in the ineffective rule of the Lancastrian king, Henry VI. A pious, well-meaning man, Henry would have cheerfully given up the crown to his Yorkist cousins, but his interests were protected by his powerful and ambitious wife, Margaret of Anjou. For a time the struggle was intense, with casualties on both sides. The leaders of the Yorkist house, Richard, Duke of York, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, together with his eldest son Edmund, were trapped at Wakefield and cruelly killed. The Yorkist challenge was now taken up by York’s three younger sons: Edward; Richard, Duke of Gloucester; and George, Duke of Clarence. They were ably assisted by Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. Edward proved himself to be an able general but he alienated Warwick and his brother George by marrying a beautiful widow, Elizabeth Woodville. Both Warwick and Clarence went over to the House of Lancaster, though Clarence later returned to his family allegiances. The Yorkist victories of 1471 resulted in Warwick’s death, Margaret of Anjou’s imprisonment, and Henry VI’s murder in the Tower of London. It was an age which more than suited the couplet from Chaucer’s “Pardoner’s Tale”:

  ‘A secret thief, called Death, came stalking by

  Who hereabouts makes all the people die.’

  Prologue

  Easter Sunday, the Fourteenth of April, 1471

  Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, strode out of his tent and peered through the fog-bound darkness. From all over the camp he could hear the sound of his men arming for battle. Warwick saw the thick fog rolling up from Deadman’s Bottom near Wrotham Wood, blanketing the field of Barnet and making the small culverins he had brought no use at all. The fog made his armour clammy to the touch whilst, outside his pavilion, the Ragged Staff banners hung limply against their poles. A sign of things to come? Warwick touched the jewelled pendant hanging round his neck, stroking the sparkling sapphire. He looked down at it and muttered a prayer. Men called the jewel the Eye of God, but was God’s eye on him today? In the distance, Edward of York with his bloodthirsty brothers Richard of Gloucester and George of Clarence were advancing up from Barnet to bring him to blows and utterly destroy him.

  Warwick gulped and tried to steel himself against a fit of fear. If he won, the road to London would be open. He would re-instate the saintly Henry VI or, if the Yorkists had already killed him, perhaps put another on the throne? A trumpet sounded. Warwick, gripping his helm with its great black-and-yellow plume, strode into the darkness. Knights and squires of his household gathered round him. A page brought his horse whilst messengers from his captains awaited orders. Warwick signalled with a gauntleted hand and his armed retinue moved farther into the darkness. Away from the camp he mounted and inspected his troops already in battle formation: lines of armed men stretching away into the foggy darkness. Warwick’s army was organised into three great phalanxes: his younger brother John Neville, the Marquis of Montagu, in the centre; the Duke of Exeter on the left; and the Earl of Oxford on the right.

  A trumpet sounded, followed by shouts and jeers of derision as a group of horsemen broke from the darkness, galloping towards them. Warwick glimpsed the wooden cross the riders carried and the white sheet draped around it. He looked towards his men busily stringing arrows to their bows.

  ‘At peace!’ he roared. ‘They are envoys and unarmed!’

  He, Montagu, and Exeter rode towards the group of Yorkist horsemen clustered under their sign of peace. Warwick let his horse amble forward. How many were there? he wondered. Four, five? Or was it some trick? Perhaps, behind them, some skilful archers already had arrows notched to bow. Warwick reined in his great destrier and stood high in the stirrups.

  ‘You are envoys?’ he called.

  ‘We come in peace,’ the leader of the small group shouted back. ‘We bear no arms but messages from His Grace the King.’

  ‘I did not know you had King Henry with you!’ Warwick taunted, his eyes searching the darkness behind the group of men.

  ‘We come from the Lord’s anointed, King Edward the Fourth, by God’s grace, King of England, Ireland, Scotland and France!’

  Warwick caught the faint Irish accent of the speaker and smiled to himself. He knew this man: Colum Murtagh, whom Edward of York’s father had saved from a hanging. Now a marshal of the Yorkist household as well as Edward’s principal scout and messenger, Murtagh was no assassin. Warwick dug in his spurs and his great war horse ambled forward, the Lancastrian generals behind him. He stopped within hand’s reach of Murtagh, studying the Irishman’s dark face, his raven-black hair damp under its chain-mail coif and brown protective hood.

  ‘You are well, Irishman?’

  ‘Aye, my lord.’

  ‘And your message?’

  ‘Honourable terms from His Grace, profitable to you, my lord earl, if you accept them.’

  Warwick heard the angry murmurs of his companions. They understood the message. In former times, in a more golden age, Warwick and Edward of York had been closer than David and Jonathan, sworn brothers bound by amity and solemn oaths. Now all that was shattered but, even now, York still hoped he could win Warwick over.

  ‘And my companions?’ Warwick spoke up. ‘These men who have been with me in my great cause? What does the King offer them?’

  ‘He offers them nothing, my lord.’

  Warwick forced a smile and nodded. He moved and the Irishman caught the brilliant glint of the sapphire on the golden pendant. Warwick caught his glance and fingered the pendant carefully.

  ‘Gold and jewels, Irishman,’ he murmured. ‘Gold and jewels, I’d give them all for an honourable peace.’

  ‘Then throw yourself on the King’s mercy, my lord.’

  Warwick gathered the reins of his horse into his hands and shook his head. ‘I refuse!’

  ‘Then, my lord,’ the Irishman continued, raising his voice for all to hear, ‘the King calls you traitors, rebels, and promises, if you’re caught in the field, bloody death!’

  ‘Is that all,
Irishman?’

  Murtagh turned his horse away. ‘What more did you expect?’

  Warwick urged his horse forward and the Irishman turned in alarm, his hand going to where his sword hilt should have been.

  ‘Peace, peace, herald!’ Warwick whispered. ‘I bear you no ill will, Murtagh. You have your task and you performed it well.’ He seized the Irishman’s hand and pressed a gold piece into it. ‘Take that!’ he urged. ‘And, if the battle goes against York, show it to one of my captains. Your life will be spared.’

  The Irishman studied the gold coin carefully.

  ‘If it goes badly for you,’ he replied, ‘as it will, my lord, I’ll spend it on masses for the repose of your soul.’

  Murtagh turned his horse and led the small Yorkist party back down the road towards Barnet.

  Warwick watched them go. He turned and smiled cheerily at his generals. He hoped his genial reassurance would cure their sombre thoughts and anxious faces.

  ‘They will come on fast,’ he declared. ‘My lords, it’s best if you take your positions.’

  He took off his gauntlets and shook the hands of his generals, watching each ride off until only he and his brother John remained.

  ‘You must fight on foot,’ his brother declared abruptly. ‘The men are uneasy, they talk of treason and treachery. They say . . .’ His words faltered.

  ‘I know what they say,’ Warwick continued evenly. ‘How the great lords of the land will remain on their horses so, if a battle goes against them, they’ll ride like the wind to the nearest port, leaving the peasants to their fate.’

  Warwick heaved his armoured bulk out of the saddle, drew his great sword from the scabbard lashed to the saddle-horn. He threw the reins of his destrier at his brother.

  ‘Give the order, John! All of us must fight on foot. Take mine and the other horses back to the lines!’

  John rode off, Warwick’s destrier galloping behind, its sharpened hooves stirring up a splatter of mud. Once more Warwick walked along the three great armoured phalanxes, then took up his command, surrounded by household knights, just behind Montagu’s central division. He peered over their heads; the wall of fog still hung, shifting but thick. Warwick ordered silence; resting his hands on the great hilt of his sword he strained his ears, listening for any sound from the darkness beyond. He heard nothing, so he closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. A page ran up, telling him it was only eight o’clock in the morning, when suddenly Warwick heard, vague and muffled, the enemy marching towards him. Warwick ordered his war banners to be unfurled, but they hung limp and damp. He nodded at his trumpeters, lifted his hand and shouted.