The White Rose

Eastcheap

It was now a full week after the execution of the Bryans. There was murmuring of strange things in the streets. Too many corpses had been recovered from the river in that locality during the last few days, and it was said that Prince Edward of Luxembourg, shut up in Whitehall Palace, was torturing those of his servants who might have been privy to his wife's adultery, and that he threw their bodies into the Thames.

That morning, beautiful Joan Moray left the London apartments of Countess Matilda at an early hour. It was the beginning of May and the sun played upon the windows of the houses. 

She soon came to Eastcheap. It was a strange place with a secret life of its own. The public scribes had their shops there, as had the wax-merchants, for these manufactured the writing-tablets, as well as tapers, candles and polishes. But a strange traffic was carried on in many of the back rooms of the slum. With infinite precautions the mysterious ingredients needed by those who practiced sorcery could be bought here for gold: powdered snakes, ground toads, cats' brains, tongues of the hanged, bawds' hairs, and all kinds of plants from which love-philters were made or the poisons with which enemies could be destroyed. This all gave excellent reason to those who called this narrow street, where the Devil bought and sold wax, the prime material for casting spells, the 'street of the sorcerers'.

Casually, unhurriedly, looking about her, Joan Moray entered a shop whose painted sign bore the following inscription:

ENGELBERT

FURNISHES TAPERS AND CANDLES

TO THE ROYAL COURT

AND MANY CHURCHES AND CHAPELS

The shopkeeper, a little old man wearing a large bonnet of brown holland, was poking the embers of a furnace and attending to his molds. As soon as he saw Joan, his face crumpled into a wide toothless smile.

'Master Engelbert,' said Beatrice, 'I have come at once to pay you the bill from the Stafford apartments in London.'

'That is very kind of you, my beautiful young lady, because business is very bad. Purchase tax, that invention of the Devil, is killing us. Indeed, I really don't know whether I shall be able to keep my shop open much longer!' said Master Engelbert, wiping his dirty hands on his apron.

He went to a corner of the room and came back with a tablet which he consulted with a frown. 'Let us see if we agree the figure!'

'I am sure that we shall agree upon it,' said Joan softly, placing several pieces of silver in the shopkeeper's hand.

'Well, well, that's the way to go about things; I only wish more people would do likewise!' said the fellow, laughing as he counted the money.

Then he added, with an air of complicity, 'I shall call your protégé. I am well pleased with him, because he works willingly and talks little. Master Everard!'

The man who came in from the back of the shop was about thirty years old, thin but solidly built. His face was bony, his eyes dark and sunken, his lips thin. He limped and his limping made him grimace nervously from time to time.

He was an ex-Brother of the Sword of the Commandery of Northumberland. Having been tortured for twelve hours, he had escaped from his executioners, but that one night of inhuman suffering, of which his crushed foot was a constant reminder, had left him slightly mad. He had lost his faith; and had learnt to hate. He lived only for the vision of revenge. 

As he did each time Joan came to the shop, Master Engelbert pretended that he had an urgent appointment and went out. He went without anxiety. Other clients might come; Evrard would never hand over goods without payment. As for the traffic in wax for casting spells, Engelbert preferred that it should take place out of his sight and that somebody else should be responsible for it. He wished to know nothing of it, and was content merely to put the money in his pocket.

"You must be pleased." said Joan as soon as Engelbert was gone. "Cardinal Morton is dead."

"Yes, yes. God's work! He's at last aiding us His humble servants get some justice. Crushed emerald burns the heart up. Whoever gave the Cardinal that is a friend of mine!"

"The work of God is made easier when man is aiding Him," Joan said. "Would you care to help the Lord by fulfilling your Grand Prior's curse one more time? I understand that you still resent him. I mean the man to whom you owe your crushed foot."

"Knox? It would be impossible to get to him." Evrard grunted.

"You could. At least indirectly. This shop sells him candles. A shipment could do the job."

"How so?" the former Brother of the Sword asked. His curiosity had obviously got the better of his skepticism.

"Pharaoh's Serpent. One hour of looking at a candle laced with that, the only flames he'll see after that are those of Hell." replied Joan. "What kind of candles do you send him?"

"Long white ones. They have wicks which are treated such that they make no smoke." answered Evrard

"Good. Then it's just a matter of lacing the wax. I have the powder in my purse."

Everard thought for a moment. He was breathing quickly and harshly. His eyes grew brighter, more intelligent.

'Then we must hurry,' he said, the words falling over each other. 'I may have to leave here soon. Don't tell anyone of this, but the nephew of the Grand Prior , Master William More, has begun to take account of us. He has also sworn to avenge our commander. We are not all dead, in spite of that dog's hounding us. The other day, I saw one of my old brothers, John Burgh, who brought me a message, telling me to prepare to go to Exeter. It would be a fine thing to be able to take to Master More the soul of Knox as a present. When can you give me the powder?'

'Here it is,' said Beatrice, opening her purse.

She handed Evrard a little bag which he opened cautiously. The bag contained two ill-mixed materials, one grey, the other white and crystalline.

'That is ash,' said Evrard, pointing to the grey powder.

'Yes,' she replied, 'the ash of the tongue of a man who was killed by Knox– to bring the Devil upon him and make no mistake about it.' She pointed to the white powder, 'Don't be afraid. It can kill only when burning. "

Evrard grabbed Joan and pulled her close. 

'How did you manage to remain chaste when you were a monk?' she asked.

'I never could remain so,' he replied in a low voice.

Then beautiful Joan Moray closed her eyes; her upper lip curled curiously, uncovering little white teeth; and she gave herself up to the illusion that she was in the Devil's grasp.

Besides, did not Evrard limp?