‘Keep her safe,’ Ralph replied. ‘Wait for the commissioners to arrive from London. Let them take responsibility.’
Sir John nodded. ‘Adam, when this is finished, go down to Maldon, tell the taverner Taylis that Eleanora will be kept safe and secure. We will not harm a hair on her head. I just wish this business was finished.’ He looked at Aylred. ‘Father, I regret my sharp words earlier. Perhaps you could say a Mass in Midnight Tower and give the place a blessing.’
The priest agreed.
Ralph was studying Theobald, who appeared agitated. Of all the people present, he was the most solitary and most secretive. Ralph glanced at Adam and Marisa sitting hand in hand. Marisa was staring adoringly at her husband. Ralph felt a tug at his heart and tried to curb his envy at their closeness. They heard footsteps and Beardsmore strode back into the chamber.
‘I’ve made inquiries among the guards.’ He shook his head. ‘So many people come in and out of the castle, Sir John. One guard thinks he may have seen Fulk coming here early on Tuesday morning but Phoebe’s corpse had yet to be discovered. No one was stopped or challenged.’
Sir John put his cup down. ‘We’ve done what we can.’
Ralph was angry and disappointed at the lack of new information the meeting had produced. ‘There’s an assassin in the castle.’ he said heatedly. ‘He or she killed without mercy. The assassin could well be in this chamber.’ He got to his feet, kicking the chair back. ‘I would warn you all to be most careful.’
He was halfway across the bailey when Beardsmore caught up with him.
‘Master Ralph, do you trust me?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘If the killer is in this castle then he or she must be someone in authority.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh, clerk, look around. Can you imagine any of the archers or the men-at-arms, the cooks, the scullions, the servants taking such pains over the disposing of poor Phoebe’s corpse? She wasn’t killed in some kitchen fight or because an archer wanted to ruffle her skirts. She was killed for something else. Something she saw or heard. Whoever it was managed to find a secret way out with the corpse. Everyone at that meeting will go back to their chambers and start to think.’
‘And you don’t want the finger of suspicion pointed at you.’
‘No, I don’t.’ Beardsmore tightened his war belt. ‘I have to check certain matters. Meet me at the barbican within the hour.’ The sergeant-at-arms walked away.
Ralph remembered Eleanora and crossed to Bowyer Tower. He opened the door and went down the steps. The dungeons consisted of three cells off a passageway built into the base of the tower. They were well-swept and clean, usually reserved for stores. Two archers now sat across the passage playing dice, a jug of ale and some beakers on the ground beside them. Pitch torches flickered in the darkness. From the middle cell came the sound of crooning.
‘She’s happy enough,’ one of the archers declared as Ralph squatted beside him. The fellow wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘More comfortable than we are.’
‘And you don’t trouble her?’
The archer shook his head. ‘Master Beardsmore was most insistent. She’s to be kept warm and plump for the royal commissioners.’
‘I would like to speak to her.’
The archer pocketed his dice, got to his feet and took a key from a hook in the wall. He opened the door and ushered Ralph in.
Eleanora was comfortable enough; the cell was clean, fresh grass had been cut and strewn on the floor. She had a cot bed with a bolster and blankets, a table, stool, a shelf for cups and jugs; even a small crucifix hung from one of the window bars high in the wall. The tavern wench was sitting in the corner, knees up, making a doll out of straw she had pulled from the mattress.
‘You are well, Mistress?’
‘I would prefer to be back at the Pot of Thyme, sitting on a customer’s knee and sharing a tankard of ale. But I’m well looked after. I’ve had bread, roast goose.’ She pointed to a jug on the table. ‘And some watery ale. The old priest came down to see me but he was more nervous than I am.’
‘Do you think Fulk saw Phoebe’s murderer?’
‘I think he did but Fulk was tight-lipped. I asked him but he just stared at me in that strange way of his. You know, out of the corner of his eye, just like his father does when he makes a profit with that golden thumb of his.’
‘So why do you think Fulk came back to the castle?’ Eleanora’s eyes shifted.
‘Why should he come back?’ Ralph persisted. He got up and moved towards her. ‘Did he tell you?’
Again a flicker of the eyes.
‘Come on, did he? Why should Fulk the miller’s son be interested in a murderer? He came here to extort money, didn’t he? He didn’t return, so you put it about in the Pot of Thyme tavern that he was on some innocent errand to the castle and didn’t come back.’
‘I will tell all,’ Eleanora declared defiantly, ‘when the King’s men come. I wish to be alone. Sir John Grasse promised I wouldn’t be troubled.’
Ralph left the dungeon. He walked up into the keep looking for Father Aylred but the chapel was empty. He stayed for a while, kneeling in the entrance to the rood screen, staring up at the cross.
‘I am not a prayerful man,’ he murmured. ‘In fact, I don’t know what I am. But, Lord, I am very frightened. And I miss Beatrice.’
Ralph closed his eyes. In a week his whole life had been shattered, like the wine vat Beardsmore had sliced in the Pot of Thyme tavern. He made himself more comfortable, with his back to the rood screen, and stared up at the corbels on the roof. He noticed the gargoyle, a grinning jester with his fingers in his mouth. In his imagination the face became that of the killer, quietly mocking him from the shadows. Ralph looked away. He had been so engrossed in trying to find out who the killer was, how these deaths and attacks had occurred, he had not asked why the peaceable life of this castle had abruptly changed. True, there was unrest in the countryside but the attacks, apart from that on Phoebe, had been directed at him. Ralph wondered what Beatrice would have thought and said. She had a sharp mind. If only she was here, sitting next to him.
The sunlight was now streaming through the window, the dust motes dancing, and he wondered if they were angels. He felt warm and relaxed.
He heard a sound down the church and whirled round, peering through the rood screen, then he remembered locking and barring the door behind him. He got to his feet and stared round the little sanctuary. The cross on the altar was dazzling in the light of the sun. He felt alert but not distraught, as if he had woken from a refreshing sleep. He looked at the gleaming cross.
‘The treasure,’ he murmured. He knelt on the prie-dieu, eyes fixed on that cross. ‘The only thing anyone else would want is Brythnoth’s cross but I haven’t got it yet.’
He recalled the May Day celebrations, the castle officers assembled on the green. Ralph repressed a shiver and bowed his head. He had thought of this before, and now he was forced to accept it: his boasting had caused all this. Someone at that meal had decided to intervene, someone who had been following his search most closely. His chamber was often unlocked, with manuscripts left on the table. Never once had he suspected that someone would take up the hunt with him.
Ralph broke out in a sweat. He had to face the truth. He was supposed to have been on the parapet walk. He was supposed to have died in Devil’s Spinney. And Phoebe? She had been a pert-faced, sharp-tongued wench with a nose for mischief and an ear for other people’s conversations. She must have seen or heard something and been brutally silenced. But how had her corpse been taken out of the castle? Ralph remembered Beardsmore, crossed himself and almost fled from the church. His mind was all a jumble as guilt pricked at his grief. He strode across the castle bailey. Beardsmore was waiting for him on the steps of the barbican guardhouse.