‘From what we know,’ Lord Walter intervened, ‘Kilverby was always distant and aloof but he was amicable enough towards the Wyverns.’
‘And this changed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Sir Robert began to reflect most carefully about them. He changed his opinion of those he once patronized.’
‘Encouraged by you, Brother Richer?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know precisely. Did you advise Sir Robert?’
‘Of course I did. He was a man much burdened with sin,’ the Frenchman replied. ‘I shrived him. I gave him ghostly advice.’
‘Did he tell you his true opinion of the Wyvern Company?’
‘He grew to dislike them intensely. He claimed he’d always believed their story about the Passio Christi but he came to the conclusion that they hadn’t found it but stolen it.’
‘A conclusion you helped him reach?’
‘I didn’t disagree with him.’
‘Then Kilverby,’ Cranston asked, ‘stopped bringing the Passio Christi here?’
‘Yes,’ Lord Walter replied, ‘last year it was brought by Crispin and Mistress Alesia.’
Athelstan tapped a sandalled foot against the floor.
‘You don’t believe us?’ Richer asked. ‘You think we lie?’
‘No,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘You’re not lying but you’re not telling the full truth either. Kilverby was a leading London merchant, hard of heart, keen of wit and cunning as a snake. He financed and profited from the Wyverns. He must have suspected their story about the bloodstone years ago so why the change now?’
‘God’s grace,’ Richer declared, ‘my counsel.’
‘No,’ Athelstan retorted, ‘something else.’
‘Such as?’ Richer had recovered his arrogance. ‘Why not ask Master Crispin?’
‘Did you give Crispin ghostly comfort too, Brother Richer?’
‘Master Crispin and Sir Robert were regular visitors here,’ Richer replied. ‘I counselled Sir Robert but only exchanged pleasantries with Crispin.’
‘Can any of you three,’ Cranston gestured around, ‘cast any light on Sir Robert’s murder or the disappearance of the Passio Christi?’ The coroner’s question was greeted with muttered denials. ‘And the murders here in your abbey?’
‘Sir John,’ Lord Walter retorted, ‘you know as much as we do.’
‘And the fire in Brokersby’s chamber?’
‘Most unfortunate.’ The abbot sighed.
‘Would he,’ Athelstan insisted, ‘have any reasons to keep oil in his chamber?’
‘Not that I am aware of.’
‘And the bedside candle?’
‘Visit our chandler, Brother Athelstan,’ Prior Alexander replied. ‘Such candles are dispensed to all chambers in the guest house — tall, thick, fashioned out of tallow but still the best. They are fixed on a stand with a cap. I don’t think such a fire could be caused even if this candle was knocked over. I mean,’ the prior flailed a hand, ‘such a conflagration.’
Athelstan glanced at Cranston and raised his eyes heavenwards.
‘We have to go.’ The coroner abruptly rose to his feet, bowed and, followed by Athelstan, walked to the door. Cranston abruptly turned.
‘Lord Abbot, your sister Eleanor Remiet — her maiden name?’
‘Why, the same as mine, Chobham. She married a Gascon, Velours, then remarried Master Remiet, who also died. My niece is the only child of her first marriage. Is that all?’
‘No.’ Athelstan pointed at Richer. ‘Brother, if I could have a word with you in private.’
The Frenchman looked as if he was going to object.
‘Just we two.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Sir John will not be present.’
Richer shrugged and followed them out down to the courtyard. Athelstan waited until Cranston was out of hearing and turned.
‘Brother Richer, are you an assassin?’
‘How dare you!’
‘The day Hyde was stabbed to death close to the watergate — you went down there that afternoon. You were seen carrying a sword.’
Richer’s lower lip trembled.
‘You took a sword out of the Barbican when the lazy brother-in-charge was elsewhere. You took it because of the killings here, whilst the quayside on a lonely mist-filled afternoon could be a dangerous place. You were going to meet a boatman from a foreign ship to give him whatever you really do send from this abbey. I suspect Hyde followed and spied on you close to the watergate.’
‘Are you accusing me of murdering him?’
‘No, but Hyde had also been followed. The mysterious assassin pierced Hyde’s belly and he gave the most hideous scream. You must have heard that. You told your boatman to wait and hurried back to find Hyde dying of his belly wound.’ Athelstan paused. ‘You really hate those archers, don’t you? Did Hyde, an old soldier, ask for the mercy cut or did you see him as the hated enemy? Did you stab him with that sword then carry it back to your friend the boatman?’
Richer refused to answer.
‘And then what? Did the boatman take you up or down river so you could make your own way back to the abbey?’ Athelstan drew closer. ‘You’re a very dangerous man, Brother Richer.’
‘Am I? A Benedictine?’
‘You came here undoubtedly with a letter of recommendation from the Abbot of St Calliste, but he’s your uncle. Are you really a monk, Richer, or a knight, a mailed knight in the guise of Benedictine, a man with one mission to secure the return of the Passio Christi?’ Athelstan paused. ‘I wonder, Richer. .’
‘What?’
‘Chalk? Did he fall ill from some malignant ill-humour or did you cause it with some poisonous potion? Did you prepare him for death then parade the horrors of judgement before him?’
Richer stepped back. ‘Friar, I do not know what you are talking about. Whatever I am, whatever you are, I know the law. Where is your proof, your evidence?’ Without waiting for a reply Richer turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.
Athelstan walked across to Cranston.
‘An upset monk? What did you say?’
‘Not for the moment, Sir John.’ Athelstan stamped his feet against the cold. ‘It’s time I rejoined my flock and shepherded them back to the watergate. Many thanks, Sir John.’
‘For what?’
‘You know what.’ Athelstan grasped the coroner’s hand and squeezed it. ‘They wanted to see me. I wanted to see them but it was not just that, was it? You told me what happened outside Kilverby’s mansion. The Upright Men questioned you about me being held here against my will. The Upright Men have many adherents in my parish; they’ll report back that I am safe and well. I just hope they remain so. Anyway, it’s time they were gone. We will talk later tonight.’
SIX
‘Hoodman blind: blindman’s bluff.’
Athelstan found his parishioners well away from the abbey. They had seen the glories of the church and were full of stories about the strange anchorite who’d swept by them like some baleful cloud to hide himself in his anker house. They had all supped well in the refectory on fish stuffed with almonds, lentil soup, rich beef stew, blancmange, sweet cakes and as many blackjacks of ale as they could down. Now, rosy cheeked with merriment, they had gathered around the new hog enclosure to stare at the abbey’s herd of fierce, snouting pigs with hairy, bristling ears and greedy maws. Powerful animals with quivering flanks and muscular legs, the hogs had turned their great enclosure and the surrounding stys into a reeking quagmire of cold, hard mud and steaming droppings. The hogs, aroused by the noise and chatter, crashed into the sturdy stockade much to the enjoyment of Athelstan’s parishioners who relished it, as Watkin slurred, better than any bear baiting. Athelstan, wary of these ferocious beasts, coaxed his little flock back up into the church. Cloaks were put back on, only to be taken off as Pike the ditcher announced he wished to personally inspect the abbey latrines.
At last, as the shadows crept from the corners, order was imposed. Athelstan lined them up. He glimpsed the bulging pockets in cloaks and gowns and guiltily realized that his parishioners had probably left little in the refectory and that included tankards, platters and anything else which moved. He led them down to the darkening quayside and, having given them parting words of advice, delivered what he called his most solemn blessing. He sadly watched the two barges manned by Moleskin and his comrades disappear into the mist, the good wishes of his parishioners carrying eerily towards him. Athelstan turned and walked back to where Cranston stood waiting for him by the watergate.