‘Very well,’ Athelstan breathed, ‘let us return to my chamber. I suggest you take the one next to it. We’ll have something to sup. Let the bells of the abbey clang for divine office. Sir John, God has more pressing work for us. He wants us to search out the children of Cain and bring them before the bar of his justice.’ Athelstan escorted Cranston to the buttery then back to his warm chamber. He bolted the door, prepared his writing tray and stared at his portly friend now sitting bootless on the edge of the bed.
‘Item:’ Athelstan began, ‘The murder of Kilverby and the disappearance of the Passio Christi? Any thoughts?’
Cranston shook his head.
‘Neither have I.’ Athelstan sighed. ‘We are assured that chamber was secured locked and no one entered or left. Nevertheless, Kilverby was poisoned, the Passio Christi taken. We know the merchant was visited earlier that day. He showed the two monks the Passio Christi which was to be brought here on the morrow. The bloodstone was displayed in the solar. Kilverby, escorted by Crispin, then took it back to his chamber. Everything must have been in order. The bloodstone was locked away. We know that, we saw the locked coffer. Kilverby kept the keys round his neck. The chancery was also secured. Kilverby joined his family for supper before returning to his chamber. Only then does hell’s black spy, the killer, manifest himself, or herself.’ He added wistfully: ‘Certainly some hell-born soul contrived a trap which created this mystery.’
‘I talked to Crispin,’ Cranston declared. ‘I did the same with Jumble-guts.’
‘Who?’
‘One of my spies along Cheapside, called so because his belly rumbles like a drum. Both Crispin and Jumble-guts sing the same hymn. It would be almost impossible, as well as highly dangerous, to try and sell the bloodstone on the open market.’
‘So why was it stolen in the first place?’ Athelstan exclaimed. ‘My mistake, Sir John. We should discover as much as we can about that sacred ruby but. .’
Athelstan picked up his quill pen, stared at its plume then the point, dipped it in the ink and became lost in his own thoughts.
‘Friar?’
‘I’m thinking about the attacks on me, Sir John. No,’ Athelstan shook his head, ‘I cannot say much. I can only remember fragments that I cannot properly explain.’
‘Such as?’ Cranston demanded.
‘Oh, just who was where when that crossbow was loosed. The speed with which my assailant entered the charnel house and extinguished those torches just within the doorway.’ Athelstan shook his head. ‘Never mind. What we do have in this abbey is the Wyvern Company disliked and barely tolerated. Abbot Walter may have confidence in their presence if his abbey is ever attacked, yet I am sure he would like to rid himself of the old soldiers. They’re an embarrassment and possible provocation to the Upright Men who may have dispatched assassins to kill Hanep, Hyde and Brokersby. Our abbot is supposed to pay the Upright Men protection money, but for his own secret reasons, has withheld this.’ Athelstan stroked his face with the plume of his quill pen. ‘By the way, Sir John, you say you recognized Eleanor Remiet?’
‘I did, I’m sure.’ Cranston tapped his feet on the floor. ‘God send me his grace. I recognized her face but it’s years, decades ago.’ He glanced up. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘At first I wondered if Isabella Velours was the abbot’s mistress. Of course that’s not true. However, I believe she is not his niece but his daughter.’
‘What?’
‘Nor do I believe Eleanor Remiet is his sister.’ Athelstan continued: ‘Although I accept she’s Isabella’s mother. I am sure if we made careful search in certain parish and manor records we’d uncover a legion of lies regarding those precious three.’
‘We could do that.’
‘Come, Sir John, it would take months. Moreover, Lord Walter’s private life is not our concern, even if our abbot doesn’t give a fig about anything except that swan and his two women.’
‘You’ve little evidence for what you say.’
‘Sir John, why should the abbot be so concerned about his niece? No, Isabella is his daughter and, more importantly, she has just come of age and. .’
‘Needs a dowry,’ Cranston breathed.
‘Hence the money to the Upright Men being drained away along with whatever else Abbot Walter can seize.’
‘Do you think the Wyvern Company found out about Isabella?’
‘I doubt it.’ Athelstan stopped writing the cipher he always used to record his thoughts. ‘Quite honestly, I don’t think the Wyvern Company give a fig about Isabella being Abbot Walter’s niece or his daughter. They are more concerned about themselves.’
‘And Prior Alexander?’
‘Basically a good man with sympathies for the common folk. The reception of my parishioners was his work. I must thank him. We know one of his kinsman, a hedge priest, was hanged out of hand by the Wyvern Company. Prior Alexander may want revenge. He is still vigorous, able to wield a sword. He dislikes the Wyverns, whilst he was here when all three died.’ Athelstan put his tray aside, rose and stretched.
‘Do you think he suspects the truth about Isabella Velours?’
‘Perhaps, but Lord Walter can also trap him. Prior Alexander has, I believe, an inordinate love for Richer. The truth behind that relationship is difficult to discern but I suspect Prior Alexander indulges Richer. When they go into the city the prior is willing to take his young friend down to the quayside to search for foreign ships. Indeed,’ Athelstan sat down, ‘it is Richer who is the key to this mystery. He was sent here, I am certain, by his uncle, the Abbot of St Calliste, to retrieve the Passio Christi. Has he suborned Prior Alexander in order to achieve this? Perhaps. Did he or both of them kill the old soldiers including Chalk? I cannot say. What I am certain of is that Richer lies at the root of this. Look,’ Athelstan got to his feet, unbolted the door and stared out. The gallery outside was deserted. He could hear the plain chant from the church as the full choir intoned the psalm: ‘The Lord trains my arms for war, he prepares my hands for battle.’ Yes, he does, Athelstan reflected, closing the door. ‘Sir John, look at the facts. Kilverby once financed the Wyvern Company. He held the Passio Christi without protest. Time passes. Death beckons. Kilverby wants to prepare for judgement. The Wyvern Company move here. Kilverby visits them but he encounters Richer. He also meets another man frightened of approaching death, a defrocked priest, Master William Chalk. Oh yes, he was, remember?’
Cranston nodded.
‘To move to the arrow point. Apparently Richer put the fear of God into both men, especially Kilverby. He points out the terrible sacrilege which took place after Poitiers. Kilverby breaks from the likes of Wenlock. He wants nothing more to do with them. He’ll do penance, perform reparation, give up his luxurious life and go on pilgrimage. On the very day he departs he will make decisive restitution. He will leave the Passio Christi at a Benedictine Abbey.’
‘But that doesn’t explain his murder?’
‘No, Sir John. It certainly does not. Moreover, as you discovered during your last visit to Kilverby’s mansion, what did compel this hard-headed merchant to change, to want to rid himself of a sacred bloodstone he’d blithely held for years? Richer’s persuasive tongue? I don’t think so. In my view Kilverby saw or heard something which literally put the fear of God into him and that’s what Richer exploited so successfully. However, what that was and how Kilverby came to be murdered? I admit, there’s no logical answer to either of these questions.’