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.
‘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.’