‘Yes, yes,’ Coffrey conceded, looking sheepishly around, ‘Roffel was not a man to care about such niceties.’
‘And how-?’ Athelstan broke off as Cranston leaned back in his chair and gave a loud snore. Athelstan gazed in bewilderment at his fat friend, then blushed as he heard a snigger further down the table.
‘The fellow’s drunk!’ Cabe whispered.
‘Sir John is not drunk!’ Athelstan snapped. ‘But tired, exhausted after his labours. So, I ask my question of you, Master Cabe, and I’ll ask it more bluntly, do you know if more was taken from that vessel than a tun of wine and some papers?’
Cabe shook his head.
‘You are sure?’
Cabe raised his right hand. ‘I will take my oath upon it. As Peverill said, the whole business was suspicious. Roffel seemed as pleased as a pig in shit though the devil knows why.’
‘Who here,’ Athelstan asked, ‘would have access to Roffel’s cabin? Or, to put it more bluntly, who had the opportunity to put arsenic into the flask he carried?’
‘Only Bracklebury,’ Cabe replied. The captain was very jealous of his flask. When he wasn’t carrying it he hid it away.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Perhaps we should ask Bracklebury?’
‘Oh, I will.’
Cranston opened his eyes, smacking his lips.
‘Bracklebury is now a hunted man, Master Cabe.’ The coroner smiled at the astonishment on their faces. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, last night Roffel’s whore Bernicia was brutally murdered in her house – or should I say his house? Anyway, the place was ransacked as if the murderer was looking for something. We believe that earlier in the evening Bernicia met a sailor, perhaps Hubert Bracklebury, at a secret drinking-place and that they left together.’
‘Bracklebury’s still alive?’ Emma Roffel whispered.
At the end of the table Crawley stirred. ‘But, Sir John, I thought he was either dead or had fled. Why jump ship and hide in London?’
‘Perhaps you could help us there, Sir Jacob,’ Cranston suggested, his face devoid of any compassion for his one-time friend.
‘What do you mean?’ Crawley stuttered.
‘You claimed to have stayed aboard your own flagship, ‘the Holy Trinity, the night Bracklebury disappeared.’
Crawley abruptly got to his feet. ‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan, a word in private?’
Athelstan looked at Cranston, who shrugged.
‘Perhaps outside,’ Cranston murmured.
He and Athelstan rose and went out into the draughty corridor outside the room. Sir Jacob joined them, closing the door firmly behind him.
‘I know what you are going to say,’ Crawley stammered. ‘But, Sir John, you must believe me. I have an honest tongue, but I refuse to be interrogated in front of my men.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘For God’s sake, I have my honour. Perhaps you and Brother Athelstan will join me aboard ship for supper tonight?’
‘If you serve good food,’ Cranston replied, ‘we’ll come for that, as well as the truth. Now, come, I still have questions to ask the rest.’
They went back into the chamber where their forced guests sat in sullen silence. Athelstan could understand Emma Roffel’s isolation but he sensed also that the seamen had a great deal to hide.
‘We know,’ Athelstan began, as Sir Jacob and Cranston took their seats, ‘that something mysterious happened aboard the God’s Bright Light. Peverill’s story about the crew being frightened of ghosts may be accurate – Bracklebury wanted them off the ship for his own purposes. Using a lantern, he certainly sent signals to someone hiding on the quayside. And who could that have been?’
‘This is monstrous!’ Cabe blustered. ‘Bracklebury was first mate! He ordered us off the ship and we went. Ask my companions. We spent the night roistering together. I’ll be honest, we toasted Roffel’s death. But none of us went back to that quayside.’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Cranston said testily. ‘But the mystery remains, Master Cabe. I think Bracklebury stayed on board to look for something.’
‘Such as what?’ Vincent Minter, the ship’s surgeon, who had sat tight-lipped throughout, now asserted himself. ‘Such as what, Sir John? You apparently know something we don’t, so why not tell us what it is, instead of trying to trap us?’
Cranston’s white moustache and beard seemed to take on a life of their own. Athelstan placed his quill down and tapped the coroner gently on the wrist.
‘Let me tell them,’ he said. His glance swept around the table. ‘We know, from another source, that Captain Roffel stole a great deal of silver from that fishing smack. This treasure had been sent by the exchequer to the king’s agents in Calais, as bribes or as payment for spies working in French-held towns. Roffel knew it was being sent. That’s why he attacked the vessel and killed its crew, including two of the crown’s good servants.’
Athelstan studied his listeners’ faces closely. He sensed that he was edging slowly towards the truth.
‘Roffel was happy with his crime,’ Athelstan continued. ‘He took that silver aboard the God’s Bright Light and hid it. We think that Bracklebury, after Roffel’s death, was looking for it.’ Athelstan picked up his quill and tapped it against the parchment. ‘Now, I thought, given all these facts – and they are facts – that Bracklebury may have seized the silver and fled. But this seems not to be the case. Apparently Bracklebury found nothing and fled the ship, perhaps after killing his two shipmates. I think that he believed he had been tricked and his suspicion fell on the whore Bernicia, hence the murder and the ransacking of Bernicia’s house.’ Athelstan spread his hands and smiled. That may only be conjecture, but I am certain Roffel stole that silver.’ He shrugged. ‘After that come the questions. Who killed Roffel? Where is the silver now? Why did Bracklebury flee? Why did he kill Bernicia?’ He stared down the table at Emma Roffel. ‘Mistress Roffel, now you see why you were summoned here.’
The woman gazed disdainfully around at her late husband’s shipmates. ‘Brother Athelstan, I cannot help you. These matters are beyond my ken. My husband was secretive, if not sinister, in his dealings. For all I know he might well have wealth hidden all over the city.’
‘Tell me.’ Cranston leaned forward. ‘Bracklebury brought your husband’s corpse and his possessions to the house. Is that correct?’
She nodded.
‘Did Bracklebury say anything to you?’
‘No, he was rather silent, secretive and treated me with little respect. If Tabitha hadn’t intervened, he would have left both my husband’s corpse and his bag of possessions out in the street.’ She lowered her head. ‘Indeed, I saw him spit in the direction of the body.’ She glowered at Cranston. ‘Perhaps it was Bracklebury who broke into St Mary Magdalene church?’
Cranston leaned back in his chair. ‘Muddy waters,’ he murmured. ‘And the more we stir, the more dirt rises to the surface.’ He wagged a finger. ‘But let me assure you of this. Bracklebury is hiding in the city. Somehow he believes he has been cheated.’ He let his words hang like a noose in the air. ‘I think,’ he added softly, ‘that Bracklebury may well kill again. Mistress Roffel, gentlemen, we are finished with you. Sir Jacob, Brother Athelstan and I will be your guests tonight.’
The coroner took another ostentatious swig from his wineskin to show his disdain for the seamen, all of whom he believed to be liars. He put the stopper back, not even bothering to look at Crawley, and never stirred until the door closed behind his reluctant guests.
‘Well, what do you think, Brother?’
‘A muddle of lies.’ Athelstan got to his feet. ‘We should accept Sir Jacob Crawley’s invitation. Oh, Sir John, you’ve seen to the other business?’
‘Yes.’ Cranston tapped his belly. Tomorrow Theobald de Troyes is taking a short journey into the country. He will leave his mansion in the care of his steward, servants and maids.’
‘Good!’ Athelstan bit his lip in annoyance. These lies and mysteries are beginning to vex me, Sir John. I suggest we go down to the harbour now. That misnamed ship the God’s Bright Light holds the key to this mystery.’