The admiral spread his hands. ‘Sir John, ask your questions. This time I will tell you the truth.’
‘Good, you disliked Roffel?’
‘No, Sir John, I hated him with every fibre of my being as a pirate, as a killer and a degenerate. In my eyes Roffel received his just deserts.’
‘Were you involved in his death?’
‘By the sacrament, no!’
‘Did you know about his attack on the fishing smack between Calais and Dieppe?’
‘No, Sir John, I did not. Once at sea, my captains are free to act as they wish. Their task is quite simple – to seek out and destroy as many of the enemy as possible. No questions are asked and, if they are, they rarely receive an honest answer.’
‘And on the day the God’s Bright Light came to anchor?’
Crawley shrugged. ‘I went aboard. I saw Roffel’s stinking corpse. I had a few words with Bracklebury and came back here.’
‘You sensed nothing wrong?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes, there was a feeling of unease. Bracklebury refused to meet my eye and seemed to resent my presence on board.’
Cranston cleared his throat and took one deep gulp from his goblet. Athelstan watched him warily. Sir John was already deep in his cups, his red face was now fiery, his whiskers bristling.
‘Sir Jacob,’ Cranston boomed, ‘there are two matters about which you have lied.’ He held a hand up as Crawley flinched at the insult. ‘Yes, sir, I say lie because I am your friend, not because I am a coroner. You told us you did not go back to the God’s Bright Light that night. We now know you did approach the ship, sometime after midnight, and spent some time there.’
Crawley chewed the corner of his lip. He played with a piece of crust on his trancher. ‘I am admiral of this flotilla. Roffel’s death disturbed me and Bracklebury’s suspicious conduct only deepened my mistrust. I saw the crew leave and I was concerned that just Bracklebury and two others stayed on board.’ He twisted his shoulders. ‘At first I accepted that. The passwords were carried, the signal lamps shown, the ships seemed quiet. But while I was on deck, I noticed light from the quayside signalling the God’s Bright Light.’ Crawley paused. ‘You said there were two matters?’
‘Aye!’ Cranston snapped. ‘The whore Bernicia came down to the quayside and hailed the God’s Bright Light. Bracklebury drove her off with a stream of curses. Surely you heard their altercation?’
‘Yes, yes, I did,’ Crawley answered wearily. ‘I heard that and I also saw a lantern blinking through the mist from the quayside. I became suspicious, so I went across. On board I found everything in order. The two sailors were on watch. Bracklebury was in the cabin, he was eating ship’s biscuit and drinking quite heavily, but he wasn’t drunk. I asked him about the signal, but he just smiled. He said it was from a whore he had befriended and this often happened when he stayed aboard on watch. He was polite in rather an offensive way, smirking as if treasuring some secret.’
‘How was the cabin?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Did you notice anything untoward?’
‘No. I went back on deck. I talked to the other two sailors.’ Crawley shrugged. ‘You know how seamen are, Sir John? They were awake and on watch but they’d made themselves comfortable. One was playing a game of dice against himself. The other joked about the different ways he would take the first whore he met ashore.’
‘So there was nothing wrong?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes there was, but I can’t put my finger on it. Something untoward. Something out of the ordinary. I went below deck. All was dark and silent, but I could see nothing wrong so I returned.’ The admiral sipped his wine. ‘The rest you know.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘When daylight came and the sailor returned and found Bracklebury and the watch missing, I became frightened. Something was dreadfully wrong and I did not want to take the blame so I lied.’
Athelstan sat back, cradling the cup between his hands. He remembered the entries at the back of Roffel’s book of hours.
‘Tell me, Sir Jacob, do the letters S L mean anything to you?’
The admiral shook his head. ‘No, I have told you the truth. I committed no crime.’
‘Oh, but you did,’ Athelstan replied. Even Cranston looked at him in astonishment.
Sir Jacob’s face paled. ‘What do you mean?’ he spluttered.
‘Well, a sort of crime,’ Athelstan continued. ‘You broke into St Mary Magdalene church. You plucked Roffel’s corpse from its coffin, cut its throat and left the proclamation ASSASSIN pinned to its chest.’
Athelstan watched the admiral carefully. He had reached this conclusion only as Crawley had given vent to his feelings about Roffel.
‘You have no proof of that,’ Crawley said.
‘Oh, come, Sir Jacob, let’s examine it logically. First, if any of the crew of God’s Bright Light had wished to abuse their dead captain’s remains, they would have done so on the return journey. But once Roffel’s corpse was removed from the ship they were only too pleased to see the back of it. Secondly, whoever perpetrated the crime was strong and fit. Now where would we find such a person?’ Athelstan looked Crawley straight in the eye. ‘Emma Roffel hated her husband, but she lacked the skill and strength to scale a church wall, force a window, pluck a man’s corpse out of a coffin and place it in a sanctuary chair. And, in any case, why should she? Thirdly, you, Sir Jacob, had the motive. You are the only one who holds against Roffel a specific crime – the murder of a kinsman.’ Athelstan smiled and relaxed. ‘You are, undoubtedly, innocent of Roffel’s murder. But you felt cheated. So you carried out your own trial then passed sentence.’
‘It could have been Bracklebury,’ Cranston smacked his lips and gazed blearily at the friar.
Athelstan frowned at him. ‘Sir John, Master Bracklebury has spent most of his time hiding from everyone. Why should he risk all on such a crime? I am right am I not, Sir Jacob?’
The admiral picked up his cup and glared defiantly at Athelstan.
‘Yes, Brother, you are. I was glad Roffel died. He was a murderer. On the day his corpse was taken ashore, I sent a member of my crew to find out where the body had been taken. He returned saying it now lay before the high altar in St Mary Magdalene church, but that Roffel’s widow was with it.’ Crawley slammed the cup down. ‘So I decided to wait.’ He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘What I did was wrong but Roffel deserved it!’
‘Tush! Tush!’ Cranston placed his hand over that of his former comrade. ‘Sir Jacob, you have told the truth?’
‘Jack, I have. I swear that!’
Any further conversation was cut short by a bump alongside and the sound of raised voices. Men ran along the deck outside, then the cabin door was thrown open and an officer rushed in.
‘Sir Jacob, my apologies.’
‘What is it, man?’
‘You had best come on deck, sir.’
Sir Jacob, with Cranston and Athelstan in tow, followed him out. Darkness had fallen and the admiral’s words had proved prophetic: the river mist now boiled and swirled like steam from a cauldron, obscuring the bows of the ship. The river itself was hidden, almost as if a heavy cloud had descended, cutting the ship off and shrouding it under a thick wall of silence and mystery. Athelstan peered through the gloom. Now and again he could see lights from the other ships. Then he heard the sound that had caused the alarm.
‘What the bloody hell is it?’ Cranston slurred.
Athelstan made his way cautiously to the ship’s side.
‘Bells, Sir John. Church bells sounding the alarm.’
‘There’s something else as well,’ the officer who had interrupted their meal shouted from the other side of the ship. ‘Sir Jacob, a boatman’s here. He calls himself Moleskin!’
Athelstan crossed the slippery surface of the deck and peered over the side. He could just make out Moleskin’s cheery face in the light from the lamp the boatman held up.
‘Moleskin, what are you doing?’ Athelstan cried.
‘Father, I knew you were here. I went across to the city side and they told me you were aboard the Holy Trinity.’