‘I enjoy looking at ships and talking about them,’ Marcel countered. ‘I have done so since I was a boy. We all have our interests. You, I understand, are fascinated by the stars.’
‘No, Brother Marcel, your interest isn’t shipping, your interest is in spying. Let me continue. On the night of the murders at The Candle-Flame you were lodged at St Mary Overy. Earlier that day Ruat, a Hainault sailor and your emissary, or at least one of them, to Constable Clisson, came here.’ Athelstan glanced up. Marcel started plucking at his robe. Athelstan hid his quiet satisfaction; he had gambled, and would do so again, that Marcel knew nothing about the attack on Ruat, his brutal murder and Thibault’s seizure of that most incriminating document.
‘Ostensibly Ruat had been visiting the Shrine of the Virgin of the Narrow Seas; in fact, he visited St Mary Overy to collect this.’ He pushed Thibault’s documents towards the Papal Inquisitor. Marcel took one look, desperate to hide his agitation. ‘You gave Ruat a comprehensive report on shipping and the naval defences along the Thames. You also gave him a purse of silver. By chance Ruat came here to celebrate his good fortune. He drank, became merry and hurried across the river to his ship berthed at Queenhithe. Unfortunately, within a short distance of that vessel, Ruat was assaulted, robbed and killed, his corpse thrown into the river. The perpetrators were caught and hanged out of hand. Ruat’s dead body was dragged from the Thames. Your report to Clisson was found on him, waterlogged but still decipherable.’
‘It was not mine. I don’t know …’
‘It’s obvious that Ruat’s death and Thibault’s discovery remained unknown to you. You thought Ruat was safely despatched back across the Narrow Seas. Nor did you realize that, later that same day, a drinking dirge was held in Ruat’s memory here at The Candle-Flame.’
Marcel stared back, his shock obvious.
‘As for proof,’ Athelstan pressed on, ‘well, we could compare your handwriting with that of the report. I am sure there is a very strong resemblance.’
‘Nonsense!’
‘Oh, there is more than just handwriting. At the end of this document,’ Athelstan kept his tone conversational, ‘there is a sentence. Thibault deciphered and translated it as “I reside at The Candle-Flame, 16 February”,’ Athelstan shrugged, ‘the same evening the murders took place here. Thibault, however, was incorrect. The manuscript was water-stained. Your use of a cipher and the usual abbreviations of a trained chancery clerk make its study more difficult. Thibault thought you wrote resideo – I reside; in actual fact you use the future tense, residebo – I shall reside – a simple, understandable mistake. Thibault also overlooked another word, because it was faded and abbreviated, the Latin word post – after. Once we correct this sentence it reads, “I shall reside at The Candle-Flame after 16 February.” I investigated this with Mine Host. I have closely inspected the tavern ledger. You, Marcel, are the only person who, days earlier, hired a chamber for after 16 February. You hired a very comfortable one. You wanted to make sure that you would be well housed and fed.’ Athelstan paused. ‘I can show you the ledger?’ Marcel simply waved a hand. ‘There is more. You are supposed to be a Papal Inquisitor, that’s the proclaimed reason for your arrival in this kingdom. By your own admission you have a special interest in the Lollard sect. However, when I ask Lollards about you, including one imprisoned and condemned to death in the Bocardo, they make no mention of you. I am sure, and I can check this, that Master Thibault must have told you about Sparwell. What a splendid opportunity to find out more. You could have visited him.’ Athelstan paused. ‘Indeed,’ he smiled, ‘if you had, Blanchard would have met you. He would have been prepared for the imposter which led to two prisoners escaping and the keeper himself and some of his turnkeys being brutally slaughtered.’
‘I heard about that,’ Marcel snapped. ‘Such men should be rigorously punished.’
‘That’s not your concern,’ Athelstan declared. ‘My point is that you have shown no real interest in the Lollards. That’s not just my opinion but that of the Bishop of London’s curia. Of course, you believed no one would dare challenge a Papal Inquisitor going about his business. My question is very simple. What business? According to all the evidence it is English shipping rather than English heresy. Finally,’ Athelstan glanced down as if he was studying a document, when in fact he was quietly praying that Marcel would step into the trap, ‘what you also don’t know is that Master William Foulkes once served in Brabant as a crossbowman. On the afternoon Ruat came here to celebrate in the Dark Parlour, he struck up a friendship with Foulkes, whom he regarded as a Brabantine, an ally of Hainault. Ruat informed Foulkes how you had given him the silver-’
‘Ruat couldn’t have …’ Marcel stopped his outburst and closed his eyes, a gesture of defeat. Athelstan sat watching the flame on the nearest candle burn away another ring. He allowed the silence to deepen, broken by a knock at the door. Sir Simon Burley came in. The knight placed a sheaf of documents before Athelstan and left just as quietly.
‘You were going to say, Brother Marcel, how Ruat could not possibly know because you met him deep in the shadows of St Mary Overy. Yes? But who would know the truth about that except you?’ Athelstan stared down at the documents, sifting through them quickly. ‘We have ransacked your chamber and been through your chancery satchel. No, please spare us your protests. And what do we find? What looks like an innocent list of ships, including Sir Oliver Beresford’s great new war cog out of Yarmouth now berthed at Baynard Castle. So …’ Athelstan gestured at Marcel.
‘I admit,’ Marcel waved his hands, ‘that in the interest of a lasting peace between England and France, I decided to take careful note of England’s naval strength whilst here on papal business. My motive was to discourage the French from any hostile action.’ He paused at Cranston’s snorting laughter. ‘I appeal to a higher court. I plead benefit of clergy. I demand that as a subject of the king of France I be returned safely to that kingdom or to one of its officers here in England. Finally, I am a Dominican-’
‘You are a spy!’ Cranston broke in. ‘You will be detained as such until His Grace, Richard King of England, Ireland, Scotland and France,’ the coroner emphasized the last word, ‘decides what to do. Brother Athelstan?’
The friar summoned Tiptoft, who brought back Sir Simon and a military escort. Cranston gestured that the Papal Inquisitor should go with them. Once their footsteps in the gallery outside faded, Cranston and Athelstan left the table and quickly ate some of the food the friar had bought together with white wine in a sealed jug, a gift from The Piebald.