‘Quite understandable: he would have found two guards asleep. He would probably welcome that and go back to his lover, Ronseval. Oh no, that didn’t pose any danger. The only real threat to you, Master Thorne, was someone actually finding you in the Barbican when the murders were taking place, though that would be nigh impossible because you were going to seal yourself in. Even afterwards, if someone had stopped you on the Palisade, it wouldn’t be proof enough. After all, you are the tavern master here.’ Athelstan breathed in deeply. ‘Oh no, what you plotted and planned was very devious. You arrive at the Barbican and the guards in the lower chamber welcome you; after all, you are the genial Mine Host making sure everyone is comfortable. You brought that tun of your special ale. You insist on sharing it out before climbing up into the storey above. Again, Marsen and Mauclerc cordially greet you. They like that, someone dancing attendance on them, eager to please. You are their host, a man who has to report to Master Thibault. You carry a gift and they are certainly deep in their cups. Of course, the exchequer chest lies open as you suspected it would be. Marsen had insisted that Hornsey unclasp the third lock – he and Mauclerc have unfastened the other two. I suspect even if it had been locked, once you had dealt with your victims you would have just forced the locks, but Marsen’s glorying in his greed made your task all the easier. You measure out the ale containing that powerful sleeping draught. You are serving a refreshing drink to men and women who have eaten your highly spiced capon, which would only sharpen their thirst. You tried to claim Marsen wouldn’t want cheap ale – he didn’t, but a tankard of your best is another matter. Toasts are exchanged and, within a very short while, your victims are deep in a drugged sleep. You then move swiftly. You leave the Barbican and bring in the hooked ladder as well as a small crossbow and quiver of bolts you’ve hidden close by. You also move a barrow or cart from that tangle of conveyances beneath the tarpaulin to stand just beneath the window. Once inside, you lock and bolt the main door and carry the ladder to the upper chamber and continue your plan. In both chambers you make it look as if the most violent conflict had occurred. Indeed, you will make people wonder if there was one attacker involved or more. You confuse matters even more by drawing the weapons of your sleeping victims and placing them nearby. You ensure that the blades rasp together in case they are closely scrutinized.’ Athelstan gathered himself as he approached the black heart of this matter. ‘God forgive you,’ he whispered. ‘You then carry out dreadful murder in different ways, inflicting on each victim a mortal wound. Tax collectors, archers and whores, every single soul in that Barbican you slaughter without mercy.’ Athelstan sat staring at the accused. ‘Now you must cover your sin, you make sure the tankards in both chambers are clean. You pour the tainted drink into the great water bucket on the lavarium. You swill out those tankards and use the ordinary ale to refill them. Of course, once I’d left, you made sure that the bucket of dirty water was taken and poured into the river. You’ve achieved what you wanted – all traces of any sleeping potion are removed. The taunting verses about being numbered and weighed in the balance, purportedly the words of Beowulf, are pinned to the inside of the window shutter.’
‘And the money?’ Thorne broke in. ‘How was I supposed to-’
‘I wondered about that, Master Thorne, I really did. It was far too dangerous to carry a clinking sack across the Palisade and into the tavern. For a while I suspected you concealed it in the piggery or somewhere along the Palisade, but that would be highly dangerous. You suspected Thibault and others might come hunting for the lost treasure. If it was found outside the Barbican, somewhere in your tavern or the land around it, suspicion would naturally fall on you. So I concluded that the treasure is still in the Barbican.’
‘Nonsense! The fire …’ Thorne fell quiet, almost squirming in the chair.
‘Oh, Master Thorne, what did you just nearly say? That you wouldn’t hide your plunder in a place you tried to burn?’
‘You are tricking me. You trip me up with words.’
‘No, Thorne, you stumble over your own lies. You started that fire. I saw the scorch marks against the wall where it began. I smelt the oil. I asked myself then who could so easily bring oil into the Barbican?’
‘Someone coming in from the river. Many people wander here, trespassers on tavern land. Anyone of these could have brought in the oil.’
‘But you did realize that the fire was deliberately started by oil being poured?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Well, yes.’
‘But on the afternoon when the fire occurred, when I escaped and came here into the Dark Parlour, you claimed it must have been an accident.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘But even then, as owner of the Barbican, you must have wondered what caused a fire to rage so violently.’ Thorne just glared back. ‘Anyway,’ Athelstan continued serenely, ‘you must have searched the Barbican after the fire and, like me, smelt the oil?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you, the owner, must have realized that there was no oil in the Barbican to begin with. I certainly didn’t see any. It must have been specially brought in, so the fire was no accident but an attempt to murder me.’ Thorne just blinked, wetting his lips.
‘In which case,’ Athelstan spread his hands, ‘why didn’t you inform me, send an urgent message to St Erconwald’s or to Sir John at the Guildhall? After all, you did assure me it was probably an accident, then you discovered that the opposite was the case.’
‘I am sorry, I made a mistake.’ Thorne blinked. ‘I am not too sure whether I really did know it was oil.’
‘Master Thorne, your attempt to murder me was a terrible mistake. You didn’t think it through, or perhaps you did but wagered I would never survive to question you. I will go back to the beginning. You must have gone into the Barbican to satisfy your own curiosity about why your property had been burnt. In fact, you did more than that; a great deal of the wreckage had been removed.’
‘I hired la-labourers,’ Thorne stammered.
‘Which labourers?’ Cranston roared as the realization dawned on the coroner that the accused had almost murdered his beloved Athelstan. ‘Which labourers, Thorne, and I want every detail!’
‘I forget, I forget,’ Thorne mumbled. He sat, head down, and, when he glanced up, Athelstan caught the man’s sheer desperation. ‘Brother Athelstan, Sir John, I am confused. If I, as you allege, stole Marsen’s treasure and hid it in the Barbican, where, according you, it still remains hidden, then why should I deliberately start a fire in the same place?’
‘Oh, for many reasons. Never mind my murder, you deliberately made the Barbican a ruin, derelict, a place of little use to anyone. After the fire, who would go there? Which is why you insisted on clearing the wreckage yourself. You didn’t bring in any labourers, Mooncalf has informed me of that and Mooncalf would dare not lie to me. Oh, before the fire you allowed the likes of Paston and Brother Marcel to climb to the top of the tower to view the river.’ Athelstan pulled a face. ‘To try and stop them would have created suspicion, but of course,’ Athelstan lowered his voice, ‘I was different. You resented my snooping, my prying and, above all, me going anywhere near the Barbican, where the gold and silver you stole, held in a leather sack, has been pushed deep into that latrine, the ancient sewer beneath the garderobe.’
‘But the fire?’
‘The fire did not reach it. The bag is thrust down deep in a pit, sunk amongst the most filthy refuse. No one would think of searching for it there, especially now after the Barbican has been reduced to a ruin. Time would pass and, when all was quiet and memories faded, you would dig deep and remove what you had stolen.’ Athelstan stared at the taverner, who now kept glancing over his shoulder at the door. The friar had wondered if Eleanor Thorne was implicated but he concluded that she was not, which is why Thorne had told her the tale about searching for the intruder in the stables. However, did Eleanor herself secretly suspect her husband?