‘No, I find it fascinating, I mean, man’s absorption with all aspects of loving, including watching others …’
‘Though who likes to watch whom?’ Joycelina murmured coyly. ‘Well, I just cannot comment.’
‘In the end, what Joycelina and I are saying,’ Mistress Cheyne added, ‘is that we know about the revelry, but why Amaury hanged himself or Lebarge fled this house for sanctuary in your church, Brother Athelstan …’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Brother, it’s common tittle-tattle in the taproom.’
‘What intrigues me …’ Cranston slurped from his miraculous wineskin and offered it to the ladies, who refused; Athelstan, hungry and thirsty, took a sip.
‘Sir John?’ Mistress Cheyne demanded.
‘What I would like to know is why?’ Cranston pushed the wine stopper back in. ‘Yes, why should Amaury dress himself as if to leave before hanging himself? He was found booted and cloaked?’
‘Yes, he was,’ both women agreed.
‘But Sir John,’ Mistress Cheyne declared, ‘as to why, I do not know. Perhaps some evil humour, some sickness of the night seized poor Amaury’s soul? It defies all logic. If he was of sound mind and keen wit this might not have happened …’ Her voice trailed off.
Athelstan moved restlessly on the chancery stool. He was about to enter the maze of murder, to take a path which might lead him to the truth; nevertheless, that path would twist and turn, be fraught with danger. He needed to reflect very keenly on the answers he and Cranston had received since they had arrived here. Athelstan’s suspicions about Whitfield’s death had been sharply honed. The friar was certain that the dead clerk had been terrified out of his wits, but why hang himself as he had, in this place and at that time?
‘Joycelina,’ Athelstan continued, ‘you say you left Whitfield in his chamber, and he locked and bolted the door behind you.’ She nodded. ‘Did anything untoward happen during the night?’
Joycelina glanced at her mistress, who shook her head vigorously.
‘Nothing,’ Mistress Cheyne whispered, ‘on my oath, ask the others.’
‘And this morning?’
‘Our guests were summoned to break their fast at eight. Griffin, Master of the Hall, rang the bell. He then went along the galleries knocking on each door. All came down except Whitfield. At the time, nothing untoward was heard or seen. Eventually we noticed Amaury was absent so I despatched Joycelina to rouse him.’ She nudged her maid.
‘I went upstairs,’ Joycelina declared. ‘I knocked on the door but I could tell when I leaned against it that it was securely locked and bolted. I called his name, I knocked again. I stared through the eyelet and the keyhole; both were blocked. I grew concerned, so I went downstairs. Mistress Cheyne was in the refectory we use for both our guests and the household.’
‘Joycelina told me what had happened and I followed her up the stairs. Oh, no,’ Mistress Cheyne’s fingers flew to her lips, ‘I first told Master Griffin to keep everyone at the table, not to alarm them. I took Foxley, our Master of Horse, with me. I sent Joycelina ahead to quieten the maids on the other galleries as I had already decided what to do.’
‘What was that?’
‘Brother Athelstan, in the Golden Oliphant men lock themselves in chambers with our young maids. Sometimes, rarely, matters of the bed get out of hand. We have a makeshift battering ram, a yule log with handles along its sides. I told Foxley to fetch that along with two of the labourers working on the trellis fencing in the garden.’
‘And the mastiffs?’
‘Dawn had broken, Foxley had secured them in their kennels. We went out into the garden and summoned two of the labourers – they are still out there. We went up to Amaury Whitfield’s chamber. I knocked on the door – no answer. I looked through the eyelet and keyhole: both were sealed. Foxley did the same. I ordered the labourers to break down the door. Joycelina, who later joined us in the gallery after I shouted for her, was correct: the door was obviously locked, bolted at both top and bottom. Foxley supervised the labourers and at last the door broke away. The light in the chamber was very poor, almost pitch black. The candles had burnt out and the window was firmly shuttered. I told the labourers to take the ram back into the garden and instruct Master Griffin to keep everyone in the refectory. I had already glimpsed poor Amaury’s body creaking on the end of that rope, head and neck all twisted. I ordered Foxley to cross and open the shutters. He did so, then the window. Joycelina and I entered the chamber. We waited until there was enough light. I wanted to …’ Her voice faltered.
‘We realized there was nothing we could do.’ Joycelina took up the story. ‘So we went downstairs. By then of course everyone was roused and fearful. Lebarge had apparently grown very frightened. He pushed past Master Griffin and fled the refectory. Foxley and I went back up the stairs. Lebarge was standing in the death chamber, just staring at his master’s corpse. He was distraught, shoulders shaking. He left, hurrying down the stairs. By then the Golden Oliphant was in uproar. Mistress Elizabeth sent messengers to the Savoy Palace and the Tower to give Master Thibault the news.’ She spread her hands. ‘The rest you know.’
‘And Lebarge?’
‘In all the commotion,’ Mistress Cheyne replied, ‘he simply slipped out, disappeared. I didn’t see him go but he definitely fled.’
‘Yes, he certainly did,’ Athelstan agreed. ‘He arrived in St Erconwald’s carrying nothing. No possessions except a knife and the clothes he was wearing.’
‘Brother, I cannot explain it; he was here then he was gone. We thought he may have locked himself in his chamber or, consumed with grief, gone out into the garden. We were all distracted, especially when Master Thibault and his retinue arrived. He was furious, spitting curses, blaming us and threatening to hang everyone until he had the truth. You arrived and went up to the chamber; only then did the news trickle through about how Lebarge had fled for sanctuary in St Erconwald’s.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Sir John, he is in sanctuary, ask him yourself.’
‘And his baggage is still in his chamber?’
‘No, that’s as empty as a widow’s pantry.’
‘So where is it?’ Sir John asked.
‘Ask Lebarge, we have nothing of his.’
‘We certainly shall, but first we have others to question.’ Cranston tapped the table with his hands. ‘Mistress Joycelina, of your great kindness, ask Masters Griffin and Foxley, together with those two labourers, to come in here.’ The coroner smiled. ‘Quickly now, then we will be gone and you can return to your business.’
She hastened off. Cranston, to break the embarrassing silence, began to question Mistress Cheyne about the Cross of Lothar but she seemed reluctant to answer. Athelstan, whose attention had been caught by the ornately carved mantel above the empty fireplace, rose to inspect it more closely. He scrutinized the two medallions on either end. The one on the left displayed carved initials, ‘IHSV’, the letters wreathed with vine leaves; the one on the right had a sun in splendour with the inscription ‘Soli Invicto’ – to the Unconquerable Sun – carved beneath.
‘Both of these inscriptions …’ Athelstan scratched his head. ‘I am sure I have seen them before.’
‘Reginald’s work,’ Mistress Cheyne called, turning on the settle. ‘For the life of me I don’t know what they signify. Reginald refused to say. You will find the same in his chantry chapel at St Mary Le Bow. Young Matthias has questioned me about them often enough. I wish to God I could explain them, but I cannot. Go around this tavern, Brother Athelstan, and you will find those two roundels carved elsewhere, along with the Golden Oliphant. Reginald loved nothing better than riddles and puzzles. He claimed it reflected life …’
She broke off as the door opened and Foxley entered, a beanpole of a man with a dark, pointed, stubbled face and greasy hair hanging down to his shoulders. He was garbed in a leather jerkin, leggings and boots. Athelstan caught the reek of the stables. Master Griffin, who accompanied him, was a squat tub of a man with deep-set eyes and a ruddy, bewhiskered face, clearly a person who loved his food: he kept smacking his lips and rubbing his swollen belly.