‘Yes.’ The bailiff sighed. ‘Yes, you have, but what now?’
‘Nothing,’ Cranston declared, glaring at Sir Everard. ‘You were placed under powerful duress. You could have put more trust in the Crown, though,’ the coroner added bitterly. ‘That trust is becoming a rarer commodity by the day. So go, Master Poulter. Have nothing more to do with the Upright Men. Tomorrow, you and all the ward bailiffs from the city will be summoned here to listen to good counsel and practical advice: those who admit their guilt and purge themselves will be warned and let go. Any who resist must face the consequences. Now you can leave.’
Poulter scuttled from the room. Once the door had closed, Sir Everard clapped his hands slowly. ‘Excellent, Brother Athelstan, Sir John, very clever! The Upright Men forced city officials to spread fear and foreboding.’
‘Oh, we have more,’ Athelstan declared. ‘We questioned Poulter in front of you to show you our good will. To reassure you that, as with Poulter, we shall not issue any indictment against you.’
‘For what? Sir John, what is this?’
The coroner slouched in his judgement chair and took a swig from his miraculous wineskin. ‘Amaury Whitfield. He lodged money with you, did he not?’
‘Many do.’
‘Sir Everard,’ Athelstan warned, ‘do not play games. We have shown you our good will. Now you may answer to us or to the Barons of the Exchequer who, under orders from Master Thibault, may move to issue a summons for you to appear before the King’s Bench.’
Sir Everard glanced quickly at his son, who sat cowed, then he shrugged.
‘Good,’ Athelstan declared, ‘now let me tell you what happened. Whitfield was a high-ranking chancery clerk in the household of Gaunt’s principal henchman. Every quarter he would receive monies, robes and whatever purveyance he needed, not enough to make him wealthy but certainly comfortable enough. Whitfield often visited you on his master’s business. Then, sometime in the past, he began to deposit monies with you. At first there was no problem, until these deposits increased in both content and frequency. Whitfield was crafty. He knew that his monies would be lodged under a symbol rather than his own title, that is how you bankers and goldsmiths do business. Whitfield’s entries could be filed under the name of a flower, a precious stone or place name. He also knew that, according to the laws of your own guild, copied from the great Italian bankers such as the Frescobaldi of Florence, complete confidentiality and trust are the order of the day, the cornerstone of good business. You, however, grew increasingly uncomfortable. Here is a very high-ranking clerk in the service of the sinister Thibault, depositing monies, the origins of which are highly suspect. Should Thibault suspect, should he investigate and discover the truth, you could be depicted as Whitfield’s accomplice.’
Athelstan held the gaze of this powerful goldsmith caught in toils not of his making. ‘You are an honourable man, Sir Everard. I feel truly sorry for you. To cut to the quick, you told Whitfield you could no longer be his banker, and that is your right. You filled money coffers and caskets with what was due to him and told him to protect these as best he could. Whitfield had no choice. I suspect he kept such caskets in a secure, secret place at his lodgings. A few days ago, Whitfield left for the Cokayne Festival which was, and I tell you this in confidence, only a ploy to hide the fact that he and Lebarge intended to flee the kingdom. He also intended to dirty the waters deeper by disguising his desertion under a fake death, possibly suicide somewhere along the Thames. In the meantime, Whitfield must conceal his ill-gotten gains. You, Sir Everard, suspected quite rightly that such monies were lavish bribes paid by different parties to learn Master Thibault’s secrets.
‘Anyway, bereft of a banker and getting ready to flee, Master Whitfield had a thick, heavy money belt strapped around his waist, its pouches crammed with silver and gold. Little wonder he and Lebarge hired a chamber on the fourth gallery. He wanted to make matters more secure. That heavy money belt also explains one witness’s observation that Whitfield looked slimmer in death than in life. Of course the money belt had been removed, stolen. Nevertheless, it left its mark on Whitfield’s belly and flanks. Brother Philippe at Smithfield observed these marks when he scrutinized the corpse. Now Whitfield’s death does not concern you, but your son is a different matter.’
Athelstan turned to the sullen-looking Matthias. ‘Blackmail,’ Athelstan declared. Matthias sat unmoving, his arms folded, glaring at the floor. ‘Blackmail,’ Athelstan repeated. ‘You, sir, were waiting for Whitfield at the Golden Oliphant. You may have suspected that he was about to flee. You’d certainly learnt about the monies deposited with your father. You gave Whitfield a choice. He was a trained clerk, skilled in ciphers. He would either help solve the riddles confronting you about Lothar’s Cross or you would denounce him to Thibault.’
‘Matthias!’ his father exclaimed.
‘Am I correct?’ Athelstan demanded. ‘Or must I have you arrested?’
‘On what charge?’
‘Quite a few,’ Cranston interjected.
‘What is it you want?’
‘The truth, Matthias, or what you know of it.’
Matthias squirmed uneasily on the stool. ‘Whitfield was set on disappearing; Lebarge, too. They’d both been terrified by the visit from the Herald of Hell.’ He laughed sharply. ‘If they had only known the truth. Anyway, Whitfield did have a treasure belt about him and he was fearful of being robbed.’
‘By whom?’
‘In God’s name, Brother, anyone. He was apprehensive about Stretton, Foxley, who seemed to be bothering him, nor did he trust Odo Gray, but he believed once he was on board the Leaping Horse along with Mistress Cheyne and her household, all might be well. He was most cordial with the moppets as was Lebarge, who was much taken with the whore Hawisa. Of course Whitfield was terrified that Thibault would find out about his plans. He had not decided, so he confided in me, whether he should arrange an apparent suicide or an accident along the Thames.’
‘Ah,’ Athelstan intervened, ‘that explains the contradiction and confusion I have noticed.’
‘Whitfield had yet to commit himself; he changed like a weather vane.’ Matthias shook his head. ‘Suicide, accident? Suicide, accident? He couldn’t decide, nor how he was to arrange it. Eventually he went to the Tavern of Lost Souls to continue pawning valuable objects he could not take with him. I understand he had begun that in the days before he arrived at the Golden Oliphant. However, Whitfield also wanted Mephistopheles’ help in arranging his disappearance. He talked about taking a bundle of clothing down to the Thames on the evening of the very day he was found hanging. These were to be used in whatever death he staged. I also know that he had drawn up a note hinting at suicide. I don’t think he had fully decided on what to do. He needed Mephistopheles’ advice.’ Matthias drew in a deep breath. ‘I suspect he may have even been considering another plan.’
‘Such as?’
‘Oh, just to walk out of the Golden Oliphant and disappear of his own accord. Brother Athelstan, there are other cogs which would have taken him to different ports, not just Flanders but Castile, even the Middle Sea.’
‘And Lebarge?’
‘A rift had grown between them. Lebarge was much taken with Hawisa. I believe he wanted her to be with him whatever happened.’
‘And the riddles about the Cross of Lothar?’ Cranston demanded. ‘Did he offer any solution?’
‘He said he had certain ideas. Whether he did or not, I cannot say. He scrutinized the carvings both here and at St Mary Le Bow. Nothing remarkable, except he added something strange.’
‘What?’
‘He told me to be very careful of that church, not to be there by myself or be seen prying about it.’