‘Yes,’ Athelstan smiled, ‘he would say that, wouldn’t he? And you know what, Matthias? Because of the help you have given us, I am going to ask the Lord High Coroner here to overlook your indiscretions and those of your father.’ He waved his hand. ‘You may take the replica and leave. However,’ Athelstan held up the cross as if taking an oath, ‘I have no proof of this, no evidence, not a shred, but thank God you did not meet Whitfield together with Mephistopheles at the Tavern of Lost Souls.’
‘Why?’
‘Ask yourself,’ Athelstan said quietly, ‘why you had to meet him there. Why not somewhere in the Golden Oliphant or a place nearby?’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘You blackmailed Whitfield. You were one of the few people who knew all about his wealth and its highly illicit source. I often make a mistake. I believe people behave more logically than they actually do. Whitfield was agitated about how he should disappear, where, when and with whom. I do not know the truth of it. However, on one thing he was decided: he would vanish. Mephistopheles could certainly help him with this, make all the arrangements, including the mysterious disappearance of someone whom Whitfield regarded as dangerous. You, Matthias, with your threats of blackmail.’
‘You are saying Whitfield would have killed me?’
‘Oh no, Matthias. Whitfield was no dagger man, but Mephistopheles certainly is. Oh, he’d deny everything if confronted now. He would ask for evidence and proof and I cannot supply it, but rest assured, Whitfield’s mysterious death definitely saved your life. Now you can go.’
Both father and son rose. Matthias snatched the replica and stumbled from the chamber, followed by his father. Athelstan and Cranston sat listening to their footsteps fade.
‘Helpful, Brother?’
‘Very. But I am still threading the maze, Sir John. What Matthias told us makes sense: it imposes a logic of sorts on some events and proves what I suspect regarding others.’
‘Such as?’
‘The cipher, Sir John.’ Athelstan opened his chancery satchel, took out the two pieces of vellum and stretched them out. ‘This,’ he picked up the grease-stained parchment, ‘is a most cryptic cipher fashioned out of strange, closely packed symbols. I could study this until the Second Coming and wouldn’t make sense of it. Whitfield had made some headway or at least a beginning; this second piece of vellum is his commentary. Look, Sir John.’ Athelstan pushed the second square of parchment across the table. ‘Let’s put the cipher aside and concentrate on what Whitfield’s workings tell us. It shows two triangles, not isosceles, the base of each triangle being longer than the other two sides. In addition one triangle,’ Athelstan tapped the parchment, ‘is longer than the other. However, notice how the apexes of each meet in the one spot. Finally, we have these saints’ names scrawled down one side of the parchment: St Andrew, St Dunstan, St Bride and so on.’
‘And?’
‘They are the names of London churches, all with soaring towers, belfries and spires.’ Athelstan waved a hand. ‘Sir John, in brief, the three sides of each of these triangles map out the churches of London. The base of the larger one marks all those along the north bank of the Thames. The side of that triangle running south to east includes churches to the west of the city such as St Augustine’s and St Paul’s Gate. The side of the same triangle running south to west includes churches such as St Michael in Crooked Lane. The smaller inverted triangle does the same. Its baseline includes churches north of the city such as St Giles Cripplegate. The other two sides include churches such as St Peter Westcheap to the west and St Margaret Lothbury to the east. The apex of each triangle meets at the one spot, the same church …’
‘St Mary Le Bow!’ Cranston exclaimed. ‘The Upright Men intend to seize all these churches, don’t they?’
‘I suspect they do, Sir John, for a number of reasons. When the revolt comes, the rebels will hoist their banners from steeples all over London, which will create the impression that the city is already in the hands of the Upright Men. They will also be able to light beacon fires and, above all,’ Athelstan emphasized the points on his fingers, ‘they will be able to observe troop movements across the city and …’
‘The same church towers could easily be fortified into strongholds where a few men can withstand attacks by the many. Lord save us!’ Cranston sprang to his feet. ‘If they seize twenty such towers, the city will have to divide their forces to deal with each fortification whilst, at the same time, having to confront peasant armies coming in from all directions.’
‘St Mary Le Bow,’ Athelstan explained, ‘will be at the heart of this plan. It stands at the centre of the city; it dominates the great trading area of Cheapside with the mansions and the warehouses of all the great and good. It will be ideal for the deployment of archers, the setting up of barricades, the closing of streets.’ Athelstan paused to sip at a beaker of water. ‘Which brings us to Raoul Malfort, bell clerk with specific responsibility for the tower at St Mary Le Bow. Our tooth drawer uses the tower chamber to carry out his gruesome task. The cries and groans of his patients, indeed everything associated with drawing teeth, would certainly keep people away. Secretly Malfort’s friends amongst the Upright Men are busy fortifying the upper chambers in the tower, bringing in supplies and storing weapons against the day of the Great Slaughter.’
Cranston walked up and down the room in his agitation. ‘The original bell clerk, Edmund Lacy, was murdered by Reynard, who has gone to judgement. Everything is connected,’ he murmured, ‘like beads on a chain. I suspect the original bell clerk was a man of integrity, so he was removed and Malfort usurps his office. He sets up his trade in the tower chamber ostensibly drawing teeth, in truth plotting insurrection and treason.’
‘I agree,’ Athelstan declared. ‘We will find all the proof we need in St Mary Le Bow.’ He smiled drily. ‘I am also deeply suspicious about my own parish council’s interests in closing St Erconwald’s tower for so-called repairs.’
‘But St Erconwald’s is south of the Thames.’ Cranston laughed and shook his head. ‘Of course,’ he declared, ‘and from the top of St Erconwald’s you can view all the southern approaches to the Thames as well as London Bridge.’ He picked up his warbelt. ‘Brother, I need to act quickly. Within the hour Malfort will be under arrest and his chamber searched, then we will move against the rest.’
‘There’s more,’ Athelstan declared. ‘I referred to it earlier, the true identity of our Herald of Hell. I suspect he is our wicked bell clerk at St Mary’s. Malfort certainly fits the bill. He holds the most powerful church tower in the city. I suspect he’s also responsible for suborning the ward bailiffs, Poulter and the rest. Reynard may have been on his way to meet our cunning bell clerk, but then Reynard fumbled the murder of Lacy and was arrested. We should put all this to him, Sir John.’
‘We certainly shall.’ Cranston tightened his warbelt. ‘I look forward to questioning Malfort. He is surrounded by so much mischief and mystery he could well be the Herald of Hell. Do you think Whitfield knew?’
‘Indeed I do. The triangles prove our murdered clerk was making progress, whilst his veiled warning to Matthias to stay away from St Mary’s is proof enough. But still, there’s something very wrong here.’ Athelstan rose and walked to the window. He stared down at the soldiers and archers gathering there. ‘Leave St Erconwald’s alone, Sir John,’ he murmured. ‘I am going to send my parishioners a message, repairs or not. I want my church tower back – that will bring any mischief they are planning to nothing …’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Then I must reflect.’
‘In other words, plot, little friar?’
‘Yes, Sir John, plot. We will be busy soon enough, mark my words. In view of what we have discovered, the Day of the Great Slaughter must be very, very close.’
‘Athelstan, you claimed that, despite all this progress, something was very wrong?’