Cranston slapped him firmly on the shoulder. ‘Put your trust in the coroner, dear priest! Put your trust in good Sir John. And,’ Cranston added impishly, ‘Brother Norbert. I want him there, armed with the good quarter-staff we left in the guest house.’
Athelstan caught Sir John by the arm. ‘Stop a while, My Lord Coroner. You must hear the full case against the murderer at Blackfriars and not be carried away by the sheer glee of trapping a man you hate.’
They stood in the middle of the street: Athelstan speaking earnestly, Sir John nodding in agreement. By the time he had finished, Athelstan felt fully alert.
‘You understand, My Lord Coroner?’
‘Of course, Friar.’
‘Then, in the name of God, let us proceed.’
At Blackfriars the doorkeeper let them in and sent for Brother Norbert. Athelstan declined the lay brother’s invitation to take them to the prior and insisted on celebrating mass in the guest house itself.
‘But that is most irregular,’ the lay brother stuttered.
‘Brother Norbert,’ Athelstan replied quietly, ‘God willing, by the time I leave today, Blackfriars will have other things to gossip about than where I said mass. Now go and get me a chalice, paten, three hosts and some wine, as well as the vestments for the day. Then we’ll see Father Prior.’
The lay brother hurried off. Cranston and Athelstan crossed the deserted monastery grounds. Norbert had already opened the guest house and they went in. When the lay brother returned, Athelstan quickly vested and, turning the kitchen table into a makeshift altar, celebrated mass during which he prayed that God would guide them in the coming dreadful confrontation with the murderer. He lingered over the consecration, staring down at the hosts and wine, then continued the mass, giving communion to Sir John and a still anxious-faced Norbert. Once the final blessing had been delivered, he instructed the lay brother to tell Father Anselm that he wished to see him and the other members of the Inner Chapter in the prior’s chamber as soon as possible. Whilst they waited for Brother Norbert to return, Cranston searched for further refreshment in the buttery and Athelstan took the book sent from Oxford and once more read the pages he had first seen the previous evening.
At last there was a knock on the door and Norbert re-entered.
‘Father Prior is ready,’ he announced. ‘Though a little angry that you did not tell him when you first arrived. The rest are also gathered.’
‘Good!’ Athelstan breathed. He put the book back in the sack and handed the surprised lay brother the quarter-staff he had left in the guest house. ‘Whatever happens, Brother Norbert, you will stay at the meeting with Father Prior and the rest. Stand near the door. If anyone attempts to leave before I finish,’ he gazed sharply at the young lay brother, ‘you are to use this quarter-staff. Even,’ he added, ‘against Father Prior himself!’
The lay brother just gaped back in amazement. ‘Brother Athelstan, have you lost your wits?’
‘Do as he says,’ Cranston grated, swinging his cloak about him. ‘And don’t worry if any violence breaks out — Sir John Cranston will soon settle it.’
‘One final thing,’ Athelstan concluded. ‘When all is finished, Brother Norbert, and it will be, sooner than you think, you will be sworn to secrecy. You are not to repeat what you will see or hear in that room.’
They left the guest house and crossed into the cloisters, now filled with friars sitting on benches or the low redbrick wall to enjoy the fine summer’s morning. On Sunday, the community was released from the usual routine. The hum of conversation died as Cranston and his party swept by on their way to Father Prior’s room.
Athelstan gazed across at the small fountain built in the middle of the cloister garth. He suddenly remembered his days in the novitiate. How he used to sit here chattering with the rest, never for one moment imagining what the future might hold. Now here he was, a fully sworn member of the Dominican Order, only a few minutes away from unmasking and confronting a colleague responsible for the deaths of four other brethren, not to mention a vicious assault upon himself. Athelstan stopped and gazed up at the sky, now brightening as the sun rose. The clouds which had massed during the night had begun to disappear like puffs of smoke. Cranston stopped and turned back.
‘Come on, Brother, what are you waiting for?’
‘Nothing, Sir John, just remembering. Isn’t it strange how the past always seems sweeter than the present?’
‘Come on, Brother,’ Cranston murmured gently. ‘We have no choice in the matter.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘For the love of God, Athelstan, remember those who are dead, brutally murdered. Their blood cries for vengeance and we do God’s work as well as the King’s.’
Athelstan nodded and followed Sir John into the building, along the stone paved passageway to Father Prior’s chamber. Anselm and the rest were already assembled there.
‘You should have told us you had arrived, Brother,’ the prior declared meaningfully.
‘Why?’ Athelstan snapped back sharply. ‘So the murderer here could strike at my life?’
The prior’s eyes rounded in angry amazement.
‘Brother Athelstan, such an allegation demands proof.’
‘We have it!’ Cranston declared. He stared round at what he called his secretive friars: Niall and Peter, torn between truculence and curiosity, and the sombre faces of the Inquisitors. He noticed how William de Conches had already sat down and was drumming his fingers restlessly. Eugenius just glared at Athelstan whilst Brother Henry stood, arms folded, staring down at the table.
‘You say you have proof?’ Brother Eugenius jibed. ‘What proof, Sir John? This Inner Chapter has been destroyed by our waiting around for you and the good Athelstan to resolve these matters. Father Prior, we will wait no longer. Let Cranston say what he has to and let’s be gone.’
The coroner drew himself up to his full height. ‘Sit down!’ he roared. ‘Believe me, Brother, we shall not keep you long.’
All the Dominicans present looked towards Father Prior for guidance. He just nodded.
‘Yes, yes,’ he muttered. ‘Do as Sir John says and let’s sit down.’
They took their seats round the long polished table. Father Prior at one end, Cranston and Athelstan at the other. There was further objection to the presence of Norbert and the quarter-staff he carried but, once again, Cranston roared that he would have his way. Father Prior shrugged, rapped the top of the table for silence and glared down the table at Athelstan.
‘Brother,’ he began, ‘in half an hour we assemble to celebrate Solemn High Mass. The Master Inquisitor and Brother Eugenius have ruled that Brother Henry of Winchester’s writings contain no heresy, whilst Brothers Niall and Peter claim they cannot refute, according to either Scripture or Tradition, the truth of what he writes.’ The Prior rubbed his tired, lined face. ‘Accordingly, unless you can explain clearly and fully the resolution to the terrible deaths which have occurred here, I shall declare the Inner Chapter finished, mass will be sung, and we shall all go our separate ways. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Father Prior.’ Athelstan picked up the sack, brought out the book and pushed it down the table towards the prior. ‘Read that! Open it where the purple strip of silk ribbon marks the place.’
‘Why should I read it?’
The group now fell silent, all eyes staring at Athelstan.
‘You should read it, Father Prior,’ Cranston stated, getting to his feet, ‘because it proves that our young theologian here, Henry of Winchester, is a liar, a thief and an assassin.’
The accused Dominican leaned against the table. He glared at Cranston then at the book, one hand going out; he would have snatched it if Brother Norbert hadn’t leaned over and smacked him sharply on the wrist.