‘Master Falke, what are you implying?’ Cranston asked. ‘That “The Book of Fires” might have been stolen by Sir Henry as a bargaining counter with the Upright Men? Do you have proof?’
‘No,’ Falke dabbed at his mouth, ‘nor do I have proof that Buckholt is secretly a rebel. Did you know his father served with Sir Walter when our noble merchant was a mercenary? I tell you this,’ Falke swayed on his feet, ‘Buckholt never liked Isolda, nor did Sir Henry. Lady Anne Lesures may act the grand lady, be all compassionate and caring, but she upset Lady Isolda by refusing to listen or accept her plea of innocence. Maybe Lady Anne has forgotten that she was responsible for Isolda’s marriage. I could tell you more. Parson Garman liked to visit Sir Walter and I suspect their relationship lies tangled in the past. He too served in the Luciferi. Oh, yes!’ Falke spread his hands, moving to the left then right. ‘You have seen the splendour of this house. Like the paint on a whore’s face it hides all forms of filth and lewdness.’ Falke put a finger to his lips. ‘Sir Walter was hot, not for Lady Isolda, his God-given wife, but her maid Rosamund, Rosa Mundi,’ he spat out, ‘Rosa of the World. Yes? More like Rosa Munda – Soiled Rose.’
‘Master Falke,’ Cranston retorted, ‘Sir Walter was not fit for turbulent bed sport.’
‘No, he wasn’t. He just wanted to entice that young lady into his bedchamber to administer to him slowly with her hands and mouth.’
‘And did she?’ Athelstan snapped. ‘For heaven’s sake man, make your point!’
‘The fair Isolda was a foundling raised by the Minoresses, but so was Rosamund. The venerable Lady Anne introduced her to this household as Lady Isolda’s maid.’
‘And?’
‘According to household gossip and rumour, Buckholt himself was very sweet on Rosamund. Some people claimed she may have been his daughter. Others maintained he wanted to be betrothed to her.’
‘Proof,’ Athelstan insisted. ‘You are a lawyer, Master Falke. You deal with evidence, not scandalous gossip.’
‘Well, he visited the Minoresses when Sir Walter was courting Lady Isolda, and Buckholt never missed the opportunity to accompany him.’
‘So,’ Cranston poked Falke in the chest, ‘you are insinuating that our noble steward Buckholt nursed deep grievances against Sir Walter? Amongst these, Buckholt’s support for the Upright Men and his tender feelings for Rosamund Clifford? If the latter was true, I agree, he would not have been happy at Rosamund’s rather strange duties in the Beaumont bedroom. Are you implying that Buckholt was the murderer, desperate to cast his guilt on Lady Isolda?’
‘It is possible.’
‘But if Lady Isolda knew about her husband’s lust for her maid, surely she objected?’
‘She did. Sir Walter dismissed her protests. He claimed Rosamund was given to fey fancies.’
‘Why,’ Athelstan asked, ‘was this not argued at the trial?’ He forced a smile. ‘Of course, gossip and tittle-tattle are not evidence, are they, Master Falke? You can gossip away to us in the buttery but repeat this in a court? Moreover, I am sure that Richard Sutler, a veritable lurcher of a man, would have twisted such tittle-tattle back on Lady Isolda, accuse her of lying, of fabricating – but,’ he plucked at Cranston’s sleeve, ‘we shall bear in mind what you have said, Master Falke, now our stay here is done. Sir John and I have other matters to attend to …’
PART THREE
‘The second kind of flying fire is created this way …’
The ‘other matters’ Athelstan referred to preoccupied him long after the compline bell had tolled. He sat in the well-scrubbed kitchen of his little priest house and stared down at the elegantly written memorandum drawn up by Master Tuddenham. The Bishop’s envoy had been most thorough. He had questioned Fulchard and Richmond, his companion Fitzosbert and all relevant witnesses. He had summoned others he needed to question, whilst one of his clerks, skilled in detecting forged seals and letters, had scrutinized all the documents Fulchard carried with him. Tuddenham had carefully sifted the evidence and reached stark conclusions.
Item: Fulchard the cripple and Fulchard the healed man are one and the same person. Philippe the physician journeyed across the Thames in order to inspect the patient. He recognized the same man, albeit cured, who had visited the House of Mercy at St Bartholomew’s Hospital only a few days earlier. Philippe had noted the same height, looks, hair, eyes and distinguishing marks. The physician had added two codicils. Firstly, the man he had originally inspected was not only grievously injured and scarred but, because of his hideous wounds and the exertions of his journey south, also very weak. Secondly, if there were any differences noted, these could be explained by the cure itself.
Item: on the night of the Great Miracle, witnesses had seen Fulchard, cowled and cloaked, hobble on his crutch into St Erconwald’s and lie down in the nave close to the saint’s chantry chapel. He had lain there all night: those close by noticed him twitching and moaning but nothing remarkable. On one occasion Fulchard had sat up to drink from a waterskin then lain down again. He did not leave his place until the end of the Mass and the cure was proclaimed.
Item: Master Tuddenham and his clerks had scrutinized Fulchard’s letters, licences and warrants: they listened to Philippe the physician’s account and closely interrogated relevant witnesses. Tuddenham emphasized that, apart from Fitzosbert, these were strangers from different shires. Consequently, the only logical conclusion was that a miracle had, thanks be to God, occurred. Tuddenham added how the Bishop of London’s searchers, as well as those of the Archdeacon’s court, had made careful scrutiny throughout Southwark and the city to ensure there was ‘no other’, as Tuddenham tactfully put it, ‘Fulchard of Richmond’. Nothing had been discovered. The same searchers had questioned the boatmen along Southwark quay as well as Master Robert Burdon, keeper of the gates on London Bridge. They too had nothing to report.
‘And,’ Athelstan picked up a parchment from the table, ‘neither have Sir John’s searchers and he hires the very best – greyhounds in human form.’ Athelstan leaned back in his chair and stared around. All was in order here. Master Tuddenham had used this small house to conduct his investigations and left with his entourage. Benedicta, with the help of some of the parish council, had then swept through the house, cleaning, scrubbing, changing and preparing for his return. A pie and a bowl of pottage stood in the oven next to the hearth, and there was fresh ale, bread and milk in the buttery. Athelstan had checked his three-locked chancery chest and personal coffer. Woda the washer woman had cleaned his two robes and changed the blankets on his bed. Crim the altar boy had ensured that Bonaventure had feasted like a prince so the great tomcat now lay sprawled by the hearth lost to the world. ‘Yet everything is not in order,’ Athelstan whispered. He peered down the table. Merrylegs senior had slipped into death tended by a Crutched Friar who was visiting the church because of the Great Miracle. The friar had administered the last rites and Athelstan intended to celebrate the requiem Mass the following morning and commit the body to the grave. The family plot in God’s Acre had been dug and prepared. ‘Which brings me to that other small mystery,’ Athelstan murmured. Apparently, the night before, Godbless the beggar, keeper of God’s Acre, had been visited in his cottage, the old parish death house, by some pilgrims eager for news. They had shared a tun of ale with him and celebrated until both Godbless and his nefarious goat Thaddeus had become hopelessly drunk. According to Benedicta, long after the chimes of midnight, Godbless was found riding a staggering Thaddeus around the tombstones singing at the top of his voice how he had been visited by his kinsman, Oberon, Prince of the Fairies. Pike and Watkin eventually put both man and beast to bed. Athelstan had paid a visit but Godbless was still ‘full of the drink’, as he put it, whilst Athelstan had never seen Thaddeus so quiet. He had left them to sleep it off and returned to his home to have supper and study Tuddenham’s report.