‘Of course,’ Lady Rohesia murmured, ‘it served as a cover for what they were doing. Sir Walter suffered stomach cramps but so did others; it would lessen suspicion, create the impression that this was some household sickness.’
‘And a fatal dose,’ Athelstan declared, ‘would help deepen suspicion that a poisoner was waging war on Sir Walter and his entire household. Let me explain. If Isolda and Vanner had not been detected by Mortice and Buckholt, if Rosamund had also died of suspected poisoning,’ he gestured at the prison chaplain, ‘against whom would the finger of suspicion be pointed? And you, Rosamund, were chosen by mere chance. It could have been Buckholt or anyone who ate those figs. It didn’t really matter as long as someone else in the household died of poisoning.’ Athelstan paused to let his words reverberate through minds and hearts. Garman and Rosamund were deeply shocked as their awareness deepened of how close Isolda had brought them to destruction. Sir Henry and his wife looked cowed, lost in their own thoughts. Falke stared unbelieving, his eyes blinking and lips moving wordlessly as if searching for words. Buckholt sat grinning to himself. Only Lady Anne, the mute Turgot behind her, seemed alert. She rolled back the voluminous cuffs of her cloak and leaned forward, tapping the table.
‘Brother Athelstan, what you say is logical. God be my witness.’ She stared around, hands outstretched. ‘We’ve seen Vanner’s corpse. What else can we believe except that Isolda was an assassin? Yet surely Sir Walter must have entertained his own suspicions? Why didn’t he voice them?’
‘Oh, he did, but he was very wary. In fact, he trusted none of you. That’s the problem with men like Sir Walter – everyone is suspect. And he was right, wasn’t he? Sir Henry, your brother realized you were waiting for him to die, praying that he would do so without an heir. No, no,’ Athelstan waved a hand, ‘now is not the time for protests of false innocence. Parson Garman, you know I speak the truth about your relationship with Black Beaumont. You hated him. You wanted revenge. Good enough motives for murder? Rosamund, you only graced Sir Walter with your company at your mistress’ behest. She used you to distract her husband, perhaps to discover the whereabouts of “The Book of Fires”. Sir Walter must have realized that. Lady Anne, Sir Walter may have respected you but never enough to confide in you. Moreover, like his wife, he may have come to resent you for introducing Isolda to him. Who knows, he may have suspected you of some nefarious, deeply laid scheme to discover his secrets …’
‘Nonsense!’ she snapped. ‘What would I want with them?’
‘Lady Anne, I am not describing the truth in all its glory but what may have been and, more importantly, what Sir Walter might have thought.’
‘And me?’ Buckholt asked.
‘Ah, the faithful steward whose father fought alongside Sir Walter in the Luciferi.’ Athelstan held Buckholt’s gaze. ‘A son who might have learnt about the ruthless treachery of Black Beaumont in all his doings. A man who could use his position to spy and, in time, betray his master to a greater cause – the Upright Men and their dream of building a new Jerusalem along the banks of the Thames. A steward who remained tight-lipped and taciturn, biding his time as he carefully searched for Sir Walter’s secret knowledge.’
Buckholt simply smiled with his eyes.
‘A frustrated lover who hated Isolda for what she was and what she did,’ Athelstan continued, ‘but also because of the real danger she posed – a ruthless, selfish woman who had her own secret plans for Sir Walter.’
‘And me?’ Falke asked. ‘My part in this?’
‘You know the answer to that, master lawyer. You were just another man caught up in the tempestuous passions of Lady Isolda. Sutler, God rest him, discovered the truth and if it hadn’t been for him, Lady Isolda would have enjoyed the fruits of her sin. She was guilty; her defence was a lie but, like all great lies, contained fragments of truth. How there were others at Firecrest Manor who wished to discover Sir Walter’s secrets. How members of this household secretly espoused the cause of the Great Community of the Realm. How Vanner may have fed Sir Walter poison earlier in the day. Rosamund, you would have been sacrificed. Isolda certainly turned on Vanner. Fearful that he might become a King’s Approver, she killed him down near the mere and burnt any incriminating manuscripts. In the end, however, Sutler proved to be her match.’
‘Are you finished?’ Athelstan caught a note of jealousy in the lawyer’s voice.
‘No,’ Athelstan smiled thinly, ‘I am certainly not.’ He emphasized the points on his fingers. ‘Where is “The Book of Fires”?’ Besides the Greeks, whom did Isolda secretly meet in the city? She sometimes went there by herself, yet no one knows where and why? What do the letters “SFSM” scrawled on the wall of her death cell mean? Is this a reference to the person she secretly met?’ Athelstan chewed the corner of his lip. ‘Is that the same individual who came to the execution ground to collect her remains and pretended to be Vanner?’
‘I didn’t know that happened!’ Sir Henry exclaimed. ‘Was it you, Falke?’
The lawyer just looked away.
‘And the Ignifer?’ Lady Anne asked.
‘Oh, yes, the Ignifer. If Lady Isolda is one root of this wickedness, he certainly is the other. We are hunting him but he may go quiet. He has certainly created a world of terror for anyone involved in Isolda’s destruction. He will let this play on your minds, bide his time, lull you into false comfort.’ He held a hand up and blessed them. ‘I am finished but be careful. Remain very vigilant.’
The meeting broke up, the household silent as they went their different ways. Athelstan suspected they would reflect on what was said and, in the weeks ahead, changes would be made, but that was not his business.
‘Do you think,’ Cranston asked, filling their tankards, ‘the likes of Rosamund or Sir Henry could tell us more?’
‘I doubt it, Sir John. Only three people know the truth about this and two of them are dead – Vanner and Isolda. The other is the Ignifer.’
‘But why has he turned on us?’ the coroner asked.
‘Because, my fine friend,’ Athelstan put his hand on the coroner’s arm, ‘the Ignifer, as I call him, though it could be she or they, whatever guise that demon assumes, certainly knows us by reputation. Yes,’ Athelstan scratched his lip, ‘now that’s a thought, Sir John. The Ignifer is hunting us as ruthlessly as we are him. We must keep ourselves safe.’
‘And so we shall. I have Flaxwith’s bully boys, whilst those four lazy buggers from the Tower will look after you. What now, Brother?’
‘Sir John, let us scrupulously study Sir Walter’s manuscripts, though I’d be very surprised if we discover anything interesting.’
Athelstan’s prophecy proved correct. They sat in the intricately panelled chancery chamber at the heart of Firecrest Manor with all its dockets, coffers, cabinets and cupboards containing narrow small drawers. Household accounts, memoranda, letters, bills and indentures were filed within as neatly as in any royal chancery or exchequer. Cranston, in his gilded youth, or so he confessed, when his hair had been blond and his body all svelte, had trained to be the most sharp-eyed and nimble-fingered clerk, and the coroner brought such expertise to bear on separating the wheat from the chaff. The personal papers of Sir Walter described his life in both the city and the court. Nevertheless, the more they read the more Athelstan’s conviction deepened that they were fencing with shadows or, as Cranston claimed, ‘It was all sizzle and no sausage.’ Sir Walter was a most astute businessman who kept his past and all its secrets very close to his chest. The only noteworthy items were his generous donations to the Minoresses at Aldgate, certain sums paid to the chaplain of Newgate and gifts to Lady Anne Lesures, including the loan of his ‘Novum Testamentum’ – his New Testament.
‘Nothing remarkable,’ Athelstan concluded, ‘except for what these accounts don’t tell us.’