He examined the woman’s hair and then looked carefully at the neck, scarred horribly by the rope. He’d barely finished when Sir Maurice reentered the room. It was the first time Athelstan had really seen him smile.
‘Brother, I tell you this.’ The knight rubbed his hands. ‘The palfrey’s a sturdy little cob but it has no more travelled from Dover than I have. The hooves are freshly shod.’
‘That could have been done when they reached London,’ Sir John said.
‘I don’t think so, Sir John,’ Athelstan replied. ‘I suspect poor Anna Triveter travelled no more than a mile.’
‘Parr!’ Sir Maurice cried. ‘This is the work of Sir Thomas Parr!’
‘But it’s clumsy.’ Sir John spoke up. ‘Sir Thomas is a man who can call on an army of retainers and indulge in the most subtle stratagems.’
‘It is clumsy,’ Athelstan said. ‘Young man.’ He walked towards the knight. ‘We have questions for you and a lot depends on your answers. This was an evil and cunning trick. True, Sir John and I can prove that Anna Triveter no more travelled from Dover, than we have journeyed from Jerusalem. But that’s because both of us are trained in the art of observation, logic and deduction. We are skilled hunters,’ Athelstan continued, ‘of the sons of Cain: those who kill in the darkness and then step out into the light, wipe their lips and say they’ve done no wrong.’ He pointed to the corpse. ‘However, to the untrained eye, here is a young woman who claims to be handfast to you. She has travelled from Dover and, because of your rejection, took her own life. So, a few questions and some are repetitious. Have you ever met this woman before?’
‘No, Brother, on my soul!’
‘But you consorted with a girl called Anna in Dover?’
‘Yes, Brother, a whore. I’ve been shriven of my sin and done penance.’ Sir Maurice licked his lips. ‘I beg you to keep that as a matter for the confessional. It was before I met the Lady Angelica. Since then I have had eyes for no other woman. My life has been chaste, my mind and soul pure.’
He spoke so passionately, Athelstan accepted the knight was telling the truth.
‘Very well.’ Athelstan tightened the cord round his waist, fingering the three knots there, each a reminder of his vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. ‘We now have Anna Triveter who walks into this play unannounced. We know she is a whore. However, she comes here and pretends to be your common-law wife who has travelled all the way from Dover. She cleans her boots and has her travelling smock washed because she wishes to hide the fact that she has probably travelled no further than from one of the wards in the city. She has been hired by someone who kills her, hoists her corpse up on the end of that rope and leaves a letter for the world to read. The assassin then slips out of the window. Agreed?’
Sir Maurice nodded.
‘So, why did you come to this tavern yesterday?’ The Dominican held up a hand. ‘No, let me tell you: a messenger came to the Savoy Palace and asked for you?’
‘One of the oldest tricks in the book,’ Sir John observed.
‘It was a beggar boy,’ Sir Maurice replied. ‘He arrived at the Savoy about two hours after I left you. The guards stopped him but he said he had an important message. I came down, and the boy, a little street urchin, said that, at the Golden Cresset, there was a messenger waiting for me from the Lady Angelica.’
‘Ah!’ Athelstan exclaimed. ‘That would confirm my suspicions. Go on!’
‘I didn’t think twice. I came here, bought a blackjack of ale and stayed for over an hour.’
‘Didn’t you bother to ask anyone?’ Sir John asked.
‘By the time I reached the Golden Cresset, my ardour had cooled. I wondered if I had been deceived. Was it a trap? I told the tavern wench my name and said I expected someone. Time passed. I finished the ale and I left, angry at such trickery.’ He scratched his head. ‘I didn’t know whom to blame. Such pettiness was beneath Sir Thomas Parr. I thought it might be one of my companions in the Lord Regent’s household inventing a jest, a jape to while away the time.’
Sir John came across and, moving the blankets, began to cover up the corpse.
‘But you can see I’m innocent!’ Sir Maurice cried.
‘Oh, I’ll change my verdict. But don’t you understand, Sir Maurice? Brother Athelstan and I know the truth but what will the world think? A woman lies here dead! The letter! The gossip will seep out like wine from a cracked vat. Sir Thomas Parr will hear about it.’ The coroner gazed sadly at him. ‘Worse still, the Lady Angelica too.’
‘Sir John has the truth of it,’ Athelstan agreed. ‘Even if we change the verdict, they’ll accuse us of covering up a crime of one of Gaunt’s henchmen. Can’t you see, Sir Maurice, the assassin probably knew we’d discover the truth but the damage is done. If you throw enough mud, some always sticks!’
Sir Maurice’s hand went to his dagger, his face white with fury. ‘I’ll kill any man who accuses me! I’ll call him out!’
‘Oh, for the love of God!’ Sir John cried. ‘What are you going to do, Sir Maurice, fight every man in London?’
‘Sir Thomas Parr knows the truth,’ Sir Maurice spat back. ‘He arranged all this.’
‘Sir Maurice! Sir Maurice!’ Athelstan grabbed his hand. ‘I could prove in a court of law that this young woman was murdered and did not commit suicide but we still don’t know who she is or where she came from.’ Athelstan paused. ‘We have no proof that Parr or anyone else is guilty of her death. The finger of suspicion still points at you. It blemishes your reputation and tarnishes your honour.’
‘It creates a doubt,’ Sir John said. ‘And that was the whole purpose of this terrible crime. Is Sir Maurice Maltravers who he claims to be? It could take months to comb the records of Dover, and even longer to find out where this young woman actually comes from. And in the end the gossip will be through the city. Sir Maurice seduced some young gentlewoman, secured her body, after marriage celebrated by some hedge-priest, then he rejected her so the young woman took her own life.’
Sir Maurice’s face was now white as a sheet, beads of sweat coursed down his cheeks.
‘I’m a fighting man,’ he whispered. I see my enemy and I meet him honourably on the field of battle: shield against shield, sword against sword. I cannot deal with this.’
‘Oh yes you can.’ Athelstan pushed him towards a stool and made him sit down. He then stood over him, one hand on his shoulder. ‘We have other questions.’ He paused.
Footsteps sounded up the stairs and along the gallery followed by a knock on the door.
Athelstan had met the Harrower of the Dead before but he still flinched as the man came into the chamber. A tall, black cowl was pulled over his head, his face covered by a death mask. He came into the room, black leather leggings creaking. In one hand he carried a canvas sheet neatly folded, in the other a length of rope.
‘My lord coroner, we meet again.’ The Harrower’s voice was low, soft, well modulated.
‘Aye, sir, death is always busy. And his leavings are scattered throughout the city.’
The Harrower moved across to the bed. In a businesslike manner he moved the corpse, gently wrapping the canvas sheet round it, tying it secure with his piece of rope. The taverner stood in the doorway, his face ashen.
‘Will this take long?’ he moaned. ‘There are customers, my trade will suffer.’
‘It will do nothing of the sort,’ the Harrower replied, his voice muffled. ‘People will flock to you to ask what happened. You’ll sell more ale than you would on a Holy Day or May Day.’ He secured the corpse and lifted the sheeted body gently like a mother would a child. ‘It should be buried soon, my lord coroner.’
‘Today. The innkeeper will pay you all dues. A pauper’s grave in St Mary’s but not in the common ditch: by herself with a wooden cross bearing her name. The taverner will provide it. God rest her!’ The coroner turned away, waving his hand.
The Harrower left. The taverner crossed himself and closed the door behind him. Athelstan waited until the sound of footsteps faded.