‘Has Aspinall the physician arrived?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes,’ Sir John replied. ‘I asked for him to be confined in one of the upper chambers. He protested but he looks frightened enough.’
‘Bring him down,’ Athelstan ordered. He patted the table next to him. ‘Ask him to sit here.’
Sir John left and, a short while later, brought in the physician. The man was visibly agitated, even more so when he realised whose presence he was in. He bobbed and scraped but Gaunt ignored him.
‘Brother Athelstan,’ he gabbled. ‘Is there anything wrong? I mean
…’
‘When a man is poisoned,’ Athelstan asked, ‘how does the noxious substance work?’
‘Why, Brother.’ Aspinall swallowed hard. ‘It goes down to the gut and seriously disturbs the humours of the heart and the brain.’
‘And is there any poison that I can take which will not harm me but, if you eat it, would kill you?’
Aspinall wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip.
‘If there is, I have never heard of it, Brother.’
Athelstan took out a small leather pouch from his writing-bag. He opened it and shook a number of very small, hard peas out on to the table.
‘This is the paternoster pea,’ he explained. ‘Also called the rosary pea. In Latin I understand they call it the Abrus precatorius. Master Aspinall, I would like you to take one.’
Aspinall sat, hands in his lap.
‘Take it!’ Gaunt urged.
Aspinall, trembling, picked up a pea.
‘Now, put it into your mouth.’
‘Is it poisonous?’ the physician asked.
‘What are you doing to do?’ Athelstan asked. I mean, when you put it in?’
‘I’ll break it between my teeth.’ Aspinall swallowed hard. ‘But, Brother, I beg you, for the love of God!’
Athelstan smiled and took the pea back.
‘Don’t take it,’ he said quietly. ‘But, if you stay here, Master Aspinall, I am going to teach you something about medicine. Sir John. Bring the two prisoners down.’
They sat in silence, Aspinall moving further up the table. There were sounds of footsteps outside and the two prisoners were led into the hall. Athelstan scooped the peas up and put them back into the leather pouch.
‘Ah gentlemen, I wonder if you can sit beside me. I wish to share some information with you.’
‘Are we in danger?’ Vamier asked.
‘Pierre Vamier,’ Athelstan said, ‘Jean Gresnay, would you please sit down.’
The latter flounced down like a sulky girl. Vamier, his dark face wary, sat on the bench opposite. They glanced along the table. Sir John must have told them who was waiting in the hall but, apparently, they had both decided to insult Gaunt and his henchmen. Gresnay dismissed the physician with a contemptuous flicker of his eyes.
‘You are both sailors,’ Athelstan began. ‘Monsieur Vamier, where are you from?’
‘Originally my parents hailed from Rouen. My father owned a boat. I fought against the Goddamns. I found it easy to take their ships at sea, as well as raid their coastline. It’s good to see towns like Winchelsea engulfed in flames.’
‘And you, Monsieur Gresnay?’
Gresnay simpered. ‘I was raised by the sea. A small village outside Montreuil. My father was a wealthy fisherman. The English sank his craft and I was raised to do two things: plough the sea and kill Goddamns.’
‘But you were captured,’ Athelstan taunted. ‘Sir Maurice sank one of your ships and took the other captive, which is why you are here at Hawkmere.’
‘Only through treachery,’ Gresnay sneered.
‘I am afraid not,’ Athelstan replied. ‘My Lord of Gaunt will take an oath that it was simply the fortunes of war.’
‘That’s a lie!’ Vamier shouted.
‘I am afraid, Monsieur, it’s the truth,’ Gaunt replied languidly. ‘Your ships were taken in fair fight and you are prisoners here because the Goddamns beat you.’
‘So, why murder us?’ Gresnay sneered.
‘But no Englishman murdered you,’ Athelstan said. ‘You see, both of you are sailors and probably very good ones but…’
He paused as the door opened and one of Gaunt’s liveried servants hurried in. He bent over the table and whispered in the Regent’s ear; he, in turn, called Sir John over.
‘He’s arrived,’ Sir John announced.
‘Tell him to wait,’ Athelstan replied. ‘We’ll be with him shortly.’ Athelstan waited until the door closed before picking up where he had been interrupted. ‘Both of you are sailors, and probably very good at your trade: the trim of sails, scrutinising the sky, knowing the sea. You are probably stout fighters ready to run down an English merchantman, steal its cargo, slaughter its crew. God save us all!’ Athelstan sighed. ‘You’re no different from those who live on the other side of the Narrow Seas.’
‘What are you implying?’ Gresnay’s voice was strident.
‘What am I implying? Why, one of you is a spy! Oh, not for the Regent here but for the court, the government back in Paris. A man who keeps an eye on his fellows, searches out mutiny, grumblings, any hint of treachery. After all, it’s not unknown for ships, be they French or English, to enter into secret collusion with the enemy.’
‘That’s nonsense!’ Vamier snarled.
‘Is it?’ Athelstan asked. ‘You go to sea and you live in each other’s pockets. You sleep, eat, do everything with your companions. However, when your ship returns to harbour, where do you go? To the taverns and the brothels or home to your loved ones? One of you also goes to Paris: to the Louvre Palace, or the Hotel de Ville, to deliver a report to his masters; scraps of information, morsels of news.’ Athelstan glimpsed the uncertainty in Gresnay’s eyes. ‘Now your masters in France have a spy, an assassin called Mercurius.’
Neither man flinched.
‘High ranking, very well paid. His task is to collect information and remove the enemies of France by fair means or foul.’
‘Are you saying it’s one of us?’ Vamier asked. ‘Even if you speak the truth, Brother, it could be one of those who have already died.’
‘Oh, it’s one of you,’ Athelstan said. ‘Your masters in Paris were furious to lose two warships, their cargoes and skilled crews all in one day. They reached the obvious conclusion that there must be treachery, as did you. You were brought from Dover and delivered into the hands of Sir Walter Limbright at Hawkmere Manor.’ Athelstan sighed. ‘An Englishman who has good cause to hate the French. He would keep you in straitened circumstances, deepen your bitterness. Make you drink the chalice of sorrow till the very last drop. One of you, however, secretly received information that the traitor who had betrayed the St Sulpice and the St Denis must be among the prisoners at Hawkmere. I suppose that man needed very little encouragement to carry out what he considered legal execution.’ Athelstan picked up two of the peas.
‘Messieurs, let me introduce the rosary pea, sometimes called a paternoster pea, an Abrin pea or, to those who are skilled in herbs, the Abrus precatorius. It’s harmless enough. Monsieur Gresnay, there’s two for you. Monsieur Vamier, the same for you. I will take two as well to show you that they possess no noxious qualities.’
‘No,’ Gresnay said. ‘I am not taking them.’
The Frenchman walked down the hall towards the door.
‘You killed my friends. You will not kill me!’
He started to run. Sir Maurice caught him, crashing into him and sending him flying across the hall. Gresnay stumbled but regained his stance and turned. Sir John seized him, grasping his arms and, assisted by Maltravers, brought the protesting Frenchman back to the table.