‘Your Grace.’ Cranston and Athelstan went to kneel.
‘Oh, sit down,’ Gaunt declared wearily. ‘I’m tired of bobbing courtiers.’
He grasped a stool, brought it forward and sat down in front of them, one elbow on his thigh, chin cupped in his hand. He gestured with his other hand for his companion to do likewise. Now, up close, Athelstan could clearly study the other man’s swarthy face, fringed by long dark hair. He was not as relaxed as the Regent; his large soulful eyes were watchful, one beringed finger scratching at a bead of sweat which ran down into the close-cut moustache and beard. He was dressed soberly in a dark blue cotehardie; rings glistened on his fingers, a single gem dazzled on the gold chain around his neck. A secretive man, Athelstan thought, who kept his own counsel, but the way that he sat next to John of Gaunt, and the look which passed between them, showed intimacy and affection.
‘Signor Teodoro Tonnelli, may I present Sir John Cranston, Coroner to the City, and his secretarius, Brother Athelstan, parish priest of St Erconwald’s in Southwark.’ Gaunt smiled. ‘You all know who I am.’
Athelstan gazed steadily back at this scion of Edward III, regent of the kingdom during the minority of his nephew Richard, son of the Black Prince. A man many called the Viper, who was feared by the Church and loathed by the peasants and their secret society, The Great Community of the Realm. Nevertheless, Gaunt was also personable, capable of dazzling charm and extraordinary generosity.
‘Well, Brother,’ Gaunt studiously ignored Cranston, ‘you and the Lord Coroner have questions for us?’
‘The Lombard treasure, a chest of jewellery worth at least ten thousand pounds,’ Athelstan replied.
‘Double that,’ Gaunt whispered, ‘double that, and half as much again.’
Cranston whistled under his breath.
‘There are dreadful murders at the tavern the Night in Jerusalem,’ Athelstan declared.
‘I have heard of them.’ Gaunt looked at Cranston. ‘Is it not time, my Lord Coroner, that you arrested someone?’
‘The treasure,’ Athelstan insisted, ‘how was it composed? What happened to it? I mean, before it was stolen?’
‘I have brought a list.’ Tonnelli’s English had only a tinge of an accent. ‘You may study it, you may keep it.’ He pulled a scroll from his sleeve and handed it to Athelstan, who unrolled it. The jewellery was very carefully listed.
Item 1 A pelican brooch: the pelican stands on a scroll, on the breast of the golden pelican lies a ruby and on the scroll a glowing amethyst.
Item 2 The Swan Jeweclass="underline" the swan is of gold and studded with precious gems.
Item 3 A silver Cross studded with rubies and amethyst. .
Athelstan moved the document so that Cranston could also study it. A hundred items were listed there, as well as pouches of silver and gold minted in Genoa, Pavia and Milan. The jewellery was of every type imaginable: rings, crosses, brooches, chains, pendants, bracelets and even precious buttons taken from robes of gold.
‘I collected this jewellery,’ Tonnelli explained, ‘from our banking houses in England, France, Italy and the cities of the Rhine. It was supposed to be part of the Crusaders’ war chest to buy weapons, supplies and animals, as well as bribe officials. The treasure was placed in a chest, what I called a chest of steel, protected by bands of iron with three different locks. Twenty years ago I brought the chest down to the Tower whilst I sent the keys to the Admiral of the Fleet. He in turn shared these with trusted officers.’
‘This was a loan?’ Cranston asked.
‘Yes,’ Tonnelli agreed. ‘The Crusader leaders had agreed to pay it back at a fixed term of interest and give my banking house a percentage of whatever profits they earned. We considered it a sensible venture.’ Tonnelli allowed himself a smile. ‘The cities of North Africa are fabulously wealthy; the plunder from even one would settle such a debt ten times over.’
‘And why did you take it to the Tower?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Why not hand it over to the Admiral of the Fleet immediately?’
‘Oh, little friar,’ teased the Regent, ‘do not act the innocent! London is full of thieves at the best of times, and many of them live in Southwark. The war with France was over. There was no plunder to be had, or profits to be made from fat ransoms. The city was swollen with desperate soldiers, camped along both banks of the Thames, men of every kind, from a dozen kingdoms, whilst the sailors of the fleet were the riffraff from every port in Christendom. They’d all heard about the treasure, so Master Tonnelli approached me. The chest of steel would be hidden in the Tower and secretly conveyed to the Fleet at night shortly before it sailed. Once it was aboard, the Admiral, who trust his own crews, would have the chest opened and the contents distributed amongst captains and masters he could trust.’
Gaunt tapped Athelstan on the knee.
‘I understand you have been to see Master Hubert in the Tower? Go back there and search amongst the records. Did you know that every gang of outlaws in London, and beyond, had an interest in that treasure? Take a walk along the quayside near London Bridge; you’ll see the river pirates hanging from their gibbets for three turns of the tide. London was full of such men who feared neither God or the law.’
Athelstan nodded in agreement. The Regent’s reasoning was logical, yet he detected a glibness like the patter of some subtle lawyer presenting his case.
‘Why didn’t you have the treasure conveyed by your own armed retainers, or even the garrison in the Tower?’
‘I didn’t trust them. Once they knew the secret, they would know everything, wouldn’t they? When and where and to whom it was to be given. Once people know the times and seasons, Brother Athelstan, it is easy for them to plot. I wanted as few people as possible — so did the Admiral, not to mention Signor Tonnelli — to know about the treasure’s whereabouts, even when it came aboard ship.’ He shrugged. ‘Even my captain of the guard, who took the treasure to Culpepper, was told the chest was empty, a diversion to distract certain people I couldn’t name.’ Gaunt paused. ‘The problem was twofold. We didn’t want anyone seeing such a barge go directly from the Tower to the flagship; any would-be thief would be watching for that. More importantly, and remember this, we wanted as few people as possible to know when or where the treasure was taken aboard. The design was mine-’
‘So, it was you who chose Mortimer and Culpepper?’
‘Yes. Mortimer was my henchman, a man who was mine both body and soul, as I was his,’ Gaunt added sadly. ‘In France, Mortimer saved my life on at least two occasions during sudden ambuscade. I talked to him and swore him to secrecy, and asked him to find one man he could trust. He brought along Culpepper, whom I also liked. I paid them for their needs, good silver to ease their path.’
Gaunt’s strange blue eyes held Athelstan’s gaze. The friar wondered how much this cunning nobleman knew about the searches by both himself and Cranston. He recalled the whisperings of his own parishioners, how Gaunt had more spies in London than the city had dogs.
‘We decided,’ Gaunt continued, ‘to transport the gold on the Eve of St Matthew, the twentieth of September. My boatmen were told to take the chest across the Thames. They would pause for a while at the Oyster Wharf, where my agents would ensure that all was well, before continuing further south. They did so. Mortimer and Culpepper had not even told me the precise location, except that it was a lonely stretch on the south bank of the Thames, near to the river turns down towards Westminster.’ Gaunt paused, sucking on his teeth. ‘According to my men, everything went according to plan. My agents on the Oyster Wharf were satisfied that everything was well and the barge continued. You see, Brother, boats and barges go up the Thames every day and every night; those who lusted after the treasure expected it to be moved with great pomp and ceremony from the City to the Admiral’s flagship. They would hardly be looking for a simple barge with a crew of two. My men had been told to look for a lantern light, one which would swing and clearly flash, and they found it.’