‘My Lord Coroner …’
‘Two shillings,’ Cranston retorted. ‘Four shillings if the information is useful.’
‘The business at The Candle-Flame?
‘What of it?’
‘None of the plunder has appeared on the streets. No one is saying anything. Rumour claims the Upright Men, though rejoicing in Marsen’s death, had no part in it.’
‘And?’
‘They have issued the ban against anyone who tries to profit from the stolen treasure. Any information about the murders and robbery must be conveyed to them. They have also issued their own warrant and posted a reward for the capture of Hugh of Hornsey.’
‘Have they now?’ Cranston breathed, stirring in his chair. ‘In other words, the Upright Men do not know what happened at The Candle-Flame. They had no part in it, which brings us back to the original question. Who did? Ah, well, Muckworm, see Osbert and collect three shillings.’
Muckworm bowed and left the chamber. Cranston sighed and pulled across a copy of an indictment: how Thomas Elan in Farringdon ward feloniously entered the close and house of Margaret Perman of the same ward, attempted to rape her feloniously, and feloniously bit the said Margaret with his teeth so that he ripped off the said Margaret’s nose with that bite and broke three of her ribs so that four days later the said Margaret died because of infection and pain of that bite … ‘Satan’s tits!’ Cranston swore quietly and immediately took a slurp from the miraculous wineskin. He grasped a quill and scribbled across the indictment that Elan be arraigned before the justices of oyer and terminer at Westminster.
‘Sir John?’ He glanced up. Oswald and Simon stood in the doorway, both looking highly anxious. Cranston felt a pang of pity. These two faithful servants of his court were always ready to tease him, but not today. The coroner realized how that rising tide of fear creeping through the city was beginning to lap along the corridors of the Guildhall. Horrors like Thomas Elan could be dealt with but the appearance of the Earthworms yesterday, erupting into the heart of the city, audacious enough to attack crown officials, heightened the tension. These two men were terrified. Yesterday royal troops had invaded Cheapside but when the revolt came these would be pulled back to defend Westminster and the Tower. And what then?
‘Gentlemen.’ Cranston smiled. ‘You have family?’
‘Yes, Sir John,’ they chorused.
‘Get them out of this city as soon as possible.’
‘Where, Sir John?’ Oswald pleaded.
‘They can join the Lady Maude in a well-fortified manor deep in the countryside, your wives, your children and the rest of your households. I will leave you the details but mark my words, they should be gone by tomorrow’s vesper’s bell. Also,’ Cranston gestured around, ‘start stripping my chambers here. Have all the tapestries and other moveables chested away. Any weapons and monies must be hidden. The coroner’s rolls and all other documents should be locked in the war chests in the cellars. Oh, by the way, have those corpses from The Candle-Flame been moved to St Mary-le-Bow yet?
‘Yes, Sir John,’ they chorused.
‘Good, now do what I say.’
‘Of course, Sir John.’ The relief of both officials was obvious.
‘By the way,’ Simon piped up, ‘Sir John, you have two visitors who wish to speak to you urgently, the taverner Master Thorne and Sir Robert Paston …’
A short while later both men were ushered up into the chamber, Oswald closing the door as Cranston waved his visitors to the cushioned window seat. Refreshments were offered and refused. Thorne, his hard-favoured face slightly red, eyes constantly blinking, came swiftly to the point.
‘Sir John, we have information for you. Sir Robert here has discussed it with me. We thought it best to come to you.’
‘On the night of the murders,’ Paston broke in, ‘I heard a disagreement, a fairly violent one as I walked down the gallery and passed Ronseval’s chamber. Voices were raised. Ronseval was challenging Hugh of Hornsey. I recognized the captain’s Yorkshire burr; he apparently hails from Pontefract.’
‘This disagreement?’ Cranston asked.
‘I could only hear catches of their conversation. Ronseval was accusing Hornsey of cowardice, of being too frightened to confront Marsen. I passed on and returned to my chamber.’
‘When was this?’
‘I would guess about an hour before midnight. But listen, Sir John, I am sure that Hornsey left that chamber. I heard the door open and close. However, I am equally certain that sometime later he returned. I am sure I heard a knock. Again, I went out on to the gallery. I heard raised voices, a scuffle. I hid in the shadows. The door was thrown open and Hornsey stormed out.’
‘So.’ Cranston paused. ‘What you are saying is that Hugh of Hornsey left his post at the campfire at least twice to quarrel with Ronseval? But why him? Why should a captain of archers consort with a wandering minstrel?’
‘All I can say,’ Thorne replied, ‘is that both have stayed at The Candle-Flame. There is more. Yesterday, after you left, the tavern fell silent. Your bailiff Flaxwith and the others carted away the corpses and what remained of the food and drink. On his way out Flaxwith removed your seals and declared the Barbican could now be used, that is correct?’
Cranston nodded.
‘As I said, everything quietened down. Everyone was stricken by what had happened. My wife Eleanor is sorely aggrieved.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘Mooncalf, just before twilight set in, glimpsed Ronseval out on the Palisade. He seemed to be searching for something. Mooncalf decided to hide and watch.’
‘And?’ Cranston leaned forward.
‘Mooncalf saw Ronseval pick up a dagger and hurry back into the tavern. Now, I left The Candle-Flame in the early evening; everything remained quiet. Sir Robert will attest to that. You had instructed myself and all the guests to remain until you issued licence to leave.’
Cranston grunted his agreement.
‘Well, between vespers and compline bell, sometime before the curfew sounded and the steeple lights were lit, Ronseval fled the tavern.’
‘What!’
‘Sir John, I was not there. Mooncalf met Ronseval in the Dark Parlour, preparing to leave. Mooncalf had words with him about that. Ronseval said he was leaving for a short while and would return. He never did. This morning a Dominican, the Papal Inquisitor, Brother Marcel, arrived to lodge at the tavern. I gave him the Lombard chamber, spacious and comfortable, next door to the minstrel’s. I had been expecting him for days.’ He sniffed. ‘Whilst doing so I could hear no sound from Ronseval’s room. I unlocked the door but he and all his baggage were gone. He had left the chamber tidy enough, though I detected blood smatterings on the rope matting and turkey rug. It looked as if Ronseval had tried to wash it off and failed. I asked Sir Thomas to come and witness what I had discovered. He did. Sir John, Ronseval has disappeared; he has fled.’