Athelstan went into the buttery, poured himself a stoup of ale and filled Bonaventure’s bowl with some of the milk Benedicta had brought. The friar watched the cat hungrily lap his morning drink. ‘Good,’ Athelstan continued. ‘Then there is the exchequer chest. Had it been opened, and why? Marsen and Mauclerc would be careful, especially with two whores in the chamber. Yet, even if it was partially locked, why would the other two keys still be left on cords hanging round their owners’ neck? Apparently the killer-thief did not need them.’ Athelstan sipped at his ale. ‘No potion or poison could be traced in the food or drink. So, Bonaventure, we move to the heart of this mystery. Two archers were slain by the campfire. Three more in the lower chamber, four souls in the one above, yet both window and door were locked and bolted, whilst the trapdoor to Marsen’s chamber was clasped shut from the upper side. How could a killer inflict such damage, provoke no real resistance and open a locked exchequer chest, even if the third clasp had been released, then remove the treasure and leave, passing as it were through sheer stone?’
Athelstan stopped to listen to the sounds echoing from outside, shouts and cries as Hornsey’s corpse was removed. ‘Yet another mystery, Bonaventure. Hornsey’s murderer could have only entered our church by the door to the sacristy. Hornsey first peered through the eyelet and then, all trusting, opened the door and was immediately killed. The same, Bonaventure,’ Athelstan started his pacing again, ‘yes, just like Physician Scrope, only his death is even more mysterious. He was killed in a locked, bolted chamber. Wait now.’ Athelstan’s fingers flew to his lips as he recalled Lascelles being struck the previous evening. He must, he promised himself, truly reflect on what he’d seen last night, but, for the moment, he was too tired; it would have to wait. ‘Why, oh why, Bonaventure, was Scrope killed in such a way? What did he see when he went out? Why was he clutching that pilgrim book on Glastonbury?’ Athelstan, sipping his ale, crouched by the hearth, using a poker to shatter the crumbling, flame-flickering ash. ‘As for the spy, well, Master Thibault will have to wait. And Beowulf – a silent, skilled killer, like you, Bonaventure? He has undoubtedly struck twice: at Lascelles that morning in the stableyard and more successfully last night. This time, he killed Lascelles and nearly did the same to Thibault. I wonder.’ Athelstan put the poker down; a thought had occurred to him. Was Beowulf sheltering at The Candle-Flame or was he simply using the tavern as a shield? Athelstan got to his feet. ‘And there are other strands to this mystery, Bonaventure. I must have a word with Mooncalf, Martha and Master Foulkes. Where were they going on the night those murders occurred? And why did a young whore visit Paston? Questions, questions, Bonaventure! Those two lovers Ronseval and Hornsey executed in the same way, the killer very close. Both men undoubtedly trusted that son of Cain. And why did Ronseval leave the tavern …?’ Athelstan paused in his self-lecture at a pounding at the door. He hurriedly unlocked it, drew the bolts and stood back as Cranston swept in, his cloak billowing out as if he was the herald of God Almighty.
‘I heard what happened, Athelstan. Hornsey’s slain, the fool!’ Cranston paused as Bonaventure, who seemed to adore the coroner, padded across to brush himself against Sir John’s boots, his one eye staring up in mute admiration. ‘God’s teeth, I can’t stand cats!’
‘He certainly likes you.’ Athelstan shooed Bonaventure away and made Sir John sit and listen to what he had learnt from Hornsey. Once he had finished, Cranston, threading his beaver hat through his hands, stared bleakly at Athelstan.
‘Do you think we will ever solve this, Brother?’
‘Sir John, I do not know.’
‘Thibault is furious. He regarded Lascelles as kith and kin. He visited me at the Guildhall and told me that was Beowulf’s work last night. Master Thorne found Beowulf’s usual message pinned to a newel post on the tavern staircase. He sent it immediately to the Guildhall. Brother Athelstan, I do fear for Pike and Watkin. Thibault may well make an example of them. I have used all the influence I can to delay their arraignment before the justices. Now, Brother,’ Cranston got to his feet, ‘let’s go deeper into this maze. We must visit The Golden Oliphant and the Mistress of the Moppets. Let us see what that madam has to say for herself. Brother, what is it?’
‘Just a thought, Sir John, but isn’t it rather strange? The Upright Men invade The Candle-Flame. I could understand why they would not lift a hand against Brother Marcel or Roger, as they are priests. Violence against clerics incurs spiritual penalties and, whatever the Upright Men may boast, old habits die hard. What is remarkable is that no violence was offered to Sir Robert Paston, a manor lord, a natural enemy of the Upright Men, or even to Thorne or his own household.’
‘Whom they probably regard as in Thibault’s pay.’
‘The Upright Men,’ Athelstan declared, ‘would be angry. They apparently searched and found no treasure, yet they didn’t turn on their hostages.’
‘Which they certainly can do,’ Cranston added quickly. ‘One of my spies informed me how the Upright Men executed Grapeseed, who mocked them. They used his severed head as a public display of their power. Yes, it’s an interesting thought.’ Cranston chewed the corner of his lip. ‘But we must not be too hasty. Remember, the Upright Men were disturbed in their search by the arrival of Thibault and his soldiers. God knows what they would have done if that hadn’t happened. But come, Brother, let me broaden your experience of this world.’
They left the precincts of St Erconwald’s. Athelstan, head down, hood pulled over, did not wish to converse with parishioners all agog with the news of Pike and Watkin being taken up and Hornsey slain in sanctuary. The exception was Benedicta, whom he called over. He opened his wallet and took out a seal of the Dominican order with a cross on one side and a crowned lily on the other.
‘Take this to Brother Siward at Blackfriars, would you, please? I appreciate the weather is harsh but this is important …’
‘I was planning to visit Cheapside,’ she replied, ‘and remember, Brother, I have been to Blackfriars before on your behalf. I’ve met Brother Siward.’