‘Sir John, we should go. But first, follow me whilst I preach the gospel, as it is, and as it shall be, to our two fugitives.’ Athelstan then walked into the nave and called Benedicta and the bell clerk to join him. Once they had, he re-entered the sanctuary and lectured Watkin and Pike on what they could and couldn’t do. He promised that Benedicta and Mauger, assisted by the Hangman, would bring them food, light and whatever else was needed for their comfort. Athelstan, however, had a few worries; the parish should protect this precious pair, whilst representatives of the Upright Men would soon take up position ever so cleverly around the church. What happened to Hugh of Hornsey would certainly not happen again. Athelstan then walked Cranston outside, where he immediately glimpsed a number of shadowy figures move in and out of the meagre pools of light. He was correct. The envoys of the Upright Men had already arrived. Thibault, on the other hand, would not be so hasty in coming here after the bloody affray at The Candle-Flame.
‘You have questions, little friar? I can tell that from your face.’
‘Of course, Sir John; it’s the answers which elude me. Nevertheless, the mills of God are grinding, slowly but surely. Now look, Sir John, I need a guard, a good one. Men who will protect me and my house.’
‘I will arrange that.’
‘I also need a courier, the best you have, someone whom I can send into the city to fetch this and that.’
‘Such as?’ Cranston asked.
‘Never mind, Sir John, just a good one. A veritable greyhound who can sally forth whenever I wish to parry out the truth.’
‘Tiptoft,’ Cranston replied. ‘Tiptoft is the best. I will summon him tomorrow and despatch him to you. Oh, by the way, as you may know, the Pastons, their clerk and their cog will be going nowhere.’
Athelstan thanked him, absent-mindedly commenting on how brilliant the stars looked, blessed the coroner and ambled back to the priest’s house. Benedicta was waiting for him inside. The kitchen, cleaned and scrubbed, glowed with warmth; the fire leapt merrily and the braziers crackled away. A bowl of pottage was warming in the small fireside oven and a jug of ale with Athelstan’s finest pewter goblet stood on the table under a crisp, white napkin. Athelstan noticed the leather box beside it. Benedicta informed him how old Siward at Blackfriars had duly complied with Athelstan’s request but begged his former student to take great care of the manuscript. Athelstan washed his hands at the lavarium, nodding his agreement. Bonaventure appeared, tail whipping the air, whiskers all a quiver, one eye glaring for his food. Benedicta chatted on about doings in the parish. Athelstan, now enjoying both the pottage and ale, half-listened. Once she had left, Athelstan wiped his hands, opened the leather case and took out the copy of Beowulf. He sat reading the Latin translation and abruptly his sleepy concentration sharpened. Athelstan had studied the poem during his novitiate; he also recalled it being read in the refectory during meals. Certain phrases and sentences, especially about the hero’s battle exploits, made Athelstan tense with excitement.
‘By their fruits ye shall know them.’ He whispered a line from the scriptures as he stared into the fire. The Greek word for fruit was karpos; it could also mean how a man’s inner spirit, for good or bad, would express itself in words and action. Athelstan sat for a while, applying this to the mysteries challenging him. He cut strips of parchment and began to list the images and memories of all that he had seen, heard and felt. He picked up his quill pen and wrote swiftly. The list would be fragmented. He would impose logic and order much later.
Item: The Candle-Flame on the night of the murders; Thorne going down to check the stables and discovering that battered wallet. Beowulf had been there. He’d planned for Marsen and Mauclerc’s horses to rear and throw their riders the following morning, when he’d probably intended to strike both of them down. On that same fateful night, Sir Robert Paston went out into the gallery. He was met by that maid despatched by the Mistress of the Moppets to warn him how Marsen knew of Paston’s secret preferences when he visited The Golden Oliphant. Meanwhile, Hugh of Hornsey was closeted with his lover, Ronseval. They quarrelled. Hornsey was deeply concerned that Marsen did not discover the true nature of their relationship. Eventually Hugh of Hornsey left but came hurrying back when he discovered his two comrades were slain and the Barbican sealed and eerily silent. Others in the tavern were just as busy. The ostler Mooncalf met with Martha Paston and William Foulkes in the Dark Parlour and then outside. What did he want with them? Where were they going? On that same night Brother Marcel was definitely not at The Candle-Flame, he was elsewhere, whilst Brother Roger remained in his own chamber, apparently impervious to all that was happening around him.
Item: Inside the Barbican the window, its shutters and door were all sealed, locked and bolted, as was even the trapdoor to the upper chamber. Nevertheless, a killer, as deadly and as silently as a viper, had slithered into that forbidding tower and taken seven lives, seven souls brutally despatched to judgement. Who was responsible for that? How and why? The exchequer coffer was robbed. There was no sign of it being forced, whilst the keys to its three locks remained with their holders. So how could that happen?
Item: The following morning just before dawn, Mooncalf makes his grisly discovery. He goes out to find the two archers slain. Pedro the Cruel, the huge tavern boar, lies fast asleep in the mud; he is roused and wanders off. Mooncalf raises the alarm. Mine Host Thorne goes out to investigate. He has no ladder long enough, so one is placed on a handcart and fixed on that shallow sill. If Athelstan remembered it correctly, the handcart provided considerable length to the ladder. Mine Host climbs up, opens the outer and inner shutters, cuts through the horn covering in the door window and loosens that. However, due to his size, Thorne decides that Mooncalf should make the entry. The taverner comes down, the ostler climbs up and the gruesome discovery is made.
Item: The meeting in The Candle-Flame when he and Cranston made their first acquaintance with the guests. How did they react? What did he see, hear and perceive there?
Item: The discovery of the gauntlet and chainmail wristguard. The origins and ownership of these two items were now well established. Marsen was going to use them against Paston. What did that say, if anything, about the identity of the killer?
Item: The murder of Physician Scrope. What was the origin of that mysterious knocking on his door? Nobody was seen in the gallery. The physician had eventually opened it and, in doing so, sealed his own fate. A short while later, he was discovered murdered in his own locked and bolted chamber; his corpse slumped close to the door. Scrope died clutching a pilgrim’s book on Glastonbury, open on the page listing some of the abbey’s famous relics. How was he murdered? Why was he clutching that manuscript?
Athelstan recalled Lascelles being struck by the first crossbow bolt, and how he reacted before being hit by a final killing blow.
Item: Ronseval. Why did he slip out of The Candle-Flame? Whom did he meet? Certainly someone he trusted so much his killer could draw very close to him. And why was he killed? Did he know something? Yet, according to all the evidence, he never left his chamber that night.
Item: Hugh of Hornsey. Undoubtedly he panicked and fled. Nevertheless, Hornsey must have seen something which he kept to himself as he waited for better days. But what? And, like his lover, why had he trusted his killer so much he opened that heavy sacristy door?