‘I am sorry,’ Paston mumbled, scratching the side of his face. ‘I don’t understand …’
‘First, you hide weapons as well as transport them into the city along with your barrels of wine and crates of goods. More importantly, you import them. After all, where can the Upright Men purchase weapons in England without provoking the sharp interest of a royal official or one of Thibault’s legion of spies? You buy them and bring all this weaponry into the heart of London.’ Athelstan paused. He sensed Paston would not deny the charges but he wanted a full confession so he and Cranston could dig further.
‘Why should I,’ Paston tried one protest, ‘a manor lord, a shire knight and a member of the Commons-?’
‘Why indeed?’ Cranston leaned forward then looked quizzically at Athelstan.
‘Because the Upright Men are the same as you and I, Sir John. They are also privy to Sir Robert’s secret pleasures at The Golden Oliphant. More importantly, amongst their own ranks are members of the Lollard sect. The Upright Men have enough evidence to indict Sir Robert’s daughter and her beloved William for heresy. Marsen and Mauclerc were hunting for the same knowledge. They found something out about you and the Mistress of the Moppets but perhaps they sensed there was more. Do you remember Marsen baiting you about your own daughter here in the Dark Parlour? That salacious remark about Martha being sent to him? He was hinting at your secret life at The Golden Oliphant, whether your daughter knew about it or, perhaps, that she was involved in much more serious matters. Oh, yes,’ Athelstan nodded, ‘Marsen was a demon incarnate, a vicious, very dangerous man. If he could, he would have destroyed you and your family.’ The manor lord now sat face in his hands and began to sob. Cranston looked at Athelstan, who just shook his head and put a finger to his lips.
‘We are ruined anyway.’ Paston took his hands away. ‘I could be indicted for treason, even heresy. My lands and goods will be seized, my daughter and her beloved taken up for questioning.’
‘Sir Robert, I assure you I am not here for your destruction. Such fear is not necessary, so compose yourself. Have you written the account I asked for? Did you keep it confidential to yourself?’
‘Yes, every word.’ Paston dug into his wallet, took out a scroll and handed it over. ‘I dictated this to William Foulkes. I would trust him with my life.’
‘And what did Foulkes say?’
‘Like myself, on reflection he thought it very strange. I mean, Brother, it is. Once you start recalling this conversation or that.’
‘I am grateful,’ Athelstan murmured. He undid the scroll and read the neat clerkly hand. He was correct. Foulkes was an excellent clerk and the report provided chapter and verse – it more than confirmed Athelstan’s suspicions on another matter. He read and re-read it until he was satisfied, then glanced up.
‘You may stay, Sir Robert. I am now going to question your daughter and Master Foulkes. Rest assured I saw you separately; it would have been unjust to let her know about The Golden Oliphant.’ Paston took a deep breath and sank down into his chair. Athelstan picked up the bell and rang it. Tiptoft, accompanied by Sir Simon Burley, came into the Dark Parlour.
‘Sir Simon, all those summoned are being kept separate and closely guarded?’
‘Yes, Sir John.’
‘Very good. Master Tiptoft, bring Martha Paston and William Foulkes here. Sir Robert will be staying also.’
‘And you have sent a messenger to St Erconwald’s asking for that person to present himself here?’ Athelstan asked.
‘I have.’
‘When he arrives I want him kept hooded and masked alone in some chamber; no one is to see him.’
Burley nodded his agreement. A short while later Tiptoft ushered Martha and Foulkes into the Dark Parlour. Looking highly nervous, they took the chairs either side of Sir Robert. Athelstan noticed how both young people were very soberly garbed in dark-brown robes. He wondered if the Lollards adopted their own distinctive dress: dark, unassuming clothing with little or no concession to frippery or fashion.
‘Mistress Martha, Master William. Let me be brief and blunt. I know where Sir Robert was on the night of the murder. He was in the gallery above, restless about his own concerns, although I would hazard that he was also worried about you. On that same night both of you were preparing to leave with Mooncalf because both of you and the ostler are members of the Lollard sect. You were planning to go to one of your conventicles, though I suspect something much more serious happened. Didn’t it? No, no,’ Athelstan raised a hand, ‘please don’t protest. I remember the first time we met in the small refectory. I gave a blessing which as Lollards you could not acknowledge. Martha, you wear no religious insignia, nor do you, Master William. Lollards are as hot against such practices as they are against priests. You seem to tolerate my presence rather than welcome it. I also noticed the rather strange signage between yourself and Mooncalf. I am sure the Lollards, like every sect, have their own tokens so members can identify themselves to each other. I also watched you as poor Sparwell died. Why were you there? I don’t think you are the sort of people to watch a man burn to death. You were present as witnesses, to offer some comfort and consolation, to demonstrate that he was not alone. You watched that horrible scene with profound sadness. I assure you, I too gave Sparwell what comfort I could. Sir John here did better: a goblet of drugged wine put Sparwell into a sleep close to death.’ Foulkes held Athelstan’s stare but Martha bowed her head, now and again quickly dabbing at her eyes. ‘You later returned to collect what little remained of your comrade – shards of bones, shrivelled, blackened flesh. You wanted to provide a holy and decent burial performed secretly either in a London churchyard or some village cemetery when you returned home. I am sure, though it will not be necessary, that a search of your chambers would reveal a funeral urn as well as documents, handbills and prayer books – enough evidence to prove your Lollardy.’ Athelstan tried to hide his compassion, though his heart went out to these two poor innocents stumbling towards a death as gruesome and horrific as Sparwell’s.
‘I will not lie,’ Foulkes declared.
‘I deliberately did not make you swear,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Moreover, I am not too sure whether a Lollard would take such an oath or recognize its validity. I also wish to be kind. And believe me,’ Athelstan rose and walked round the table and, standing behind Foulkes, stretched out his own hand to touch the Book of the Gospel. ‘I swear by the living God,’ Athelstan declared, ‘I mean you no harm.’ He withdrew his hand. ‘I cannot say the same for your ostler friend, Master Mooncalf.’