Mine Hostess returned with the food and Cranston, cloak unhitched and warbelt looped over a wall hook, ate and drank as if there was no tomorrow. Athelstan put a little of the food on his platter and ate carefully and slowly, sipping occasionally from his goblet of wine. Once he’d finished he moved to a nearby table and took out the documents collected from the Golden Oliphant: Whitfield’s despairing letter, the strange document depicting two triangles, their apexes meeting, and beside these, that puzzling litany of saints. The third document rendered in cipher remained unintelligible. Athelstan hid that deep in his chancery satchel and, whilst Cranston cleared the platters, carefully made copies of the other two and handed them to the now sated coroner for safekeeping.
‘I agree with you, Friar.’ Cranston deftly used his toothpick and sat back on the settle. ‘Those attackers did not intend to hurt, maim or kill but to seize something, and logically the only item I – we – can think of is what we received at the Golden Oliphant. Now that cipher was originally taken from Reynard, the Upright Men’s courier, so the Upright Men want it back. But what does it mean? Why is it so important?’
‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan?’ Mine Hostess came out of the kitchen with a scroll, a dark purple ribbon tied around it. Athelstan wiped his fingers and took it, then opened and read it.
‘Brother Philippe,’ he declared. ‘He scrutinized Whitfield’s corpse. He cannot account for some slightly reddish marks on the dead man’s waist, though he said that this had nothing to do with Whitfield’s death.’
‘So what does?’
‘Nothing, Sir John.’
Athelstan handed him the letter. ‘According to Philippe, Whitfield hanged himself. He can find no other trace of violence on the corpse or any symptom of poison or any baleful potion.’ Athelstan sat back in his seat. ‘Nevertheless, Sir John, I suggest that Whitfield no more hanged himself than I did.’
‘So, let’s begin from the beginning – perhaps we will stumble on the truth.’
‘In which case, shouldn’t we leave immediately for St Erconwald’s?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Lebarge must have the truth of it.’
‘You can deal with him later,’ Cranston replied brusquely. ‘Let us concentrate on what we know, or think we know, little friar.’
Athelstan intoned his conclusions. ‘Item: Amaury Whitfield, Lebarge, Odo Gray, sea captain, Adam Stretton, Arundel’s mailed clerk and Matthias Camoys gathered four days ago at the Golden Oliphant to celebrate the Festival of Cokayne, which salutes a world turned upside down, where male becomes female and so on … Really,’ Athelstan shrugged, ‘an excuse for licentiousness and bawdy humour. Item:’ he continued, ‘this revelry is held at the Golden Oliphant, a high-class, fairly sophisticated brothel owned by Mistress Elizabeth Cheyne, ably assisted by her troupe of moppets and maids, all available to anyone who pays for their services. She is also supported by leading members of her household: Joycelina, chief of the strumpets; Foxley, Master of Horse; and Griffin, Master of the Hall – in this case, the Golden Hall, the main taproom of that brothel-cum-tavern. Item: there is a history to this establishment. It was bought by Reginald Camoys for his doxy Elizabeth Cheyne. Reginald, a former knight and warrior, returned from the eastern marches. He and his brother Everard brought back the embalmed corpse of Reginald’s bosom comrade, Simon Penchen. Reginald also secretly brought back a great treasure of the Teutonic Knights, his former patrons, the Cross of Lothar, an exquisitely beautiful and precious object. Reginald settled down into city life, thoroughly enjoying the charms of Mistress Cheyne, and he developed an undoubted skill as a sign writer, winning the favour of leading guilds in the city.’ Athelstan paused as Cranston nodded in agreement, then raised a hand, beckoning a slattern to refill the jug of Bordeaux.
‘Everard Camoys,’ Athelstan continued, ‘also settled down to emerge as a leading city mercer and goldsmith. Item: Reginald, lost in his own world, used his wealth to found that chantry chapel at St Mary Le Bow, to house his bosom friend’s corpse as well as to prepare for his own mortal remains when God called him to judgement, which he eventually did.’
Athelstan paused. A tinker with a tray hung around his neck slipped through the door and went to sit on a corner stool at the far side of the taproom. The tinker’s tray was crammed with geegaws and other petty items. The man’s face was hidden deep in a dirty cowl, but the friar was sure he was looking in their direction. Athelstan breathed in slowly. Surely no tinker would have a tray so full at this late hour, and why hide his face and head? Was he a spy sent in by the Upright Men to keep himself and Cranston under close scrutiny?
‘Item, dear friar?’
‘Yes, yes, Sir John,’ Athelstan whispered, ‘but just keep an eye on our tinker friend over there. Anyway, item: Reginald, before he died, left mysterious and enigmatic messages which might reveal the whereabouts of the Cross of Lothar. No one is really concerned about this except Matthias Camoys, who haunts both the Golden Oliphant and St Mary Le Bow, the two places where the insignia are shown. Now, whether these ciphers do contain the truth about the whereabouts of the Cross of Lothar is just an educated guess. Matthias certainly believes they do. He joined the Cokayne Festival to sample the delights of the sisterhood and to drink deeply, but also to seek the help of a skilled cipher clerk, Whitfield, to resolve the riddles of his uncle’s carvings. Whitfield may have offered his assistance, telling young Camoys to meet him at the Tavern of Lost Souls, a place he had already visited.’ Athelstan scratched his head. ‘But why there, why not the Golden Oliphant? And what was Whitfield’s real business with Mephistopheles? Item: we know very little about what truly happened during those evenings of festivity at the Golden Oliphant. Whitfield was often deep in his cups. Was this because of the threats from the Herald of Hell? According to reports, both he and Lebarge were frightened and anxious. What else, dear coroner?’
‘Reginald Camoys certainly loved to carve those symbols, wherever he could. What do the letters IHSV mean? And that salutation to “The Unconquerable Sun”? Why carve both on the tombs as well as at the Golden Oliphant?’
‘For the moment, Sir John, let’s leave the inscriptions. I have seen, or heard about them before, but I cannot place where or when. Anyway, item: Whitfield’s mysterious death. Last night he left the revelry and went up to his chamber. Sometime in the following hours, or so it would seem, he locked and bolted his chamber door, closed the eyelet, turned the key and apparently sat down to write that final letter. Once finished, dressed to leave, he took the fire rope, fastened the noose to a rafter, moved that stool and,’ Athelstan blew his cheeks out, ‘the rest, God bless him, we know. Except,’ he lifted a finger, ‘Master Whitfield intended to go to the Tavern of Lost Souls. He invited young Matthias to join him there. So, why Whitfield’s interest in meeting Mephistopheles and his minions? Was it just the sale of objects from his dwelling place? In which case, why have Matthias there with him, eh?’
Cranston just shook his head.
‘Item: that bundle of clothes lying on the floor of Whitfield’s chamber. Is that significant? And why did Whitfield, a fairly prosperous man, hire a room on the top gallery? To protect himself, to keep something safe and the curious at bay? Then there’s Foxley’s offhand remark that Whitfield seemed slimmer in death than he did in life: what did he mean by it? Why were Whitfield’s chambers in Fairlop Lane cleared of possessions? I noticed something amiss there but I cannot recall it for the moment. To continue. Item: where are Whitfield’s chamber possessions and Lebarge’s baggage? The scrivener arrived in St Erconwald’s with little to show. Item: why is Lebarge sheltering in sanctuary? What crime has he committed? If he is not careful he could fall under suspicion, but, to return to my question, where is the property of both Whitfield and Lebarge? The curtains, the strongbox, the covers of damask, the candlesticks, the books – the usual items owned by a prosperous clerk? Have they been sold to Mephistopheles? Yet the Master of the Minions claims that Whitfield only approached him about a possible sale.’