‘Perhaps to arrest a murderer, Your Grace. All entrances to the Guildhall must be secured.’
Gaunt stared back, a spark of interest in his eyes as he realized this was to be no ordinary meeting.
‘You have discovered something, haven’t you?’ he said softly. ‘You and your little friar.’
The atmosphere in the chamber changed dramatically. They’d dismissed us as failures, Athelstan thought to himself. These arrogant hawks thought a fat Coroner and his dusty friar too dim-witted to search out the truth. He breathed deeply to control his anger. Gaunt sat back and spread his hands.
‘Sir John, in this matter we are your prisoners.’ He glared over his shoulders and bellowed at a captain of the guard standing against the wall behind him: ‘Have the Guildhall secured! No one is to leave or enter until I say.’ He looked at Cranston, ‘What else do you need, My Lord Coroner?’
Athelstan spoke instead. ‘I want the banqueting table laid out, as it was the night Fitzroy died.’
Gaunt nodded. ‘And what else?’
‘I want cushions and bolsters where Sir Gerard Mountjoy the Sheriff was sitting. The garden must be cleared.’
Gaunt smiled. ‘And finally?’
‘Until I and Sir John have finished, Your Grace, I would be grateful if you would all stay here.’
A hubbub of protest broke out but Gaunt slammed the table top for silence, his face flushed.
‘A few days ago,’ he roared,’ I came to this Guildhall to seal a pact of friendship between myself and the city. The deaths of Fitzroy, Mountjoy and Sturmey put an end to that. Sirs, you will wait until this business is finished.’ He jabbed a finger at Cranston. ‘And, My Lord Coroner, God help you if you are wasting my time!’
The servants were summoned. Gaunt gave his instructions. Athelstan led Cranston and the trembling armourer out of the chamber, down the stairs and into the small pentice which connected the kitchens to the Guildhall. Athelstan tried to curb his excitement as he peered through the gaps in the paling, watching the servants place the cushions and bolsters as he had ordered. From where he stood he could see through the gaps that they were piled high on the very spot Sir Gerard had been murdered. He waited until the servants had gone back to the Guildhall then smiled at the armourer.
‘Well, Simon, now’s your opportunities to prove our theory correct.’
The armourer placed his sack on the ground, taking out an arbalest or crossbow. The gulley where the bolt would be slipped had been specially widened. He then took a long dagger, identical to the one found in Mountjoy’s chest. He placed this carefully in the deepened groove and slowly winched back the powerful cord.
‘Very good,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Now, Simon, try and shoot the dagger from the arbalest into the centre of the top cushion, the green-fringed one.’
Cursing and muttering, Simon lifted the crossbow and released the dagger. It sped like a stone from a sling but the aim was wrong and the dagger struck the wooden fence, narrowly missing the cushions. Cranston, huffing and puffing, went to fetch it, bringing it back and telling Simon to steady himself or they would all spend the next week in Newgate. Again he put the crossbow to the ground and winched back the powerful cord. The long dagger was inserted into the groove. He took careful aim and this time the dagger speed well and true, sinking deeply into the cushion, pinning it securely to the wooden fence behind. Cranston crowed in triumph and clapped his hands like a child.
‘It works!’ he said, ‘It works!’
He hurried back into the Guildhall, reappearing a few minutes later with Gaunt and the rest of his companions from the council chamber. Athelstan and the armourer, his crossbow back in the sack, stood by the wicket gate staring at the cushion.
‘What’s this nonsense?’ Goodman shouted.
‘You have brought us down here, Cranston to see a dagger driven into a cushion?’
Gaunt, however, pushed the gate open and walked in, putting his hand on the dagger and prising it gently loose I a small puff of dust and goose feathers.
‘You didn’t stab it, did you, Cranston?’
‘No, Your Grace,’ he replied. ‘The dagger was shot from a crossbow through the gaps in that fence.’
‘Can it be done?’ Denny exclaimed.
‘Oh, yes it can be done!’ Sudbury smiled sweetly at the Mayor, ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Christopher? You are a member of the Bowyers Guild.’
The mayor looked pale and rather shaken by Cranston’s announcement.
‘Well?’ Gaunt glared at him.
‘Your Grace, it’s easily done,’ the man mumbled. He waved a hand. ‘This dagger is like the one which killed the sheriff, it has no hilt or cross guard; it can be shot from a crossbow if its groove has been deepened and widened. After all, it’s just an elongated bow and thus the dagger becomes an arrow.’
‘You see,’ Simon the armourer interrupted, but suddenly covered his mouth with his hand as he realized where he was. ‘Do it, Simon!’ Cranston urged gently. ‘Fire the dagger again!’ He hurried away. They saw him behind the pentice the cord twanged and again the dagger smacked into the cushions. You see,’ Cranston extended his hands. ‘Imagine, good sirs, Sir Gerard Mountjoy sitting in the afternoon sunshine enjoying his wine and the company of his bounds in his own private garden.’ He looked at Denny. ‘You saw him there. The Guildhall is quiet, everyone dozing or resting in the afternoon heat, but our assassin slips along the covered way. Beneath his cloak he has a crossbow, an arbalest, or some other type of bow specially bought for one purpose. The gap in the fencing there is wide enough. The assassin takes aim, Sir Gerard is killed immediately, the dagger piercing his heart — whilst the assassin has not had to enter the garden or pass the dogs. He slips away.’
‘I suspect,’ Cranston continued, ‘the assassin had practiced beforehand and so the murder was carried out in a matter of seconds. The dogs hardly knew what had happened whilst Sir Gerard died almost instantly,’ He nodded as Athelstan grasped his sleeve and whispered in his ear.
‘And Fitzroy?’ Gaunt asked.
Cranston waited until Athelstan had disappeared through the Guildhall door.
‘Oh, Fitzroy’s murder was much more clever. We must return to the room where he died. However, the assassin who killed Mountjoy used the same method to murder Sturmey. That pathetic locksmith, for reasons I shall explain later, was lured down to the quayside at Billingsgate. He was waiting for someone. He walked up and down, anxiously wondering when the man who had been blackmailing him would arrive. But the murderer was already there, hidden between the stalls or behind one of the warehouses. Again the crossbow was lifted, dagger in place. One minute Sturmey was standing on the quayside, the next a dagger struck deep into his chest and tumbled him into the river. This explains why there were no reports of anyone being seen even within hailing distance of the murdered man.’
Gaunt stared at the Coroner, tapping his fingers on the broad leather hunting belt round his slim waist.
‘My lord Coroner, the banqueting chamber has been prepared. Our clerk, Brother Athelstan, has gone up. I expect he awaits us. You have explained the deaths of Mountjoy and Sturmey.’ He was going to speak further but caught Cranston’s warning glance so instead turned, dug into his purse and flicked a gold coin at the armourer who had returned to the garden.
‘You have earned that, fellow. Stay here until this business is finished. And when you leave, keep a still tongue in your head or I’ll see you have no head or tongue to wag!’
Simon the armourer fell to his knees, overcome by a mixture of gratitude and gear, whilst Cranston led the rest back into the Guildhall.
CHAPTER 14
Athelstan was waiting for them in the banqueting chamber. The steward had laid out the tables as on the night of Fitzroy’s murder, a silver trencher at each place. At Athelstan’s request, Gaunt, Hussey and the rest took their seats. For a while there was some mumbling and muttering but Cranston’s lecture in the garden had made them fearful and apprehensive. Athelstan, who sat where Fitzroy had, smiled at Goodman on his left and Denny on his right. He allowed the murmur of conversation to die as Cranston turned to Lord Clifford Standing near the door.