‘Brother, I wasn’t in London when some of these men were killed.’
‘Let me start from the beginning.’ Athelstan pushed away the trauncher and sipped from his blackjack of ale. ‘Edwin Chapler is born in Bishop’s Lynn, Norfolk, his parents and sister died. I suspect he attended the Norwich Cathedral school; a very able and clever scholar, he was later sent to the Halls of Oxford or Cambridge. Which was it?’
‘Cambridge,’ the woman replied.
‘Either there, or shortly afterwards, he met you. You became his sister. A quiet, industrious couple, you moved into the small Essex village of Epping. Edwin would come armed with letters of recommendation, possibly from a Master in Cambridge, and secured a benefice in the Chancery of the Green Wax. You stay in Epping, Edwin takes a paltry chamber overlooking the city ditch but, now and again, you come up to London to meet him. Am I correct, mistress?’
Alison refused to answer.
‘Now, what should have been the beginning of a glorious career in the royal service,’ Athelstan continued, ‘turned into a nightmare. Chapler was a very honest man. He soon realised that, despite all the banter, the revelry and the riddles, Alcest and his companions controlled Lesures through blackmail whilst they dabbled in trickery, selling writs and licences to the outlaws, wolfsheads and denizens of London’s underworld. They invited Chapler to join them. Many a young man would have accepted such bribes joyously but Edwin was different, he was a man of integrity.’
‘He was a great man,’ Alison interrupted, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Never once did I see him lift a hand to hurt anyone but yes, Brother, he regarded Alcest and the rest as demons from helclass="underline" their gods were their bellies and their cocks!’
‘Chapler told you all about them, didn’t he?’ Athelstan asked. ‘He told you all their little customs and practices. How they dressed, what they drank, which brothel they attended. How they revelled in their wealth and their arrogance. Of course he had scruples, as any righteous man would: those clerks were committing a very serious crime and he, by his silence, was condoning it.’
Alison nodded as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘I am not too sure what happened then,’ Athelstan continued. ‘But Edwin must have protested, perhaps even threatened them. Alcest and the rest responded with counter-threats and silence until one day they tried to poison him, putting a potion in his malmsey cup at the Chancery.’
‘How did Edwin keep his relationship with Alison so secret?’ Flaxwith, sitting in the corner, called out.
‘As I’ve said,’ Athelstan replied, ‘they kept up the pretence of being brother and sister. Alison would travel to London in man’s dress. A subtle enough game to fool the good people of Epping as well as anyone who knew them in the city. Moreover, it provided extra protection when she travelled. I’ve visited Chapler’s lodgings: they were mean and simple and yet his salary was good.’ Athelstan gestured round the kitchen. ‘Everyone deserves a home: you and Edwin had another chamber, didn’t you? As far away as possible from the Chancery of the Green Wax: beyond the walls at Holywell or to the west of Clerkenwell? However, when Edwin fell ill, you, dressed as a man, visited him in his lodgings. You then realised how serious the situation was: those clerks were going to kill Edwin. You begged him to resign, to leave the Chancery, but Edwin was stubborn and courageous. He recovered and returned to work, so Alcest and the rest decided to kill him. It was well known that Edwin Chapler liked to visit the little church of St Thomas a Becket on London Bridge. Alcest organised a revelry: food, wine, pretty whores, then, cloaked and cowled, he slipped out through the darkness to London Bridge. He lay in wait for Edwin. When the moment was right, Alcest killed him, smashing his skull and tossing his corpse into the Thames.’
Alison lowered her head, her shoulders shaking.
‘The wheels of God,’ Athelstan remarked, ‘move in inex-plicable ways. They thought they could kill a good man, that his death would not be laid at their door. They would all take the oath and have witnesses that when Edwin Chapler died, or at least on the night he disappeared, they were too drunk to walk, never mind kill. They didn’t count on Mistress Alison. You must have still been in London the night Edwin died and, when he didn’t meet you the following day, you sensed what had happened. Your love is so great, isn’t it?’ Athelstan continued. ‘You’d feel it in your soul and so you plotted your revenge.’
‘But I only arrived in London,’ Alison interrupted, lifting her tearstained face, ‘the morning you came to the Chancery of the Green Wax.’
Athelstan looked at Sir John, hoping the coroner would support him in his petty lie.
‘I don’t think so, mistress. Sir John here sent a messenger to Epping. We know you’ve been out of the village for some time. Ah no, you laid your plans very cleverly. On the morning we met, you’d already been busy. Edwin had told you about Peslep’s daily habits. You went to the Ink and Pot tavern dressed as a young man, imitating and mocking Alcest by having spurs on your boots. Peslep went out to the jakes; the tavern was noisy, he was by himself and so you struck. You went across and stabbed him twice, once in the belly and once in the neck whilst his hose was still around his ankles. You knew that.’
Athelstan pushed a blackjack of ale towards her. She sipped from it but her eyes never left his.
‘When I brought you here to Southwark the night we met William the Weasel you remarked on how Peslep had died, stabbed with his hose around his ankles. How did you know that?’
‘You told me.’
‘No, we didn’t, mistress,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘Brother Athelstan and I never tell anyone the exact details of a murder.’
‘Then someone else told me!’
‘No, no, they didn’t.’ Athelstan paused. ‘You also made another mistake: the day I anointed Edwin’s corpse in the death house, you talked not of one assassin but a group. You asked if “they” would be caught and punished. At the time, a slip of the tongue but, as more murders took place and we discovered the villainy of those clerks, I began to wonder.’ Athelstan sipped at his ale. ‘Anyway, you killed Peslep, returned to your private chamber, God knows where it is, changed into a travel-stained dress and made your way to the Silver Lute, as if you had just arrived in London. You then went to the Chancery of the Green Wax. The news of Edwin Chapler’s death had reached there. The clerks informed you, comforting you. They saw you as they saw every woman, a pretty face and an empty head. You are, however, most skilful and sharp-witted, a veritable Salome dancing amongst the innocents.’ Athelstan smiled grimly. ‘Or perhaps not so innocent! You knew all about their little pots of malmsey; they let you wander round the chamber, perhaps hold Edwin’s cup. At the appropriate moment you slipped a potion into Ollerton’s cup. You were going to pay them back in similar coin.’
‘Edwin had told you everything, hadn’t he?’ Cranston intervened. ‘Particularly the clerks’ love of riddles. So you concocted some of your own. Each riddle stood for a letter forming the word poena, the Latin for punishment. You would carry out punishment against these assassins.’
‘I was in Southwark when they found the riddle after Ollerton died.’
‘Oh come, mistress.’ Sir John patted her on the shoulder. ‘Do we have to make inquiries amongst the traders near the Chancery of the Green Wax? Some apprentice will surely recall a young man, hooded and cowled, spurs on his boots, giving him a note, paying him well to push it under the door of the Chancery at a certain time.’
‘You planned to be elsewhere,’ Athelstan added, ‘by asking to leave the city. You never really would have left until this matter was finished.’
Alison closed her eyes.
‘Elflain was easy,’ Athelstan remarked. ‘Off to see his pretty whore. For Napham you bought a caltrop, entered his chamber by a window and laid it on the floor. But there was no riddle for Alcest. What were you preparing for him, eh? Knowing what you did, perhaps you’d leave him to the King’s Justices. After all, he did wear spurs. Chapler had probably told you that he kept the money for his friends, which might be discovered. He would die last: it would not only complete your riddle but suit your desire for revenge. Alcest would have suffered horrid execution.’