Once the introductions were finished, chilled white wine and small bowls of marzipan were served to each guest. Cranston sat at the head of the table with Lady Anne on his right and Athelstan on his left. The friar immediately laid out his writing implements as the coroner, who had eaten all his sweetmeats, now turned on the friar’s. Athelstan leaned closer and whispered on the whereabouts of the miraculous wineskin.
‘Left it at the Guildhall,’ Cranston murmured, ‘silly fool, but I know my precious is waiting for me there.’
‘Sir John,’ Falke intoned as if ready to plead, ‘we have come, we have waited and we still wait.’
‘Was she innocent?’ Cranston barked, his voice ringing through the solar. ‘I repeat, was Lady Isolda innocent of murder? Let me assure you, someone certainly believes that. You must have heard about an assassin, the common tongue now calls him the Ignifer – the Fire Bringer. He has thrown what I suppose is Greek fire over two judges as well as the prosecutor who sent Lady Isolda to the stake. They died as horribly as she did. In my view, the Ignifer believes he is carrying out well-plotted vengeance for the gruesome death of an innocent victim.’ Cranston jabbed a finger at Falke. ‘That is why we are here. I asked Lady Anne to be our hostess, to gather all those who were involved in the prosecution of Lady Isolda to this meeting.’
‘Are we all in danger?’ Lady Rohesia snapped. ‘Are we all to be turned into living tongues of flame? Surely this Ignifer can be caught?’
‘You may not be marked down.’ Buckholt’s voice carried sombrely. ‘But I certainly am. You asked a question, Sir John. Was Lady Isolda innocent? She was not. I know what I saw. She was the last to feed her husband that tainted posset. The goblet she used was discarded. She hid it and replaced it with another.’ Buckholt stared around. ‘In God’s name, what more can I say but what I have sworn on oath?’
‘Yet we don’t really know,’ Falke cried, ‘that Sir Walter was poisoned. We have nothing but the opinion of a physician.’
‘We also have further evidence,’ Cranston retorted. ‘Firstly, there is the goblet that Reginald Vanner specially bought. Secondly, Vanner diverted Buckholt, who is so distracted he hands the posset to Lady Isolda, who takes it to her husband and makes him drink. Thirdly, she apparently gave Buckholt a different goblet in return. Fourthly, the goblet Buckholt first brought from the buttery ended up in the cesspit, and apparently such a change took place in a very short time. Sutler simply argued how the posset was poured into a second goblet, which was poisoned, fed to Sir Walter and later discarded.’
‘There, Master Falke,’ Athelstan declared softly, ‘Sir John describes a grim logic of events with a life of their own and what can be said in reply?’
‘Vanner,’ Falke retorted, ‘he has fled or has he not, Sir Henry?’
‘Yes, yes.’ The merchant knight couldn’t disguise the slur in his voice. ‘So it would appear.’
‘Lady Isolda,’ Falke declared, lips twitching, ‘swore how Sir Walter told her Vanner had fed him a strange-tasting wine earlier in the day. Some poisons take time for their malignancy to become apparent. That’s possible, isn’t it?’ He turned and gestured at Buckholt.
‘Of course,’ the steward replied, ‘anything is possible, but Sir Walter suffered no ill effects.’
‘Parson Garman also visited him early in the morning and brought the usual figs in almond sauce,’ Falke declared. ‘My point is others offered Sir Walter food and drink.’
‘Is that true?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Parson Garman, you knew Beaumont of old? You served in his free company of the Luciferi? Yes?’
Garman nodded.
‘These figs in their almond sauce?’ Cranston asked.
‘A true delicacy.’ Garman replied quietly. ‘Sir Walter, when he served in Outremer, could not resist them. I bought them as a reminder, a comfort.’
‘Did he eat them?’ Athelstan interjected. ‘Sir Walter, I understand, had a delicate stomach?’
‘I brought them.’ Garman shrugged. ‘I left them. What happened to them afterwards I cannot say.’
‘Sir Henry?’ Cranston turned to the merchant knight. He pulled a face and gestured at Buckholt.
‘They disappeared,’ the steward declared. ‘I never saw them. Sir Walter may have eaten them. He certainly was particular to that delicacy. He may have given them away. Or,’ he smiled thinly, ‘they too may have been thrown down the garderobe.’
‘Apart from the past and his love for figs in an almond sauce,’ Athelstan nodded at Garman, ‘was there any other reason for your visit to Sir Walter?’
‘Of course there was, Brother,’ Lady Anne retorted, ‘I visited Sir Walter to beg for alms for my good causes. Parson Garman did the same.’
‘I seek aid from many people,’ the prison chaplain declared.
‘And was Sir Walter generous?’
‘Sometimes, like all wealthy men, shrewdness was more important than charity.’ Garman half smiled at the hiss from Sir Henry.
‘And the pewter goblets,’ Athelstan asked Falke, ‘the one Vanner bought and the other found at the bottom of the garderobe? What was Isolda’s response?’
‘She had no knowledge about any of that,’ Falke replied. ‘She only used the one brought by Buckholt. She maintained that the goblet found in the garderobe might have been accidently dropped there by Sir Walter himself.’ Falke ignored Buckholt’s sharp laugh. ‘Sir Walter did like his posset. It wasn’t unknown for him to carry a goblet into the garderobe to sip as he eased himself.’
‘And the goblet Vanner bought?’
‘Lady Isolda maintained he probably did it on Sir Walter’s order,’ Falke answered. ‘That would be logical. A goblet was lost and its owner asked his clerk to replace it.’
‘Nonsense!’ Buckholt sneered. ‘Firstly, why did Vanner buy twelve and get rid of the other eleven? I wager they lie somewhere in the gardens of Firecrest Manor, probably at the bottom of the mere. Sutler made the same point in court.’
‘And secondly?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Again,’ Buckholt retorted, ‘I pointed out in court that the purchase of cups, goblets and platters was not Vanner’s responsibility but either mine or the buttery clerk, Mortice.’
Falke shrugged and lapsed into silence.
‘And what else can be said in Lady Isolda’s defence?’ Athelstan asked.
‘She was innocent.’ Garman, hands down on the tabletop, head bowed as if praying, abruptly sat up. ‘I shrived her. I cannot say what Isolda actually confessed but she loved her husband, yes?’ No one gainsaid him. ‘No acrimony or argument before his mysterious death, yes? Sir Henry, you were his brother. I speak the truth?’
‘Yes, yes, you do.’ Sir Henry blinked. ‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan, we were not truly part of this. The Lady Isolda was gracious enough. True.’ He half smiled. ‘There appeared to be no hostility between herself and my late brother. Yet I sensed an unhappiness, perhaps a disappointment.’ He shrugged. ‘But that’s common enough in a May-December marriage.’
‘You talk of unhappiness?’
‘Brother, that is just suspicion. I don’t have a shred of proof.’
‘And now you are Sir Walter’s heir?’
‘Yes, I am. My brother died without begetting a child and,’ Sir Henry waved a hand, ‘Lady Isolda has gone to God.’