‘We never did anything wrong,’ he whispered. ‘But, there again, we never did anything right.’
‘Friar?’
‘An epitaph inscribed above Hell’s door, Sir John. Believe me, that precious pair could tell us more but chose not to. Ah, well, you have summoned Falke and Garman?’
‘Yes, and let’s see if they have arrived.’
Nicholas Falke, blond hair all dishevelled, face flushed, blue popping eyes blinking with anger, was ushered into the buttery. Mortice served more ale.
‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan,’ Falke began, ‘I am very busy.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Cranston replied. ‘So let’s be brusque and brisk. Tell the truth and you will have nothing to fear.’
‘Sir John, are you threatening me?’
‘Yes. I am Lord High Coroner of London and this session is as valid as any court. So first, before you defended Lady Isolda did you have any dealings with her?’
‘No.’
‘So why did you defend her? Come on,’ Cranston snarled and banged on the table, ‘I will have you put on oath and, if you lie, haul you off to Newgate on a charge of perjury.’
‘For the love of God,’ Athelstan whispered, ‘Falke, you did your duty. You tried your best but Isolda has gone to God. We need to know why you, a complete stranger, a well-respected lawyer, defended her. Isolda, so we understand, had very little money of her own?’
Falke, raising his hand in a sign of peace, scraped back his chair and walked over to the window. He pulled back the shutters and stared through the thick mullion glass.
‘I truly believed that Isolda was innocent. I accepted and still do that the story about the goblets was a mere fabrication. Isolda maintained Sir Walter must have been poisoned by others.’
‘Like whom?’
‘Oh,’ Falke didn’t turn round, ‘Buckholt, even Vanner. But I saw these accusations as the outpourings of a tormented mind. All she could cite was household gossip.’
‘And Vanner?’
‘She admitted he was her ally here at Firecrest and, like the others, had grievances against his master. She pointed out that Sir Walter could have been poisoned before she gave him the drink or at some time during the night. People could have gone in or out of his chamber – after all, he wasn’t found dead until after daybreak.’
‘And “The Book of Fires”?’ Cranston warned. ‘You must answer our questions truthfully.’
‘Ah, well.’ Falke turned and walked back to his chair. ‘I did not know Isolda Beaumont before her arrest or imprisonment. I was visited in my chamber by a Greek merchant, Nicephorus – he and his three companions, professional swordsmen. I later found out they were from the elite Imperial corps of the Varangian Guard at Constantinople. Nicephorus was most pleasant, calm and courteous. He wanted me to defend Isolda. I asked him why. He said that was his business. I told him to make it mine.’ Falke sipped at the tankard. ‘He was direct. He didn’t care if Isolda was innocent or guilty, he simply wanted the whereabouts of the manuscript, or at least Sir Walter’s copy, of Mark the Greek’s “The Book of Fires”.’ Again Falke paused to drink. Athelstan watched him and recalled those mysterious rescuers earlier in the day.
‘I pressed for more. Nicephorus said it was a long story and did not concern me. However, once I accepted his commission, he gave me details. As a young man Walter Beaumont travelled to Constantinople. He served in their mercenary corps of gunners, where he deepened his knowledge of gunpowder, cannon, projectiles, Greek fire and all the secrets of the Imperial army. It was a time of unrest. The Turks were redoubling their attacks. Matters were made worse by earthquakes, plagues and civil war. Eventually peace was restored when John Cantacuzene emerged as the victor, assuming the title of John VI. However, during the unrest, Walter Beaumont and his mercenary troop took part in the pillaging of the Imperial palace. According to Nicephorus, they were not after treasure; instead Beaumont, with a few of his companions, no more than six henchmen, invaded the secret chancery of the Emperor’s library. There, in a locked arca which they forced, they found a copy of Mark the Greek’s “The Book of Fires”. Beaumont stole this and fled. Now Beaumont led a company.’ Falke paused.
‘Luciferi?’ Athelstan gently prompted. ‘The Light Bearers?’
‘The Luciferi,’ Falke agreed. ‘Some of them were caught and executed. Beaumont and others escaped and returned to England. However, the Imperial court had to be careful. If they issued demands to the English Crown, our late King Edward III and his warriors would have become deeply intrigued. “The Book of Fires” is greatly valued, the knowledge it holds highly prized. The Imperial court did not wish to emphasize this too much. Moreover, Beaumont soon became a very powerful merchant directly patronized by the Crown. Finding Beaumont was easy enough but the Greeks dared not do anything against him lest the whereabouts of “The Book of Fires” died with him.’
‘So Nicephorus asked you to defend Isolda and, by doing so, discover the whereabouts of “The Book of Fires”?’
‘In a word, yes, Brother Athelstan. I was given a fee, a good gold coin, and promised much more if I located the precious manuscript. Sir John, Brother Athelstan, I am talking about a veritable fortune.’
Cranston whistled under his breath. ‘In God’s name,’ the coroner whispered, ‘why do they want it back so much? Surely the Greeks have copies? Of course,’ he clapped his hands as he answered his own question, ‘“The Book of Fires” is a veritable treasure trove with all its formulas and secret mixtures. Others want it!’
‘Precisely, Sir John. The Greeks use such fire, the Imperial navy carries it. It’s the last line of defence against their enemies. The Turks are swallowing up one territory after another. One day the Greeks will have to confront their darkest nightmare, a Turkish army laying siege to Constantinople. Greek fire would be crucial to its defence, whilst the Turks would use it with devastating effect. Nicephorus was desperate to retrieve “The Book of Fires”.’ Falke shook his head. ‘Sometimes Nicephorus changed his story.’
‘In what way?’
‘He talked of Sir Walter, or “Black Beaumont”, pillaging the Imperial chancery and escaping with a close group of Luciferi. Nicephorus hinted that Imperial agents killed some of these but others of the company may have been murdered by Black Beaumont himself. And something else.’ Falke paused to collect his thoughts and Athelstan sensed the man was telling the truth. ‘There may have been two copies of “The Book of Fires”. Beaumont gave one back but withheld the other.’ He shook his head. ‘I am not too sure. You must remember my sole task was to defend Lady Isolda. They paid my fee and provided me with extra money so Lady Isolda could have her own cell in Newgate, squalid though it was. If she’d been thrown in with the common herd, God knows what would have happened.’
‘And Lady Isolda knew all this?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Naturally. She conceded that the Greeks had approached her very soon after her marriage to Sir Walter, offering a veritable fortune for the return of what she called “that damnable book”. I begged her to tell me what she knew. All she could reply was that Sir Walter kept it secret.’
‘Do you know,’ Athelstan asked, ‘if the Greeks approached other members of the Luciferi? You did say some survived and returned to England?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Falke nodded. ‘I asked the same question. They said it had been easy to find Walter Beaumont but the rest were not so simple. Sir John, you must know this, men who travel abroad to be mercenaries often change their names and identities.’
‘I agree,’ the coroner grunted. ‘On one occasion I did it myself.’
‘Anyway, to return to Lady Isolda, I pressed her to tell me what she knew. She replied that Sir Walter was too cunning even to share such secrets with his brother.’ Falke rubbed his face in his hands. ‘Nicephorus was honourable; he paid for the cell and necessities as well as a generous fee. I continued to defend Isolda. I truly believed in her innocence. In the end she could not explain away the testimony of Mortice or Buckholt, whilst the disappearance of Vanner did not help her case. All she could maintain was that she was the victim of a cruel plot.’