‘De Montfort’s arms,’ Corbett remarked. ‘Probably relics of the great Earl.’
He took out the book and opened it. Bound in calf-skin, with small glass jewels embedded in the brown leather cover, the pages inside were stained and marked, the writing in different hands. Corbett took this over to the light.
‘It’s a collection of tracts,’ he remarked, ‘collected and bound together in one volume.’ He turned to the front of the book. ‘And this did not belong to Appleston, it’s the property of the hall.’
‘Is that what Ascham was studying?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Perhaps?’ Corbett replied, leafing through the pages. ‘They are tracts,’ he declared, ‘written and circulated in London during de Montfort’s civil war with the King. They are written by different people, most of them are anonymous.’
‘Anything from the Bellman?’ Ranulf asked.
‘No, but one writer calls himself Gabriel, taking the name of Heaven’s chief herald,’ Corbett replied. ‘Ah!’ He smiled. ‘They are savage criticisms of the King’s government,’ he continued. ‘Nothing original — the usual list of royal abuses and expressions of support for de Montfort.’
‘So?’ Ranulf asked.
‘What is interesting, my dear Ranulf, is that they are the source of the Bellman’s proclamations. He simply copied them out, transcribing them for his own use.’
‘And did Appleston do that?’
‘I don’t know. But one thing we can establish is how long Appleston has had this book. We must look in the library at the register of books that have been borrowed.’ Corbett turned the pages of the book over. On the back of the various tracts was scribbled: ‘Ad dominum per manus P.P.’
Ranulf came across and looked over his shoulder.
‘What does that mean, Master?’
‘Nothing,’ Corbett replied. ‘I suspect that these tracts were collected by royal adherents in London and sent to Braose. He collected them and later had them bound in one volume.’
‘More evidence against Appleston?’
‘I don’t know,’ Corbett replied. ‘Ranulf, go down to the library and ask to see the register. Tell them not to disturb us as yet.’
Ranulf hurried off. Corbett put the book back on the table. Was Appleston the assassin? He closed his eyes and put his face in his hands. Think, he urged: Appleston is the bastard son of de Montfort. He hates the Braose family and the King. He decides to resurrect the memory of his dead father. He takes a book from the hall library, assumes the anonymous name of the Bellman and begins to write tracts. At night he slips out of the Hall and posts these round Oxford. He enjoys himself, baiting the King and bringing Sparrow Hall into disrepute.
Corbett took his hands away from his face and stared at the corpse stiffening under the sheets on the bed. Ascham must have grown suspicious, perhaps he had missed the book. He let his suspicions show so, one evening, Appleston goes out into the garden and sulks between the line of bushes and the library wall. He taps on the shutters. Ascham opens them and Appleston puts a crossbow bolt straight into the man’s chest. But what about the scrawled word ‘PASSER’…? Corbett recalled the library window and felt a tingle of excitement in his belly.
‘Of course,’ he whispered. ‘Appleston was athletic, vigorous. He could have climbed in, taken Ascham’s finger, dipped it into a pool of blood and written those letters himself, so that the poor bursar took the blame. After all it was Appleston who told Passerel to flee to the church. Did Appleston go back, late at night, with a poisoned jug of wine? And what of Langton?’ Corbett didn’t know why the murdered master would have been carrying a letter from him to the Bellman. However, it would have been easy for anyone in that library to slip a potion into Langton’s wine cup.
Corbett got to his feet. And the slingshot fired at them? Hadn’t Appleston spent his youth in the countryside? Perhaps he had grown quite skilled in the use of the sling? Appleston knew that Corbett had learnt about his parentage and, fearful that all would be discovered, had he decided to take his own life? Corbett heard footsteps outside and Ranulf returned.
‘Well?’ Corbett asked.
‘The book is in Appleston’s name,’ Ranulf declared. ‘But listen, Master, the entry is only for yesterday morning. It was two entries down from mine.’
Corbett sighed in disappointment. ‘And there’s no other sign?’
‘No. The title of the book is Litterae atque Tractatus Londoniensis, Letters and Tracts from the city of London. I looked through the register very quickly. No one else has signed it out.’ Ranulf jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘And Master Tripham is getting restless. He wants to know what to do with the corpse.’
‘Tell him to send up a servitor,’ Corbett ordered. ‘The one who looked after Appleston.’
Ranulf left. A short while later he returned with the servitor; a lanky, cadaverous-faced individual with strands of red hair across his bald pate, and a face as white as a sheet. His cheeks and crooked nose were savagely pitted with pimples and sores. His lower lip trembled and Corbett had to sit him down and reassure him that he had nothing to fear. The man gulped, his bulbous eyes constantly watching Ranulf as if he feared he was going to be tried and executed on the spot.
‘I did nothing to frighten him, Master,’ Ranulf said as he leaned against the door. ‘Apparently his name is Granvel. He was Appleston’s servitor.’
‘Is that true?’ Corbett asked gently.
The man nodded.
‘And how long have you served him?’
‘I have been two years at Sparrow Hall.’ Granvel’s voice had a broad, rustic twang. ‘Master Appleston was a good man. He was always kind; he never beat me even when I made a mistake.’
‘Did he talk to you?’ Corbett asked. ‘I mean, about what he did?’
‘Never, never, always please and thank you. Presents at Easter, mid-summer and Christmas. Now and again the occasional shilling when the fair came to Oxford. And he took me once to see a mummers’ play in St Mary’s Church. That’s all I know, Master. I always cleaned his room and he told me never to touch his papers or books.’
‘And last night?’
‘All was normal, Master, except Master Appleston came back very irate. It was dark…’
‘Excuse me,’ Corbett interrupted. ‘Did Master Appleston ever leave late at night? I mean, go out into the city?’
‘Not that I know of.’ The man’s head went back. ‘He wasn’t like that, sir. Not like that Master Churchley, hot as a sparrow he is and lecherous to boot. Master Appleston was a gentleman and a scholar. He loved his books, he did. I mean a real gentleman, sir. He even emptied his own chamber pot out of the window. Didn’t leave it full for some poor servant to do, like the others.’
Corbett tried not to look at Ranulf who, head bowed, was laughing quietly to himself.
‘But last night something was wrong?’
‘Oh yes. Master Appleston came back after dark. I think he’d been out somewhere to eat.’ Granvel lowered his voice. ‘All those strange doings, Master, at the Hall.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘And, before you ask, I know nothing about it nor do any of the servants.’ He winked slyly. ‘Oh, we’ve heard all about the Bellman, sir. But how could someone leave the Hall at night? All the doors are locked and bolted.’
Corbett pulled a face but Granvel was quick.
‘Oh, I suppose, Master, if someone wanted to leave they could do. I am just saying it’s difficult to do so without being seen by someone.’
‘You mean the Bellman?’
‘Of course! We’ve all heard about the proclamations but we can’t read. I’ve wondered, like the rest, how on earth someone could enter and leave Sparrow Hall at their will?’
Corbett looked at Ranulf who shook his head. Corbett dipped into his purse and handed a coin over. Granvel, now relaxed, warmed to his task.
‘The same goes for the poisoning of old Master Langton. How could the wine be poisoned? Everyone drank from the same jug. Anyway,’ he continued almost at a gabble, ‘as I said, last night Master Appleston comes back, angry he was. Some of the soldiers round the Hall were fairly rough. They seized Master Appleston by the cloak and knocked that sore on his mouth. Well, Master Appleston comes into the parlour, breathing thunder he was: with the sore beside his mouth reopened and bleeding. He complained to Master Tripham: said he knew there had to be soldiers but that being manhandled was another matter.’