Whatever that was! Could it possibly be anything other than buried treasure? Surely not, if it were to make Peter’s and Ursula’s fortune. And just as surely, I reasoned, it must have been something, some information, provided by the knight that, after fourteen years, had alerted the goldsmith to the possibility that the hiding place had contained more than the accounts and the pages of diary originally found. But what that information had been and how Lionel Despenser had come by it were riddles to which I had no easy answer. They were problems to be mulled over when I had more time. For the moment, there were other matters needing my attention.
I took my leave of Margery Dawes and Ursula, having once again given my word to mention nothing of Alderman Roper’s suspicions to anyone, and went back to the lawyer’s chambers in Runnymede Court. I was relieved to discover that Richard Manifold and his two henchmen had gone about their business elsewhere, so I was spared the usual insults about prying ways and long noses and was able to make my own enquiries unmolested. In fact, there was only one question that I really wanted to ask.
The lawyer, I was told, was laid down upon his bed, his mother in attendance, which suited my purpose exactly. I was able to speak instead to his clerk, Edward Pennyfeather, a young, tousle-headed fellow with bright hazel eyes, untidy in his person, but sharp-witted enough for all that.
In reply to my enquiry, he shook his head. ‘There was nothing taken, Master Chapman, that’s the strange thing about it. A robbery, the whole place ransacked, stuff strewn about everywhere, but nothing, so far as we can discover, absolutely nothing stolen. And old Mistress Heathersett has some fine jewels the master’s bought her from time to time, but although they were tipped out of the strong box, they were left scattered about the floor as if they were of no value.’
‘So what would be your conclusion?’ I asked.
The hazel eyes regarded me shrewdly. ‘That the thief was looking for something in particular?’
I nodded. ‘My thought exactly.’
The clerk scratched his nose. ‘But what?’
‘A paper? A deposition against one of your clients? Evidence that could get someone hanged?’
Young Pennyfeather snorted. ‘We don’t deal with exciting stuff like that, sir. Our cases are about wills and land settlements and other such boring things.’ He yawned prodigiously and stretched his arms. ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for the law as a profession. I’d like to go for a soldier, but my mother has hysterics every time I mention it.’ He sighed. ‘She’s a widow, so I suppose I can’t blame her.’
‘No.’ I was attending to him with only half an ear. ‘You’re certain, absolutely positive, that nothing was taken?’
‘As certain as I can be. Mind you, if the thief took something I knew nothing about, that would be a different matter. But Master Heathersett himself swears that he can find nothing missing.’
I thanked him and took my leave. My next call was at the livery stables in Bell Lane.
The owner greeted me jovially. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve come to hire a horse,’ he chortled. ‘They’re not sending you on your travels again, are they? I’ve got a nice, quiet cob, won’t go more than three miles an hour. Just the animal for you.’
My dislike of horses and my uncertain seat in the saddle was a standing joke around the stables. Several of the lads sweeping out the stalls gave way to unseemly mirth. I ignored them. ‘Have you recently housed a black stallion with four white socks?’ I asked. ‘A prime beast, I imagine. Arab blood.’
The owner immediately ceased his joking and became enthusiastic. ‘A prime beast, indeed! You never said a truer word. Ay, we stabled him for a night, but the owner came for him first thing this morning, as soon as it was light. Why? What’s it to you?’
‘Nothing,’ I answered briefly and walked away, his curiosity unsatisfied, his eager questions pursuing me along Bell Lane until I reached the turning to Small Street.
So the stranger had not sailed with the ship to Brittany. My belated notion that he might simply have delivered a message to the ship’s captain and then returned ashore would seem to be the correct one. I felt certain that this was the man I had witnessed talking to Sir Lionel in the manor courtyard at Keynsham, but whether or not he was Walter Gurney I was still unable to determine.
It was almost dinnertime and my belly was, as usual, rumbling with hunger, but before going home I walked to the Frome Gate. Fortunately, it was quiet at that time of the morning and I was able to engage the gatekeeper in conversation without interruption or distraction.
‘Have you been on duty since dawn?’
The man, a new fellow whom I did not remember having seen before, gave me a surly nod, then burst out with: ‘And damn cold it was, I can tell you!’
‘I’m sure it was,’ I murmured sympathetically. ‘The City Fathers should provide you gatekeepers with extra clothing during the winter months. With no added cost to your good selves, of course.’
‘Now you’re talking sense. Haven’t I always said the same?’ His manner thawed a little as he recognized a well-wisher.
I risked forfeiting his good opinion and asked another question. ‘I suppose you didn’t happen to notice a man riding a blood horse, black with four white stockings, pass through the gate very early on?’
‘Nah! No one on a horse like that has passed this way early or late. And don’t,’ he went on, anticipating me, ‘ask if I’m sure, ’cos I’d ’ave remembered.’
So, the stranger had not passed out of the Frome Gate. The Redcliffe Gate then? Returning to Keynsham? It seemed most probable, but it had been as well to check. I thanked the gatekeeper and was turning back towards Small Street when, reluctant to let me go so easily, the man remarked, ‘Heard the news about the robbery?’
‘You mean at Lawyer Heathersett’s?’ I answered.
The gatekeeper looked surprised. ‘The lawyer’s been robbed as well? My, my! What is this city coming to? No, I meant the wine merchant’s. Master Callowhill’s house was broken into last night.’
This time I did say, ‘Are you sure?’ before he could stop me.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ he said — or words to that effect. Actually the phrase was a richer and riper one which I committed to memory for future use at the Green Lattis. (It should earn me a few admiring glances.)
I thanked him a second time and made off before he could detain me further.
Adela was in the kitchen where, I must admit, a woman is generally to be found, chopping herbs to sprinkle over the dried fish which was our Friday fare. ‘John Carpenter hasn’t been yet,’ she said accusingly, pointing with her knife to the piece of sacking she had nailed over the gaping hole in the shutters.
‘He’ll be here,’ I promised, ‘but he has other folk to attend to first.’ And sitting down on a nearby stool I told her of the other robberies and attempted robbery that I had learned about that morning.
At first, my wife was inclined to be indignant that our need seemed to be of less consequence to the carpenter than that of other people, but gradually common sense prevailed. She knew as well as I did that we were indeed of less consequence than men of fortune and civic standing. Besides which, intelligent woman that she was, another thought had begun to form; a thought which had already occurred to me.
‘Roger. .’ she said slowly, abandoning her chopping and sitting down on a stool on the opposite side of the table. ‘Roger, do you think these robberies and failed robberies aren’t just. . aren’t really. . well, aren’t proper robberies at all? If you see what I mean. Has it occurred to you that you and Master Foliot and Lawyer Heathersett and Master Callowhill are all people who were at Tintern Abbey when poor Peter Noakes was drowned?’