maiming by the French may have provoked some fears in you and your company. Wenlock, I have read the “
Wenlock stared above Athelstan’s head, lips moving as if memorizing something.
‘Matters changed when you came to St Fulcher’s, even more so when Richer arrived here as sub-prior. He was ruthlessly dedicated to recovering all the property stolen from St Calliste. He was well placed to do this because he had at his disposal a looted item which you probably overlooked, the “
Wenlock just snorted derisively.
‘I am sure that’s how Richer regarded Chalk,’ Athelstan countered, ‘a defrocked priest, a man growing old and fearful. Richer counsels Chalk. He shows him the curses against those who have sinned against the bloodstone. Chalk may have even come to see his own malignant disease as God’s judgement on him. In the end Chalk confesses. Of course Richer is protected by the seal of confession but I suspect Chalk began to chatter. The sub- prior certainly used Chalk to influence Kilverby; he hoped the same would happen amongst your coven with all their memories and hidden guilt. You, Wenlock, the recognized counsellor of the Wyverns, sensed the danger now emerging. Chalk and Kilverby were both victims of Richer’s subtlety — who would be next? Who knows? Richer might eventually persuade Brokersby, Hyde or Hanep to go in front of a King’s officer, Sir John Cranston or any other Justice and, on surety of being pardoned or even rewarded, confess what really happened at St Calliste so many years ago. Of course your story about finding that cart was always doubted but matters would radically change if a full confession was made. Once one of your coven did that, others would soon follow. They would swear that you, not them, stole the Passio Christi; perhaps you were helped by Mahant and only protected by the others. In the end you know how such matters proceed?’
Wenlock simply smiled to himself.
‘In the final conclusion,’ Athelstan continued, ‘you’d be cast as the thief, your maimed hands as proof of divine judgement. Once such a confession was made public, the church would declare you excommunicate and insist that the Crown use the full rigour of the law against you. His Grace the Regent would, despite any personal feelings, be forced to act or suffer similar ecclesiastical punishment.’
‘What proof do you offer?’ Wenlock snarled. ‘I was away from here when Hanep and Hyde were killed.’
‘I will come to that in a while.’ Athelstan shifted on his stool. ‘You,’ he pointed at Wenlock, ‘were fearful. Chalk’s confession, Richer’s presence, Kilverby’s alienation from you emphasized the real danger. In a word you persuaded Mahant to go with you, why or how I don’t know. Perhaps Mahant had assisted you in your sacrilege. Perhaps you threatened him that, if you were accused, you would implicate him in your confession. You decided, and so persuaded Mahant, that it was best if all your old companions died. Of course there were other motives. You’d use your comrades’ wealth as a bribe; perhaps they owned more than we ever suspected. You talked of a common purse and claimed Osborne held it. Another lie. I suspect you do and half of such money is better than a sixth.’
‘I was not here!’ Wenlock shouted fiercely, though Athelstan glimpsed the fear in those watery blue eyes. ‘I was not here,’ he repeated, ‘when Hanep and Hyde died.’
‘Oh, but you were.’
‘I was in London.’
‘No, you and Mahant went to London. You lodged at “The Pride of Purgatory” tavern. You made great play at revelling and feasting there. You ogled the ladies and loudly mentioned how you were waiting for your old friend Geoffrey of Portsoken, now known as Vox Populi. In truth you didn’t give a fig for him. You probably knew full well that he’d been taken up by the sheriff’s men.’ Athelstan paused as the abbey bells boomed out their summons to plain chant. ‘Sir John,’ he asked, ‘how long would it take two able bodied men to walk from Cheapside to here?’
‘Less than an hour.’
‘Which is what you did,’ Athelstan accused. ‘You left that tavern probably disguised in the black robes of a Benedictine, you’d easily secure such gowns. With your shaven heads and stout sandals, you appeared what you wanted to be, two monks returning late to their abbey. Who would know? You left that tavern with its many entrances in the dead of night. You walked through the darkness. Once here you were able and fit enough to scale the abbey walls, drop into the grounds and make your own way to the guest house. Hanep was your first victim. If he came out for one of his midnight saunters all to the good, if not you’d strike some other way. Of course Hanep did and died swiftly for doing so. You then returned to London disguised. No one would really notice you coming or going at the dead of night. “The Pride of Purgatory” tavern is busy with many entrances and exits, that’s why you chose it. You can slip in and out as easily as you did. You then prepared for your next victim. You also purchased an arbalest or crossbow, I am sure of that. I don’t believe that nonsense about never using one. You might despise it but that’s not the same as never using one. Mahant was a master bowman — he was skilled enough.’
‘We would never. .’
‘Yes, you did,’ Athelstan snapped, ‘or at least Mahant bought one on your orders. He confessed how he used it against me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Wenlock’s shock was obvious. He sat gaping at Athelstan, who spread his hands.
‘In a while,’ Athelstan murmured, determined not to glance at Cranston, ‘you and Mahant returned to St Fulcher’s late in the afternoon on the Feast of St Damasus. You stealthily entered this abbey, probably disguised as Benedictines. I have learnt, even from my short stay here at the dead of winter, particularly with the mist seeping in, how members of this community pass unobserved all garbed in black, hoods or cowls pulled forward.’ Athelstan ignored Wenlock’s mocking sneer. He sensed this killer was truly frightened behind his scoffing front. ‘You waited near the guest house. You would have chosen any of your coven but Hyde appeared. Mahant, with you trailing behind as guard, followed Hyde into the abbey church. Hyde glimpsed Richer and set off in pursuit, curious at why this Frenchman was armed and where he was going. In a word, Mahant killed Hyde near the watergate then fled across Mortival meadow, its mist shrouded bushes and copses provided an ideal place to hide. Mahant was very clever, disguised in the robe of a Benedictine monk. If Hyde had been alerted and turned round, Mahant could have simply reverted to being the old comrade wondering what was going on. Hyde paid for his trust in you. Of course you did not wish to be implicated in his death so once Hanep was dead, you both left the abbey then reappeared in your own guise at the abbey gates which, you thought, would place you beyond suspicion.’
Wenlock’s sneer had disappeared. He was now openly nervous, looking around as if searching for any weakness in the allegations levied against him.
‘Sir John is behind you,’ Athelstan observed, ‘and this guest house is now ringed with men-at-arms.’
Wenlock just blinked and breathed in deeply.
‘Brokersby surprised you, didn’t he?’ Athelstan continued. ‘Admitting in my presence and that of Sir John how he was drawing up his own chronicle. God knows what he was writing. Was he also making a confession? Had William Chalk gossiped to him as well as to others?’
‘Brokersby was fey, madcap,’ Wenlock jibed.
‘Perhaps he was or perhaps he was converted,’ Athelstan replied. ‘After all, like Hanep he couldn’t sleep at night. Did his past come back to haunt him? Is that why he had to take an opiate before he could sleep?’
Wenlock refused to answer.
‘Whose idea was it,’ Athelstan asked, ‘to tamper with the night candle, scoop out the tallow, fill the void with oil, sprinkle in a few grains of salt petre then reseal it? Was it yours, Wenlock? Did you also put the small pouch of oil beneath Brokersby’s bed when you came to wish him goodnight? Oil is easy to obtain for a man like you who’s lived all his life stealing from others. You and Mahant acted the Judas. You wished the heavy-eyed Brokersby goodnight but insisted he lock the door behind you as protection against that mysterious assassin stalking you all. Poor Brokersby! He never realized this murderer was you and your comrade-in-sin, Mahant. In fact, Brokersby sealed himself in his own coffin. The candle dissolved. The spitting fire caught the oil in his room and everything in it, including his chronicle, was consumed by the inferno exactly as you wanted.’ Athelstan paused as Cranston lifted a hand and came up behind Wenlock.
