carp ponds, books on beasteries and exotic animals. He never told us where he went or why. If he had, he’d be alive this morning.’
‘You said Perline Brasenose,’ Sir Thomas Elontius leaned forward. He turned and whispered in Sir Humphrey Aylebore’s ear. The knight nodded. ‘Perline’s a soldier in the Tower garrison?’ Elontius asked.
‘Yes,’ Athelstan replied.
‘I remember him.’ Elontius’s fingers flew to his lips. ‘Last Sunday we went to the Tower. As we left, I saw Sir Francis speaking to a young soldier just near the gatehouse.’
‘What about?’ Athelstan asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Elontius replied. ‘But Harnett came back here, rather excited.’
Cranston dug into his wallet and drew out the small wax candle, arrowhead and scrap of parchment.
‘These were found beside Harnett’s body, as they were with Swynford’s and Bouchon’s. Are you still going to maintain — ’ he looked at the knights in turn — ‘that they mean nothing to you?’
‘Well, they mean nothing to me,’ Sir Thomas retorted, red hair bristling, blue eyes popping. ‘I don’t give a shit, Sir John.’ He jabbed a finger at the coroner. ‘All I know is that some madcap is busy slaughtering members of our party and you have done nothing to stop it.’
‘I can’t be everywhere!’ Cranston snapped back.
‘It’s a nightmare,’ Elontius bellowed, snapping his fingers at Banyard. ‘Serve us some drinks, man.’ He smiled at the landlord. ‘The only good thing about being in London is this tavern: the prices are reasonable, the food is delicious and the chambers are clean. Even Harnett, the miserly bastard, remarked on that.’
Athelstan waited until the landlord brought back a tray of cups and set them out before the knights. He leaned across with the jug.
‘Do you want some, Brother?’ Banyard asked.
Athelstan shook his head. For some strange reason his stomach felt a little queasy, and he still found it difficult to remove the image of that gruesome severed corpse from his mind. He remembered Banyard’s description of the night Bouchon had died, and was tempted to ask what Sir Francis Harnett had meant by saying that ‘the old ways were the best ways’. However, this would betray Banyard’s eavesdropping, and in any case, these knights would just lie.
‘Landlord!’ Cranston called over his shoulder. ‘Did Harnett send any messages into London, written or verbal?’
The landlord came back, scratching his head, a look of puzzlement on his swarthy face. ‘No, he didn’t.’
‘I have been through his belongings,’ Malmesbury intervened. ‘Sir John, there’s nothing there. A Book of Hours, an inkpot, cups, clothing, but nothing remarkable.’
‘Do you know why Harnett wanted to meet a soldier from the Tower garrison?’ Athelstan asked.
‘If I did, I would tell Sir John,’ Malmesbury replied quickly.
Athelstan leaned across and picked up the chalice again. ‘And you have no knowledge of where this came from or who returned it?’
‘Now, that is a mystery,’ Goldingham intervened, his cup half-way to his lips. ‘The last time I saw that, Brother, was many years ago; now it reappears as if out of nowhere.’
‘And you are not curious?’ Cranston asked.
‘Quite honestly, Sir John,’ Aylebore retorted, ‘I couldn’t give a shit! All I wish is that we could put it in a box and go straight back to Shrewsbury with the corpses of our murdered comrades.’
‘Why don’t you?’ Athelstan turned to Malmesbury. ‘Surely the regent will excuse you?’
‘That’s impossible,’ the knight growled. ‘We represent the county and towns of Shropshire. What explanation can we give, Brother, for our sudden flight? And how do we know the assassin would not pursue us?’ He ran his fingers round the brim of the wine goblet. ‘Moreover, as Sir John Cranston said, in many people’s eyes, flight might appear to be guilt.’ He sipped at his wine. ‘Finally, we have a task to do: the regent’s demands for taxes have to be resisted.’
‘And are you doing that?’ Cranston asked.
‘Aye,’ Malmesbury replied.
‘But if the young king comes down to the Commons and asks for your support?’ Cranston continued.
Malmesbury shrugged. ‘You know the old saying, Sir John: we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it!’
‘I’ll go even further.’ Sir Humphrey Aylebore pointed at the chalice Athelstan still held. ‘Speaking for myself, Brother, I’d give that to you if you could unmask the assassin amongst us.’
‘Amongst you?’ Athelstan cocked his head to one side. ‘Sir Humphrey, why do you think the killer is one of your company?’
‘It stands to reason, doesn’t it?’ the knight blustered. ‘Last night Sir Francis may have met this Perline, or maybe the fellow didn’t turn up, but the assassin did.’
‘And?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Brother, don’t play games! The abbey is well guarded. Two or three lines of soldiers and archers. No one would be allowed into the vestibule leading to the Pyx chamber unless he carried a special seal. . And don’t say the seal can be forged. Green wax, not to mention the imprint of the Great Seal of the kingdom, are very difficult to obtain and impossible to forge!’
His words created a pool of silence in the taproom.
‘I’m speaking the truth, aren’t I?’ Aylebore declared. ‘The killer. .’ He jabbed the air with one stubby finger. ‘. . The killer must have a seal. He must have known when Sir Francis left here; and he must be someone who could walk in and out of the abbey with the utmost impunity.’
‘But what about the axe?’ Malmesbury asked anxiously. ‘The sword which took Harnett’s head off? No representative is allowed to bear arms in the abbey precincts.’ He looked over his shoulder at Coverdale slouched in the windowseat behind him.
‘What are you saying, Sir Edmund?’ Athelstan asked.
‘What happens if the killer was sent into the abbey? Allowed to enter and leave at his own whim?’
‘Be careful what you say,’ Coverdale warned.
Athelstan rose, smiling, to his feet. He put the chalice back on the table. ‘Whatever. .’ he said mildly. He could sense the atmosphere changing, and did not want to be drawn into a fierce quarrel. ‘Sir John, I think we should examine Sir Francis’s possessions.’ He pointed at the chalice and the leather bag in which it had been delivered. ‘Gentlemen, may I borrow these for a while?’
Malmesbury looked doubtfully back. Goldingham shrugged but Sir Humphrey Aylebore rose to his feet and thrust the chalice and bag into Athelstan’s hands.
‘If it helps, Brother, keep them as long as you want.’ He smiled. ‘Just ensure our Grail doesn’t disappear again.’
Cranston drained his cup and glared down at the knights. ‘Gentlemen, I want your word. Stay together in this tavern. Do not go out at night, either as a group or individually. Tell each other where you are and what you are doing. Agreed?’
Each of the knights gave his word.
Cranston turned to Banyard. ‘And mine host, you have chambers for my secretarius and myself?’
‘You can have Swynford’s or Bouchon’s.’ The landlord got to his feet and called for a potboy. ‘Whilst you are visiting Sir Francis’s chamber, I’ll make sure the sheets are changed and fresh rushes are laid.’
Cranston thanked him. He followed Athelstan up the stairs. On the stairwell they met Christina, her arms full of sheaves of fresh rushes, the ends of which tickled her nose. Athelstan waited until she had finished her fit of sneezing.
‘God bless you, girl!’
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘Sir Francis’s room?’
‘Go up another set of stairs. The door is open.’
Athelstan, followed by the coroner who was huffing and puffing, went up the stairs into Harriett’s chamber. The room was pleasantly furnished with a four-poster bed, two large, metal-bound coffers, one narrow table and some stools. Braziers stood in the corner but these were unlit: the window was open, allowing the warm sunlight to bathe the room in a soft glow.
‘They are still not telling the truth, are they?’ Cranston asked, closing the door behind them.
