‘Of course!’
‘And he found no difficulty in hiring rooms here?’
‘No, no, as I have said, we have stayed here before. My steward came back saying we had fair lodgings at reasonable prices.’
Banyard, who had been listening coolly to all this, uncrossed his arms. ‘And, when they arrived, Friar,’ he taunted, ‘how did I kill them?’
‘Oh, that you’d planned well,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Bouchon was easy. Remember the night he left the supper party at your tavern? He didn’t say he was going anywhere. He simply went out. Now, if he was going to meet someone threatening, Bouchon would have taken a sword, but when his body was fished from the Thames, he wasn’t even carrying his knife. No, what I suspect happened is that you, Master Banyard, lured Bouchon out into the tavern yard on some pretext. Perhaps he was wondering who had delivered the arrowhead and candle at the tavern. Anyway, you meet him near the compost heap, that mound of rich black soil. You felled him with a blow to the head. He falls on to the mound, which explains why we found the black soil under his fingernails.’ Athelstan paused. ‘You then slid back into the tavern, going about your duties. At the appropriate time you leave. You put Bouchon’s body in a wheelbarrow, covered by a sheet of canvas, and trundle it down to the Thames, only a few yards away. The river was running at full tide; Bouchon’s body, however, kept near the bank until it was caught amongst the reeds near Tothill Fields.’
‘And Swynford?’ Aylebore asked.
Athelstan noticed bow all three knights now seemed frightened of Banyard. They hardly looked at him, as if he was the veritable incarnation of their terrible deeds and the vengeance they had provoked.
‘Oh, that was not as difficult as it appeared,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Banyard himself sent for the chantry priest. He knew Father Gregory would be away. Indeed, such a toper posed no real threat to his plan.’
‘All that was seen of this strange priest was a cowled figure walking across the taproom and upstairs,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘However, nobody could remember seeing the priest leave.’ Cranston beamed round, proud of his own conjectures.
‘I was running a risk, wasn’t I?’ Banyard taunted. ‘If anyone had stopped me. .’
‘Oh, you chose your time well,’ Athelstan said. ‘The tavern was very busy, more concerned with the living than the dead. Let us say someone had stopped or recognised you, then it would just be mine host returning to his chamber to doff his cloak and return to his duties. You were very clever. You can go missing from the tavern whenever you wish. No one asks questions. No one will object and, if inquiries are made — well, the Gargoyle is a spacious place. There are stores to be checked, cellars to be inspected, a whole range of outhouses where you could claim you had been busy. Oh, no, you were safe right up to the very moment you put that garrotte string round Sir Henry Swynford’s throat. A powerful man like you, death would have occurred in seconds. Only once did you come near to being detected, when Christina heard that dreadful chant. After the deed was done — ’ Athelstan pulled a face — ‘you slipped out of the chamber. You returned to your own room, the cloak was hidden and, once again, you became mine genial host.’
Banyard leaned forward, as if this was some game. ‘And how do you explain, Brother, how I could go through so many guards, enter the Pyx chamber, and slay Sir Francis Harnett?’
‘Harnett’s death intrigued me,’ Athelstan replied. ‘A fussy little man, totally absorbed with buying that ape stolen from the Tower.’
‘What was that?’ Aylebore interrupted.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Cranston replied. ‘But your companion had bribed a guard at the Tower to steal an ape.’
Malmesbury sneered and shook his head. ‘The man was always a fool,’ he whispered. ‘At his manor house in Stokesay, he was for ever trying to collect strange birds and animals.’
‘Now Harnett went to the brothel with you,’ Athelstan explained. ‘But as Mistress Mathilda told us, no swords are allowed. You went unarmed?’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Malmesbury replied.
‘However, later that evening, Harnett was seen along the riverside. He was carrying his sword.’
‘So he must have gone back to the tavern to collect it?’ Malmesbury asked.
‘Precisely, Sir Edmund. Yet Master Banyard here never told us that. Now, when I was searching amongst Harnett’s possessions, I noticed there were certain items missing. I couldn’t decide what and then I suddenly realised: he had pen and ink but no parchment, no vellum; not a scrap to write upon.’
‘What’s the significance of that?’ Coverdale asked.
‘Well, first, I am sure all of Harnett’s companions had similar writing implements: they would bring a roll of parchment for their own purposes, whether it be for private use or use in the Commons.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Aylebore cried. ‘Sir Francis was for ever scribbling.’
‘But what’s the significance?’ Coverdale repeated.
‘Sir Miles,’ Athelstan asked, ‘if you wished to steal an animal such as an ape from the Tower, what would you need? Remember, you have to keep it in London and then transport it, somehow, back to Shrewsbury?’
The captain grinned and scratched his cheek.
‘Well, the animal would have to eat. There’d have to be a cage.’ His hands flew to his lips. ‘And, of course, a place to hide it.’ He pointed at Banyard. ‘Sir Francis must have told you about his plot.’
‘Of course he did,’ Athelstan said. ‘I suspect Sir Francis was very close to mine host. He not only went back to the Gargoyle to collect his sword. He must also have entered into negotiations with him about supplies, carts, a cage and, above all, a place around that spacious tavern to hide the animal he hoped to buy. Now, Sir Francis, as one of his companions has just described, was a constant scribbler. He must have listed all his requirements, yet I found not a scrap of parchment amongst his possessions. Of course, these would have been removed by Master Banyard after he had taken Sir Francis’s head.’
‘More importantly,’ Cranston added, ‘Sir Francis was lured to his death by Banyard who knew about his secret negotiations with the soldier from the Tower. In his haste and excitement, Sir Francis forgot about the killer stalking him: his mind was stuffed full of dreams about obtaining an exotic animal.’
‘And how did I get into the Pyx chamber at Westminster Abbey?’ Banyard taunted. ‘How could I go through cordons of soldiers and archers? Whistling a tune, an axe over my shoulder?’
‘Oh, no, there was something else missing from Harnett’s possessions.’ Athelstan retorted. ‘His seal. And I wondered where the seals of the other two dead knights were as well.’ Athelstan glanced at Coverdale. ‘Did you ever find those?’
The knight shook his head. ‘No, I. .’ His voice faltered. ‘I never even thought about them.’
‘Banyard did,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘He took the seals of the first three men he killed and used them to get into the abbey. After all, the soldiers on duty there can’t be expected to recognise each of the two hundred different representatives who have come to this Parliament. People going to and fro. Typical soldiers, they had their orders: anyone carrying one of those seals bearing the chancellor’s imprint were to be allowed through. Now, when Harnett was killed it was dusk. Members of the Commons were hurrying hither and thither. Banyard, probably wearing the cloak and hood he is now, slips in.’
‘But the axe?’ Aylebore asked.
Athelstan gestured round the church. ‘Take a good look round here, Sir Humphrey. Look at the stacked stools and benches, the shadowy recesses, the small alcoves, the gap behind the altar.’
‘You mean the axe is hidden here?’
‘Probably,’ Athelstan replied, ‘or somewhere close to the Pyx chamber. I told the servants at the Gargoyle before I left that I was going to St Faith’s Chapel to look for an axe. Banyard pursued me here, not only because I knew his true identity, but because I was searching for evidence. I am sure that, when we find the weapon, someone will recognise it as an axe used at the Gargoyle tavern.’
‘But when did he put it here?’ Coverdale asked.
‘Long before the Commons ever assembled,’ Athelstan replied. ‘And the same goes for the crossbow he used to kill Goldingham. Remember that tangle of gorse bushes near the latrines off the east cloister?’
‘Of course,’ Coverdale replied. ‘Before the Commons met here, Banyard could come and go as he pleased.’
Athelstan continued. ‘Now, on the night he killed Sir Francis, Banyard came into the vestibule, up into St Faith’s Chapel, collected the axe, went down to the Pyx chamber and murdered Sir Francis Harnett.’ He glanced at
