‘He threw knives? You are sure of that?’
‘Very sure, Brother. Two narrowly missed my face; they were long, thin and ugly. I thought I would die from fright. I went into the church to think, to make my devotions. I do not like that tavern. I am now highly distrustful of my companions. My days with them are ended.’
He held up his maimed hand.
‘I have known them for longer than I care to think. I have eaten, drunk, lived, slept and fought with them.’
‘Do you think one of them was your assailant?’
‘Perhaps.’ Malachi rubbed the side of his face. ‘And yet, I know those knights. My assailant moved swiftly, a dagger man, and unless I am mistaken, that is not a skill shared by any of those knights.’
‘Let us see, let us see.’
Athelstan took Malachi back into the church. They lit candles and carefully searched but, apart from the splintered wood in the entrance to the chantry chapel, Athelstan could find no sign of any knife.
‘I’ll get Crispin the carpenter to see to the wood.’ Athelstan patted Malachi on the arm. ‘If you wish, you can stay with me. You would feel safer, wouldn’t you?’
The Benedictine nodded. ‘I’ll go back later to collect my belongings. If you could shelter me, Brother, when this is all over, before I leave,’ he offered, ‘I’ll make good any damage or inconvenience I may have caused.’
Athelstan walked him back to the house, describing what had happened that day. He talked whilst he prepared the evening meal, laying out the tranchers. From its hook in the buttery he brought a roll of cured spiced ham, yesterday’s bread, small pots of butter and honey and a pitcher of ale. He recited the Benedicite and sat down.
‘Did you know the Misericord?’ Athelstan asked.
‘I remember him vaguely as a lad, a cheeky-faced boy who had the run of Master Rolles’ tavern, nothing significant. I’m sorry for his death. God assoil him and give him good rest. Brother, I was not in Cheapside today.’ Malachi grinned. ‘I can tell from your eyes you must be suspicious about everyone.’
‘The Judas Man?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Athelstan, I know nothing of him either, nor do I know anything about Master Rolles or Mother Veritable. The knights? I thought they were honourable men, boisterous when young, valiant warriors in war, respectable and upright in their mature years.’
‘Do you think they could have killed your brother and stolen the treasure?’
‘How could they?’ Malachi glanced away. ‘On the night the treasure was taken, they were drunk. I was across the river visiting brethren at Charterhouse. The next morning I saw them; they were totally dispirited, indeed, irritable. Brother Athelstan, I went to Outremer with these men, I slept beside them on ship, on shore, in the desert. I fought with them before the walls of Alexandria. I heard their confessions. If they owned the treasure it would have been obvious. The mice in your church are richer than they were. They were pressed for money, even to eat and drink. When the ship docked at Genoa to take on supplies they had to pawn some of their own weapons and beg loans from their comrades.’
‘But couldn’t they have stolen the treasure and hidden it until their return?’
‘It’s possible.’ The Benedictine pushed away his trancher, picked up a piece of cheese and chewed on it slowly. ‘My order has houses the length and breadth of this kingdom, from Cornwall to the mountains of Scotland. I made enquiries through them; sometimes our abbots act as bankers. I have also circulated lists to the guilds of goldsmiths and jewellers in London, Bristol, Nottingham, Carlisle and even in the Cinque Ports. I promised rewards for any sign of the Lombard treasure being found.’
‘How did you know the description of that treasure?’
‘I went to see Teodora Tonnelli, head of the Lombard banking house in London. He still does business here. He gave me a complete list of what was stolen. He, too, offered a reward.’
Athelstan put his face in his hands. He tried to visualise the Oyster Wharf at night, the cresset torches burning, Culpepper and Mortimer, the two bargemen.
‘How was the treasure transported?’
‘According to Tonnelli, in an iron-bound coffer with three locks. The keys had been given to the captain of the flagship.’
‘Ah!’ Athelstan sighed. ‘Further precaution, eh? I can’t imagine someone trying to force that chest on the quayside or on a barge on the river at night.’ He closed his eyes again. ‘I’m trying to imagine, Malachi, how it happened? Did your brother and Mortimer kill the boatmen and disappear into the darkness with the treasure? Or did the boatmen help? If that was the case, surely someone would have seen them, two or four men staggering through the darkness with a heavy chest? Yet, if they were attacked, all four men were well armed; surely they would have defended themselves? The crash of swords, the yells, the cries. Someone must have heard! And how would they get so close?’
Athelstan rubbed his fingers around his lips, wiping away the crumbs.
‘Of course, it is possible a master bowman, perhaps two skilled archers, slipping through the darkness, brought down all four men with well-aimed shafts. But there again, the treasure hasn’t been found, nor the remains of any of the corpses. And if blood was shed…’ He opened his eyes. ‘The Oyster Wharf was inspected the following morning, wasn’t it?’
Malachi nodded.
‘I went down there myself, Brother, not a sign. My brother was a fighting man, he had been entrusted with an important task. He would be wary. How could his attackers even get close?’
‘So you can tell me nothing about your brother?’
‘What I know,’ Malachi replied, crossing himself, ‘is what you know.’
‘Do you think your brother and Mortimer survived?’
‘And attacked me in your church? No.’ Malachi picked up a piece of cheese and broke it into two with his fingers. ‘I believe my brother and Mortimer are dead.’ He touched his chest. ‘Just a feeling here.’
Athelstan studied the
