Huddle simply licked dry lips.
‘It was only a matter of time before suspicion was quickened – how there must be a traitor in the parish of Saint Erconwald’s.’
‘But Warde was never accepted into the community,’ Cranston murmured.
‘No, but he was a spicer; he lived here, he could listen to the gossip and chatter which flow like God’s own rain along the crooked lanes and runnels of my parish. And you helped that, didn’t you, Huddle? It diverted attention from the true traitor; you’d fan the fires of suspicion while acting all righteous. Who knows, you probably offered to place a special vigil or watch on Warde through your regular visits to him.’ Athelstan squeezed Huddle’s hands. ‘You certainly did visit him. Warde’s bills testify to that but…’ Athelstan picked up his chancery bag and took out the psalter; Huddle quietly moaned and closed his eyes. Athelstan leafed swiftly through the pages and thrust the book towards the painter who opened his eyes and stared at the page which Athelstan tapped with his finger.
‘A unique picture, Huddle: Lucifer falling from Paradise. Now most artists depict Satan as a grotesque with a monstrous head, scaly body and the wings of a giant bat, dragon or some other monster. But this is most original. Look, Lucifer is still God’s light-bearer, a beautiful young man.’ Athelstan pointed towards the transept where the anchorite was still busily working. ‘You copied such a unique idea for the wall painting you and the anchorite have just completed. You did not visit Warde to watch but to talk; you became his friend though a traitor to your own kind. You provided precious information about the Upright Men and received your thirty pieces of silver, or whatever.’ Athelstan fell silent. Huddle, despite the robe, shivered so much his teeth rattled. ‘Warde became your friend,’ Athelstan repeated, ‘so much so he let you read his psalter.’
‘If Watkin and Pike discover your treachery,’ Cranston had now overcome his surprise, ‘friend or not, they will hand you over to the Upright Men. They will take you to some desolate place. It might be days before you die.’
‘I didn’t kill Warde and his family,’ Huddle blurted out. ‘I had nothing to do with that but, there again,’ Huddle swallowed hard, ‘neither did the Upright Men. Watkin and Pike swore that the Wardes had not been placed under the ban.’
‘Why not?’ Athelstan asked. ‘I am curious.’
‘The Upright Men themselves were not sure about Warde, were they?’ Cranston plucked at the front of Huddle’s gown. ‘They too began to wonder how a spicer, distrusted by the local community, could learn so much – not just parish chatter, gossip and rumour but important matters. How did Thibault learn that an ambush was being planned on a freezing, snowbound January morning near Aldgate? Or even worse, that meeting of the Upright Men in the Roundhoop.’ The coroner let go of Huddle’s robe; the artist put his face in his hands and quietly sobbed.
‘It’s true,’ he whispered, taking his hands away. ‘Father, I confess. I love the roll of the dice, the chance of hazard. At the beginning of Advent I visited the Crypt of Bones.’
‘A cozener’s paradise,’ Cranston whispered.
‘At first I won my wagers.’
‘Of course you would,’ Cranston jibed. ‘They always let you win, at first, to lure the bait, to set the trap and so catch the coney.’
‘I played against Lascelles, Thibault’s man.’
‘Lascelles!’ Athelstan exclaimed. ‘Oh, Huddle, they must have been hunting you.’
‘Lascelles is well known,’ Cranston declared, ‘for carrying cogged dice. Despite his funereal looks, Lascelles is a roaring boy and a very, very dangerous one. He would have Minehost at the Crypt of Bones in the palm of his hands.’ The coroner narrowed his eyes. ‘I am sure you were given the best claret, fine foods, the attentions of some buxom wench.’ Huddle just nodded mournfully in agreement. ‘And so the stage is set,’ Cranston declared. ‘You have won! You are celebrating, you are fuddled, you play again and you are trapped.’
‘I lost heavily,’ Huddle agreed. ‘Lascelles turned nasty.’
‘So what did he offer?’ Cranston asked.
‘To cancel my debt and receive his winnings. I became desperate. He offered me a path out of all my difficulties. I agreed but pleaded that I would need some protection. I explained how the cell at Saint Erconwald’s was fast and secure. Lascelles promised that I would be given help. He told me that Warde was Gaunt’s man, body and soul. He had been promised great rewards, an indenture to have the monopoly of the sale of spices to the royal wardrobes at the King’s palaces of Sheen, Woodstock and Westminster.’
Cranston whistled under his breath. ‘A veritable fortune!’
‘Warde said he had done this before. He came to Southwark to receive information as well as report on anything untoward.’
‘Such as?’
‘The massing of armed men, especially along the approaches to the bridge.’
‘Naturally,’ Cranston declared. ‘When the revolt breaks out, the bridge will be the one stronghold vital to any successful enterprise.’
‘Anything else?’ Athelstan insisted.
‘Oh, to discover where weapons might be stored.’ Huddle glanced away. ‘I informed Warde how our bows, clubs, swords and daggers were all buried with Watkins’ father.’
Athelstan closed his eyes and shook his head.
‘You see, Brother, the plan worked. Well, at least for a while. The others never suspected. I explained how I visited the spicer to
