Vechey. Now, you may remember when we inspected his corpse, we noticed the water had soaked him up to his knees?'
'Yes,' Athelstan nodded.
'We also know that if Vechey committed suicide he must have done it in the early hours, just before dawn. Correct?'
Again Athelstan nodded.
'But that is impossible,' Cranston continued with a self- satisfied smirk. 'You see, after midnight the Thames runs fast and full. The water rises and it would almost cover the arch. There would be, at the very most, a foot between the surface of the water and the beam Vechey used to hang himself.' He held up his stubby fingers. 'First, are we to accept that a man waded through water up to his neck to tie a noose to hang himself? Or that he hanged himself virtually under water? Yet when Vechey's corpse was found, somehow or other it had dried out except beneath the knees.'
Athelstan grinned. 'Mirabile dictu, Sir John! Of course the river would be full. Vechey would have had to swim out to hang himself and that is a logical contradiction. So what do you think happened?'
'Vechey was drugged or knocked on the head, the corpse being strung up for others to find.'
'But why such contrivance?'
'I have been wondering about that,' Cranston replied. 'Remember, we know very little about the man. Vechey was promiscuous, he liked soft and perfumed flesh but, being a respectable citizen, he would hunt well away from his home in Cheapside. So I think he went down to the stews and bawdy houses along the river. Somehow or other he was trapped, knocked on the head or drugged, and his body taken down to London Bridge. The noose was tied around his neck and strung over the beam. The murderer was very clever, the river bank was deserted. The bridge, as the man- nikin told us, was a favourite place for people to commit suicide. The murderer made one mistake. He probably inspected the area when the water had fallen well below the starlings. He forgot that when he came to hang up Vechey's corpse the river would have risen, covering any suitable platform for a suicide to stand on.'
'Yet he still went ahead. Why?'
'Because Vechey was probably dead, strangled before he ever reached that bridge, and what else could the murderer do with the corpse? Throw it in the river still bearing the noose-mark, or cart it round London and risk capture looking for a new gibbet!'
Athelstan smiled. 'Perfect, Sir John.'
'And Brampton?'
'You may remember, or perhaps not,' Athelstan replied, that Brampton's corpse was dressed in hose and a linen shirt. First, do we really accept that a man in the act of undressing suddenly decides halfway through that he will hang himself and goes up to the garret without his boots on to carry out the terrible act? Now, even if he had, the garret floor was covered with pieces of glass and dirt. However, when I examined the soles of Brampton's feet, there were no marks or cuts. Yet there should have been if he had walked across that floor without his boots on. In fact, there was very little dust on the soles of his hose. The only conclusion is that Brampton died like Vechey. He was carried up to that garret, probably in a state of stupor, drunk or drugged. The rope was tied round his neck. He fought for a while, hence the strands of cord found under the finger nails, but he was murdered and left there to hang so others would think he had taken his own life.'
Cranston pursed his lips and smiled.
'Most logical, Brother.'
'The other factor,' Athelstan continued, 'is that Vechey and Brampton supposedly hanged themselves. Now, I examined the bruise on each of the corpses. It is a remarkable coincidence that two men, relative strangers, put a noose knot in exactly the same place, Vechey copying Brampton in every particular when he hanged himself. I went down to the execution yard where I saw three corpses. The executioner himself said that each hangman has his own hall-mark. The three corpses I studied there had the noose placed in the same spot. Vechey and Brampton also had the noose placed in the same spot. The only logical conclusion is that Brampton and Vechey were hanged by the same person.'
Athelstan picked up a quill with a modest flourish, uncapped the inkhorn and dipped in his pen. Cranston leant nearer. Athelstan found himself relishing the closeness. He felt as if he was back in time with his brother, plotting some mischief.
'As the good book says, let us start with the last. Vechey -' Athelstan wrote the name' – hanged by the neck under London Bridge. It appears he took his own life but the truth is that he was murdered. By whom and how?' Athelstan drew a question mark and looked up at Cranston.
'Perhaps we will know soon,' Cranston observed. 'On my way down I sent a message to the sheriffs office at the Guildhall and asked for two cursitors to make diligent inquiries amongst the taverns and stews along this side of the river. Perhaps they will discover something. Vechey was a fairly well-known man, a goldsmith. He would dress the part, even though he wore a cloak or hood. Such places tend to know their customers.'
'Secondly,' Athelstan continued writing, 'we have Brampton, steward of Sir Thomas Springall, who died apparently by his own hand in the garret of SpringalPs house.'
Cranston watched Athelstan's pen race across the page.
'We know it was murder not suicide, but how and by whom?'
Another question mark.
'Finally,' Athelstan concluded, 'Sir Thomas Springall was murdered in his own bed chamber by a cup of poisoned wine which was placed there by Brampton. But we have Dame Ermengilde's assurance that no one went up to Sir Thomas's chamber after Brampton had visited him. Nor did anyone enter the chamber after he retired. We know Sir Thomas drank the poisoned cup inside the room and not at the banquet, otherwise his death would have been public and in company.'
Athelstan wrote carefully. Cranston, craning his neck, followed the words forming quickly in the blue-green ink.
'So many questions, Sir John, so few answers. So where do we begin?'
Cranston jabbed one stubby finger at Athelstan's last few words.
'We will begin there. We have not fully scrutinised Springall's death. That is the key. If we solve that, the rest will unravel like a piece of cloth.'
'Easier said than done, Sir John, and you have only had one cup of refreshment!'
'Enough for the day is the evil thereof, friar. You should know that.'
Athelstan picked up his quill again. 'We have three riddles. First, Genesis, Chapter Three, Verse One; secondly, the Book of the Apocalypse Chapter Six, Verse Eight. And, thirdly, the shoemaker.'
'The shoemaker means nothing to me,' Cranston replied. 'But the verses… apparently Sir Thomas liked to tease his colleagues, and they would be curious. Vechey probably carried the verses around trying to solve the riddle. Oh,' the coroner grinned, 'my apologies for not telling you about Eudo the page boy but, according to my memory, there was nothing suspicious, just a fall from a window.'
The friar made a face. 'If Chief Justice Fortescue asked for a report, we could pose many questions and few solutions, Sir John.'
'That is why,' the coroner barked, getting up, 'we are off to Newgate to see Solper.' He grinned at Athelstan. 'Every morning the Guildhall send me a list of those indicted to hang. Young Solper was on this list, not before time. A rat from the sewer, but one of my best informants. Let us see if he wants to live!'
He strode away, leaving Athelstan scrambling – to clear his writing tray, repack the leather bag and follow him out to the yard. Cranston had already ordered their horses to be brought out into Cheapside. They rode through the market place. The noise, clamour and dusty heat prevented any conversation. Cranston looked around him.
Yes, he would mention this in his treatise, he thought. There should be beadles placed at every corner, each covering his own section of the market place, and others mingling with the crowd. This would cut down on the number of naps, foists and pickpockets who plagued these places like the locusts of Egypt. His mind drifted and he let his horse find its path through the crowds. Athelstan pulled his hood over his head as he felt the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. He wondered what Sir John Cranston wanted at Newgate.
They moved out of Cheapside up towards the old city wall which housed the infamous gaol, past the small church of Nicholas Le Quern near Blow-Bladder Street and into the great open space before the prison. This was really no more than two huge towers linked by a high curtain wall. The area in front of Newgate, Athelstan thought, must be the nearest thing to hell on earth. There was a market down the centre, the stalls facing out, but the air
