across and set out his writing tray, ink stand and pen on the table before him. Colebrooke, breathing heavily, pushed open the door.
‘All is ready, Sir John.’ The lieutenant went over to Athelstan. ‘Here, Brother!’
Athelstan clasped his hand and hid up his voluminous sleeve what the lieutenant had given him. The friar stared round the silent chamber. It is here, he thought, we shall trap the murderer.
CHAPTER 14
Cranston twiddled his thumbs and beamed around. Athelstan noticed with quiet amusement that beneath his cloak Sir John was wearing doublet and hose of a deep bottle-green, with silver fringes and buttons to match. One of the coroner’s best set of robes, a sure sign Cranston was in good fettle. The rest of the group, however, remained subdued: Hammond staring at the floor, Rastani gazing into the fire. Sir Fulke bit his lip and tapped his foot impatiently. Colebrooke fidgeted whilst Philippa stabbed furiously at a piece of embroidery. Footsteps sounded outside, the door swung open and Parchmeiner entered. Athelstan glimpsed the guards outside and was glad Colebrooke had the sense to have armed soldiers nearby. The young man was red-cheeked and breathless. He smiled at Philippa, crossed the room and kissed her gently on the lips before gazing round expectantly.
‘Sir John! Brother Athelstan! Why the sudden affray?’
The friar rose. ‘Shalom, Geoffrey!’
‘Peace to you, Brother.’ The young man’s face was suddenly tinged a deep red.
Athelstan smiled. ‘How do you know the Arabic word for peace?’
The young man shrugged. ‘I buy and sell. I know more than one language.’
‘Pull back your cuffs, Master Parchmeiner!’
The young man looked flustered. ‘Why?’
‘Pull them back!’
‘I can’t see…’
‘Pull them back!’ Cranston ordered. ‘Now!’
Parchmeiner undid the embroidered cuffs and Athelstan gazed down at the white rings which broke the dark flesh of the man’s wrists.
‘How did you come by the marks of slave manacles?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Trading?’ He moved quickly and suddenly pulled the man’s knife from his belt and tossed it across to Cranston. ‘And how are your relatives in Bristol? Have you heard from them?’
The young man’s eyes narrowed and Athelstan noticed his determined mouth and chin. The veil was slipping. In future, Athelstan promised himself quietly, he would study faces more closely.
‘Don’t lie, Geoffrey. You have no relatives in Bristol. You sent no letters. The West Country has been cut off by snow. How could you be in communication with people in Bristol when the western roads have been impassable?’ Athelstan smiled bleakly at Cranston. ‘Isn’t it strange how such an innocent remark brought all these matters to a head?’ Athelstan stepped closer, aware of the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. Philippa now stood, her fist pressed to her mouth. The others were tense, immobile as statues.
‘But your name’s not Parchmeiner, is it?’ Cranston barked.
Athelstan took a step nearer. ‘Who are you?’ he said quietly. ‘Mark Burghgesh?’
A smile flickered across Parchmeiner’s face as he tried to assert himself. ‘What nonsense is this?’ he snapped. ‘Philippa, I have known you two years. I come from Bristol. My sister lives there. She will be here in a few days.’
Athelstan shook his head. ‘No, she won’t, young man. That road is blocked, both literally and metaphorically. Moreover,’ he continued, ‘you still haven’t told us about the rings round your wrists.’
The young man looked away. ‘I used to wear bracelets,’ he lied glibly.
‘This is nonsense,’ Philippa intervened. ‘Are you going to accuse Geoffrey of my father’s murder?’
‘Yes, I am!’ Athelstan announced.
‘But someone climbed the North Bastion!’
‘No, they didn’t!’ Athelstan looked at Colebrooke. ‘Master Lieutenant, you have everything ready?’
Colebrooke blinked nervously and nodded.
‘Then let us begin,’ Cranston barked. ‘Master Lieutenant, you have armed guards and archers, both in the corridor and downstairs?’
‘Yes, Sir John.’
‘Good. They will guard everyone here. If anyone attempts to escape, shoot them!’
With Cranston leading they walked out of the chamber, down the stairs and out across Tower Green beyond the first curtain wall to where the lonely, bleak North Bastion stood. They entered the doorway and stood in the porch where the two soldiers stood expectantly on guard. On the far wall there was a wooden rack with metal hooks from which keys hung.
‘Now,’ Athelstan said to the guards, ‘on the morning Sir Ralph was found dead… Tell me again what happened.’
One of the soldiers grimaced. ‘I takes young Parchmeiner upstairs,’ he said. ‘No, I take the key from the rack. I takes him upstairs. I unlocks the door to the passageway, let him through, lock it and come down.’
‘Then what?’
‘Well,’ the second soldier interrupted, ‘we hear Master Geoffrey calling Sir Ralph.’
‘What happened then?’ Athelstan asked.
‘He comes back and knocks on the door.’ The fellow pointed to the top of the stairs. ‘We unlock it, he comes down and sends for the lieutenant.’
‘No,’ Athelstan interrupted. ‘Something else happened, or so you told us.’
One of the guards scratched his unshaven chin.
‘Ah,’ his companion spoke up. ‘I knows what. Young Geoffrey said he would rouse Sir Ralph himself and we gives him the key. He then goes up the stairs, changes his mind, comes back, returns the key and goes for Master Colebrooke.’
‘Good,’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Now, Sir John, I will retrace Parchmeiner’s steps.’ He glanced quickly at the young man, whose face was pale, eyes narrowed and watchful. Philippa was staring at him like a child who cannot explain the sudden, unexpected mood of a parent. Sir Fulke and the chaplain stood bemused but Athelstan noticed the mute Rastani had edged closer to Parchmeiner, his hand not far from the knife hilt stuck in his scabbard.
‘My Lord Coroner,’ Athelstan exclaimed, ‘before we go any further, everyone should give up their arms except Lieutenant Colebrooke.’
There were mild protests but Cranston repeated Athelstan’s order and knives and swords clattered to the ground in an untidy heap.
‘Now we shall begin,’ Athelstan said. ‘Sir John, you will start counting?’
The friar nodded to one of the guards. ‘Unlock the door at the top!’
Cranston bellowed out the numbers as Athelstan went upstairs. The door swung open and was locked behind him. Cranston stopped for a few seconds at number twenty as he heard Athelstan call out Sir Ralph’s name before continuing. He had just passed the number fifty when he heard Athelstan pounding on the door at the top of the steps. One of the guards ran up and opened the door. Athelstan emerged. He tripped down the steps behind the soldier.
‘Now,’ the friar exclaimed, ‘I want the key to Sir Ralph’s chamber!’
Athelstan took one of the keys from its hook and went halfway back up the stairs, shook his head and came down.
‘On second thoughts,’ he said, ‘let us send for Master Colebrooke.’ He handed the key back to the soldier. ‘Tell me,’ the friar asked, ‘did I take any longer than young Geoffrey?’
‘No, about the same. He was a little longer in the passageway, but not much.’
Sir Fulke pushed his way forward. ‘What does this all mean?’ he demanded.
Athelstan smiled. ‘Now I will show you. Master lieutenant, re-open the door at the top of the stairs and let us all go up.’
