been killed?’
‘Yes she did.’ Alcest spoke up. ‘We told her, sir, what Havant had told us, that her brother’s corpse had been plucked from the Thames.’
And now poor Peslep is also slain,’ Napham added.
‘Two deaths,’ Cranston trumpeted, eyes rolling. ‘Two royal clerks killed in a matter of days.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘It’s not accident, sirs. We are given to understand that Chapler was killed whilst praying in the chapel of St Thomas a Becket on London Bridge and his body thrown over into the Thames. Peslep was stabbed in the Ink and Pot tavern. To cut a long story short, sirs, the assassin knew where to strike. We have a story of a young man, a stranger, at the Ink and Pot dressed in a cloak, war belt and boots armed with spurs. How many of you here could fit that description?’
The clerks looked at each other in surprise.
‘The lord coroner,’ Athelstan broke in, ‘asked you a question. How many of you might fit this description? Perhaps if you could indicate?’
Slowly, led by Alcest, each of the clerks held up a hand.
‘But,’ Elflain protested, ‘there are countless young men in London who would fit that description.’
‘And how many of those young men,’ Athelstan asked, ‘knew that Chapler prayed at St Thomas a Becket or that Peslep frequented the Ink and Pot?’
‘You are saying that the killer is one of us?’ Alcest demanded.
‘Yes, sir, I am,’ Athelstan replied. And please don’t take offence or stand up to protest your innocence. We are here on the orders of His Grace the regent, John Duke of Lancaster.’ He was pleased to see their smugness and arrogance fade. ‘Of course,’ Athelstan continued, ‘I could temper my words. At this moment, suspicion falls on all of you but, there again, if honesty is your guide and truth your response to our questions, suspicion might fall elsewhere.’
‘What questions?’ Ollerton asked.
Athelstan glanced at Lesures who was sitting open-mouthed. The friar had already concluded that the Master of the Rolls, despite his title, exercised very little control over these young fighting cocks. These clerks earned good silver and were patronised by the great and mighty at court who always needed the services of a good scribe.
‘Questions!’ Cranston barked. ‘Questions, sir! Yes, sirs, I will ask you questions, all of you. First, where were you this morning, when Peslep was killed?’
‘Oh, for the Love of God, Sir John,’ Alcest replied, his handsome face twisted in disdain. All of us here live in different parts of the city. We arrived here just after Matins. Some of us go to Mass, others stroll the fields of Clerkenwell. Peslep liked to eat, drink and feel the tits of a young tavern wench.’
And what did Chapler do?’ Athelstan asked.
‘A dutiful clerk.’ Lesures now spoke up, as if eager to extol the dead man’s virtues. ‘He always went to Mass at St Mary Le Bow and said the Angelus at noon. He was known for his generosity to beggars along Cheapside.’
‘Quite, quite,’ Athelstan said, imitating Cranston. ‘But none of you can account for where you were and what you were doing this morning when Peslep was killed?’
The clerks stared at him and shook their heads.
‘You have no witnesses,’ Athelstan continued, ‘saying that such and such a person was there at such and such a time?’
‘Does any man in London?’ Napham scratched his head. ‘Brother Athelstan, we get up, we wash, we get dressed and we go about our daily duties. We do not keep a faithful check of every minute and every second we spend.’
‘Then let us discuss what you were doing three nights ago…’
Athelstan heard a snore and looked round. Cranston had leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, smacking his lips. The coroner burped gently. The friar stared round the table. The young woman was gazing, fascinated, at Sir John. In ordinary circumstances the rest of the group would have been sniggering, laughing behind their hands, but now the clerks were watchful. They might dismiss Cranston as a drunken buffoon but they watched this little friar with his innocent face and short, barbed questions. It’s all a sham, Athelstan thought. Sitting here in this chamber he had a feeling of sin, heavy and oppressive, of arrogance and secrecy. These men had something to hide; Athelstan was sure the killer was sitting with him.
‘Does Sir John sleep a great deal?’ Alcest cocked his head to one side, eyes rounded like that of a child.
Athelstan caught the sneer in the words. ‘I once saw a lion in the Tower,’ he replied. ‘He used to sprawl in the sand but only a fool would dare wake him. You are not a fool, are you, Master Alcest?’
The clerk pulled a face and looked away.
‘Then let’s return to three nights ago when Chapler was killed,’ Athelstan suggested. He caught Alcest’s glance: the clerk had been waiting for that question to be repeated.
‘Three nights ago,’ Alcest replied. ‘At what hour, Brother?’
‘What time do you finish here?’
‘As soon as the light fades in summertime, but three evenings ago was different. It was the feast of St Edmund, our patron: we left here just before Vespers.’
‘And did Chapler go with you?’
‘No, no, as usual he went about his own duties.’
‘And you?’
‘Go ask mine host of the Dancing Pig. We were there well before sunset. We hired a special chamber for a feast. Certain ladies of the town graced us with their presence.’
‘And none of you left?’
‘No!’ Ollerton intervened, scratching at the scar on his face. ‘Not one of us left and we can each stand surety for the other. Moreover, mine host at the Dancing Pig will tell you we had no reason to leave.’
‘You were there all night?’
‘From before dusk until just before dawn.’
‘Ah, the poppets! Lovely lads!’ Cranston murmured. ‘Lovely boys, and a cup of claret for myself.’
Athelstan went red with embarrassment at the sniggers. ‘A king once fought an army,’ he declared hurriedly. ‘And vanquished them but, when the battle was over, victors and vanquished lay together in the same place.’
The sniggers faded away.
‘What on earth?’ Alcest asked.
‘My first,’ Athelstan added, remembering the second riddle, ‘is like a selfish brother.’
‘Father, you are speaking in riddles!’
‘Brother Athelstan,’ Cranston opened his eyes and leaned forward, rubbing his face, ‘Brother Athelstan is quoting from what we found this morning on the corpse of your dead friend Peslep. Two riddles, sir, eh, what do they mean? Come, sir, tell me.’
Cranston stretched, flexing muscles and wetting his lips. He would have sipped from the miraculous wineskin but Athelstan kicked his shin under the table.
‘Riddles!’ Lesures exclaimed. He glanced round the table, eager to join in this mysterious conversation. ‘Why, sirs,’ Lesures addressed the clerks, ‘you are constantly posing riddles for the others to solve.’
‘Is that true?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes, it’s true,’ Alcest replied. ‘Sir John, you once served as a clerk. Brother Athelstan, you were engaged in your studies, yes?’ Alcest spread his hands. ‘Life can be tedious, even as a clerk in the Chancery of the Green Wax. So, yes, we have perfected the art of the riddle. We pose each other riddles and, at the end of the week, the one who has solved the most dines free.’
‘Give me an example,’ Athelstan asked.
Alcest scratched his chin. ‘Tell me, Brother, where in the world is the sky no more than three yards wide?’
Athelstan looked at Sir John, who pulled a face.
‘Think, Brother,’ Alcest added teasingly. ‘Where, in any part of the world, is the sky no more than three yards wide?’
Athelstan closed his eyes. He recalled the previous night, standing on St Erconwald’s tower, staring up at the sky. Sometimes he gazed so steadfastly he thought the sky would come down and envelope him whilst the stars,
