Scotland and Castille quartered on a shield.
‘Sir John, what are you hinting at?’ Lesures asked, taking the seal back. ‘You know no one holds that seal except me. No one can use it to impress a document except me.’ Lesures made to rise as if to walk off in disgust.
‘We haven’t finished,’ Athelstan remarked. ‘But you may go and ask Napham and Alcest to join us. We have something to tell them.’
Lesures hurried off. He returned with the clerks. Both men look subdued, pale-faced, not a touch of their old arrogance and swagger.
‘Did you like Chapler?’ Cranston began abruptly.
‘No, we did not,’ Alcest retorted. ‘I’ve told you, he was not one of us so we let him be. He came to work here then he went home. We knew nothing about him except that he had a sister in Epping.’
‘How long did Chapler work here?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Two years,’ Lesures answered from where he stood nervously by the door. ‘He came highly recommended from a merchant in Cambridge.’
‘And he was the last to join you?’
‘Yes, yes, he was,’ Alcest replied. ‘He came a stranger and remained as one.’
‘Is that why you tried to poison him?’ the coroner asked.
Napham sat back as if a crossbow bolt had hit him in the chest.
‘You did try to poison him or someone here did? A few weeks ago he drank some malmsey…’
‘We didn’t poison him,’ Alcest retorted. ‘That was Peslep’s idea of a joke. He put a purgative in Chapler’s cup. Peslep thought it was amusing. We did not.’
‘You have no proof of that,’ Athelstan said sharply.
‘I have spoken the truth.’
‘Ah yes, the truth,’ Cranston remarked. ‘Pilate also asked what is the truth. Brother Athelstan, tell him what we have already learnt.’
Athelstan explained the three riddles and how each of them was a reference to the first letter of the surname of the murdered clerks. Alcest and Napham became even more subdued, especially as Athelstan explained how there was little connection between the murder of Chapler and the other three clerks.
‘This makes us wonder,’ Athelstan concluded. ‘We have Peslep, Ollerton, Elflain: P O E. If we add the first letters of Napham and Alcest the word poena is formed, the Latin for punishment. Now,’ Athelstan leaned his hands on the table, ‘what have you five clerks done to deserve such punishment?’
Napham began to shake but Alcest abruptly got to his feet and, taking his Chancery ring off, threw it on the table.
‘Pray, sir, what’s the matter?’ Cranston barked.
‘I’m a royal clerk in the Chancery of the Green Wax,’ Alcest declared. ‘I work for the Crown. I am being threatened. Accordingly, unless we take the appropriate measures, both I and Master Napham will also be brutally killed whilst you, Sir John, fumble around!’
‘And so?’ Athelstan played with the Chancery ring lying on the table.
‘Sir John will tell you the custom.’ Napham also took his ring off. ‘In times of great danger royal clerks can demand the Crown’s protection.’
‘Of course!’ Cranston breathed. ‘And where will you go, sir?’
‘To the Tower, of course.’
Alcest picked up both rings and slipped them into his pouch. ‘I will go to the Constable of the Tower and demand that we be housed there.’ He jabbed a finger at Cranston. ‘Until you, the coroner of this city, discovers who the assassin is!’
Alcest, followed by Napham, walked to the door. ‘We will both stay in the Tower from where we will petition the Regent for his protection and complain about the bumbling doings of a drunken coroner!’
Cranston sprang to his feet. ‘And you, sir, can go down to hell and ask the Lord Satan for protection. If you seek it in the Tower, then go! Yet you have still not answered our questions.’ The coroner continued. ‘Why are you and your companions being hunted and killed? What have you done to merit such terrible punishment?’ He smiled bleakly. ‘My Lord Regent will be interested in your reply, as will I.’ He glanced at the Master of the Rolls. ‘Lesures, will you join them?’
‘No, no, my post is here!’
‘Good,’ Cranston breathed. ‘Master Alcest, you will be in the Tower by the morning, yes? I can visit you there.’
The two clerks were already pushing their way out of the door, slamming it behind them. Cranston took out his wineskin and swallowed a generous mouthful.
‘They should be careful,’ Athelstan warned. ‘They are not yet in the Tower and the assassin still hunts them!’
CHAPTER 9
Athelstan left Cranston in Cheapside. The coroner was growing tired, rubbing his face and murmuring about Lady Maude and the poppets. The day was drawing on. The market bell was tolling and already carts and barrows were being refilled as peasants prepared to leave the city before sunset. The air was ripe with rotting fruit and vegetables as Athelstan made his way along the streets. A beggar boy, for a penny, took him to the Silver Lute tavern, a broad-fronted hostelry with a small gatehouse which dominated its spacious cobbled yard. Athelstan walked into the taproom. The taverner, a great leather apron round him, came hurrying up, a cheerful, merry-eyed fellow.
‘Yes, yes,’ he declared, scratching his bald pate. ‘Mistress Alison Chapler is here.’
A tapster was sent to fetch her.
‘I’ll have a pot of ale,’ Athelstan requested. ‘And a few moments of your time, sir.’
The taverner brought him a quart but shook his hand at the proffered coin. ‘No, Brother, remember me at Mass. Now, what do you want?’
Athelstan described what Alison had told him: the taverner scratched his cheek.
‘It’s true,’ he replied. ‘Mistress Alison asked me to keep an eye for anyone who came to the tavern asking for her, especially a young man, cowled and cloaked, with spurs on his boots. She seemed fearful of him.’
‘And you saw such a person?’
‘Well, yes. Once today and once yesterday. My counting house overlooks the yard so I can keep an eye on anyone who comes in under the gateway. I saw this young man twice. If Mistress Alison had not asked me to watch, I would not have noticed him at all.’
‘Do you know who he was or where he came from?’
The taverner shook his head. ‘The first time I didn’t mention it but after I saw him today I told Mistress Alison. She became frightened. She said she was leaving, asked me to present my bill, which I have done.’
‘Yes, she’s leaving with me.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘She’s going to stay with a friend in Southwark.’
The taverner was about to question him further but Alison and the tapster, carrying bulky saddlebags, came downstairs into the taproom. She and Athelstan made their farewells, the boy taking them out to the yard. He saddled a gentle-looking palfrey, across which Athelstan threw the baggage. Alison wrapped the reins round her hand and they left, in the direction of London Bridge.
At first they walked in silence. Alison seemed fascinated by the different sights: a woman accused of scolding standing in the thews; two sorry pickpockets standing nearby, their fingers clasped in the stocks, their hose round their ankles. A legion of beggars of every description, some genuine, others fraudulent. A group of mailed horsemen rode by, forcing everyone into the doorways of shops and houses. These were followed by an elegant young man with a hooded falcon on his wrist; two verderers followed swiftly behind. On the rods over their shoulders hung the gutted corpses of hares, pheasants and quail.
‘Some lord returning from the hunt,’ Athelstan observed. He watched the horsemen retreat in a jingle of harness. ‘This man you saw,’ he continued, ‘the one who wore spurs and was seen when Peslep was killed. Do you
