‘Ah.’ Athelstan sighed and crouched down beside the young man. ‘Listen, look up!’
Flinstead lifted his head.
‘You may be nervous,’ Athelstan continued. ‘But you are also a killer. You slew a man in cold blood and stole what was not yours. Stablegate was right. It would be very hard to prove that you were the killers. It would have remained a mystery if it hadn’t been for that door.’
‘Come to the point, Brother!’ Cranston snapped, standing behind him. ‘The day is long and we have other business to do.’
‘Oh, Flinstead knows my point,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Much suspected, nothing proven, eh? But you know, Sir John, any attempt by these two lovelies to leave the kingdom, particularly if they were suspected of stealing so much silver, would have been carefully scrutinised. You need a licence to go beyond the seas. That’s why Alcest, the clerk from the Chancery of the Green Wax, came down here, wasn’t it?’
‘I think so,’ Flinstead mumbled. ‘Stablegate said he would take care of that.’
Athelstan tapped him under the chin. ‘Oh, I am sure he would, Master Flinstead, he would have also taken care of you. A knife in the back and another corpse is pulled from the Thames, eh?’ Athelstan got to his feet. ‘I think it’s time for Stablegate.’
The second clerk had hardly entered the room when he looked at Flinstead and realised what had happened.
‘You snivelling bastard! You caitiff! They have trapped you, haven’t they? I told them nothing.’
He would have lunged at Flinstead if Flaxwith, standing behind had not given him a firm rap across the shoulder with his cudgel. Stablegate, wincing with pain, fell to one knee. Flaxwith dragged him back to his feet; nevertheless, the clerk was still defiant.
‘You fat, red-faced bastard!’ he sneered at Cranston. ‘You and your little mouse of a friar. Well. I don’t mind. Drayton was a hard-nosed, avaricious bag of turds. Life is hard. It’s only a short dance at Tyburn.’ His face became contorted with rage. ‘As long as Flinstead dies beside me, I couldn’t give a fig!’ He shook his fist at Cranston. ‘You can tell that to the bloody Regent! He’ll never get his silver!’ Stablegate stopped and smiled maliciously. ‘Of course…’ His voice had fallen to a whisper.
‘Where’s the silver?’ Cranston took a step closer. He took his dagger out and pressed the tip into Stablegate’s chin.
Stablegate stretched out his hands. ‘What is it, Cranston? A journey downriver to the Tower? The King’s torturers? Do you think I’d give up the silver then? And if I die, what will His Grace the Regent say to that eh?’
‘You are an evil young man,’ Athelstan accused.
‘Piss off, priest! Sir John knows what I’m talking about. Don’t you realise, Flinstead,’ he raised his voice, ‘there’s hope yet. Now you can see why I hid the silver. You’d have blabbed all.’
‘What do you want?’ Cranston asked.
‘Sanctuary,’ Stablegate demanded. ‘Sanctuary for me and Flinstead The right to Bee to Mary Le Bow. We’ll stay there forty days.’
‘And then you’ll abjure the realm,’ Cranston said. ‘You’ll be taken to the nearest port, thrown on the first available ship and if you set foot in England again, you’ll hang.’ Cranston rubbed his chin. ‘The Crown will post a reward on your heads,’ he added. ‘One hundred pounds dead or alive. You can beg, across the Narrow Seas, but set foot in any English port and every harbour reeve looking for a quick profit will have your name and description.’
Cranston took Stablegate by the arm and marched him across to the counting desk. ‘Sit there,’ he said. ‘Take a quill.’ He pointed to a scrap of parchment. ‘Write down where you have hidden the silver. Then both of you can flee. Don’t be stupid! Don’t try and get beyond the city walls. We’ll ride you down. Flaxwith here will ensure you take sanctuary in St Mary Le Bow.’
Stablegate struggled but Cranston’s grip was vicelike. ‘You are a horrible young man,’ the coroner snarled. ‘And if that silver isn’t where you say it is, I’ll go across and, sanctuary or not, I’ll pull both of you out and watch you hang, be disembowelled and quartered! I’ll even do it myself!’
Stablegate sat down. Sir John moved away. The room fell quiet except for the squeaking of Stablegate’s quill.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Cranston called out. ‘If anything happens to Flinstead before you leave England, you will have violated the law of sanctuary and you can be killed on the spot.’
‘As the Book of Ecclesiastes says, Sir John,’ Stablegate scoffed over his shoulder, ‘there’s a season and a time under heaven for everything.’
‘And the clerks of the Green Wax?’ Athelstan asked. ‘What business did you have with Alcest?’
‘Safe passage from the kingdom, but ask him yourself!’
Stablegate got to his feet, the parchment now crumpled into a ball. ‘I have your word, Cranston?’
‘You have my word. Drop that parchment on the floor. You and Flinstead can flee. Flaxwith will follow.’
Stablegate threw the parchment on to the ground. He made a rude gesture at Sir John and ran for the door; Flinstead needed no second bidding but followed. The coroner and the friar stood and listened to their feet pounding down the passageway, the front door being opened and slammed shut behind them.
‘Is that just?’ Flaxwith asked.
Cranston grinned evilly.
‘You can’t break your word, Sir John.’ Flaxwith’s eyes rounded in alarm. ‘Holy Mother Church is most zealous about the law of sanctuary.’
Sir John picked up the parchment and tossed it from one hand to the other. ‘Oh, they can stay forty days in St Mary Le Bow on bread and water. Then I’ll have the two bastards marched down into Queenshithe. Now, Henry, you may think I’m a bastard but I have a friend, Otto Grandessen, half merchant, half pirate, a real bastard. Otto owns a cog which does business in the Middle Seas, sailing to Aleppo and Damascus. He’ll take those two beauties aboard. By the time Otto’s finished with them, they’ll wish they had died at Tyburn. He’ll put them ashore at Palestine. There’s not much mischief they can do in the desert surrounded by Saracens who would love to take their heads.’ Cranston opened the piece of parchment. ‘Go on, Henry, make sum where they have gone.’
The bailiff hurried off.
‘Well?’ Athelstan asked.
‘The insolent…!’ Cranston looked up ‘Oh, he’s told us where the money is: they never took it out of the house. It’s buried in the cellar.’
Athelstan made to follow him out but the coroner waved him away. ‘No, sit there, Brother, I’ll find the bloody silver! If I know this house correctly, the floor will be beaten earth. When Henry comes back, tell him to join me.’
Cranston marched off Athelstan sat down. He felt pleased: Stablegate and Flinstead were evil men. Whatever Drayton’s crimes, he died a miserable death and Sir Johns agreement to the criminals was more than just. Athelstan leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt a small glow of satisfaction and realised that, in their own way, he and the coroner had done God’s work, as necessary and demanding as preaching and ministering to the parishioners of St Erconwald’s. Athelstan’s eyes flew open. Any feeling of goodwill disappeared as he recalled Watkin marching up and down.
‘God knows what trickery they are up to,’ Athelstan declared. ‘But how and why?’
‘I beg your pardon, Brother?’
Flaxwith stood in the doorway.
‘I’m sorry, Henry, I’m just speaking to myself. Our two felons?’
‘Headed into the porch of St Mary Le Bow like rats down a hole’
‘Good. Sir John wants you in the cellar.’ Athelstan smiled ‘Yes, that’s where they hid the silver. Stablegate must have put it there, planning to return at his own convenience. You’d best hurry.’
Athelstan cocked an ear at the string of colourful oaths he could hear from below. Flaxwith left and, for a while, Athelstan wondered how he could deal with the miraculous cross of St Erconwald’s. He thought of Alison. She must be allowed to leave soon, Athelstan concluded: Sir John could not keep her here for ever. His mind wandered further: he recalled what Stablegate had said about the clerks of the Green Wax. Athelstan was now certain that Alcest, his companions and possibly Chapler had been involved in some subtle trickery, forging licences and letters. A very serious crime: the Vicar of Hell would have known about it, any wolfshead or outlaw who needed a letter or an official writ would pay a heavy price. Alcest probably had a forged seal. Lesures might well suspect it but because of Alcest’s blackmail he dared not investigate or protest. But why the killings? Athelstan scuffed at the
