and candle wax but the makeshift altar in the cemetery was now tumbled down and all traces of the ‘Shrine of the Miraculous Crucifix’ had disappeared.
‘I hope Benedicta’s here,’ Athelstan murmured.
‘I think she is,’ Cranston replied. ‘I can see candlelight through your window, Brother.’
They found Benedicta and Alison seated round the table. Cranston exclaimed delightedly at the huge earthenware pot of ale Benedicta must have brought from a nearby tavern. She carried in fresh tankards from the kitchen and laid out five traunchers, each with strips of dried meat, cheese and slices of apple. Samson, ears cocked, looked around him.
‘Oh God!’ Cranston prayed. ‘Don’t let Bonaventure come back, not now!’
‘He won’t,’ Athelstan replied. ‘He’s a very intelligent cat and will know Samson’s here. But, Henry, come here. I have a small present for you and your wife. It’s upstairs in my bed loft’
Athelstan ignored the curious looks from the rest and led Flaxwith up the ladder. A few minutes later the friar returned alone and sat down at the table. He blessed himself, dipped his fingers in a bowl of water, wiped them on the napkin provided, then sipped at his ale. Cranston began to speculate about a change in the weather but Benedicta suddenly pulled at his hand.
‘Shush, Sir John, listen!’
They all did.
‘Oh no!’ Cranston groaned, half rising to his feet. ‘Do you hear that, Brother?’
The friar stopped eating.
‘It’s someone wearing spurs!’ Benedicta exclaimed. ‘He’s outside the house!’
‘It can’t be Alcest,’ Alison declared.
‘Oh no, it’s not Alcest, Alison.’ Athelstan leaned over and clasped her hand. And although Alcest is a murderer, he’s only guilty of one death, isn’t he, mistress?’
‘I beg your pardon, Father?’
‘You heard what I said,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Mistress Alison, Alcest killed one clerk but you’ve slain four!’
CHAPTER 14
Alison would have sprung to her feet but Athelstan leaned across and pressed her back.
‘What is your real name?’ he asked.
‘Why, Alison Chapler. I am Edwin’s sister.’
Cranston, standing behind the girl, shook his head. Athelstan ignored him. Benedicta just sat with her mouth open. Flaxwith took Samson off and sat on a stool in a far corner; he pulled the dog on to his lap, stroking his ears.
‘I went to the Tower,’ Athelstan explained. ‘In that grim fortress there’s a muniment room with tax rolls going back decades. Interesting how tax-collectors are most assiduous in writing down details. They list people by tenement and occupation. Now, they list a family in Bishop’s Lynn, Norfolk, for 1362. Father, mother, their son Edwin and his sister Alison, no more than a child of three years.’
‘Well, you see, Father…’
‘No, no,’ Athelstan interrupted. ‘I then asked the scribe to look at the tax roll for 1365. By then two of the family had died: Edwin’s father and his sister Alison who was described as mortua, dead. Now, if you want, I can always ask Sir John to send one of the King’s cursitors to make careful inquiries into your background?’
Alison, her face drained of colour, just shook her head.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Athelstan remarked. ‘The jingling you heard was a pair of spurs I borrowed from the landlord of the Piebald tavern. Master Flaxwith went upstairs, tied a bit of string round them and lowered them out of the window. He gave them vigorous shakes so it sounded as if someone wearing spurs was walking up and down. Last night you did the same at Benedicta’s house. From the chamber above her parlour, you lowered those spurs out of the window, gave the string a vigorous twitch, but not before you had left the final riddle, as if it had been pushed under the front door.’
‘I think you are mistaken.’
‘Mistress, I am not. I was very intrigued how, in our discussion with the parish council, you knew all about a Norfolk legend, the “Kitsch Witch”.’
‘Edwin told me about it.’
‘I don’t think so, Mistress Alison. I have little proof of this, but with your art of being a seamstress, your knowledge of morality plays, as well as being so informed about mummers using fake blood, I suspect you are the daughter of travelling people. I believe Edwin met and fell in love with you.’
‘Then why didn’t we marry?’
‘Oh come, come, Alison, or whatever your real name is. You and I know that royal clerks who are married, unless they are very senior in position, do not get the preferment they want. At the same time I don’t know why,’ Athelstan paused and gathered the crumbs from the table, ‘Edwin wanted to keep your past a secret, to give you a new identity. I wonder why?’
‘Brother, I wasn’t in London when some of these men were killed.’
‘Let me start from the beginning.’ Athelstan pushed away the trauncher and sipped from his blackjack of ale. ‘Edwin Chapler is born in Bishop’s Lynn, Norfolk, his parents and sister died. I suspect he attended the Norwich Cathedral school; a very able and clever scholar, he was later sent to the Halls of Oxford or Cambridge. Which was it?’
‘Cambridge,’ the woman replied.
‘Either there, or shortly afterwards, he met you. You became his sister. A quiet, industrious couple, you moved into the small Essex village of Epping. Edwin would come armed with letters of recommendation, possibly from a Master in Cambridge, and secured a benefice in the Chancery of the Green Wax. You stay in Epping, Edwin takes a paltry chamber overlooking the city ditch but, now and again, you come up to London to meet him. Am I correct, mistress?’
Alison refused to answer.
‘Now, what should have been the beginning of a glorious career in the royal service,’ Athelstan continued, ‘turned into a nightmare. Chapler was a very honest man. He soon realised that, despite all the banter, the revelry and the riddles, Alcest and his companions controlled Lesures through blackmail whilst they dabbled in trickery, selling writs and licences to the outlaws, wolfsheads and denizens of London’s underworld. They invited Chapler to join them. Many a young man would have accepted such bribes joyously but Edwin was different, he was a man of integrity.’
‘He was a great man,’ Alison interrupted, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Never once did I see him lift a hand to hurt anyone but yes, Brother, he regarded Alcest and the rest as demons from hell: their gods were their bellies and their cocks!’
‘Chapler told you all about them, didn’t he?’ Athelstan asked. ‘He told you all their little customs and practices. How they dressed, what they drank, which brothel they attended. How they revelled in their wealth and their arrogance. Of course he had scruples, as any righteous man would: those clerks were committing a very serious crime and he, by his silence, was condoning it.’
Alison nodded as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘I am not too sure what happened then,’ Athelstan continued. ‘But Edwin must have protested, perhaps even threatened them. Alcest and the rest responded with counter-threats and silence until one day they tried to poison him, putting a potion in his malmsey cup at the Chancery.’
‘How did Edwin keep his relationship with Alison so secret?’ Flaxwith, sitting in the corner, called out.
‘As I’ve said,’ Athelstan replied, ‘they kept up the pretence of being brother and sister. Alison would travel to London in man’s dress. A subtle enough game to fool the good people of Epping as well as anyone who knew them in the city. Moreover, it provided extra protection when she travelled. I’ve visited Chapler’s lodgings: they were mean and simple and yet his salary was good.’ Athelstan gestured round the kitchen. ‘Everyone deserves a home: you and Edwin had another chamber, didn’t you? As far away as possible from the Chancery of the Green Wax: beyond the walls at Holywell or to the west of Clerkenwell? However, when Edwin fell ill, you, dressed as a man,
