been destroyed or taken, their captains and officers either killed or captured. You had the prizes as well as the ransom money for the hostages but you decided there was more to win.’
Gaunt was now smiling to himself.
‘The spy Mercurius, the professional assassin at the French court, what a marvellous way to trap him! Let it be known, and I am sure you could do this through our envoys at the truce negotiations, that one of the prisoners at Hawkmere was one of your spies.’
‘Very good,’ Gervase commented. ‘Brother Athelstan, you really should work in the House of Secrets.’
‘You were playing with men’s lives,’ Athelstan went on. ‘The French court was furious that the spy, responsible for the destruction of two of their finest ships, could now look forward to honourable retirement as a pensioner in the Palace of the Savoy. Orders were issued and Mercurius began his bloody work.’
‘Brother, Brother.’ Gaunt shook his head in admiration as if they were playing chess or a game of hazard. ‘You forget these were French prisoners, they were held for ransom. If they die, I lose the money.’
‘A very small price, my lord. You invest one pound and recoup a treasure. The French would not use their deaths to break the truce. What would they care as long as the spy was destroyed?’
Sir Maurice looked bemused. He scratched his head and beat at the table-top.
‘But, Brother, who is Mercurius, where is he? How could he poison so expertly? Why kill that poor girl? And Maneil shot with a crossbow bolt?’
Athelstan ignored him.
‘My Lord of Gaunt, do I speak the truth?’
‘You do, Brother. “Put not your trust in Princes,” the psalmist says. Believe me, Athelstan, never were words so inspired. Outside of London the Great Community of the Realm conspires and plots. Across the Narrow Seas the French wait, ready to exploit any weakness. The St Sulpice and St Denis were captured by good luck and God’s good fortune. But, as the House of Secrets knows, Mercurius has done terrible mischief to our cause both here and abroad. A spy and an assassin, I wondered if he could be lured out into the open? When the prisoners began to die I knew I was correct. The French would kill them all, or some of them, until they believed they had avenged the insult. But the deaths themselves?’ Gaunt shook his head. ‘They are a mystery to me.’
‘Has Aspinall the physician arrived?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes,’ Sir John replied. ‘I asked for him to be confined in one of the upper chambers. He protested but he looks frightened enough.’
‘Bring him down,’ Athelstan ordered. He patted the table next to him. ‘Ask him to sit here.’
Sir John left and, a short while later, brought in the physician. The man was visibly agitated, even more so when he realised whose presence he was in. He bobbed and scraped but Gaunt ignored him.
‘Brother Athelstan,’ he gabbled. ‘Is there anything wrong? I mean
…’
‘When a man is poisoned,’ Athelstan asked, ‘how does the noxious substance work?’
‘Why, Brother.’ Aspinall swallowed hard. ‘It goes down to the gut and seriously disturbs the humours of the heart and the brain.’
‘And is there any poison that I can take which will not harm me but, if you eat it, would kill you?’
Aspinall wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip.
‘If there is, I have never heard of it, Brother.’
Athelstan took out a small leather pouch from his writing-bag. He opened it and shook a number of very small, hard peas out on to the table.
‘This is the paternoster pea,’ he explained. ‘Also called the rosary pea. In Latin I understand they call it the Abrus precatorius. Master Aspinall, I would like you to take one.’
Aspinall sat, hands in his lap.
‘Take it!’ Gaunt urged.
Aspinall, trembling, picked up a pea.
‘Now, put it into your mouth.’
‘Is it poisonous?’ the physician asked.
‘What are you doing to do?’ Athelstan asked. I mean, when you put it in?’
‘I’ll break it between my teeth.’ Aspinall swallowed hard. ‘But, Brother, I beg you, for the love of God!’
Athelstan smiled and took the pea back.
‘Don’t take it,’ he said quietly. ‘But, if you stay here, Master Aspinall, I am going to teach you something about medicine. Sir John. Bring the two prisoners down.’
They sat in silence, Aspinall moving further up the table. There were sounds of footsteps outside and the two prisoners were led into the hall. Athelstan scooped the peas up and put them back into the leather pouch.
‘Ah gentlemen, I wonder if you can sit beside me. I wish to share some information with you.’
‘Are we in danger?’ Vamier asked.
‘Pierre Vamier,’ Athelstan said, ‘Jean Gresnay, would you please sit down.’
The latter flounced down like a sulky girl. Vamier, his dark face wary, sat on the bench opposite. They glanced along the table. Sir John must have told them who was waiting in the hall but, apparently, they had both decided to insult Gaunt and his henchmen. Gresnay dismissed the physician with a contemptuous flicker of his eyes.
‘You are both sailors,’ Athelstan began. ‘Monsieur Vamier, where are you from?’
‘Originally my parents hailed from Rouen. My father owned a boat. I fought against the Goddamns. I found it easy to take their ships at sea, as well as raid their coastline. It’s good to see towns like Winchelsea engulfed in flames.’
‘And you, Monsieur Gresnay?’
Gresnay simpered. ‘I was raised by the sea. A small village outside Montreuil. My father was a wealthy fisherman. The English sank his craft and I was raised to do two things: plough the sea and kill Goddamns.’
‘But you were captured,’ Athelstan taunted. ‘Sir Maurice sank one of your ships and took the other captive, which is why you are here at Hawkmere.’
‘Only through treachery,’ Gresnay sneered.
‘I am afraid not,’ Athelstan replied. ‘My Lord of Gaunt will take an oath that it was simply the fortunes of war.’
‘That’s a lie!’ Vamier shouted.
‘I am afraid, Monsieur, it’s the truth,’ Gaunt replied languidly. ‘Your ships were taken in fair fight and you are prisoners here because the Goddamns beat you.’
‘So, why murder us?’ Gresnay sneered.
‘But no Englishman murdered you,’ Athelstan said. ‘You see, both of you are sailors and probably very good ones but…’
He paused as the door opened and one of Gaunt’s liveried servants hurried in. He bent over the table and whispered in the Regent’s ear; he, in turn, called Sir John over.
‘He’s arrived,’ Sir John announced.
‘Tell him to wait,’ Athelstan replied. ‘We’ll be with him shortly.’ Athelstan waited until the door closed before picking up where he had been interrupted. ‘Both of you are sailors, and probably very good at your trade: the trim of sails, scrutinising the sky, knowing the sea. You are probably stout fighters ready to run down an English merchantman, steal its cargo, slaughter its crew. God save us all!’ Athelstan sighed. ‘You’re no different from those who live on the other side of the Narrow Seas.’
‘What are you implying?’ Gresnay’s voice was strident.
‘What am I implying? Why, one of you is a spy! Oh, not for the Regent here but for the court, the government back in Paris. A man who keeps an eye on his fellows, searches out mutiny, grumblings, any hint of treachery. After all, it’s not unknown for ships, be they French or English, to enter into secret collusion with the enemy.’
‘That’s nonsense!’ Vamier snarled.
‘Is it?’ Athelstan asked. ‘You go to sea and you live in each other’s pockets. You sleep, eat, do everything with your companions. However, when your ship returns to harbour, where do you go? To the taverns and the brothels or home to your loved ones? One of you also goes to Paris: to the Louvre Palace, or the Hotel de Ville, to deliver a report to his masters; scraps of information, morsels of news.’ Athelstan glimpsed the uncertainty in Gresnay’s eyes. ‘Now your masters in France have a spy, an assassin called Mercurius.’
