Confusion broke out as de Fontanel and Vamier protested their innocence. Gresnay, however, remained quiet, gazing intently at his companion. Athelstan realised that Gresnay himself must have seen something which he now judged suspicious.
‘How could I do this?’
Only the presence of Gaunt’s guards forced de Fontanel back into his seat.
‘Oh, it was quite easy,’ Athelstan replied. ‘You visited the prisoners. You were allowed to talk to them, bring them gifts. Who would object to a set of rosary beads for men far from hearth and country? Vamier would be given secret instructions. You, of course, had been in the city and visited Mistress Vulpina who kept every known poison under the sun. You really didn’t care if the prisoners died! You would be rid of a spy, no ransoms would have to be paid while the Goddamns would take the blame. What you didn’t realise was that my Lord of Gaunt was deeply interested in these murders. Mercurius might come out of the shadows. His masters in Paris were both furious and frightened: two great warships lost. Mercurius, himself, would have to deal with the matter. A truce was arranged and you were immediately despatched to England as an official envoy. Your appearance has changed, you speak French fluently, and you have all the protection protocol dictates. My Lord of Gaunt, of course, did not know this but he suspected Mercurius was in England. So, he sent in his most feared investigator, the lord coroner, Sir John Cranston.’
Sir John bowed his head and beamed at the compliment.
‘Questions were being asked,’ Athelstan continued. ‘So Vulpina had to disappear. You killed her and her two henchmen then burnt their infernal den to the ground. You also had other orders: Sir Maurice Maltravers had to be punished. You hired those two shaven-headed assassins.’ Athelstan’s voice rose. He felt a hot flush of anger in his cheeks. ‘They crossed to Southwark to kill both him and me. Life to you, Mercurius, is very, very cheap!’
‘This is nonsense,’ de Fontanel rushed in. ‘You have no evidence. Nothing but conjecture.’
‘He has evidence.’ Gresnay spoke up, his eyes fixed on Vamier.’ I was in your room, Pierre, a few days ago. I saw your rosary beads were broken; some of the beads were missing. You kept it well hidden, underneath the candlestick on your table.’
‘That’s how poor Lucy died,’ Sir John said. ‘Vamier here was careless. Some of the beads fell on the ground. Poor Lucy was always picking things up and putting them in her mouth.’
‘A useless and futile death,’ Athelstan said. ‘A poor, witless innocent.’
Vamier dropped his gaze.
‘Didn’t you care?’ Gresnay burst out. ‘Pierre.’ He spoke quickly in French but Athelstan could follow him. ‘They were our friends. We fought back to back against a common foe. Aye, we burned and we pillaged, but murder like this? Of your own friends and companions?’
‘Mercurius’ real work,’ Athelstan went on, ‘was here at Hawkmere and it was quite easily done.’ He pointed at the French envoy. ‘You met Vamier and handed over the poisonous Ave beads. You convinced him how they were only noxious to chew. Vamier had no choice but to accept. After all, he wanted to return to France as quickly as possible.
‘Serriem was the first to die. He’d be easy to persuade, especially after he had seen you swallow the seeds and suffer no ill effects. How did you describe them?’ Athelstan asked. ‘As a herb which would help? And was it the same for Routier? He would be the most gullible victim. He would need his strength, be ready to take any medication which might help his escape. Again, you showed him the seeds were not noxious, probably just before he climbed that wall and made his escape. Both men, even in their dying agonies, would never suspect the seeds were the cause of their deaths. Not from a friend who had eaten them himself and suffered no ill effects.’
‘That’s true, Vamier!’ Gresnay’s voice rose to a scream. ‘You always were persuasive, a senior officer whose hatred of the Goddamns was well known.’ He beat on the table. ‘You were playing chess with Serriem the night he died! That poor bastard would take anything you offered, as would Routier!’ Gresnay blinked back the angry tears. ‘He trusted you completely. He was worried that he might not have the physical strength to make his escape. I offered him some food. You gave the poor fool those damn seeds. What did you do? Swear him, and poor Serriem, to secrecy? Tell them how you didn’t have enough to share among the rest? I suppose,’ he added bitterly, ‘I was next.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Athelstan said. ‘I suspect de Fontanel would offer to pay for your and Vamier’s ransom from his own pocket, or take a loan from the merchants in the city. He would act all concerned. However.’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘Monsieur Gresnay, I do not think you would have survived long in France.’
‘And Maneil?’ Gresnay asked.
‘Ah. Mercurius, or Monsieur de Fontanel, was very clever. Two men had died from poisoning but the death of Limbright’s daughter, well, it muddied the pool a little. You see Mercurius wanted the blame for all these deaths to be laid firmly on the doorstep of the Goddamns. None of the prisoners were armed so, when Mercurius last visited Hawkmere, he probably came armed with a small arbalest for his own protection. However, in the confusion following Routier’s escape, Mercurius decided to seize his opportunity. The arbalest and the bolts were hidden away. Vamier was told of their whereabouts, behind a chair, a bench or even a latrine. He was allowed to mix with you?’
‘Yes,’ Gresnay snarled. ‘And he had a word with each of us.’
‘That’s true.’ Sir Maurice spoke up. ‘The manor was in uproar.’
‘Mercurius simply exploited the opportunity,’ Sir John added. ‘Limbright was mourning for his daughter. The guards were still recovering from the hunt for Routier. Mercurius realised that death by a crossbow bolt would simply confirm suspicion that the assassin could not possibly be one of the prisoners.’
‘Is that possible?’ Aspinall asked. ‘I mean, to dispose of?’
‘There are privies here, aren’t there?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes, yes there are, along the top gallery where Maneil had his chamber.’
‘The arbalest would be small,’ Athelstan explained. ‘Like one ladies use when they go hunting. How long would it take Mercurius to tell Vamier that an arbalest was hidden in a certain place, a few seconds? Vamier acted quickly, exploiting the chaos: he collected the arbalest, concealed it beneath his doublet, knocked on Maneil’s door and killed him. He then dismantled the crossbow and probably threw it down a privy where it would sink in the mud and ordure, never to be found.’
‘You still have no real evidence,’ de Fontanel screamed.
‘Oh, we have evidence,’ Athelstan replied. ‘As well as the sheer logic of my conclusion. I began to suspect there were two killers. One inside and one out. First, let’s take Routier’s escape. Why did he choose that particular way? How did he know the shutters of the window in that outhouse weren’t locked? The prisoners were never allowed to go there, so the information must have been given by someone visiting the manor. Secondly, Mercurius, on your last visit, you said something intriguing just before you left Hawkmere. You came here and sat beside Vamier. You told the prisoners to fall to their prayers. I recalled the gift of Ave beads and wondered if your words were a code, a secret message.’
De Fontanel got to his feet. ‘I am an envoy of the French court,’ he said. I know nothing of this Mercurius. I certainly have no responsibility for the terrible deaths which have occurred here or elsewhere.’ He swallowed hard, glancing at the door. ‘I have hardly left my lodgings! Why should I wander around Whitefriars?’
‘Who told you Vulpina lived there?’ Sir John jibed. ‘You went there disguised as a priest; that was a mistake, strangers never visit Whitefriars.’
‘And, as for your lodgings,’ Gervase smiled, ‘one of your retinue could act the part, especially with that ridiculous popinjay hat you wear. How did you leave there, disguised as a servant? Our intelligence is that Mercurius is a master of disguise.’
‘My movements are my own concern! As are my conversations with my countrymen!’
‘I saw you whispering,’ Gresnay declared, hot-eyed. ‘I saw you, Monsieur, talking to Vamier here on a number of occasions before the murders began!’
‘Monsieur Gresnay, remember where you are,’ de Fontanel snarled. ‘You are a prisoner of the English but one day you must return to France.’
Gaunt stared at Athelstan: from the Regent’s look, the friar realised that more proof would have to be given. He nodded slowly.
‘We have all the evidence we need,’ he said. ‘It’s here in this hall, so sit down, Monsieur de Fontanel!’
‘What evidence?’ The envoy looked shaken, nervous.
