The House of Shadows (19 page)

‘I had interfered with her girls, mocked a powerful customer.’

‘But there’s something else. It involves your sister, doesn’t it? Last night, in the church, I heard Mother Veritable’s name mentioned.’

‘Brother, your ears are as sharp as your wits. Two years ago I was still friends with Mother Veritable, she allowed me to shelter in her house. She met Edith and was much taken with her. She wanted me to entrust my sister to her.’

‘To become a whore?’ Cranston asked.

‘I’ve heard of worse things happening,’ the Misericord declared bitterly. ‘Walk the streets of your city, Sir John, not every whore is plying for custom because she loves it. I, of course, refused. Mother Veritable offered me gold and silver. What she called pleasures beyond imagination. I still refused. I was banned from her house but, where possible, I would meet Beatrice and Clarice outside.’

‘Did you invite them to the Night in Jerusalem for the Great Ratting?’

‘No, Brother, I did not. It could have been Chandler. Remember, he did approach both girls. I think he was demanding satisfaction.’

‘You said you met the girls?’

‘Where possible, but I used their friend Donata as a messenger. One night, oh, it must have been about two months ago, they came to the Night in Jerusalem. Some customer had hired them and I met them out in the yard. They were both very excited. They claimed that they had some proof about what had happened to their mother and, perhaps, the truth behind the great robbery.’

‘What!’

‘Yes, my Lord Coroner. They didn’t tell me much. I asked them, but they refused. They were giggling, and claimed that if they kept their wits they would possess a great treasure and be able to leave Mother Veritable for ever. Of course, I didn’t believe them.’

‘They must have offered you some proof?’

‘They said my sister had it. She had it on her person. They were talking in riddles. They’d also confided in Donata. Donata said they didn’t know whether to be happy or sad at discovering something which could prove the fate of their mother. I begged Donata to try her best to find out, but Beatrice and Clarice had not forgotten the beating Mother Veritable had given them over Sir Stephen. They kept their own counsel.’

‘Do you think Chandler murdered them?’

‘It’s possible, Brother. On the night of the Great Ratting I was in the tap room. I wanted to be there, not only to lay my wager and collect my generous winnings, but to talk to Beatrice and Clarice. I knew the Judas Man was hunting me, following my tracks as carefully as any hound. I played that trick on poor Toadflax and kept in the shadows. When the fight broke out, Beatrice and Clarice had left the tap room for the hay barn. I was frightened. I knew the Judas Man would soon realise he had made a mistake and cast his net further. So I slipped into the kitchen, where Master Rolles was roaring at some poor cook who had made a mistake. I asked him for help as well as where the girls had gone. He replied that they were in the hay barn, that I should join them there and hide.’

‘Did Master Rolles always offer such help?’

‘Yes, I know him of old. He is very strict. I can only enter his tavern with his permission and only hide when he tells me. You know how it is, Sir John, I have similar arrangements with innkeepers, hostellers and taverners the length and breadth of England.’

‘Did you meet Beatrice and Clarice?’

‘Brother, I was terrified out of my wits. My belly was full of ale and roast pork. I was going to meet them. I glimpsed a chink of light through the hay barn door, but I had to relieve myself. I dared not go to the latrines at the far side of the wall. I was frightened of being trapped there. So I ran outside. I was accosted by other people, who had also been at the Great Ratting. Men who had fled at the approach of the Judas Man, telling me about the fight which had begun in the tap room. Now, on any other night I would have run, put as much distance between myself and that tavern as possible.’

‘But you wanted to meet Beatrice and Clarice?’

‘Sir John, I was determined to. I had been in the hay barn before – it’s a good place to hide. So I returned to the yard. I saw Sir Stephen, drunk as a sot, go staggering through the door. I waited awhile and then followed. I peered through.’

The Misericord’s fingers went to his face.

‘Both girls were dead. One of them may have been moaning a little, Beatrice with a dagger thrust in her. Clarice was certainly dead, a crossbow bolt high in her chest. She seemed to be awash with blood. Sir Stephen was kneeling beside the corpses. I’m sure I glimpsed an arbalest.’

‘Did he kill them?’

‘Brother, he could’ve done. In his drunken state he may have believed he had good cause. I ran back across the yard and hid in the shadows. Sir Stephen came out and closed the doors, replacing the bar.’

‘Replacing the bar?’ Athelstan asked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Brother, I’m sure that, just before I saw him entering the barn, Sir Stephen was holding the bar. He must have taken it off, and despite being drunk, he knew where it lay.’

‘So,’ Athelstan declared, ‘either the girls went into the barn and someone barred the door from the outside, Sir Stephen goes across, removes the bar, enters the barn and kills them; or . . .’ Athelstan tapped the writing satchel next to his leg. ‘Or the killer, someone else, followed those girls into the barn, killed them and left, sealing them in. The lantern was still glowing?’

‘Oh yes, Brother, I saw it, fastened to one of the hooks. By then I was truly frightened. I did not want to be accused of their murder, so I fled. I had drunk too much that night, my wits were blunted. The following morning the Judas Man picked up my trail, so I fled to your church for sanctuary.’

‘And you don’t know what the girls had discovered about their mother?’

‘Brother, if I did I would tell you. Of course I wondered what their words meant.’

‘Did you discuss it with Edith?’ Athelstan asked.

‘No, Brother. I never told her where the silver and gold I earned came from. Oh, I think she suspected. She did not like Mother Veritable and complained bitterly about how she looked at her. Edith said she would have nothing to do with her, the brothel or anyone who lived there. She would not even have her name mentioned unless it was necessary.’

‘This morning . . .’

Cranston took a generous mouthful of claret from the miraculous wine skin; he offered it to Athelstan, who shook his head, and then to the Misericord, who snatched it and drank quickly.

‘You were saying, Sir John, this morning?’

Cranston plucked the wine skin back.

‘This morning, I discovered that, when you were a lad and not yet old enough in mischief to compose poems mocking old men, you served as a tap boy in Master Rolles’ tavern?’

‘Oh yes. He and my father were kinsmen, but distantly related. Even then, Sir John, I had a nose for mischief, and what better place than Master Rolles’ tavern? I would serve as a tap boy, or in the kitchens. I loved to mix with the cunning men, the footpads, the charlatans, the quacks, and listen to their colourful tales of life on the highway, of whom they’d tricked and duped.’

‘So, you knew the Knights of the Golden Falcon before they became Crusaders?’

‘Oh yes, and Guinevere the Golden. Great days, Sir John! Master Rolles had recently purchased the tavern and was determined to make a name for himself. Those knights sheltered there when they were younger, more vigorous.’

‘Do you recall the evening the Lombard treasure was stolen?’

‘Of course, Sir John. The Fleet was preparing to sail. On that particular afternoon Richard Culpepper and Edward Mortimer were absent. I had seen them leave just before sunset. They wore quilted jerkins, sword belts fastened around their waists, they’d drunk and eaten sparsely. At the time I did not know what was happening. Around the same hour I’m sure I saw Guinevere, then she too disappeared. I never saw her again.’

‘Now listen.’ Athelstan held his hand up. ‘You do recall that evening, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten. Over the years you must have refreshed your memory. Yes?’

The Misericord nodded in agreement.

‘And the recent revelations, by Beatrice and Clarice . . .’

Athelstan paused at a hideous scream from the passageway outside.

‘You are not to be worried, Brother,’ the Misericord murmured. ‘That’s a prisoner who thinks he is the Holy Spirit – he throws himself against the wall.’

‘My question is this,’ Athelstan continued. ‘It is a most important one. Did you see Mother Veritable, Master Rolles or any, or all, of those knights leave the tavern the night the Lombard treasure was stolen?’

‘No, Brother. Ask Master Rolles. They had hired a private chamber. Mother Veritable entertained them. The revelry went on late into the night. They were much the worse for drink the next morning.’

‘And afterwards?’ Cranston asked.

The Misericord shrugged, spreading his hands. ‘In a matter of days, Sir John, the Fleet had left. The hunt was on for the Lombard treasure. The rest of the story you know. The brave knights went on Crusade, and years later, returned to England. That is all I know! Will I have my pardon?’

‘You’ll be shown clemency,’ Cranston got to his feet, ‘but it will take time.’

‘Will you bring me food and drink?’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Athelstan promised. ‘For the moment, you must be patient.’

They left the Netherworld, Athelstan insisting Cranston accompany him to the convent of the Minoresses, which lay on the other side of the City, near Aldgate.

‘I’m hungry,’ the coroner protested.

‘You are always hungry,’ Athelstan remarked. He thanked the keeper as they walked back into the prison yard. ‘Oh, I must see that bear.’

‘Of course, the founder of your order loved animals.’

‘Wrong order, Sir John, that was St Francis, although
Dominicanis
can be translated as “Hound of God”!’

In which case, Cranston reflected, as he watched Athelstan walk over to inspect the bear, apparently in a better mood judging from the rotten fruit strewn about it, ‘Yes, in which case,’ Cranston murmured to himself, ‘you belong to the right order, Athelstan, God’s hound and mine.’

Athelstan returned, satisfied that the bear was being looked after properly, at least for a while. They left the prison, forcing their way through the press and up past Cock Lane into Smithfield. Athelstan declared he preferred the fresh air beyond the City walls than the stink of Cheapside. Cranston could only agree. The day was still fine but beginning to cloud over, the breeze growing stronger, tugging at the coroner’s hat. They took the road which snaked between the great carved mass of the Priory of St Bartholomew and the high red-brick wall of the hospital of the same name. Here the beggars and the infirm swarmed around the gates soliciting alms, or waiting impatiently to be seen by one of the good brothers. A few of these, rogues from the City, greeted Cranston’s appearance in raucous fashion. The coroner replied with good-natured abuse whilst quietly wishing Athelstan wouldn’t walk so fast. He tried to draw the Dominican into conversation, but Athelstan, cowl over his head, was more concerned about the heavy black smoke rolling in from the great City ditch, where the scavengers, masked and hooded like imps from hell against the fiery background, were busy burning the mounds of refuse. They turned the corner, passing Ramsey Inn, Cripplegate and on to the Moor. Athelstan paused, pushing back his cowl to savour the fresh breeze and watch the birds, great black-winged ravens, circle noisily above him.

‘Well, Athelstan, what do you make of all that? Do you think the Misericord is telling the truth?’

‘As much as he can, Sir John. He does deserve a pardon. I only hope the Judas Man does not take the law into his own hands. I’ve met his sort before; every grudge and grievance is personal, a source of animosity. He hates the Misericord, but whether it’s because the rogue showed him a clean pair of heels, or for some other matter, I can’t decide.’

‘And Chandler murdered those two girls?’

‘Did he, Sir John? One thing that intrigues me is the bar across the door to the hay barn. Whoever killed Beatrice and Clarice – why should they worry about locking the door? An assassin would flee. One thing is certain,’ he continued, ‘the Misericord may be a fugitive, a nimble-footed rogue but he would scarcely stand aside whilst two of his friends were murdered. As for their murderer? I don’t know.’ Athelstan shook his head. ‘Mother Veritable is certainly a nightmare soul. She is wicked enough to have those girls killed as well as hunt down the Misericord.’

‘And the murders of Sir Stephen and Sir Laurence?’ Cranston asked.

‘Ah now, that is a mystery!’

‘Could the knights be responsible for all the deaths?’ The coroner tugged at Athelstan’s sleeve. ‘Could they have killed Culpepper and Mortimer, murdered Guinevere the Golden, stolen the Lombard treasure and hidden it away until their return?’

‘Sir John, continue.’

‘They arrive back in England, laden with plunder which only increases their ill-gotten gains. They become landowners, lords of the shire. Every year they meet in London to celebrate their success. Recently they discover that not only is one of their number being tricked by the Misericord and mocked by two whores, but those two prostitutes have also stumbled on what happened twenty years ago.’

‘And?’ Athelstan asked, turning his face against the breeze.

‘Well, they hire the Judas Man to track down the Misericord. They want to see him dance in the air at Smithfield. They persuade Chandler to hire those two girls, to wait in the hay barn on the night of the Great Ratting, where later he kills them. Or perhaps Sir Laurence Broomhill went out before him to commit the murderous deed?’

Athelstan changed his writing satchel from one hand to the other, carefully watching the path before him. The Moor was peppered with rabbit holes, a constant trap for the unwary.

‘Sir John, I accept there’s a certain logic behind what you say, but it’s a dangerous path to follow. According to your theory, the knights are all thieves and murderers, vulnerable to betrayal. However, it doesn’t explain how Sir Stephen was murdered, his wine so cunningly poisoned, or how Sir Laurence was enticed down to that cellar and into the hideous trap awaiting him. There are further problems. The Misericord has just informed us that the evening the Lombard treasure was robbed, all the knights, along with Master Rolles and Mother Veritable, were carousing in a chamber at the tavern, much the worse for drink. How did the murderers dispose of four bodies: Culpepper, Mortimer and the bargemen; five if we include Guinevere? Moreover, Culpepper and Mortimer were knights; they would not be easy victims.