Paul Doherty - Bloodstone

‘They brought gifts?’

‘Yes, delicious sweetmeats. They asked to see the Passio Christi.’

‘So what was the purpose of their visit?’

‘I’ve explained already,’ Crispin answered. ‘They had business in Cheapside dealing with other merchants but,’ he fingered the cap of the inkhorn strapped to his belt, ‘Sir Robert also wanted to see them.’

‘What I mean is this,’ Athelstan paused, ‘I understand the Passio Christi had to be taken to St Fulcher’s to be shown to the members of the Wyvern Company. Your father would have taken it, so why see the monks yesterday when a further meeting was planned for today?’

‘I shall answer that,’ Lady Helen declared fiercely.

‘Shall you, mother dearest?’

‘Alesia!’ Helen’s face was a mask of fury. ‘My husband also confided in me, Sir John.’ Lady Helen apparently considered Athelstan beneath her notice; she hardly glanced at him. ‘My husband was a devout man. He did not ask to hold the Passio Christi, which he regarded as a precious relic. He did not like the Wyvern Company. More importantly, he resented taking the Passio Christi out to them.’

‘So he asked the monks to come here?’

‘Brother, you have it wrong!’ Lady Helen snapped. ‘My husband may have done wrong, been harsh, but he did penance for all that. At the same time he continued to do his duty here in London. You see,’ Lady Helen forced a smile, ‘the bloodstone still had to be taken to St Fulcher’s today for those old soldiers to see whatever happened yesterday.’

‘So?’

‘I was to take it!’ Alesia declared.

‘As was I.’ Crispin rubbed his hands on his gown. ‘Lady Helen is correct. My master hated taking the Passio Christi to St Fulcher’s. He did not go last year and he certainly didn’t intend to this year. The Passio Christi was to be taken by me, Mistress Alesia and Master Edmond. We planned,’ he controlled the quaver in his voice, ‘to leave at first light this morning, which is when I tried to rouse my master.’

‘So why did the good brothers visit here?’ Athelstan insisted. ‘The Passio Christi was a curiosity but why else?’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I know I have asked this before but I want to clarify matters.’

‘My eyesight is failing,’ Crispin explained. ‘I have been examined by skilled oculists. When my master left on pilgrimage I was to be given comfortable lodgings at St Fulcher’s, in the abbot’s own guest house. Prior Alexander, who used to be infirmarian and skilled in physics, would look after my eyes.’

‘And you wanted that?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Crispin confessed. ‘I would be distraught about my master’s leaving but one day he would return.’

‘And the Passio Christi?’ Athelstan asked.

‘You are persistent, Friar,’ Crispin murmured. He glanced around. ‘I must tell the truth.’ He paused. ‘Sir Robert was tired of holding the Passio Christi. He wanted to give it back.’

‘To whom?’ Cranston asked.

‘Why, the Abbey of St Fulcher,’ Alesia replied. ‘Father truly disliked those old soldiers. He’d always thought the bloodstone was taken as the legitimate plunder of war but, in the last few years, he began to wonder whether they had stolen it — an act of sacrilege. Of course he liked to go to the abbey itself. He was a generous benefactor and often visited the brothers.’

‘For what?’ Cranston asked.

‘To retreat, to pray, to fast, to cure his soul.’

‘And would the exchequer have agreed to the Passio Christi being given to the abbey?’ Cranston asked.

‘My father. .’ Alesia’s voice faltered, she looked askance at Crispin.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake tell them the rest,’ Lady Helen almost shouted. ‘Sir Robert intended to leave the Passio Christi at St Fulcher’s and let the Crown fight its own battle. The Abbey of St Calliste outside Poitiers was Benedictine. Sir Robert couldn’t return it there but he could at least hand it over to the Benedictines in this kingdom. True?’

Athelstan glanced at the others, who murmured their agreement.

‘Very astute,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Once Holy Mother Church seizes something, it is very difficult to force her to relinquish it, especially when she can claim rights in the first place. So,’ he drew a deep breath, ‘nothing else was discussed? You’re sure the Passio Christi was still here when the good brothers left?’

‘We all saw it,’ Edmond replied. ‘Brother Athelstan, I know what you are thinking.’

‘Do you?’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Then you are a better man than I.’

‘I suspect you are wondering whether we allowed the Passio Christi to be taken by our visitors, but that would have been highly dangerous. The Crown would have blamed us, yes?’

Athelstan nodded.

‘What Edmond is saying,’ Alesia spoke up, ‘is my father would have taken the bloodstone to St Fulcher’s on the very day he left for Jerusalem. It would be his decision, his responsibility, not ours. Brother,’ Alesia waved around, ‘look at our great wealth. My father was a hard but honourable man; in his last days he turned more and more to God. Sir John,’ she appealed to the coroner. ‘Would you like to be the custodian of the Passio Christi? A sacred relic possibly pillaged from the sanctuary of an abbey?’

‘But why the change?’ Cranston asked. ‘After all the bloodstone was in his care for decades, yes?’

‘In years past my father would take it to the exchequer at Westminster where one or all of the Wyvern Company would always be present. He simply viewed that as part of his many business relationships.’

‘And recently?’

‘Four years ago the Wyverns were given lodgings at St Fulcher’s. It was agreed that the twice a year journey would take place whilst they were there.’

‘Why?’

‘The soldiers were growing old; William Chalk became frail. My father also had considerable business with the abbey. All parties agreed to that so the indenture was amended accordingly.’

‘And Sir Robert’s attitude towards the Wyverns?’

‘At first they were simply one group amongst my father’s many commercial acquaintances. However, once they were at St Fulcher’s, my father’s attitude towards them changed. I suspect that as he grew more devout, he began to question whether they really had stolen it. He grew to resent them.’

‘Why did he change?’

‘I’ve told you, there are two accounts: first that the Wyvern Company found the Passio Christi, the other that they’d stolen it. My father began to believe the latter.’

‘Did he have proof for that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘When your father visited St Fulcher’s, which monk was he friendly with?’

Alesia moved her head from side to side. ‘From what I gather. .’ She glanced at Crispin.

‘Abbot Walter,’ the old clerk replied. ‘Prior Alexander as well as the young Frenchman, Sub-Prior Richer.’

‘Did any of them,’ Athelstan asked, ‘give your father ghostly advice?’

‘He spoke to all three — I don’t really know.’

‘So,’ Cranston declared, ‘Sir Robert Kilverby came to dislike those old soldiers; he also resented holding the Passio Christi. He didn’t like what he’d done or what he was doing. He turned to God. He was preparing to leave on pilgrimage and that raises a further possibility. Did Sir Robert himself decide to get rid of the Passio Christi?’

‘What?’ Adam Lestral’s voice was thin and reedy. ‘Sir John, are you saying that Sir Robert took the Passio Christi and cast it down the privy or threw it into the street?’

Despite the petulant, strident tone Athelstan recognized the logic of the question. If this company were to be believed, and on this Athelstan certainly did, Sir Robert regarded the Passio Christi as a most sacred relic to be securely kept, not thrown away like a piece of rubbish.