Paul Doherty: Bloodstone

‘And you know nothing about the murders amongst the Wyverns?’

‘Nothing. My only concern was that Richer stayed. Sir Robert paid the monies. The abbot released the items plundered from St Calliste. I allowed Richer to go into the city to arrange those meetings with envoys from foreign ships. Does it really matter if precious objects were returned to their rightful owner? Abbot Walter was happy and Richer was content, whilst I was only too pleased to help.’

‘The “ Liber Passionis Christi ”, which we now have — you should have told us the truth.’

Prior Alexander just glanced away.

‘Well?’

‘Abbot Walter, and on this I agreed with him, declared that we must have a copy so that if a royal inquisition ever took place on the goods from St Calliste, we could produce like for like, at least show we had a copy of that valuable manuscript. Richer seemed very pleased with that. He personally supervised the copying both in the scriptorium and his own chamber.’

‘Tell me.’ Athelstan paused. This mystery was gathering like a boil about to bust its venom. ‘In your own mind Prior Alexander, and this is very important, did Sir Robert secretly plan to bring the Passio Christi not to St Fulcher’s but across to France and personally return the bloodstone to St Calliste?’

‘No.’ Prior Alexander shook his head vigorously. ‘I truly do not know what passed between Richer and Sir Robert except Kilverby, that cunning merchant, had a change of heart. He certainly told me, on the very afternoon before he died, when Richer and I visited him, how he would leave the bloodstone at St Fulcher’s and that would settle his conscience. He’d give it back to the Benedictine order. However, which monastery or abbey housed it was not his concern.’

‘Richer would have left now that the “ Liber” was copied?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you resented that. I know you argued hotly about it.’

‘Of course we did! Why, Brother Athelstan, are you saying I killed my beloved friend?’

‘Lovers argue; they can even kill.’

‘We were not lovers in that sense,’ Prior Alexander whispered, eyes all fierce.

Athelstan held his gaze. ‘So how did you, Prior Alexander, spend yesterday evening and the early hours of this morning?’

‘I attended divine office. Well, I had to; for the rest I stayed in my chamber.’

‘Waiting for Richer?’

‘Yes, Brother Athelstan, waiting for Richer. He told me he intended to work late. I waited and waited,’ Prior Alexander’s voice broke, ‘but he never came.’

Athelstan looked at Sir John, who’d sat with his eyes half closed throughout this interrogation.

‘We need keep Prior Alexander no longer,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘He can leave and bring Wenlock before us.’

Wenlock was helped to his seat by one of the lay brothers; the old soldier looked pale, simply dressed in his nightgown, a cloak around his shoulders. He clutched a bowl explaining that he still felt nauseous and had been vomiting since yesterday evening.

‘It may have even caused Mahant’s death,’ he murmured immediately after taking the oath.

‘What?’ Cranston sat up in his chair.

Athelstan stopped writing.

‘Yesterday evening,’ Wenlock wearily explained, ‘Mahant came to my chamber. There was a platter of sweetmeats, just three or four left. I offered some to Mahant but he refused. I was hungry and ate them all. We were discussing Osborne’s death. I began to feel sick. I vomited into the jakes pot. Mahant believed, and so did I, I still do, that the sweetmeats were poisoned or tainted. Mahant began drinking. He grew hot against Richer. He blamed the Frenchman for all the ills which had befallen us. He cursed him.’ Wenlock paused, fighting back the urge to retch. ‘He vowed to confront Richer, make him pay for what had happened. I thought it was the wine talking. By then I did not really care, I was vomiting so much. Mahant asked if I wished to go to the infirmary, I said no and he left. I stripped off my clothes, put on my nightshirt and lay on the bed.’ Wenlock paused. ‘God assoil him, that’s the last time I saw Mahant alive. I woke in the early hours, my belly raging like a bubbling pot. I was freezing to death. I left my bed, put on a cloak, went down to the infirmary and hammered on the door to speak to the infirmarian. He made me drink water with some herbs infused. I fell asleep there, not waking until the tocsin sounded.’

‘You feel better?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Certainly, the retching has stopped.’

‘And you never saw Mahant after you fell sick?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any explanation why his corpse and that of Richer should be found in the hog sty?’

‘Brother Athelstan, I wish I did.’ Wenlock clutched his stomach. ‘Perhaps he and the Frenchman confronted each other.’

‘In that place, in the dead of night?’

‘Brother, I wish I knew.’

‘Were you and Mahant planning to leave St Fulcher?’

‘Of course. We had already moved some of our possessions to “The Pride of Purgatory” tavern. We were also preparing to petition His Grace for safer lodgings. We invoked the memory of his blessed brother the Black Prince. Can you blame us?’ Wenlock insisted. ‘We’d become no better than hogs for the slaughter here.’ He smiled at his own grim joke. ‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan, if you’ve finished. .?’

Cranston let him go. The infirmarian was summoned but he could add little. He confirmed Wenlock’s story. As regards to the two most recent murders, he explained how both corpses were so badly mauled it was impossible to determine what had happened. The royal serjeant, captain of the archers, came last. He reported how the hogs had been slaughtered and, following Cranston’s order, both the sty and the pen had been scoured for any items but they’d found nothing. He left, followed by Brother Simon. The abbey church fell silent.

‘So?’ Cranston asked.

Athelstan rose, collecting together his quill pens and scrolls of soft vellum.

‘One last person.’

Cranston followed Athelstan down to the anker house. They heard movement within, a shape moved. The anchorite looked out, shifting to get a better view of Cranston.

‘I know what has happened. Now you have come down to question me. Sir John, I believe we have met. I shall never forget-’

‘Agnes Rednal.’ Cranston came up close to the anker slit. ‘You and I have hanged London’s worst.’

‘And the kingdom is the better for it.’

‘Agnes Rednal,’ Athelstan intervened. ‘She will never visit you again.’ He peered through the slit. ‘I assure you. I have laid that demon. She will only walk in your nightmares, though a prayer before sleep should take care of that. Look, why not come out and greet Sir John?’

‘Brother Athelstan, I have left my cell enough over the last few days. I have nothing to say about these dreadful slayings. The church is locked an hour after compline, I cannot leave. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. .’

Athelstan touched Cranston on the arm. They strolled back up the aisle.

‘I wonder,’ Athelstan whispered.

‘About the anchorite?’

‘Yes. Those grievances he nursed against the Wyverns, though nothing against Richer or so I believe. I just wonder why he would not allow us into his cell or come out of it. Does he have something to hide? As for leaving this church, he could always creep out through the charnel house.’

Cranston and Athelstan cleared the judgement table and walked out into the Galilee porch. The friar stared up at a carved stone boss displaying a demon with a grinning monkey’s face.

‘Enough is enough, Sir John,’ he declared, ‘all this questioning must end. I’ll retire to my chamber and study the “ Liber ”. I must discover why Richer wouldn’t show it to me. You, my learned friend, are always welcome provided you let me share some of your refreshments.’