Paul Doherty - Candle Flame

‘Or The Candle-Flame may be part of his task,’ Athelstan declared. Gaunt, who had remained passive throughout, leaned forward, rapping his fingers on the table. Athelstan listened to the silence abruptly broken by the piping voice of a young girl in an adjoining chamber. Thibault’s smooth, well-oiled face creased into a genuine smile. Athelstan recalled how this ambitious clerk, before taking minor orders, had fathered a child, a young girl, Isabella, who was the veritable apple of his eye.

‘Brother Athelstan,’ Gaunt demanded, ‘explain.’

‘Your Grace, if French galleys pierce the Thames they can go no further than London Bridge. True?’

‘Of course.’

‘And the north bank of the Thames is, and can be, heavily fortified and defended.’

Gaunt grunted his agreement.

‘Now, The Candle-Flame overlooks the river; it stands opposite the Tower and close to the approaches to London Bridge. The French might be plotting to control the southern bank whilst they direct attacks against the quaysides of the city. The Candle-Flame would be an excellent place to set up camp.’

‘Brother Athelstan,’ Gaunt jibed, ‘you should have been a soldier.’

‘Like you, Your Grace?’

Gaunt’s smile faded.

‘Brother Athelstan may be correct,’ Cranston intervened swiftly. ‘The Candle-Flame can be fortified, the Barbican easily defended, and it would also be an excellent location to survey both the river and all approaches to the bridge.’

‘Find him then!’ Gaunt snapped. ‘This business, Sir John, is the king’s matter. It cannot be set aside for anything else.’

‘There is something else,’ Athelstan declared. ‘We have told you about the murder of Scrope. Master Thibault, did you know that Marsen was a housebreaker in Coggeshall, the murderer of an innocent woman and manservant?’

Thibault shook his head.

‘I would be the first to concede,’ Gaunt declared, ‘that not all royal officials are angels in disguise.’

‘They may well be demons!’ Athelstan retorted. ‘The murder of Marsen and the others could be the work of Beowulf, or even this spy. I also concede that the assassin and the spy might be the same person or …’ Athelstan paused.

‘Or what?’ Thibault asked.

‘There may be a number of strands here.’ Athelstan counted them out on his fingers. ‘The Upright Men, the spy, Beowulf or someone quite distinct with his or her own motive.’

‘Sir Robert Paston is one of the guests.’ Gaunt’s mouth creased into a fake smile. ‘He is my enemy – this could be his revenge.’

‘Brother Athelstan, Sir John,’ Thibault declared hastily, ‘we have no information to give you, no further assistance.’ He pointed to the two sheets of parchment. ‘Take them, study them. Is there anything else you need?’ Athelstan put the parchments into his chancery satchel then explained about the corpses being brought to the Guildhall. Thibault agreed, saying Lascelles would assist Flaxwith in hiring the finest physician in Cheapside, the cadavers would be scrutinized and Athelstan informed of his conclusions. Thibault then signalled to Lascelles, who left and returned with Brother Marcel.

‘I believe,’ Thibault smiled expansively, ‘that you and Marcel know each other. We are pleased to welcome the Pope’s legate, a member of the Holy Inquisition, here to London.’

‘What for?’ Athelstan demanded.

‘Heresy does flourish, Brother, whatever the soil.’ Marcel bowed to Gaunt and Thibault before sitting down on the chair pulled back by Lascelles. ‘We have spoken already, Your Grace,’ Marcel continued, ‘about the teaching of the Leicestershire priest John Wycliffe and the beliefs of the Lollard sect, who do not accept the authority of our Church or the Holy Father’s interpretation of scripture. They apparently do not understand the divinely revealed truths-’

‘That is because,’ Athelstan interrupted hastily, ‘most of them can’t read. They are just too poor, too hungry, too tired and too oppressed.’ Athelstan bit his tongue as Cranston kicked his ankle.

‘The Inquisition has no authority in England,’ the coroner offered. ‘Our Archdeacon’s court is weighty and powerful enough.’

‘Sir John, Sir John,’ Marcel winked at Athelstan as he held his hands up in a gesture of peace, ‘I am not here to interfere or probe. The Holy Father simply wishes to learn more about a kingdom where the papacy itself, the Blessed Gregory, sent its own apostle Augustine to convert and preach.’

Athelstan nodded understandingly though he strongly suspected the truth was that John of Gaunt was looking for papal support, and if licence issued to the Inquisition to meddle and interfere in the English Church brought him favour at the papal court, then so be it.

‘Brother Marcel had been in the city,’ Thibault explained. ‘Now he wishes to move to Southwark and what better place than a fellow Dominican’s parish at St Erconwald’s?’

Athelstan coughed to hide his surprise.

‘Do not worry, Brother,’ Marcel asserted, ‘I will not trouble you or yours or even lodge in your little house. I shall hire a chamber at The Candle-Flame, even though, unfortunately, that tavern seems to be the setting for murder and treason.’

‘We approve of that,’ Thibault added. ‘Brother Marcel may discover, see or learn something of interest to us as well as the Holy Father.’

‘Of course,’ Athelstan retorted. He paused. ‘Your Grace, Master Thibault, one more question.’ He gestured at Marcel. ‘What I have to say will, I am sure, be only of passing interest to the Papal Inquisitor. I speak in confidence which I know he will respect.’ Athelstan paused as Marcel agreed to what he’d said; the friar did not wish to alienate his visitor by asking him to leave.

‘Your question?’ Gaunt insisted.

‘How much, at a swift reckoning, was Marsen carrying in that exchequer coffer? You must know,’ Athelstan insisted. ‘You sent Lascelles here to visit him the night before his murder?’ The friar glanced at the henchman who just smirked and stared at his master.

‘Yes, Lascelles was sent to The Candle-Flame. He was under strict instruction to check on all monies. Marsen gave a proper accounting, as he would at the Exchequer of Receipt at Westminster.’

‘There is something else,’ Athelstan chose his words carefully, ‘Master Thibault, I would like the truth. Marsen collected taxes. I suspect Mauclerc was there to watch Marsen, a man with a highly unsavoury history and a malignant soul.’

‘You use the cruellest mastiff, Brother, to bring down a bear.’

‘I believe Mauclerc had other duties, didn’t he?’ Athelstan glimpsed the surprise in Thibault’s eyes.

‘What duties, Brother?’

‘Information, any information he could collect on the Great Community of the Realm and the Upright Men.’ Athelstan kept his voice steady. He believed certain records had been taken from Mauclerc’s chancery satchel but what he was saying was really a wild guess. ‘Indeed,’ he continued, ‘Mauclerc would have lists of possible sympathizers, rumours and gossip about who might be involved with the Upright Men?’

Thibault looked as if he was going to object. Brother Marcel now had his head down.

‘I also suspect …’ Athelstan realized this truly was a game of hazard, yet he had nothing to lose.

‘What else do you suspect, Brother?’

‘Well,’ Athelstan sighed, ‘if the Pope’s own Inquisitor is in London what better way of helping him than by providing him with a list of people tainted by the teaching of Wycliffe or even members of the Lollard sect?’

‘Very good,’ Thibault breathed, ‘very shrewd indeed, Brother. Yes, Mauclerc did have a list and yes, that list has probably gone but more than that we cannot say.’