Paul Doherty - Candle Flame

‘A Franciscan,’ Athelstan pressed the point, ‘who also travels the shires around London begging alms, one who was always in close vicinity when Beowulf, that secret assassin, attacked Master Thibault’s minions.’

‘You are accusing me of being Beowulf. You are, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am. Let me lay my indictment against you.’ Athelstan emphasized his points on his fingers. ‘First, you are very proud of your Saxon heritage. I have proved this and you have admitted it. Secondly, as a novice at Greyfriars you won a reputation of being steeped in your heritage as well as proving yourself to be a scholar in both the tongue and literature of the Saxon people. I understand that.’ Athelstan tapped his chest. ‘My own family also claims descent from the ancient earls, hence my own name which, as you know, is also that of a great Saxon king. I have proved this and you have admitted as much. Thirdly, even in conversation you make reference to your Saxon heritage and, in particular, that great epic Beowulf . Indeed,’ Athelstan smiled, ‘you know more about Erconwald, the great Saxon saint, than I do. You are undoubtedly a fervent student of all things Saxon, including their sermons, which often quote those ominous words from the prophet Daniel about God numbering, weighing in the balance and being found wanting. Only a scholar, albeit a very arrogant one, could quote such a phrase in its original tongue. Fourthly, you have a licence to beg for your order in and around London. You move in a circuit from place to place residing where you wish …’

‘You have proved that and I admit it.’ Friar Roger mockingly echoed Athelstan’s phrase. ‘But tell me, where is the wrong in that?’

‘Fifthly,’ Athelstan moved inexorably on, ‘every time one of Thibault’s minions is attacked you are close by on your so-called begging circuit. Indeed, I believe Marsen, despite his wickedness, was also a man of sharp wit; he was growing increasingly suspicious about you. He once made reference that he knew someone was following him but that he would take care of it in his own way. Marsen was also a killer. He would know how difficult it was to challenge you; after all, you are a priest, a Fransiscan. I believe that one day, and that day would have come sooner than you think, Marsen would have tried to murder you. Indeed,’ Athelstan pointed at the Franciscan, ‘I openly concede that what I say here is garbled. Marsen, deep in his cups, once referred to Beowulf then to slaying the Wolf of Guttio. Why should he say that? He was in fact referring to St Francis of Assisi who in his life tamed the savage Wolf of Gubbio. Marsen, or his listener, in this case a prostitute, mismatched the words. St Francis took care of the ravenous Wolf of Gubbio. Marsen would take care of his Wolf of Gubbio, which mistakenly became Guttio, a worldly friar, very much a wolf in sheep’s clothing – a skilled assassin. Marsen was parodying a story which, in its original, exemplifies all the idealism of the Franciscan Order. Furthermore,’ Athelstan tapped the manuscripts in front of him, ‘Sir John provided me with a list of places and times when Beowulf was attacked. I also asked Father Guardian at Greyfriars to send me an extract from the alms rolls, a true record of what monies you collected, where and when. Friar Roger, there is virtual concordance between the places where such attacks occurred and your whereabouts.’ Athelstan stared at the Franciscan. Brother Roger was now more attentive and not so supercilious. You are all the same , Athelstan reflected. Murderers are steeped in sin which is always rooted in a deep pride. You truly believe you are superior to everyone else. You think you have a God-given right to judge, condemn and execute as you think fit.’

‘I believe Athelstan has proved his point,’ Cranston observed, ‘but whether you admit to it or not …?’

‘Who do you think you are?’ Athelstan decided to taunt his opponent. ‘Some great Saxon hero defending the poor with your sly, furtive attacks, arrows whipping out of the darkness? The real Beowulf didn’t do that. He confronted the monsters, met them face-to-face in heroic combat.’

Friar Roger just sat, lip jutting out. He glanced swiftly at Athelstan and gently shook his head.

‘The same happened during Marsen’s journey to The Candle-Flame: he was attacked at Leveret Copse. According to your Father Guardian you were close by. You lodged at this tavern to plot fresh mischief. You planned to strike on the morning of the seventeenth of February. The previous evening you entered the stables and placed miniature caltrops under the saddles of both Marsen and Mauclerc’s horses. The next morning they would hoist themselves in the saddle, ready for another day’s wickedness. They would drive the caltrops into their horses’ backs. The animals would rear in agony and both men would be thrown, at least injured, and so rendered suitable targets for you and your crossbow. In the end your plot was overtaken by another more deadly. Nevertheless, a more important target presented itself when Lascelles unexpectedly arrived here.’

‘You cannot prove that. I was preparing to leave for the city.’

‘Seventhly,’ Athelstan pressed on like a lawyer before King’s Bench, ‘I know from my enquiries that Lascelles arrived here cloaked and cowled. No one was expecting him. Only when he reached here did he pull back his cowl, reveal himself and begin an argument about whether the tavern gates should be closed or not.’

‘Which means?’

‘Listen now,’ Athelstan urged. ‘I had met you earlier. You were all ready to leave. Consequently when Lascelles arrived you acted swiftly. You slipped out into the street and gave that beggar boy the hastily scribbled note and a coin. You then returned. Like the professional assassin you are, you know all there is about The Candle-Flame: the different galleries, empty chambers and lonely vantage points. Beneath your cloak you carry an arbalest and a quiver of bolts. You tried to kill Lascelles but failed because of me. Now, I recall vividly who was in the yard that morning when the attack took place. You certainly weren’t!’

Friar Roger simply stared back.

‘Thorne was talking to Mooncalf. The Pastons and William Foulkes were closeted together in the Dark Parlour both before and after the attack. Ronseval was also in the yard. The only person missing was you.’ Athelstan moved the parchment before him. ‘You came down later and, as an act of impudence, asked to join Lascelles’ escort into the city. Later, when you visited St Erconwald’s, I mistakenly made reference to Pike and Watkin being involved with the Upright Men. I saw you cultivate them when you visited St Erconwald’s. I have questioned them. They distinctly recall you asking both where they lived; in fact, they invited you to their houses. This is my ninth charge against you. You used that knowledge to provoke that conflict here at The Candle-Flame. You knew where Pike and Watkin lived. You are a friar, popular with the people and certainly on good terms with those leading lights amongst the Upright Men, Watkin and Pike. Once twilight had fallen, you slipped along to their houses dressed in a simple robe and hood and delivered those messages about Marsen’s treasure still lying here at The Candle-Flame. All you had to do was wait for them to leave for their muster. You knew they would. The Upright Men would be delighted to steal such wealth from Master Thibault. Only then do you send that letter to the Guildhall and bring about the confrontation. The Upright Men disappear but Thibault and Lascelles remain. Of course, everyone in the tavern is alarmed. Once again, you choose your vantage point, strike and kill at least one of your intended victims.’ Athelstan fell silent, tapping the table with his fingers. ‘Brother Roger, let me weave all this together. Your Saxon heritage, your absorption with the epic Beowulf , your constant quotations from it, your presence close in time and place to all the assaults, successful or not, against Thibault’s minions and Marsen’s veiled allegations against you. Then your presence in The Candle-Flame when those saddles were primed so the horses would rear and throw their riders. Your where-abouts when Lascelles was attacked in the stableyard and, again, after the Earthworms occupied The Candle-Flame. Your knowledge of Pike and Watkin being placed amongst the Upright Men as well as where they lived. Finally, and I admit only I know this but cannot reveal all as I have not yet finished, the elimination of other possible suspects leaving only you. Of course,’ Athelstan gestured towards the door, ‘a search is now being carried out in your chamber and all your possessions.’