Paul Harding - Field of Blood

'Satan's futtocks!' Sir John breathed.

'The chronicle then goes on to say that before he died, "Gundulfus celavit hunc thesaurum, quod fulgebat sicut sol, in ecclesia prope turrem." Gundulf hid this gold,' Athelstan translated, 'which glowed like the sun, in the church next to the Tower.' He paused. 'In my view the church next to the Tower is a reference to the old Roman ruins.'

'The site of the Paradise Tree?' Sir John exclaimed.

'Bartholomew must have believed that Gundulf hid his treasure somewhere in the vicinity of the tavern.' Athelstan turned his stool round. 'Did Bartholomew ever discuss this matter with you or Mistress Vestler?'

Hengan shook his head. 'Never to my knowledge, Brother.' He tapped the map. 'If any treasure were buried beneath that tavern, I doubt if it's there now.'

'Why is that?'

'Brother, I deal in property: bills of sales, searches and scrutiny. If the old Roman church was destroyed and a tavern built, the treasure must be under it.'

'Of course,' Athelstan replied. 'It's near the river and the ground becomes water-logged.'

'This was written over two hundred years ago,' Hengan pointed out. 'The Thames often breaks its banks. It's a common occurrence every autumn: the soil crumbles, the river swells and floods the mud-banks.'

'So it could have been swept away?'

'Perhaps but, there again, if the treasure were hidden and protected by the old foundations …'

Athelstan recalled the Four Gospels.

'I wonder,' he mused, 'if our little religious group chose that spot to await St Michael or to continue their own searches? Master Hengan, they told me a story about barges which come up the Thames late at night carrying dark figures which, if the Four Gospels are to be believed, disembark and steal towards the Paradise Tree.'

'Oh, Lord save us!' The lawyer rubbed his eyes. 'I hope Whittock doesn't get hold of that.'

Athelstan looked across the chamber to where Sir John stood half-listening while going through other pieces of manuscript. At the mention of Whittock, the coroner strode across.

'Odo Whittock, the serjeant-at-law?'

'The same,' Hengan replied.

Sir John glimpsed the puzzlement in Athelstan's

eyes.

'Odo Whittock,' he explained, 'is a young, ambi­tious serjeant-at-law: a veritable limner, a sniffer-out of crime. He works for the Barons of the Exchequer but, now and again, he does pleas for the Crown.'

'In other words a prosecutor?'

'Yes, Brother, a prosecutor,' Hengan said. 'I have heard good rumour that Sir Henry Brabazon has appointed Whittock to investigate this matter. Let me put it this way. Brabazon will loose the arrows.'

'But Whittock will be by his side,' Athelstan fin­ished, 'holding the quiver?'

'Precisely, Brother. If Whittock gets hold of that sort of story, of which I know nothing, it will go badly for Mistress Kathryn.'

'I remember Odo,' Sir John intervened. 'Tall, thin-faced, nose like a falcon's beak. Eyes which never miss a trick. Prisoners at the bar are more frightened of him than they are of torturers in the Tower. A good friend but a bad enemy.'

'Did Bartholomew ever try and buy the Paradise Tree?' Athelstan asked, returning to the matter in hand.

'Not to my knowledge. But, as I have said, Mistress Vestler might sing a different tune.' 'Oh, look at this.'

Sir John, who had gone back to his searches, came and threw a scrap of parchment into Athelstan's lap. Athelstan picked it up and quickly translated the Latin.

'Who is Geoffrey Bapaume? Oh yes, I see, a gold­smith! Good heavens!' Athelstan exclaimed. 'It's a list of monies, five hundred pounds sterling, lodged by the said Bartholomew Menster in Bapaume's cof­fers. Bartholomew must have been careful with his monies: this was dated the sixth of June of this year. It would seem our dead clerk was collecting all his monies together.'

'I'll visit Bapaume before the scrutineers from the Exchequer do,' Sir John said. 'Now Bartholomew is declared officially dead, they'll search out every penny he owned. If there were no heirs, the royal treasury will sweep in the lot.'

'So, what do we have here?' Athelstan got up and paced the floor. 'Firstly, we know that Bartholomew was a careful clerk, sweet on the tavern wench, Margot Haden. He held a post here in the Tower which he used to search out the lost treasure of Gundulf, Bishop of Rochester. Secondly, we know Bartholomew found an old chronicle, written some years after Gundulf died. The writer was probably repeating a legend, or one that he may have learned from his old master, that Gundulf melted his gold down and hid it in a church near the Tower. Thirdly, we know that Bartholomew was deeply interested in this secret. This probably accounts for his visits to the Paradise Tree and his relationship with the young chambermaid. He made a cryptic reference to the Four Gospels about the treasure glowing like the sun and being hidden beneath the sun; that was an allusion to the line from the chronicle. Fourthly, we know that Bartholomew's last day on this earth was probably the twenty-fifth of June, but that's as far as we go. What else, Sir Jack?'

'Bartholomew would work here until just before sunset. In summer time that would be seven or eight o'clock in the evening, so he and Margot must have been murdered after that on the evening in question. That's some time ago. Memories dim. We know there was no mark of violence on the corpses, no blows to the skull or the ribcage of either. Therefore, we can safely deduce that death was by poison which must have been concealed in something they ate or drank.'

'Excellent, my lord coroner.' Athelstan smiled. 'Sharp as a cutting sword; ruthless as a swooping hawk.'

Sir John beamed with pleasure. 'Master Hengan, would you agree with this?'

The lawyer scratched his chin and nodded.

'Bartholomew was a clerk.' The lawyer picked up the story. 'But he had seen military service. Margot was a young woman, vigorous and strong; their deaths must have been by stealth …'

'Which leads us to two conclusions,' Athelstan interrupted. 'They were either killed at the Paradise Tree and their bodies taken out in the dead of night … He stopped as he recalled that great oak tree with its overhanging branches, the shade it would provide on a hot summer's evening. A good place to sit and take the cool breezes from the river.

'Or what?' Sir John asked crossly.

'Maybe their bodies didn't have to be taken out? Maybe they were sitting under the oak tree and the assassin, like a serpent, entered their Eden. Was there a third, or even fourth, person there? Or did the Four Gospels invite them down to their cottage? After all, Bartholomew had referred to treasure in their pres­ence. Just because that precious group are waiting for the return of Michael and all his angels doesn't mean they are averse to taking a little gold.'

'I have another theory.' Sir John spoke up. 'What about those dark shapes? The shadow men who come up the Thames at the dead of night? They could have stumbled on our clerk and his sweetheart, or even been involved in this hunt for Gundulf's treasure.'

'I know what Whittock will say of all this,' Hengan broke in mournfully. 'Kathryn Vestler had the best opportunity for murdering Bartholomew and Margot.' He pulled a face. 'As well as the means. Kathryn does keep poison in the Paradise Tree, as all taverners do, to destroy rats and vermin.'

'But what about the motive?' Athelstan asked.

'Master Hengan, was there any hint of a relationship between Mistress Vestler and Bartholomew?'

'None that I knew of. Bartholomew was an ami­able man. Kathryn was nice enough to him but nothing singular.'

'I have another theory,' Sir John proudly declared. 'Let us say our clerk truly believed Gundulf's treas­ure was buried somewhere in or around the Paradise Tree and shared this knowledge with Mistress Vestler. What happens if they've already discovered it?'