by Paul Doherty
‘Then come, Sir John.’ Athelstan undid his chancery satchel. ‘The household have returned?’
‘Aye, and have resigned themselves to further questioning.’
‘Then let’s begin. If it’s to be done,’ he smiled at the coroner, ‘it’s best done swiftly and ruthlessly. We shall take Sir Henry and Lady Rohesia first.’
Cranston asked Mortice, who’d been appointed usher, to fetch both of these. They arrived looking very ill at ease and sat down at the buttery table opposite the coroner and his secretarius.
‘We have answered your questions,’ Sir Henry bleated.
‘Then answer them again,’ Athelstan snapped. He had slept well but the memory of the violence earlier in the day still affected him.
‘You are a merchant, Sir Henry. You deal in cannon, culverins, fire, missiles and gunpowder. You and your brother hold a commission for this from the Crown. You own foundries, warehouses and all the impedimenta of a great merchant. Yes?’
Sir Henry agreed.
‘You also own “The Book of Fires” by Mark the Greek?’
‘I don’t, Brother. I never held it. Sir Walter kept it very close. Of course, he talked about it being in a coffer or casket in his own bedchamber. I don’t think it was ever there. In all the years I worked with Sir Walter I swear I never opened it, let alone read it.’
‘Yet Sir Walter dealt in fiery liquids, he distilled oils and ground powders which could inflict great damage?’
‘Yes, but on certain special creations my brother insisted on working by himself. All our craftsmen and their apprentices would fetch things, go here and there or do this and that but, in these matters, Sir Walter acted by himself. Of course,’ Sir Henry hurried on, ‘this was when he was hale and hearty. As he sickened, he withdrew from the trade. Sometimes, perhaps he was preparing for death, he openly regretted what he had done, the wealth he had accumulated and the way he had done it. He declared that the whereabouts of “The Book of Fires” was a matter of revelation, safe on the island of Patmos. Of course, I didn’t know what he was referring to. Patmos is a Greek island, perhaps he visited it as a young man or something happened to him there. I assure you, “The Book of Fires” was Sir Walter’s great secret. He once informed me that the mysteries it held should be left hidden. Sir Walter believed we human beings have a hunger to discover new ways of destroying each other.’
‘Of course,’ Athelstan replied tartly, ‘and that would include himself? As the scripture says, “What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world but suffer the loss of his immortal soul?”’
‘Perhaps.’ Sir Henry refused to meet Athelstan’s gaze.
‘But “The Book of Fires” definitely exists?’
‘Certainly, Brother, though I have no knowledge of its whereabouts.’
‘Brother Athelstan,’ Lady Rohesia leaned forward, ‘we are not lying. We want that book, as others do. It holds secrets which could provide even greater wealth.’
‘Where did it come from?’ Cranston asked.
‘Another mystery.’ Sir Henry took a deep breath. ‘In our youth Walter and I were apprentices, traders, craftsmen. I was content with that but my brother had a wanderlust, a deep curiosity which pricked and spurred him on. He left London and travelled abroad to Outremer, then on to Constantinople. There are rumours he even journeyed along the Great Silk Road to the fabulous kingdoms of the East, but in truth I know little about that.’
‘How long was he absent?’
‘Oh, about fifteen summers. He left a young man and returned a veteran soldier, a warrior and a most cunning and skilful trader and merchant. He was hardly home a year when I realized how much he had learnt. We began to produce fine powder, better culverins, bombards and cannon. We could manufacture a substance to be used in mining a wall, attacking a gate or defending a castle against besiegers: a fire with horrendous effect, easy to ignite, devastating once lit and most difficult to douse. Only then did we discover that Sir Walter nursed great secrets and had a copy of “The Book of Fires”.’
‘And its origins?’ Athelstan repeated Cranston’s original question.
‘Brother, I do not really know. Search Sir Walter’s manuscripts – everything about his years abroad still remains a mystery. I learnt only a few facts; he was here, there, everywhere. He learnt different languages and used these to disguise and hide even more cleverly all he knew about fire and its use in war. Sometimes in his cups he’d betray a few facts. He apparently led a troop of mercenaries, like the famous White Company in France or Hawkmoor’s in Italy. He called them the “Luciferi” – the “Light Bearers”, his own private army. Walter became a peritus, highly skilled in cannon, powder and fire, all the impedimenta of war. He led a comitatus similarly trained.’
‘Did any of his present household serve with him?’
‘No. Buckholt, Mortice and the rest were hired on his return, I believe Buckholt’s father was a member of his company but he died abroad.’
‘Did your brother’s past,’ Athelstan asked, ‘ever surface to confront and threaten him?’
‘The warnings just over a year ago. I did wonder …’
‘Yes, yes,’ Athelstan replied, ‘how did they go, “As I and ours burnt, so shall ye and yours”? Yet these abruptly ended. Anything else?’
‘Occasionally,’ Sir Henry declared, ‘we would have visitors – Greeks: men muffled, cowled and cloaked. They came here to meet my brother but what their business was he wouldn’t tell me. Occasionally my brother would go into the city and elsewhere; he would insist on being by himself. Again, I cannot help.’
Athelstan stared at this plump merchant prince, the sweat glistening on his thinning pate and rubicund cheeks, the constant shifting eyes, the stubby fingers never still, whilst beside him Lady Rohesia sat as if carved out of stone. You are not telling the full truth, Athelstan thought, but, there again, you are a weak man. Your brother ignored you. Athelstan glanced at Lady Rohesia, who probably was the source of any strength her husband showed. Athelstan drummed his fingers on the tabletop, aware of Sir John moving restlessly beside him.
‘Did you approve of your brother’s marriage to Isolda?’ the coroner asked.
‘I neither approved nor disapproved. It was none of my business.’
‘Oh, yes it was,’ Athelstan accused. ‘Sir Walter was hale and hearty when he espoused Isolda. He was deeply in love with her, at least then. She could have conceived a son, and if that had happened you would no longer be Sir Walter’s heir – but of course that didn’t happen …’ Athelstan pulled a face, ‘Well, it’s obvious. Walter and Isolda are dead – there is no other possible heir except you.’
‘I could object to that.’ Sir Henry quivered with indignation.
‘Object as much as you like, it is still the truth.’ Athelstan caught the smugness in these two worthies. They were cocksure, confident. He sensed their underlying attitude – they would cheerfully confess that they had done nothing wrong, though whether they had done anything right was another matter. ‘Did you hear either Sir Walter or Lady Isolda mention the possible annulment of their marriage?’
‘Never,’ they chorused together, a little too quickly, Athelstan thought.
‘And the fees paid to Master Falke to defend Isolda?’
‘Again,’ Lady Rohesia spoke up, ‘we don’t know. When she was committed to Newgate we sent her comforts, necessities. We thought she had money or that Falke defended her pro bono.’
‘Before all this happened did Falke ever come to this house? Was he on speaking terms with Sir Walter or Lady Isolda?’
‘Never, never,’ Sir Henry repeated emphatically.
‘Did Edmund Garman, Newgate chaplain, visit here?’
‘Yes, yes, he did.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose because my brother is a rich man and Garman wanted alms for the prisoners. I do know Sir Walter furnished a small chapel in Newgate. I have little to do with Garman. Rumour has it that he too served in the Luciferi before he left
to become a Hospitaller.’
‘Were you ever present at their meetings?’
‘No, why should I be? My brother dealt with petitions and requests. I am a merchant.’
‘And when did Sir Walter become ill?’
‘Oh, about a year ago.’
‘In the light of what actually happened,’ Athelstan asked, ‘do you now think that Sir Walter was being poisoned in the months before his death?’
‘Perhaps, but hindsight makes us all very wise. My brother used to love his food. He had a terrible weakness for figs in almond sauce. I believe Parson Garman, who had learnt of this delicacy whilst abroad, would bring him some.’
‘I repeat my question: did you suspect poison?’
‘No. Nor did our physician, Brother Philippe. I believe you know him, Brother Athelstan?’
‘I certainly do. I have a very high regard for him. I will be asking his opinion. By the way, did Brother Philippe attend young Rosamund?’
‘Yes, he did, but he could detect nothing except the fever. Brother Philippe became very busy with this household. Rosamund fell ill on the very day that Lady Isolda took the goblet from Buckholt.’
‘Tell me now,’ Athelstan glanced quickly at Sir John, who now sat with his eyes half closed, ‘your brother travelled abroad about …?’
‘Forty years ago.’
‘And he was away for about fifteen years?’
‘Yes.’
‘He returned and married?’
‘Yes, but his first wife, Matilde, died of a bloody flux only a few months after their wedding. By then my brother was winning a reputation as a great merchant. In fact, we both were. The House of Beaumont was respected, and still is, by Crown, court and Church.’
‘Your brother was a widower. Did he seek consolation with other ladies? Please,’ Athelstan smiled, ‘I don’t want to give offence but simply comment on what many men do.’ He shrugged. ‘And, I confess, some priests as well.’
‘He certainly did.’ Rohesia lost some of her stone-like demeanour.
‘Could that be the reason,’ Athelstan chose his words carefully, ‘Sir Walter was so generous to the Minoresses in Aldgate, well known for their care of female foundlings?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Sir Henry coloured slightly and shifted in his chair. Athelstan wryly noticed how he edged away from his wife and the friar wondered if Sir Walter had made reparation through alms to the Minoresses for his brother’s sins as well as his own.
‘Before you ask,’ Sir Henry measured his words, ‘it is possible my brother may have sired a bastard child, a girl but,’ he added hurriedly, ‘I really can’t say.’
‘No, no, you can’t,’ Athelstan agreed sardonically. ‘In fact, you can’t say much about anything.’
‘And your brother’s murder?’ Cranston, smacking his lips, pulled himself up from his chair. ‘Did you notice anything amiss, out of place, in the weeks, days preceding his death?’
‘Vanner!’ Lady Rohesia exclaimed. ‘We noticed he and Isolda grew much closer. Of course, at the same time, my brother-in-law was confined more and more to his bedchamber. Isolda, when she wasn’t consulting with Vanner, and neither of us can tell you about what, also kept to herself. Oh,’ Lady Rohesia waved a gloved hand, ‘we sensed something was wrong but we had no proof and we were very busy. Sir Walter’s death was a great shock, then the allegations were made and Sutler swept like a tempest into the house. Sir Walter was found dead on Tuesday morning. On the following Friday, just before compline, Sutler returned with a guard and a warrant for Isolda’s arrest.’
‘And Vanner?’ Cranston asked. ‘He was your brother’s clerk. You must miss him?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Sir Henry tapped the table, ‘but now he is gone. He was last seen on the Thursday before Isolda’s arrest going out into the garden just after the angelus bell.’
‘He must have fled?’
‘Apparently so, Sir John, but he took none of his possessions with him, no money or valuables.’
‘And his manuscripts?’
‘I think he took most of them. Brother Athelstan, you may see what is left – nothing remarkable or noteworthy.’
‘And your brother’s chancery?’
‘Of course, we have been through all his papers, Rohesia and I, assisted by Mortice and Buckholt. Do you know, Sir John, Brother Athelstan, that I searched, as did the others, but we discovered nothing from those years my brother spent abroad? No mention of “The Book of Fires”. Oh, there are billae, memoranda, indentures and lists of this and that, but nothing really significant.’
‘And “The Book of Fires” itself?’
‘I’ve told you, Brother, Sir Walter hardly ever referred to it, and when he did he gave that sly smile, tapping the side of his nose and claiming its whereabouts would be a revelation to everyone but that it was safe on the island of Patmos, and no, I don’t know what he meant.’
‘And this morning?’ Athelstan asked. ‘You went into the city accompanied by Buckholt and Rosamund?’
‘Yes.’ Lady Rohesia raised her eyebrows. ‘Why? Has something happened?’
‘Did you stay together?’
‘No, when we reached Cheapside we went our separate ways.’ Lady Rohesia gestured. ‘We all had different tasks, errands, items of business.’
‘For how long?’
‘Brother, at least two hours. Sir Henry said we should all meet at the Standard as the bells chimed for noon,’ she glanced at her husband, ‘and so we did.’
Athelstan sensed he would make little progress on this issue: it would be difficult, if not impossible, to prove one or more of them slipped away to launch that murderous attack so he just nodded, tapping his sandalled feet against the floor.
‘Now, Sir John, are we finished here?’ Sir Henry asked.
Cranston looked at Athelstan, who nodded. Once they’d left, Athelstan sat back in his chair.
‘We never did anything wrong,’ he whispered. ‘But, there again, we never did anything right.’
‘Friar?’
‘An epitaph inscribed above Hell’s door, Sir John. Believe me, that precious pair could tell us more but chose not to. Ah, well, you have summoned Falke and Garman?’
‘Yes, and let’s see if they have arrived.’
Nicholas Falke, blond hair all dishevelled, face flushed, blue popping eyes blinking with anger, was ushered into the buttery. Mortice served more ale.
‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan,’ Falke began, ‘I am very busy.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Cranston replied. ‘So let’s be brusque and brisk. Tell the truth and you will have nothing to fear.’
‘Sir John, are you threatening me?’
‘Yes. I am Lord High Coroner of London and this session is as valid as any court. So first, before you defended Lady Isolda did you have any dealings with her?’
‘No.’
‘So why did you defend her? Come on,’ Cranston snarled and banged on the table, ‘I will have you put on oath and, if you lie, haul you off to Newgate on a charge of perjury.’
‘For the love of God,’ Athelstan whispered, ‘Falke, you did your duty. You tried your best but Isolda has gone to God. We need to know why you, a complete stranger, a well-respected lawyer, defended her. Isolda, so we understand, had very little money of her own?’
Falke, raising his hand in a sign of peace, scraped back his chair and walked over to the window. He pulled back the shutters and stared through the thick mullion glass.
‘I truly believed that Isolda was innocent. I accepted and still do that the story about the goblets was a mere fabrication. Isolda maintained Sir Walter must have been poisoned by others.’
‘Like whom?’
‘Oh,’ Falke didn’t turn round, ‘Buckholt, even Vanner. But I saw these accusations as the outpourings of a tormented mind. All she could cite was household gossip.’
‘And Vanner?’
‘She admitted he was her ally here at Firecrest and, like the others, had grievances against his master. Sh
e pointed out that Sir Walter could have been poisoned before she gave him the drink or at some time during the night. People could have gone in or out of his chamber – after all, he wasn’t found dead until after daybreak.’
‘And “The Book of Fires”?’ Cranston warned. ‘You must answer our questions truthfully.’
‘Ah, well.’ Falke turned and walked back to his chair. ‘I did not know Isolda Beaumont before her arrest or imprisonment. I was visited in my chamber by a Greek merchant, Nicephorus – he and his three companions, professional swordsmen. I later found out they were from the elite Imperial corps of the Varangian Guard at Constantinople. Nicephorus was most pleasant, calm and courteous. He wanted me to defend Isolda. I asked him why. He said that was his business. I told him to make it mine.’ Falke sipped at the tankard. ‘He was direct. He didn’t care if Isolda was innocent or guilty, he simply wanted the whereabouts of the manuscript, or at least Sir Walter’s copy, of Mark the Greek’s “The Book of Fires”.’ Again Falke paused to drink. Athelstan watched him and recalled those mysterious rescuers earlier in the day.
‘I pressed for more. Nicephorus said it was a long story and did not concern me. However, once I accepted his commission, he gave me details. As a young man Walter Beaumont travelled to Constantinople. He served in their mercenary corps of gunners, where he deepened his knowledge of gunpowder, cannon, projectiles, Greek fire and all the secrets of the Imperial army. It was a time of unrest. The Turks were redoubling their attacks. Matters were made worse by earthquakes, plagues and civil war. Eventually peace was restored when John Cantacuzene emerged as the victor, assuming the title of John VI. However, during the unrest, Walter Beaumont and his mercenary troop took part in the pillaging of the Imperial palace. According to Nicephorus, they were not after treasure; instead Beaumont, with a few of his companions, no more than six henchmen, invaded the secret chancery of the Emperor’s library. There, in a locked arca which they forced, they found a copy of Mark the Greek’s “The Book of Fires”. Beaumont stole this and fled. Now Beaumont led a company.’ Falke paused.
‘Luciferi?’ Athelstan gently prompted. ‘The Light Bearers?’