by Paul Doherty
‘My Lord,’ Thibault shifted the writing tray placed in front of him, ‘we thank God for our own safe deliverance today. The attack on you,’ Thibault raised his hand delicately, ‘heinous though it be, was really nothing more than sparks from dying embers: the last desperate acts of a few desperate men. God, however, has vindicated our prince, but we must now confront a much more deadly foe, this Azrael.’ Thibault paused as Gaunt tapped the table, nodding vigorously in agreement. ‘Azrael,’ Thibault continued, ‘is now guilty of the murder of Master Mephan, Luke Gaddesden,’ he paused at a groan from one of the brothers, ‘not to mention our most trusted courier Empson, nor must we forget those two unfortunates who lived with Mephan. Brother Athelstan, have you made any progress?’
Beneath the table Athelstan gently touched Cranston’s arm as a sign to remain silent. ‘Master Thibault,’ he replied, ‘we have scarcely begun. This Azrael literally flies from one place to the other. Each of the murders you mention is shrouded in deep, cloying mystery. I cannot make any sense of the reason behind these gruesome slayings.’ Athelstan was determined to be as forthright as he could. ‘The root question is not so much how but why this assassin Azrael should be murdering members of your Secret Chancery.’
‘The Secret Chancery is not mine,’ Gaunt said. ‘It’s the King’s, the Crown’s.’
‘But in truth and in practice, those clerks answer to you, Master Thibault,’ Athelstan snapped. ‘Do they know something they shouldn’t? Are they being silenced, punished, or both?’
Thibault forced a smile. ‘Brother Athelstan, of course these clerks know matters of great confidence. They work at the heart of the Secret Chancery. The same is true of myself, Albinus and, of course, His Grace. Even you, Athelstan, together with Sir John, have seen, heard and learnt things others certainly have not. I understand you also have been threatened, Brother? The Dominican priest of a poor parish in Southwark …’
‘The answer to that is quite obvious,’ Cranston broke in. ‘Our little friar here is not a member of your household, Master Thibault. But you know, I know and God knows that this Dominican friar will do his very best to trap Azrael and bring him to judgement; that’s why he’s been threatened.’
Thibault ignored Sir John’s outburst. ‘There could be other reasons why these clerks have been slain, Brother Athelstan.’
‘Such as?’
‘His Grace and I are being weakened. We are losing loyal and skilled retainers, men who serve us body and soul, day and night against all enemies both within and without. Some dark soul has laid siege and broken through to inflict terrible injury deep in our household against our most loyal and trusted henchmen.’
‘I would like to speak.’ Matthew Gaddesden brought his hand down hard against the table. ‘Your Grace, Master Thibault, God knows you have had no better servants than myself and my brothers.’ Matthew paused in tearful and mournful silence, then continued: ‘We truly believe that both Simon and Luke were murdered because of our fidelity and loyalty to the House of Lancaster. We played a crucial part in the suppression of the late Great Revolt. We now pay the price.’
‘As do we all.’ Albinus spoke up, his voice surprisingly strong. He opened his jerkin and took out a bulging pouch which he handed to Thibault, who shook out the contents: three garrotte strings, each with its own macabre message attached to it.
‘They were found,’ Thibault declared, ‘looped over the door handle to this chamber. One for Albinus, one for myself and the third, undoubtedly for His Grace.’ Thibault slid the three strings down the surface of the gleaming table for Athelstan to catch.
‘When were they found?’ he asked.
‘I found them,’ Albinus replied, ‘just over an hour ago as the first curfew bell tolled.’
Athelstan glanced at Cranston. Apart from his short outburst, the coroner had remained silent throughout, though that was nothing new. Cranston detested the regent; he often proclaimed he did not trust him as far as he could spit, and he preferred to keep silent in his presence. The coroner studied the garrotte strings then pushed them away and wiped his fingers on his jerkin.
‘So, Your Grace,’ Cranston said slowly, ‘what is to be done?’
‘My Lord Coroner, what you do so well. You have already referred to it. Let your little friar trap this assassin then you can hang him from the highest gallows in London.’
‘Easier said than done, I agree,’ Thibault intervened tactfully, ‘but at least we will escape the danger in the city. You leave for Canterbury on Monday morning?’
‘Just after dawn,’ Athelstan confirmed.
‘Good.’ Thibault rubbed his hands together. ‘We will join you – Albinus, myself and our two clerks. The summer heat means poor Master Luke must be buried tomorrow morning after the churching of his corpse and the requiem has been sung.’
‘We agree. We believe it will be safer,’ Matthew broke in, his face all worried, ‘to be out of London, and indeed to be closer to you, Brother Athelstan.’
‘It would be safer.’ Gaunt leaned forward. He no longer looked or acted as if befuddled from drink. ‘Equally important is what will happen in Canterbury. As you know, Sir John, Brother Athelstan, I have, through my marriage to the beloved Spanish Infanta Constanza, a claim to the crown of Castile.’ Gaunt’s voice rose as if he was about to proclaim his titles and rights. Athelstan just nodded, even as he recalled that Constanza may be ‘beloved’ but Gaunt was also deeply smitten by the charms of his mistress and the mother of a brood of illegitimate children, Katherine Swynford. ‘Envoys from Castile,’ Gaunt continued, ‘will very soon land at Dover. They are deeply desirous of visiting Becket’s shrine. Master Thibault, together with our beloved clerks here, will meet and treat with the Castilians in Canterbury. They can negotiate with the Spanish envoys in a much safer, more protected place. And I agree: it would be more prudent for them to be out of London away from the malign doings of Azrael.’ He straightened in his chair. ‘Is there any other business? No, I don’t think so. Athelstan, I wish you well.’
Athelstan held up a hand. ‘Your Grace, before we leave! We, who have all been threatened by Azrael – is there anything at all that Sir John and I should be told which might assist us to discover the truth?’
Silence greeted his question and Gaunt glanced away. Albinus tapped the table.
‘Brother Athelstan, before I forget, you had a visitor, a physician from Farringdon, Master Giole Limut. He approached the guards at the Lion Gate and left a message for you. He regretted not meeting you, but unless he hears to the contrary, he will be with you tomorrow morning at the Jesus mass …’
Athelstan stared round at his small congregation who stood, sat or squatted within the rood screen of St Erconwald’s. A lovely day, Athelstan mused; even at this early hour the sunlight was pouring through the windows. The friar turned and blessed Peter the Penniless who was kneeling, hands devoutly clasped, before turning back to the altar. He winked at Benedicta and Crim, both of whom looked fresh-faced, whilst the rest were more sleepy-eyed. Physician Giole was there openly admiring Benedicta, as was Brother Gregorio, who had been waiting for Athelstan as he left the council chamber late yesterday afternoon. Eager with speculation, Gregorio had questioned Athelstan closely about Gaunt and Master Thibault, heatedly discussing their determination to join Athelstan’s pilgrimage to Canterbury.
The Spanish friar had talked unceasingly till they reached Southwark. Athelstan, who’d hired a porter to carry Gregorio’s baggage, breathed a prayer of thanksgiving when they reached the Piebald. He paid off the porter and lodged his garrulous companion with a whole host of his parishioners in the sprawling tavern. From what Benedicta had told him, Gregorio had taken to Athelstan’s flock and they to him, like long-lost, beloved siblings. Apparently Gregorio had performed a Spanish dance, told some very amusing tales about the sexual exploits of a Spanish Dominican, sung a haunting love song and finished the evening by leading them in a wild, whirling dance around the taproom. They had drunk and drunk again and
certainly heard the chimes of midnight. Gregorio, now flanked by an adoring Cecily and her sister Clarissa, reminded Athelstan of Bonaventure after he had feasted deeply on a bowl of cream. Indeed, even that great, solitary tomcat seemed fascinated by the new arrival and now squatted close to Gregorio’s feet.
‘Judas-cat!’ Athelstan whispered to himself. He looked to his left where Amelia and Robert the clerk stood, the latter scratching his face with stubby fingers stained with ink. Athelstan recalled Master Giole’s belief that Peter the Penniless could only be fed some noxious potion to disturb the humours of his mind by a very skilled apothecary or herbalist. Athelstan had scrutinised Robert very carefully and concluded he was a minor chancery clerk who might even have difficulty counting a column of figures or writing out a proper bill of sale, let alone concoct some subtle potion.
Benedicta coughed loudly, followed by Crim. Athelstan smiled, blessed them all and announced mass was ended. He did not return to the sacristy but walked out of the sanctuary and across to the small chantry chapel of St Erconwald’s. The cloistered warmth and fragrance of that serene place always soothed him: the stained-glass window bright with light, the thick turkey carpets on the floor, the cushioned seat and prie-dieu before the altar, the air sweetened with incense and crushed herbs. Athelstan swiftly divested, and sat down on a chair to stare at the crucifix. He thought back to a peculiar incident which had occurred after the council meeting in the Tower the previous evening. He and Cranston had gone downstairs out into the bailey when he realised he had left his ave beads behind. He made his excuses and hastened back up the twisting spiral staircase into the council chamber, where he found his rosary. He was halfway down again, passing one of the stairwells, when he heard voices from a nearby chamber where the door had been left half-open. Athelstan immediately recognised Gaunt’s rich voice, now clear and precise, not marred or slurred by drink. He was speaking in Spanish to a man who boldly replied: Athelstan was sure it was Albinus – was he educated in the Spanish tongue? Why should Gaunt and his henchman talk so swiftly in a different language unless they were discussing business of a highly confidential and secretive nature?
Athelstan’s thoughts drifted to Cranston, and he idly wondered what his friend was doing – probably preparing for Canterbury. The coroner had certainly planned their pilgrimage to the last detail. Sir John believed they could travel fifteen miles on a good summer’s day. They would spend their first evening out of Southwark at the Sign of Hope tavern where chambers had been hired and arrangements made with mine host Master Chobham about food and sleeping places. There was a gentle knocking on the chantry chapel door, then Gregorio’s smiling face appeared through the open door.
‘Brother, may I have a word about these mysteries?’
Athelstan shrugged and gestured at Gregorio to enter and sit on the wall bench.
‘I have heard about your present troubles.’
‘Which ones?’ Athelstan laughed. ‘Brother, I feel like someone in sanctuary surrounded by a sea of troubles. By the way, I gather you have become firm friends with Cecily and Clarissa. Let us pray that Master Tuddenham does not return.’
‘My thanks to the two ladies.’ Gregorio grinned. Once again Athelstan secretly wondered who this smiling Spanish friar truly was, even though Gregorio had come into the sacristy before mass to show him letters written in Latin, signed and sealed by the Minister General of the Order of the Friars of the Sack, introducing Gregorio and describing his mission.
‘Now, you wish to discuss my present troubles?’ Athelstan asked abruptly.
‘Brother Athelstan, I have remembered something from my conversations with the lovely Felicia who has now gone to God.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘Oh aye, Brother,’ Gregorio echoed. ‘We were in the Mitre, having great sport in my chamber. Afterwards,’ he continued blithely, ‘we talked about her life. I asked about the future. Now Felicia could chatter like a spring sparrow. I asked how long she would stay with the Way of all Flesh and act as a maid for Master Mephan. She replied that she expected great things and changes for the better in the months ahead.’
‘Did you ask what she meant?’
‘Of course, but it was only bedchamber chatter. She said she would stay in Master Mephan’s household because now the revolt was crushed, he especially would greatly prosper, and she with him. One day he would be rich and live in great splendour. A strange remark, Athelstan, from an ageing clerk, even one who works in the Royal Chancery.’
‘Strange indeed,’ Athelstan agreed, watching the Spaniard curiously. ‘There is something else?’
‘Yes, there is.’ Gregorio took out a freshly minted silver piece from his belt wallet and offered it to Athelstan, who examined it carefully. He realised it was an accurate replica of what the Fisher of Men had found on that corpse, found floating near St Paul’s Wharf: a newly fashioned coin bearing the arms and insignia of Castile. ‘It’s a mass offering,’ Gregorio explained. ‘I would like you to say a requiem as soon as possible for Bernadine.’
‘Bernadine?’
‘My brother,’ Gregorio explained. ‘It will soon be the anniversary of his death. A mass has to be said, a requiem sung.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Athelstan declared, getting to his feet. He walked over and thrust the coin back into Gregorio’s hand. ‘Pax et Bonum, Brother,’ he whispered. ‘I shall celebrate the mass for charity’s sake and pray for the repose of your brother’s soul.’ Gregorio’s smile faded, replaced, for the briefest of moments, by a look of profound sadness.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured. He opened the door and slipped out of the chapel. Athelstan intended to follow when Amelia and Robert came bustling in.
‘Father, Peter seems more composed,’ Amelia began. She was dressed quite sprucely in a white veil and spring-green gown with a heavy gold brooch at her throat and jewelled bracelets around her wrists.
‘Yes, he does,’ Athelstan agreed.
She grasped Athelstan’s fingers. ‘Father, we would like to stay here for the day. Peter says you are going on pilgrimage to Canterbury and that he will accompany you. If he does, we must go as well.’
‘Oh, you would be most welcome.’ Athelstan concealed his deepening disquiet. As he had remarked to Sir John, the way matters were proceeding, half of London would accompany them!
‘In the meantime, Father, is there anything we can do to help – I mean around the church?’
Athelstan glimpsed the empty vase before the statue of St Erconwald’s and remembered others had not been filled. ‘You could pick some flowers in God’s Acre – God knows we have a magnificent array – and fill the empty vases around this church. Peter would be most comforted by your presence …’
Both Amelia and Robert were enthusiastic in their reply and set off straight away to do so. Athelstan watched them go and then walked down to meet Physician Giole, who was waiting close by the St Christopher pillar near the entrance to the church. He and Athelstan exchanged the kiss of peace.
‘Matters Spanish,’ Athelstan murmured, stepping back.
‘Pardon?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s John of Gaunt’s claim to Castile, his wife being the Infanta Constanza, the presence of Brother Gregorio and, of course, your good self. I feel something of Spain has entered my life. What is your story, Giole? Come.’ Athelstan gestured. ‘It’s a beautiful day to sit in the sun and talk.’ They walked outside and made themselves comfortable on the bench Crispin the carpenter had built into a recess to the left of the main door of the church.
‘I came to the Tower yesterday afternoon.’ Giole turned his face to catch the sun. ‘No, that’s not true, I came here first and that beautiful widow-woman told me where you were, so I hurried back over the bridge. I fear water and I hate crossing that river by barge. I just dread it. Anyway, I reached the Tower, but this was after the attack. Archers guarded every entrance to the fortress and I didn’t have a pass, so I left a message. I wanted to tell you about the warning as well as assure y
ou that I will be here before dawn on Monday next.’ The physician tapped his foot noisily. ‘More importantly, Beatrice and I wanted to invite you to supper last night in our banqueting chamber, but …’ he waved his hands. Athelstan patted the physician on the shoulder.
‘My friend, I shall certainly take up that invitation on our return from Canterbury.’
Giole shifted on the bench to face Athelstan. ‘Meals, food – that’s where it all began, Brother. Beatrice and myself are the children of cooks. I mean, real cooks as skilled as any craftsmen. In Toledo our parents hired their service out to what you call tavern masters. The philosopher Galen says, “Good food and good health have always been the closest of allies.” I was raised to make spiced chestnut cream, dates mixed with egg and cheese, the sharpest of brie tart and figs stuffed with cinnamon eggs.’
‘Stop!’ Athelstan laughed. ‘You are making me hungry. Thank God Sir John is not here.’
‘Good food led me to the study of herbs, potions and how they affect the humours of the body, Giole continued. ‘I studied at the cathedral schools before going on to the universities of Salamanca, Paris and finely Salerno in Southern Italy. The Arabs have a great deal to teach us; they, rather than us, are the guardians of the ancients. Anyway, I came back to Toledo. I have known and loved Beatrice since I was a boy. We married and decided to combine our skills and talents. Time passed. Your Lord of Gaunt and other English lords came to Castile forming allegiances, alliances and treaties on both military and matrimonial matters. Ties between our two kingdoms have always been very close. The present king’s great grandfather was the son of a Castilian princess. As you know, our Princess Constanza married my Lord of Gaunt and came to England accompanied by a large Castilian retinue.’ Giole placed his hand on his chest and bowed mockingly. ‘Myself, Beatrice and our two children are part of that retinue. England is good for us despite the recent troubles. They passed over us without harm or hurt, which is why we are so pleased to join your pilgrimage to give thanks to God and all his great saints.