‘True, true,’ Cranston whispered.

‘You must have become very alarmed when he began to stare so closely at you.’ Athelstan spread his hand. ‘You hoped it might be something passing until you realized we’d be staying here for some time. That’s why you warned me to leave.’

The woman swallowed hard and just stared back.

‘Did you also try to terrify me with a quarrel from a crossbow?’

‘Never!’ Eleanor now looked genuinely frightened. Abbot Walter gave a strangled cry.

‘Of course His Grace the Regent will get to know.’ Athelstan continued: ‘In time he would undoubtedly inform your superiors, Abbot Walter, not to mention the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

The abbot looked pale enough to faint. He cleared his throat and tried to speak.

‘Don’t, Walter.’ The woman leaned across and patted his hand, ‘What is the use? The truth always emerges, especially when you don’t want it to. Yes, Brother Athelstan, Sir John, I was Lady Purity in my early days, a great beauty, a courtesan sans pareil. I feasted on delicacies; I was clothed in silk and satin. Men fought for my favours but my heart was always given to Walter Chobham, Sub-Prior of the Benedictines at St Fulcher’s. Yes, I’m depicted as Susannah in that painting but those were my green and salad days. Age withers us. The years stale. Your body fails — mine certainly did. I was ravaged by the pestilence. An even greater surprise occurred in my last years, just before my courses stopped: I became pregnant with Isabella. Both pregnancy and delivery were difficult and by then all real traces of my beauty were gone. Walter has stayed faithful to me, especially now Isabella has come of age. Yes, I am desperate for her, for me. If Abbot Walter dies what will happen to us?’ She took a deep breath. ‘True, Walter told me the anchorite’s tale. I heard of his wealth stored in that coffer,’ she stroked the side of her face, ‘so I became Agnes Rednal.’ She smiled icily at Athelstan. ‘I assure you, Brother, it was desperation not greed which prompted it, nothing but a game to secure his wealth.’

‘A cruel game, Mistress, one that ends now, yes?’

‘Of course. And what else?’

‘Nothing, Mistress.’

‘As for you,’ Cranston gestured at the abbot, ‘I urge you to be most prudent; the Upright Men have sent you a warning.’

‘What can I do?’

‘Be vigilant. As for my part,’ Cranston added, ‘well, leave that to me.’

‘The Wyvern Company will be of use,’ Abbot Walter added desperately.

‘True,’ Cranston agreed, ‘but that brings me to my last question. Is there anything you haven’t told us about the murders here?’

‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan, I swear I know nothing. Yes, I have failed, I have sinned. I am locked in my own deep worries about Isabella and Eleanor. All I can say is that I fervently regret allowing Brother Richer to come here. Why? I cannot say. Only after his arrival did Sir Robert Kilverby change.’ The abbot picked up the fallen feathers. ‘Perhaps,’ he mumbled, ‘perhaps it’s time I resigned my post.’ He put his face in his hands and began to sob.

You’re crying through your fingers, Athelstan thought. You’re not penitent but plotting, nor have you told me the full truth. Athelstan rose to his feet. He stared around that luxurious chamber and remembered the lepers out in the freezing cold beyond the gate, those others on the quayside, numb and starving. Fleischer being dragged off to be hanged whilst the abbot who ordered it lived his own dissolute life. The thought of Fleischer in his boat watching the abbey made Athelstan pause. Fleischer! Those poor river people! Of course!

‘Athelstan, are you well?’ Cranston also rose to his feet.

‘Sir John, a moment with you alone. My Lord Abbot, Mistress,’ Athelstan gave them the most cursory of bows, ‘please stay here.’ Once outside the chamber Athelstan grasped Cranston’s sleeve. ‘Sir John, you’ve sent messengers from here to the city, yes?’

‘Of course, you know I have.’

‘Sir John, I beg you. Fetch Prior Alexander and Richer here now, I mean now. By the way,’ Athelstan again grabbed Cranston’s sleeve, ‘you could, if I wanted it, obtain a list of grants made by the Crown to this abbey?’

‘Of course.’

‘Very good. Please go, I shall return to Father Abbot.’

Lord Walter still sat slumped in his chair, his mistress, one hand on his arm, gazing pitifully at him. Athelstan went and stood over both of them.

‘The anchorite,’ he warned. ‘I do not know, Mistress, if what you did was solely your work or both of you, but it stops now.’

She nodded, her haughty face all worried.

‘As for you, Father Abbot, I cannot and will not condemn you except exhort you to reconcile yourself to God and,’ Athelstan leaned down threateningly, ‘tell the truth when I ask.’

Athelstan walked away and stared at one of the gorgeously painted glass windows. He silently chastised himself for his mistake and wondered how many more he had committed; he vowed to take each scrap of knowledge and pursue it to its logical conclusion. Behind him the abbot murmured to his mistress. A knock on the door a short while later ended this. Cranston, Richer and Prior Alexander entered. Both monks protested at the peremptory summons but Cranston ordered them to sit. Athelstan quickly composed himself. He would not question them but present the arguments which now tumbled through his mind.

‘Brother Athelstan,’ Prior Alexander declared, ‘we are here.’

‘So you are.’ Athelstan turned and smiled. ‘Robert Kilverby and Crispin, his secretarius, were also here.’

‘I. .?’

‘No. I mean years ago. They were novices here. Lord Walter, you’re of the same age, you must remember them.’

‘I do,’ the abbot replied slowly, ‘but what has that got to do with all this?’

‘They were novices here.’

‘Yes, I was an assistant to the novice master, I. .’

‘Did anything singular happen to them?’

‘No, they were both the sons of London citizens. Kilverby was special. He had a sharp mind and keen wit, he excelled in logic and debate.’

‘And Crispin?’

‘Oh, he was called “the Silent One”, sometimes “Sinister”, because he was left-handed. He was often punished for that. The novice master said he must change.’

‘And did he?’

‘No.’

‘Were both men happy?’

‘Kilverby more than Crispin.’ The abbot scratched his head. ‘I believe he hated being here. Both young men publicly declared their intention of not taking minor orders and left. Kilverby soon made his name as a trader, an astute merchant. Crispin became his helpmate. Kilverby rose to be an alderman, a leading member of the guild, a banker, a trader in every kind of commodity, much patronized by the Crown.’

‘And you can see no link between Kilverby’s novitiate here and his mysterious death?’

‘No.’ Abbot Walter’s voice was clipped; he glanced nervously at Prior Alexander.

‘Brother Athelstan,’ Richer asked, ‘what has this got to do with me, with us?’

‘Oh, everything,’ Athelstan sat down. ‘Prior Alexander, go to your chancery and bring me the list of all the items seized by the Wyvern Company from the cart they found so opportunely on a country lane near the Abbey of St Calliste.’

‘There isn’t such a-’

‘Don’t lie.’ Athelstan saw the deep flush in the prior’s face. Abbot Walter simply groaned. Richer glanced longingly at the door.

‘It is abbey property,’ Abbot Walter blustered.

‘In which case,’ Athelstan declared, ‘I could ask all three of you to join me and Sir John, the King’s officer, in the muniment room at the Tower where such a list, I am sure, is recorded on a memoranda roll of the exchequer or royal chamber. Now,’ Athelstan sighed, ‘that may take some time — days, weeks — but I am sure we can secure you comfortable lodgings in the Tower until that list is traced. After that,’ Athelstan continued remorselessly, ‘the Crown might decide to hold an inventory on what goods donated to St Fulcher’s actually remain here? Silence!’ Athelstan pointed at the abbot. ‘Do not make a bad situation worse. I doubt if much remains. Most of the goods seized by the Wyvern Company from St Calliste have been despatched back to France by you, Richer. You sent these items by this cog or that ship. You weren’t sending messages. Why should a boatman from a foreign cog come down here?’ Athelstan gestured at the door. ‘You have servants, lay brothers, not to mention the river folk who would leap at the chance to earn good coin by taking letters to this ship or that. You were sending precious, sacred items which could only be entrusted to certain people. Prior Alexander,’ Athelstan spread his hands, ‘Sir John and I are waiting for that list. I want it now.’