Bloodstone(19)

Cranston, sipping his wine, noisily cleared his throat to speak when the door abruptly opened and the largest swan Athelstan had ever seen waddled pompously into the chamber. The bird’s webbed feet slapped the polished floor, its long elegant neck arched, the oval-shaped head of downy white and black-eyed patches ending in a yellow bill which opened to cry eerily as the bird fluffed snow-white feathery wings. The swan headed straight for the abbot. Cranston made to rise. The swan turned, hissing furiously, glorious wings unfolding.

‘It’s best to sit down,’ Prior Alexander declared wearily. ‘Leda only answers to Father Abbot.’

Cranston resumed his seat and the bird continued on to receive food from the abbot’s hand before nestling on soft cushions in the corner. Cranston just glared at the bird as Abbot Walter explained how Leda had been his special pet since a hatchling.

‘A change from the monkeys, apes and peacocks,’ Prior Alexander breathed, ‘not to mention the marmosets, greyhounds and lap dogs.’

‘All God’s creatures,’ Abbot Walter commented cheerfully, ‘all gone back to God.’

‘There’s even a small place in God’s Acre for God’s own creatures.’ Prior Alexander could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

‘All God’s creatures,’ Cranston echoed sharply, ‘and there’s two more for God’s Acre, former soldiers who lodged here, Gilbert Hanep and Ailward Hyde brutally despatched to judgement before their time and,’ Cranston now had the monks attention, ‘I bring you the most distressing news. You expected the Passio Christi to be brought here this morning by Sir Robert Kilverby’s steward Crispin, together with his daughter and son-in-law?’

‘Yes, we wondered . . .’

‘Murdered!’ Cranston retorted. ‘Sir Robert was foully poisoned in his chamber and the Passio Christi has disappeared.’

Abbot Walter almost choked on his wine. Prior Alexander sat back clutching the arms of his chair, mouth gaping in surprise. Richer stared in disbelief at both Cranston and Athelstan then glanced away, shaking his head. Once they had recovered, Cranston, ignoring their questions, pithily informed them what they had learnt at Kilverby’s house.

‘So,’ Cranston concluded. ‘Did Sir Robert share with you his intention to leave the Passio Christi here at St Fulcher’s on the very day he left on pilgrimage?’

‘That,’ Abbot Walter waved a hand, ‘may have been in his mind but,’ his fat face creased into a smile, ‘I cannot comment on what Sir Robert intended or what might have been. Sir Robert is now dead. The Passio Christi is missing, then there are the deaths here.’

‘Murders,’ Athelstan broke in. ‘Father Abbot, two of the Wyvern Company have been foully slaughtered in your abbey.’

‘My Lord of Gaunt has heard of the first death,’ Cranston added, ‘when he hears of the second, not to mention the murder of Sir Robert and the disappearance of the Passio Christi, his rage will know no bounds.’ Cranston’s words created a tense silence. His Grace the Regent was not to be crossed, even by Holy Mother Church.

‘I would not be surprised,’ Cranston added softly, ‘if His Grace did not honour you with a visit, Lord Walter, but now, reverend fathers, these murders?’

Prior Alexander replied. He assured Sir John how the Wyvern Company were happy, as they had been for the past four years. They’d claimed the Passio Christi was their find, so twice a year they were allowed to both view and hold it. For the rest, Sir Robert paid the abbey through the exchequer a most generous amount so the former soldiers enjoyed very comfortable lodgings.

‘Until now?’ Athelstan declared.

‘Yes, early this morning just after first light, Brother Otto who tends the cemetery went for his usual morning walk. Gilbert Hanep’s corpse was found near the grave of his old comrade William Chalk.’

‘Another death?’

‘By God’s good grace, in the order of nature,’ the prior replied. ‘William Chalk was sickening for some time from tumours in both his belly and groin.’

‘So Hanep rose in the middle of night to pay his respects to this dead comrade?’

‘Brother Athelstan, Hanep, like his comrades, was a veteran, a warrior, a professional soldier. He was restless, much given to wandering this abbey at night.’

‘And someone who knew that was waiting? His assassin must have followed him down to the cemetery and killed him?’

‘Took his head, Brother, a swinging cut; those who found him were sickened by the sight.’

‘And no indication or evidence for the murderer?’