The anchorite just kept staring, face all haggard.
‘You have eaten and drunk?’ Athelstan asked gently. ‘Refreshment, as Sir John says, is good for the soul as well as the body. I promise you, I will plumb these mysteries which brood so close to you.’
‘And those other mysteries, the murders here?’
‘My friend,’ Athelstan gestured round, ‘we still stumble and fall.’
‘I heard about your panic in the charnel house. Brother Athelstan, tread warily here.’
‘You said something similar when we first met. You told me you had things to say,’ Athelstan added. ‘You still nurse grievances against the Wyvern Company about your wife and child?’
‘Yes, my poor family.’ The anchorite rubbed the side of his head. ‘Sometimes I see them as I do Agnes Rednal.’ He glanced up pitifully. ‘That’s what I wanted to confess last time. My deep loathing for those soldiers yet I did not kill them.’
Athelstan stared at the man’s strong, claw-like hands.
‘You have the strength and skill,’ Athelstan murmured, ‘you are deeply troubled.’
The anchorite sprang to his feet then sat down face in his hands.
‘True, I am deeply troubled. Agnes Rednal crawls on to my bed.’ He pointed at the ledger resting on the desk. ‘I describe my dreams, my visions. Brother, I cannot distinguish between what is real and what is my imagining.’
‘Friend,’ Athelstan replied briskly, ‘you live in this anker house, you’re close to God. You are, I believe, a good man of troubled soul though your wits remain sharp. So answer my questions. Keep with the land of the living. Help me to pursue justice.’
The anchorite sighed and took away his hands.
‘Your questions?’
‘Good. You came here when?’
‘About three years ago.’
‘Did you ever talk or converse with the Wyvern Company?’
‘What do you think? I voiced my resentment of them. Once, shortly after my arrival, they came here to gape and stare. I told them who I was and what chains bound us together from the past.’
‘And?’
‘They just protested and walked away. They stayed away except for Chalk, who fell ill. I saw him here with Sub-Prior Richer; they sat in the shriving pew close to the Lady chapel. Of course all I could glimpse was him kneeling at the prie-dieu and the monk in the shriving chair. At the time I laughed to myself. I hoped Chalk would confess his sins against me and mine. I prayed such offences would thrust themselves up like black, stinking shrubs in his midnight soul.’ The anchorite breathed out noisily. ‘God forgive me, he must have done. One day Chalk, his face as white as his name, came and knelt outside my door. He begged my forgiveness for what he had done. He confessed it was a memory, something which happened on a summer’s day, a few heart beats when he’d been a soldier and didn’t give a fig about anyone. Oh, I forgave him, I had to. For his penance I asked him to pray for me and mine every day. He promised he would.’ The anchorite pulled a face. ‘Apart from that the Wyvern Company kept their distance except, strangely enough, Ailward Hyde. On the day he was murdered, he came into church. He was worried. He stopped to look at my paintings. He’d done this before. I shared a few words with him then something alarmed him. A figure crept in down near the Lady chapel. I heard a clatter as if a weapon was dropped. Hyde was also curious and followed in silent pursuit.’
‘Who was this figure?’
‘I don’t know; perhaps a monk. Anyway, Hyde took off in pursuit but someone else followed him, I’m certain of it. I glimpsed a black monk’s robe then it was gone, that’s all I can say.’
Athelstan nodded understandingly. ‘But let us go back, my friend: Kilverby, was he shriven by Richer?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what about Kilverby’s clerk, Crispin?’
The anchorite blinked and shook his head. ‘I saw Crispin, he often came here with his master. I noticed nothing untoward except one afternoon early last summer, around the Feast of the Baptist. Kilverby arrived at St Fulcher’s to pray before the rood screen. Crispin was with him. They, like many people, forgot about me as they strolled up and down the south aisle. On that particular day they were arguing.’
‘About what?’
‘Oh, Crispin coming to lodge here at the abbey. Crispin was respectful but insisted that he too should leave with his master. Kilverby strongly objected to this, saying Crispin’s eyes were failing. Crispin then said something rather strange: “I don’t want to live back here again”.’
‘I am sorry?’