On their return to St Fulcher’s Athelstan discovered the reason behind Cranston’s statement. The coroner had been busy and his messages into the city had borne fruit. The watergate and every entrance into the abbey were now guarded by royal archers, men-at-arms and mounted hobelars. The same, Cranston declared as he strode across Mortival meadow, patrolled the fields and woods beyond the abbey walls whilst the cog they’d glimpsed had taken up position off the abbey quayside.
‘There will be no more secret meetings, leaving or goings,’ Cranston insisted as they reached the guest house. ‘Everyone, and I mean everyone, will stay where they are.’ The coroner’s edict was soon felt. Cranston relaxed it a little, allowing carts of produce, visitors, beggars and pilgrims, as well as individual monks, to come and go but the royal serjeants had their orders. Everything and everyone were thoroughly searched. The protests mounted. Wenlock and Mahant tried to leave claiming they hoped to secure lodgings in the city along Poultry. Cranston refused them permission. Abbot Walter, still shocked and surprised at the truths he’d had to face as well as the death of his beloved Leda, retreated to his own chamber with his mistress and daughter. Prior Alexander and Richer, however, were furious. They both confronted Cranston and Athelstan as they broke their fast in the buttery. The two monks were joined by Crispin, who bleated he should journey back to the city, claiming he had urgent business with Genoese bankers in Lombard Street. Cranston heard them out, cleared his throat and ordered all three to shut up and listen.
‘You,’ he pointed with his finger, ‘all of you are suspects in this matter.’
‘How dare you?’ Richer’s handsome face reddened with rage. He fidgeted with the hilt of the silver dagger in its embroidered sheath on the cord around his waist.
‘Oh, I dare,’ Cranston replied evenly, ‘that’s the problem, my friends. This abbey is like a maze of alleyways. People scurry about bent on any mischief, even monks who go armed.’
‘I am fearful,’ Richer retorted, ‘the Wyverns hate me. Men are being murdered.’
‘Which is why you are all suspects?’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Anyone associated with Sir Robert, the Passio Christi or the Wyvern Company must hold themselves ready for questioning either here or the Tower. That includes you, Master Crispin. I would like you to stay here at least for a day.’
‘Why?’ the clerk protested.
‘Because I am determined to finish these matters,’ Athelstan declared. ‘Don’t worry, this applies to everyone else. Sir John, I am sure, has issued instructions that all members of Sir Robert’s household be confined to their mansion.’
‘Are you so close to the truth?’ Prior Alexander asked.
‘Very close – we always were,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘We are just frustrated by lies and evasions and that includes you again, Master Crispin. You knew full well that Sir Robert was spending lavishly, bribing the monks of St Fulcher to send back treasures to St Calliste, and that you and Sir Robert were once novices here. That Sir Robert was not going on pilgrimage but fleeing. I am sure all his accounts are in order.’
‘I don’t . . .’
‘Please don’t lie,’ Athelstan warned. ‘Sir Robert was not coming back. He did not intend to leave the Passio Christi here but take it back to St Calliste himself, or so I suspect.’ Athelstan brought the flat of his hand down loudly on the table. ‘So yes, we may be close to the truth, though gaps remain. Consequently you will all stay here until we finish. Now, sirs, we would like to finish our meal. However, before I do, one last question, Master Crispin: what are you actually doing here?’ Athelstan jabbed a finger at him. ‘Again, no lies. You came to find out what was happening?’
Crispin nodded. ‘True,’ he sighed, ‘the mansion in Cheapside is now surrounded by archers. I had to discover what was going on.’
‘Now you have,’ Athelstan replied. ‘So, all of you, please go.’
‘Are we close to the truth?’ Cranston asked once their visitors had left.
‘Yes and no, my Lord Coroner. Yes in the sense that we have the keys but we don’t know which keys fit which locks. We are now dependant on time and three other factors: first, and I must reflect on this, a vigorous search of this abbey, including Richer’s chamber, might be of use. Secondly, matters proceed apace. Another bloodletting might take place and the killer might make a mistake.’
‘And the third?’
Athelstan took a deep breath. ‘God also demands justice. I pray he gives it a helping hand.’