Bloodstone(82)

‘Richer would have left now that the “Liber” was copied?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you resented that. I know you argued hotly about it.’

‘Of course we did! Why, Brother Athelstan, are you saying I killed my beloved friend?’

‘Lovers argue; they can even kill.’

‘We were not lovers in that sense,’ Prior Alexander whispered, eyes all fierce.

Athelstan held his gaze. ‘So how did you, Prior Alexander, spend yesterday evening and the early hours of this morning?’

‘I attended divine office. Well, I had to; for the rest I stayed in my chamber.’

‘Waiting for Richer?’

‘Yes, Brother Athelstan, waiting for Richer. He told me he intended to work late. I waited and waited,’ Prior Alexander’s voice broke, ‘but he never came.’

Athelstan looked at Sir John, who’d sat with his eyes half closed throughout this interrogation.

‘We need keep Prior Alexander no longer,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘He can leave and bring Wenlock before us.’

Wenlock was helped to his seat by one of the lay brothers; the old soldier looked pale, simply dressed in his nightgown, a cloak around his shoulders. He clutched a bowl explaining that he still felt nauseous and had been vomiting since yesterday evening.

‘It may have even caused Mahant’s death,’ he murmured immediately after taking the oath.

‘What?’ Cranston sat up in his chair.

Athelstan stopped writing.

‘Yesterday evening,’ Wenlock wearily explained, ‘Mahant came to my chamber. There was a platter of sweetmeats, just three or four left. I offered some to Mahant but he refused. I was hungry and ate them all. We were discussing Osborne’s death. I began to feel sick. I vomited into the jakes pot. Mahant believed, and so did I, I still do, that the sweetmeats were poisoned or tainted. Mahant began drinking. He grew hot against Richer. He blamed the Frenchman for all the ills which had befallen us. He cursed him.’ Wenlock paused, fighting back the urge to retch. ‘He vowed to confront Richer, make him pay for what had happened. I thought it was the wine talking. By then I did not really care, I was vomiting so much. Mahant asked if I wished to go to the infirmary, I said no and he left. I stripped off my clothes, put on my nightshirt and lay on the bed.’ Wenlock paused. ‘God assoil him, that’s the last time I saw Mahant alive. I woke in the early hours, my belly raging like a bubbling pot. I was freezing to death. I left my bed, put on a cloak, went down to the infirmary and hammered on the door to speak to the infirmarian. He made me drink water with some herbs infused. I fell asleep there, not waking until the tocsin sounded.’

‘You feel better?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Certainly, the retching has stopped.’

‘And you never saw Mahant after you fell sick?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any explanation why his corpse and that of Richer should be found in the hog sty?’

‘Brother Athelstan, I wish I did.’ Wenlock clutched his stomach. ‘Perhaps he and the Frenchman confronted each other.’

‘In that place, in the dead of night?’

‘Brother, I wish I knew.’

‘Were you and Mahant planning to leave St Fulcher?’

‘Of course. We had already moved some of our possessions to “The Pride of Purgatory” tavern. We were also preparing to petition His Grace for safer lodgings. We invoked the memory of his blessed brother the Black Prince. Can you blame us?’ Wenlock insisted. ‘We’d become no better than hogs for the slaughter here.’ He smiled at his own grim joke. ‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan, if you’ve finished . . .?’

Cranston let him go. The infirmarian was summoned but he could add little. He confirmed Wenlock’s story. As regards to the two most recent murders, he explained how both corpses were so badly mauled it was impossible to determine what had happened. The royal serjeant, captain of the archers, came last. He reported how the hogs had been slaughtered and, following Cranston’s order, both the sty and the pen had been scoured for any items but they’d found nothing. He left, followed by Brother Simon. The abbey church fell silent.

‘So?’ Cranston asked.

Athelstan rose, collecting together his quill pens and scrolls of soft vellum.

‘One last person.’

Cranston followed Athelstan down to the anker house. They heard movement within, a shape moved. The anchorite looked out, shifting to get a better view of Cranston.

‘I know what has happened. Now you have come down to question me. Sir John, I believe we have met. I shall never forget—’

‘Agnes Rednal.’ Cranston came up close to the anker slit. ‘You and I have hanged London’s worst.’