Bloodstone(84)

‘Sir John,’ Athelstan made the coroner sit on the edge of the bed, ‘I know you to be honest – your face and your mood are easy to read, so don’t question me.’

Cranston sighed noisily.

‘Tomorrow morning at first light you and I, together with Master Crispin, are off to Kilverby’s mansion to confront an assassin. Whilst we are gone you must have archers, two to each person, guarding the abbot, his mistress, Prior Alexander, Wenlock and the anchorite. These archers must not leave their charges not even for a second. In fact, you should put your clothes back on and do that now. Master Crispin must also be protected until we leave tomorrow . . .’





EIGHT




‘Judicium: judgement.’


Athelstan sat at the late Sir Robert’s chancery desk and smiled around at the dead merchant’s assembled household. He, Crispin and the coroner had left St Fulcher’s just after dawn, risking their lives on a choppy, misty Thames. Thankfully Cranston had commandeered one of the great barges which had brought the archers so they had all huddled in their cloaks in its canopied stern. The secretarius had asked the reason for the haste. Athelstan simply assured him that the journey was essential. Mercifully, it also proved brief and without incident. They’d arrived in Cheapside and roused Kilverby’s household, Cranston brushing aside all objections. Whilst the coroner assembled everyone, Athelstan carefully examined the seals on Kilverby’s chamber; none of these had been interfered with. He broke them and had the chamber door unlocked. The chamber was dark, cold and musty-smelling. Candles were hastily brought, braziers wheeled in. Now with Cranston guarding the door, Athelstan lifted the empty casket which had once contained the Passio Christi. He also kept the palette of pens close to him. During the preparations he’d carefully scrutinized these.

‘Brother Athelstan,’ Lady Helen snapped, ‘why are you here?’

Athelstan ignored her and tapped the casket.

‘Sir Robert, on the eve of his murder, knew this was empty.’

‘But . . .’ Alesia interrupted.

‘Your father also mistakenly thought the bloodstone was in safe hands.’

‘Whose?’ Crispin spluttered.

‘Why yours, sir! I have brought you back here, Master Crispin, to confront you, to show you proof, to accuse you of the heinous murder of your master Sir Robert Kilverby, here in his own chamber.’

Exclamations and cries greeted his words. Crispin, hands shaking, sprang to his feet protesting. Cranston, hiding his surprise, strode forward and forced the clerk back on to his stool.

‘You’re a murderer,’ Athelstan accused, ‘and you’ll hang for it.’

‘I am not—’

‘You are what I say. All of you,’ Athelstan stared around, ‘listen carefully, especially you, Master Crispin, because your life, and indeed your death, depend on it.’ Athelstan took a deep breath, staring hard at Crispin’s fearful face. ‘I shall be succinct. I shall try not to repeat what you already know. Sir Robert had grown rich; he’d also become frightened of impending justice. In his heyday he’d held the Passio Christi as merrily as he had gleefully taken a share of all the plunder of the Wyvern Company in France. However, dreading the fast approaching day of judgement was only the beginning. In his visit to St Fulcher’s he also met Richer, a monk from St Calliste, sent to England with the specific task of reclaiming everything looted from his own abbey, especially the Passio Christi.’ Athelstan paused. ‘Richer was undoubtedly eloquent but he had something more powerful, the “Liber Passionis – the Book of the Passion of Christ”, a most detailed description of the bloodstone – drawn up by no less a person than a saintly pope. Richer swore Sir Robert to secrecy, as he probably had William Chalk, and let him read that singular manuscript. Now the “Liber” clearly describes the history, power and properties of that most holy relic. The “Liber” specifically states every insult and injury to the Passio Christi provokes divine judgement. Richer played on this. He harassed Sir Robert’s soul until the merchant asked for forgiveness. Now Kilverby’s mind was fertile soil. Lady Helen, I apologize for this, though it is well known: Sir Robert’s marriage to you was not as happy as he would have wished. Perhaps he saw that, as well as the death of his beloved first wife, as all part of divine judgement.’

‘I do not think . . .’

‘My Lady,’ Athelstan smiled apologetically, ‘that is only one strand of the close, cloying web which snared your late husband’s soul. He became fearful that other misfortunes might befall him – why not? Crispin, his loyal secretary, was losing his sight and what would happen if anything dreadful befell his beloved heir and daughter – you, Alesia?’