The Straw Men(76)

‘And you, do you want to leave like Boaz?’

Judith simply pulled a face and shook her head.

‘I’ve spoken to Wolkind.’ She laughed at Athelstan’s puzzlement. ‘The servant who looks after you and the fat coroner in the Garden Tower? Well,’ Judith continued in a rush, ‘he took me to the Leech as my eyes are sore, and he told me about you and your parish. He has a kinsman who lives there. You would like a mummers play? All I can say,’ she paused to catch her quickening breath as Athelstan secretly marvelled at this young woman who could chatter more merrily than a spring sparrow, ‘is that when this is over, I will leave the Straw Men. Father,’ she grasped his arm, ‘could I settle in your parish? I have some money and I could arrange my own home. Father, the others are leaving. There’ll be no place for me to go. I could help you stage masques. I’ve served in taverns and workhouses. I am cook to the Straw Men . . .’

‘Mistress,’ Athelstan smiled. ‘I assure you. Once this is over, I shall give your request the most favourable consideration.’

Judith, grinning from ear to ear, jumped to her feet.

‘One thing, Judith . . .’

‘Father, I cannot speak about my companions.’

‘I respect that. You are Gaunt’s spies.’

‘Master Samuel certainly is.’

‘Did you spy for the Upright Men?’

‘I don’t think so, except for one strange thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Father, whatever Samuel is, he’s well known as Gaunt’s man and . . .’ Judith screwed up her eyes. ‘Father, isn’t it strange? We wander the shire roads, lonely paths where the power of the Upright Men is well known. Now, we have been attacked by wolfsheads, outlaws but the Upright Men . . .’

‘Have never accosted you.’

‘Yes, Father – at least, not until now. Isn’t that strange?’

‘Yes, Judith. Yes, it is!’





PART SEVEN





‘Celamentum: Secret’




Athelstan crossed himself, rose, genuflected towards the altar and left the chapel. He paused at the roaring from the menagerie which carried clear on the river breeze. Maximus! Athelstan made his way out into the inner bailey, down Red Gulley to St Thomas’ Tower. The entrance door was guarded by men-at-arms; one of these, eager to escape the evening cold, said he would fetch the royal beastmaster. The latter soon appeared and, seeing it was Athelstan, beckoned the friar into the cavernous cage chamber now dimly lit by torch light which jumped and spluttered in the wet breeze. Athelstan noticed how the narrow aisle past the bars had been scrubbed clean though the air was fetid. The great snow bear was not active but lay sprawled in one corner. Athelstan walked the full length of the aisle then turned and came back. He paused to examine the bar around which the great clinking chain was secured. He scrutinized it carefully and realized how quickly someone could pull back the clasp and leave it loose.

‘It was deliberate, wasn’t it?’ Athelstan turned to the beastmaster.

‘Oh, of course, Brother, we can’t understand how the intruder entered.’

‘What do you mean?’

The beastmaster pointed to the door leading down to the wharf, then the great gate which Maximus would go through to swim in the moat.

‘They are always locked, Brother, lest anyone tries to gain entry from the river. If Artorius left by the way we came in, he always locked the door behind him. When he returned, he’d do the same.’

‘But visitors? Artorius allowed Sir John and I to view Maximus.’

‘Oh, come, Brother, we all know why you are here.’

Athelstan smiled and turned away. They left the Tower, and Athelstan beckoned at the beastmaster to follow.

‘Whoever killed Artorius must have first persuaded him to open that door and allow him inside?’

‘Yes, and I reported so to Magister Thibault. Artorius was surly; he didn’t take kindly to visitors.’

Athelstan stared back at the door: of course, the bear keeper had no choice but to admit Cranston yet, even then, silver had changed hands.

‘There is another problem,’ the beastmaster declared. ‘Artorius was an old soldier; he served at Poiters. He was quick-witted, swift on his feet and could defend himself.’

‘What about some member of the garrison?’

‘Artorius despised them as weaklings, while he openly resented Master Thibault and his coven.’

Athelstan thanked him and strolled back into the inner bailey, lost in his thoughts.

‘Again there is a mystery,’ he murmured and stared up at the darkening sky. How could someone persuade Artorius to take him into that aisle then kill him? Athelstan walked on. If he remembered correctly, Thibault had informed him that a crossbow bolt had been loosed straight into Artorius’ forehead so he must have been facing his killer. Athelstan returned to his chamber in the Garden Tower. He fired the brazier, built up the meagre fire then nibbled at the dried bread, meat and fruit left on the platter. He was sure the good coroner would be feasting himself in the Tower refectory. Athelstan washed his hands, sat down at the chancery table and began to list what he termed ‘the steps’ leading into this mystery. Firstly, the attack on Cranston near Aldgate. Secondly, the assault on the Roundhoop. Thirdly, the murderous assault in Saint John’s Chapel. Fourthly, the attack on him outside St Peter’s. Fifthly, the murder of Eli. Sixthly, the slaying of the Wardes. Seventhly, the freeing of the great white bear, the murder of Artorius and the Upright Men’s assault on the Tower. Eighthly, the attack on himself and Sir John at Saint Erconwald’s. Ninthly, the meeting with Eleanor – or Mara – in Beauchamp Tower. Athelstan studied these steps. Was there, he wondered, dipping his quill into the ink, anything to connect all these? Was it the same one person behind all the mayhem, or most of it? Athelstan conceded that he was working on imperfect knowledge and uncertain facts. However, he reasoned, if one person was responsible for the murders, the assaults and the treachery, that person was not only a professional assassin but one who could move freely both in the Tower and outside it. Yet then again, according to what Athelstan knew, Thibault had severely restricted all passage in and out of the Tower; only he and Cranston had been permitted to leave and re-enter the fortress as they wished. Yet who had left the Tower and gained such easy entry into the Warde household to deal out death so silently, so carefully? And had the same person, armed with a war bow, struck down Huddle? If a professional assassin was at work outside the Tower, that would explain everything which had occurred beyond its walls, but Athelstan was sure that the same person was responsible for the attack on him near St Peter’s as well as the murder of Eli. Athelstan curbed his annoyance; try as he might, he could make little sense of what had happened. He drank a full goblet of wine, finished the meagre platter food and returned to his scrutiny.