Murder Most Holy (28 page)

‘You say you have proof?’ Brother Eugenius jibed. ‘What proof, Sir John? This Inner Chapter has been destroyed by our waiting around for you and the good Athelstan to resolve these matters. Father Prior, we will wait no longer. Let Cranston say what he has to and let’s be gone.’

The coroner drew himself up to his full height. ‘Sit down!’ he roared. ‘Believe me, Brother, we shall not keep you long.’

All the Dominicans present looked towards Father Prior for guidance. He just nodded.

‘Yes, yes,’ he muttered. ‘Do as Sir John says and let’s sit down.’

They took their seats round the long polished table. Father Prior at one end, Cranston and Athelstan at the other. There was further objection to the presence of Norbert and the quarter-staff he carried but, once again, Cranston roared that he would have his way. Father Prior shrugged, rapped the top of the table for silence and glared down the table at Athelstan.

‘Brother,’ he began, ‘in half an hour we assemble to celebrate Solemn High Mass. The Master Inquisitor and Brother Eugenius have ruled that Brother Henry of Winchester’s writings contain no heresy, whilst Brothers Niall and Peter claim they cannot refute, according to either Scripture or Tradition, the truth of what he writes.’ The Prior rubbed his tired, lined face. ‘Accordingly, unless you can explain clearly and fully the resolution to the terrible deaths which have occurred here, I shall declare the Inner Chapter finished, mass will be sung, and we shall all go our separate ways. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Father Prior.’ Athelstan picked up the sack, brought out the book and pushed it down the table towards the prior. ‘Read that! Open it where the purple strip of silk ribbon marks the place.’

‘Why should I read it?’

The group now fell silent, all eyes staring at Athelstan.

‘You should read it, Father Prior,’ Cranston stated, getting to his feet, ‘because it proves that our young theologian here, Henry of Winchester, is a liar, a thief and an assassin.’

The accused Dominican leaned against the table. He glared at Cranston then at the book, one hand going out; he would have snatched it if Brother Norbert hadn’t leaned over and smacked him sharply on the wrist.

Cranston grinned at the young lay brother. ‘Well done, Norbert, my son. If you ever leave Blackfriars, I can secure you a good post as a member of my guard.’

Athelstan sat still and let the coroner proceed for he felt sick at heart that here, in the great monastery of Blackfriars, he had to accuse a fellow friar of the murder of four of his brethren. Henry of Winchester sat back in his seat, his face white now, dark eyes staring like some trapped animal’s.

‘You are a liar!’ Cranston accused. ‘Because you made claims which are false. You are a thief because you stole the work of Hildegarde of Bremen, a Prussian abbess who lived one hundred and twenty years ago and wrote a brilliant treatise on why God became incarnate. An original, quite lucid treatise which was rejected at the time.’ Cranston grinned round at the other Dominicans. ‘Because it was not fashionable for women to speculate on the divine science of theology, her writings were buried, even destroyed. But you, Brother Henry, came across a copy. You took it, word for word, and proclaimed it as your own work. You thought you would escape detection. Very few copies of Hildegarde’s work remain. You came to Blackfriars to debate the issue with Brothers Niall and Peter whilst our friends in the Inquisition looked on.’

Cranston stood up. ‘You made one mistake. Brother Callixtus was not a theologian but, as my good friend Athelstan informed me, he did have a prodigious memory. You see, the library here at Blackfriars had a copy of Hildegarde’s work. Your treatise sparked a memory in Callixtus and he mentioned it to his good friend Alcuin.’ Cranston paused as Henry of Winchester leaned forward, jabbing a finger towards the coroner.

‘No theological treatise is original.’ He glanced quickly round at the others for confirmation. ‘I never said it was. How did I know that Callixtus knew anyone called Hildegarde?’

‘I can’t prove that,’ Cranston replied, ‘but Callixtus, like every human being, felt a twinge of jealousy. He must have mentioned the name Hildegarde to his good friend Alcuin, and I suggest one of them baited you with it.’ Cranston shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t take much. Just drop the name in your presence. A warning that they knew the full truth. Hence Callixtus’s enigmatic statement that the Inner Chapter was wasting its time. Of course it was,-debating a work written many years ago.’ He paused. ‘I suspect Alcuin was the first to bait you and so was summoned to the crypt below. But in the dark, you mistook Brother Bruno and sent him crashing to his death.’ Cranston shrugged. ‘Alcuin had to go so you waited for him in the church, no difficult feat. Callixtus went next, and then poor Roger. In the meantime, probably by watching Callixtus, you had found this original work and destroyed it. You made one mistake. The Dominicans at Oxford have copies of all the manuscripts here and so Athelstan sent for a replacement.’

‘Is this true?’ Father Prior interrupted, addressing the Inner Chapter to gain time in which to recover his wits. The rest were still gaping open-mouthed at the coroner. The prior opened the book and smoothed the pages out. ‘Master William de Conches,’ he called, ‘Eugenius, come here! You have studied Henry of Winchester’s work closely enough. Let me hear your judgement.’

The Inquisitors rose. Father Prior passed them the book and they stood in a corner of the room poring over the manuscript. The rest just sat, the accused glaring into middle distance though now and again his dark eyes darted baleful glances at Athelstan. At last William de Conches closed the book and laid it before Father Prior.

‘Brother Henry of Winchester,’ he announced, ‘may not be guilty of murder but he is certainly a thief and a liar who stole someone else’s work and proclaimed it his own.’

The young theologian smirked to himself.

‘What do you find so funny, Brother?’ Cranston purred.

‘I may have taken someone else’s work and developed it further.’

‘Nonsense!’ Eugenius interrupted, turning his back on Athelstan and glaring down the table. ‘You stole what was not yours. In the first page Hildegarde constructs the hypothesis argued by you. The same quotations from scripture. The same sayings of the fathers. You are a thief!’

Henry of Winchester lifted his hand. ‘I am not a murderer,’ he replied slowly. ‘You have no proof that I pushed Father Bruno down those steps. You have no proof that I pushed Callixtus from that ladder. You have no proof that I hanged that idiot Roger, and you certainly have no proof that I garrotted Brother Alcuin.’

‘You had the motive!’ Father Prior snapped, staring down at the book.

‘You are a murderer!’ Athelstan proclaimed loudly, rising to his feet. ‘And you have just confessed it.’

‘What do you mean?’

Athelstan smiled bleakly. ‘Everyone knew Father Bruno fell from the steps, that Callixtus fell from a ladder, that Roger was found hanging from a tree – but who told you Alcuin was garrotted?’

An angry hiss greeted Athelstan’s words.

‘Father Prior,’ he continued, ‘you are my witness. Did I announce that Alcuin had been garrotted? Did you, Sir John? Brother Norbert, you helped My Lord Coroner sheet Alcuin’s corpse – did you know?’

The lay brother shook his head.

‘That is correct!’ William de Conches exclaimed. ‘Brother Athelstan, Sir John, you actually claimed Alcuin was stabbed!’

Brothers Niall and Peter murmured in unison. Sir John Cranston clapped his hands.

‘Dear Brothers,’ he announced with a self-satisfied smirk, ‘my clerk has it right. You were all shocked by the discovery of Alcuin’s corpse. It was apparent he was dead, obvious he had been murdered. Indeed, on my orders, Brother Athelstan claimed Alcuin had been struck by a dagger.’

Henry of Winchester leaned forward, his eyes darting round the assembled company. He licked his lips.

‘Surely you told us, Sir John? Anyway, I saw the corpse.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ Father Prior said quietly. ‘The lid of poor Brother Bruno’s coffin was taken off. The terrible stench drove us all away to the other side of the altar. Alcuin’s corpse was immediately sheeted, coffined and taken to the death house. Is that not true, Brother Norbert?’

The young lay brother who had been watching, a look of stupefied amazement on his face, just grunted his reply.

‘Enough is enough!’ Cranston grated. ‘Brother Henry of Winchester, I accuse you of the murder of four of your brothers!’

‘Wait!’ William de Conches raised his hand. ‘Brother Henry is a member of the Dominican Order. Father Prior, I understand that Sir John may very well put him on trial, but in England if an accused man pleads benefit of clergy he can escape the secular courts. Brother Henry should return with us. The Court of the Inquisition answers to God alone!’

Cranston looked at Athelstan who nodded and looked pityingly towards Henry of Winchester. The disgraced friar now sat with his hands covering his face.

‘Let him be bound,’ Eugenius added quietly.

Father Prior looked as if he was going to protest but then waved his hand. ‘Yes, take him,’ he said. ‘Take him now. Be out of Blackfriars first thing tomorrow morning.’

The two Inquisitors rose and hustled Henry of Winchester through the door, Father Prior telling Brother Norbert to go with them. Peter and Niall followed quickly afterwards, still shocked at the revelations. They nodded at Athelstan and murmured a speedy farewell. Father Prior just sat, hands on either side of the book, head bowed, tears running down his cheeks. Cranston, now the drama was over, coughed self-consciously and went to look out of the window as if intent on the distant activities of the monastery. There was a rap on the door and Brother William de Conches re-entered. He stood staring at Athelstan.

‘I am sorry,’ he murmured.

‘For what?’

The Master Inquisitor shrugged. ‘We were wrong. You are a good priest, Athelstan, a fine Dominican.’ He smiled thinly. ‘You would have made an excellent Master Inquisitor.’ He bowed, and before Athelstan could answer, closed the door gently behind him.

Father Prior regained control of himself. ‘He’s right, you know, Athelstan. You were sent to St Erconwald’s as a punishment. I instructed you to help Sir John as a penance.’ He gazed at Athelstan. ‘I thank you for what you have done here. I apologise for my harsh words earlier. You were right. The truth is the truth, and a lie is like a canker – eventually it grows to spoil everything. Why did you think Hildegarde was the key?’

‘Father Prior, this was the strangest matter I have ever investigated. I had no proof. The only clue was that name.’ He smiled. ‘She must have been a great lady, a deep thinker. Her work should be more widely studied and read. Perhaps it was she who guided us.’

‘What will happen to him?’ Cranston asked abruptly.

Father Prior rose, cradling the book in his hands. ‘He will be returned to the Papal Inquisition in Rome or Avignon. Believe me, Sir John, after they have finished with him, the horrors of being hanged at the Elms will seem as nothing.’ Father Prior walked down the room and clasped Athelstan’s hand. ‘You can come back any time you wish. Your penance is truly finished.’ He turned quickly. ‘But I forget myself. Sir John – the riddle you had to solve?’

‘Done,’ Cranston replied expansively. ‘As St Paul says: “in a twinkling of an eye”.’

‘Then,’ Father Prior answered, turning to Athelstan, ‘you will not need that letter?’

‘I have already destroyed it, Father.’

Father Prior smiled at them both and left the room.

Cranston and Athelstan returned by barge to Southwark. The coroner, proud as a peacock, insisted on accompanying the friar back to his church. Sir John chattered like a magpie, loudly proclaiming for half the river to hear what he would do with his thousand crowns, his eloquence aided and abetted by the miraculous wineskin. Nevertheless, the coroner kept a sharp eye on Athelstan. He sensed the friar’s depression at what had happened at Blackfriars. Athelstan gazed moodily across the river, now silent on a Sunday afternoon with only the occasional wherry or barge making its way down to Westminster.

They landed at St Mary’s Wharf and walked through the alleys and streets of Southwark, strangely calm and still on this warm summer’s afternoon.

‘Lazy buggers!’ Cranston observed. ‘Probably sleeping off a morning’s drinking.’

‘Yes, Sir John. It’s terrible what people can pour down their throats.’

Cranston gazed at him narrowly and pushed his miraculous wineskin deeper under his cloak. St Erconwald’s was also quiet and placid, the church steps deserted, the cemetery and small garden round the priest’s house undisturbed except for the hum of bees hovering round the wild flowers which grew there.

Athelstan made sure everything was in its place: the priest’s house was still locked, Philomel was busy eating in his stable, so Watkin had been conscientious in his duties. Ursula the pig woman’s enormous sow had finished off the last of the cabbages. Athelstan cursed loudly.

‘You’ve still got your onions,’ Cranston observed.

Athelstan thought of Crim’s confession, smiled and shook his head.

‘Come on, Sir John, let us see how the church is.’ He unlocked the door and stood for a few seconds in the porch. ‘Strange,’ he said, ‘isn’t it, Sir John?’

Cranston, standing behind him, snatched the miraculous wineskin away from his lips.

‘What do you mean, Brother? You’re in an odd mood.’

Athelstan walked up the darkened church, noticing how the sound of his footsteps shattered the hallowed silence. He stopped halfway up and looked to where the parish coffin stood empty in the transept.

‘So much has happened here,’ he said in a half-whisper. ‘Joy, grief, anger, murder. A strange place, Sir John!’

Cranston took one more swig from the wineskin and narrowed his eyes. The coroner recalled Father Prior’s invitation.

Oh, sweet Lord, he prayed, don’t let Athelstan go. He can’t leave me.

Cranston stared at the friar’s broad shoulders and suddenly realised he had come to love this strange priest. Athelstan walked under the rood screen and into the sanctuary.