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‘Just after Prime this morning, Geoffrey Parchmeiner…’
The lieutenant looked slyly at Athelstan. ‘You have met him? The beloved prospective son-in-law? Well, he came across to waken Sir Ralph.’
‘Why Geoffrey?’
‘Sir Ralph trusted him.’
‘Did he bring food or drink?’
‘No. He wanted to, but because of the cold weather Sir Ralph said he wished to be aroused with Geoffrey in attendance. They would plan the day, and breakfast with the rest of the company in the hall.’
‘Continue,’ Cranston blurted crossly, stamping his feet against the cold.
‘Well, the guards led Geoffrey up the stairs, let him through the passageway door and locked it behind him. They heard him go down the corridor, knock on the door and shout, but Sir Ralph could not be roused. After a while Geoffrey came back. “Sir Ralph ca
‘And the shutters were open?’ Cranston asked.
‘Yes.’
‘How long has the moat been frozen solid?’ Athelstan queried.
‘About three days.’ Colebrooke rubbed his hands together vigorously. ‘Surely, Sir John, we need not stay here?’ he pleaded. ‘There are warmer places to ask such questions.’
Cranston stood and stretched.
‘In a little while,’ he murmured. ‘How long had Sir Ralph been constable?’
‘Oh, about four years.’
‘Did you like him?’
‘No, I did not. He was a martinet, a stickler for discipline — except where his daughter or her lover were concerned.’
Cranston nodded and went back to look at the corpse. ‘I suppose,’ he muttered, ‘there’s no sign of any murder weapon? Perhaps, Athelstan, you could check again?’
The friar groaned, but with Colebrooke’s help carried out a quick survey of the room, raking back the rushes with their feet, sifting amongst the cold ash in the fireplace.
‘Nothing,’ Colebrooke declared. ‘It would be hard to hide a pin here.’
Athelstan went across and pulled the sword from Sir Ralph’s sword belt. ‘There are no blood stains here,’ he commented. ‘Not a jot, not a speck. Sir John, we should go.’
Outside, they stopped to examine a stain on the passage floor but it was only oil. They were halfway down the stairs when Athelstan suddenly pulled the lieutenant back. ‘The two guards?’ he whispered. ‘They are the same sentries as last night?’
‘Yes. Professional mercenaries who served Sir Ralph when he was in the household of His Grace the Regent.’
‘They would be loyal?’
Colebrooke made a face. ‘I should think so. They took a personal oath. More importantly, Sir Ralph had doubled their wages. They had nothing to gain from his death and a great deal to lose.’
‘Do you have anything to gain?’ Cranston asked thickly.
Colebrooke’s hand fell to his dagger hilt. ‘Sir John, I resent that though I confess I did not like Whitton, notwithstanding His Grace the Regent did.’
‘Did you want Whitton’s post?’
‘Of course. I believe I am the better man.’
‘But the Regent disagreed?’
‘John of Gaunt kept his own private counsel,’ Colebroke sourly observed. ‘Though I hope he will now appoint me as Whitton’s successor.’
‘Why?’ Athelstan asked softly.
Colebrooke looked surprised. ‘I am loyal, and if trouble comes, I shall hold the Tower to my dying breath!’
Cranston gri
Colebrooke nodded. ‘Whitton was a hard taskmaster,’ he replied, ‘and the Great Community’s paid assassin would have found such a task fairly easy to accomplish.’
Athelstan too smiled and patted Colebrooke on the shoulder. ‘You may be right, Master Colebrooke, but there is only one thing wrong with such a theory.’
The lieutenant gazed dumbly back.
‘Can’t you see?’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Someone in the Tower must have told such an assassin where, when and how Sir Ralph could be found!’
A now crestfallen lieutenant led them down the stairs. The two burly, thick-set guards still squatted with hands outstretched towards the fiery red brazier. They hardly moved as Colebrooke approached and Athelstan sensed their disdain for a junior officer suddenly thrust into authority.
‘You were on guard last night?’
The soldiers nodded.
‘You saw nothing untoward?’
Again the nods, accompanied by supercilious smiles as if they found Athelstan slightly amusing and rather boring.
‘Stand up!’ Cranston roared. ‘Stand up. You whore-begotten sons of bitches! By the sod, I’ve had better men tied to trees and whipped till their backs were red!’
The two soldiers jumped up at the steely menace in Cranston’s voice.
‘That’s better,’ the coroner purred. ‘Now, my buckos, answer my clerk’s questions properly and all will be well.’ He grasped one by the shoulder. ‘Otherwise, I may put it about that in the dead of night you killed your master.’
‘That’s not true!’ the fellow grated. ‘We were loyal to Sir Ralph. We saw nothing, knew nothing, until the popinjay — ’ the guard shrugged ‘- the constable’s prospective son-in-law, comes rushing down, exclaiming he can’t rouse Sir Ralph. He grabs the key and is about to return, but the coward thinks better of it and sends for the lieutenant here.’
‘You heard him knock on the door and call Sir Ralph?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Of course we did.’
‘But he did not enter?’
‘The key was down here,’ the guard replied, pointing to a peg driven into the wall. ‘It was hanging before our eyes. There were only two. One here, and Sir Ralph had the other.’
‘You are certain of that?’ Cranston asked.
‘Yes, yes,’ the fellow confirmed. ‘I found the other key on the table next to the constable’s bed as soon as I opened the door. I have it now.’
Cranston nodded. ‘Ah, well,’ he breathed, ‘enough is enough. Let us see the tower from the outside.’
As they left the North Bastion, they suddenly heard an awesome din from the i
‘It’s only him,’ he murmured. ‘Look!’
Athelstan and Cranston watched in stupefaction as a great brown shaggy-haired bear lurched into full view. The beast stood on its hind legs, its paws pummelling the air.
‘I have seen bears before,’ Cranston murmured, ‘rough-haired little beasts attacked by dogs, but nothing as majestic as that.’
The bear roared and Athelstan saw the great chains which swung from the iron collar round its neck, each held by a keeper as the lunatic Red Hand led the animal across the bailey to be fastened to a huge stake at the far side of the great hall.
‘It’s magnificent!’ Athelstan murmured.
‘A present,’ the lieutenant replied, ‘from a Norwegian prince to the present king’s grandfather, God bless him! It is called Ursus Magnus.’
‘Ah!’ Athelstan smiled. ‘After the constellation.’
Colebrooke looked dumb.
‘The stars,’ Athelstan persisted. ‘A constellation in the heavens.’
Colebrooke smiled thinly and led them back to a postern gate in the outer curtain wall. He pulled back bolts and the hinges shrieked in protest as he threw open the solid, creaking gate.
No one, Athelstan thought, has gone through this gate for months.