The Anger of God

‘I suspect,’ Cranston continued, ‘the assassin had practiced beforehand and so the murder was carried out in a matter of seconds. The dogs hardly knew what had happened whilst Sir Gerard died almost instantly,’ He nodded as Athelstan grasped his sleeve and whispered in his ear.

‘And Fitzroy?’ Gaunt asked.

Cranston waited until Athelstan had disappeared through the Guildhall door.

‘Oh, Fitzroy’s murder was much more clever. We must return to the room where he died. However, the assassin who killed Mountjoy used the same method to murder Sturmey. That pathetic locksmith, for reasons I shall explain later, was lured down to the quayside at Billingsgate. He was waiting for someone. He walked up and down, anxiously wondering when the man who had been blackmailing him would arrive. But the murderer was already there, hidden between the stalls or behind one of the warehouses. Again the crossbow was lifted, dagger in place. One minute Sturmey was standing on the quayside, the next a dagger struck deep into his chest and tumbled him into the river. This explains why there were no reports of anyone being seen even within hailing distance of the murdered man.’

Gaunt stared at the Coroner, tapping his fingers on the broad leather hunting belt round his slim waist.

‘My lord Coroner, the banqueting chamber has been prepared. Our clerk, Brother Athelstan, has gone up. I expect he awaits us. You have explained the deaths of Mountjoy and Sturmey.’ He was going to speak further but caught Cranston’s warning glance so instead turned, dug into his purse and flicked a gold coin at the armourer who had returned to the garden.

‘You have earned that, fellow. Stay here until this business is finished. And when you leave, keep a still tongue in your head or I’ll see you have no head or tongue to wag!’

Simon the armourer fell to his knees, overcome by a mixture of gratitude and gear, whilst Cranston led the rest back into the Guildhall.

CHAPTER 14

Athelstan was waiting for them in the banqueting chamber. The steward had laid out the tables as on the night of Fitzroy’s murder, a silver trencher at each place. At Athelstan’s request, Gaunt, Hussey and the rest took their seats. For a while there was some mumbling and muttering but Cranston’s lecture in the garden had made them fearful and apprehensive. Athelstan, who sat where Fitzroy had, smiled at Goodman on his left and De

‘My Lord, You can take Brother Athelstan’s seat.’ Cranston looked away, ‘On the night Fitzroy died, I know you were absent.’

The young nobleman, toying nervously with the hilt of his dagger, quietly obeyed. Athelstan once more peered round the room; two of the Guildmasters had already fallen into his small trap. Gaunt banged the table top, demanding they should continue, and Athelstan got to his feet.

‘Your Grace, the night Fitzroy died, we were, I believe, in the middle of a splendid banquet?’

‘A perceptive observation.’ Gaunt replied tartly.

‘No, Your Grace, it is important. Tell me,’ Athelstan continued, ‘had we finished the banquet?’

Gaunt wriggled in his seat, ‘Of course not. The main course had been served and the cooks were preparing dessert when Fitzroy brought matters to a macabre conclusion.’

‘Yes,’ Athelstan said, ‘I had forgotten about that until the other day when I ate a plum.’

‘For God’s sake!’ De

‘No, I did,’ Athelstan continued softly. ‘I ate a sugared plum. I was embarrassed because the sugar and honey syrup stuck to my gums and teeth. I had to prise bits loose from my mouth. S I washed my hands in a bowl of water, I suddenly realized the last time I’d had so much sugar on my fingers was when I examined Fitzroy just after he died. I wondered why the dead Guildmaster had so much sugar in his mouth when dessert had not even been served.’ He starred around the quiet room. ‘Your Grace, sirs, think back on what we ate that evening. Can any of you remember eating anything coated with thick sugar and syrup?’

‘Fitzroy could have eaten something before he came to the banquet.’ Hussey spoke defensively,

‘No, No,’ Athelstan replied, ‘We have already established that if Fitzroy had eaten such a poison beforehand, he would have died with the hour.’ Athelstan smiled as another of his listeners fell into his trap.

‘What do you mean?’ Gaunt snapped.

‘I mean, Your Grace that we established that Fitzroy did not take the poison before the meal. We also established that nothing he ate or drank at the banquet was poisoned. Yet,’ Athelstan continued, ‘Fitzroy was certainly poisoned in this room because he ate something none of us did.’

‘What?’ Hussey exclaimed, leaning forward, ‘Enough riddles, Brother.’

‘Fitzroy was poisoned by someone who knew he had a sweet tooth. Indeed, Fitzroy had an appetite for sugar. Some even called him a glutton. What I think happened is this. Someone who knew where Fitzroy was going to sit, placed a sweetmeat, something very sweet, beneath his silver plate before the banquet began. Only the cloying sugar helped hide the fact that this sweetmeat was soaked in poison. It was that sugar which I detected in the dead man’s mouth. I suspect this is how Fitzroy was killed.’

‘Nonsense!’ Goodman exclaimed his arrogant face now white and pale. ‘Wouldn’t Fitzroy think it strange?’

‘No.’ Athelstan replied,’ First, he had come to a banquet. Perhaps he thought a servant had dropped it or left it there as a small treat for him. Second,’ Athelstan smiled,’ you have all sat down. Before you on the table is a small trencher. Beside each of these, before you entered, I placed a sweetmeat. How many of you ate that sweetmeat? Popped it absentmindedly into your mouths?’

De

‘How do you know it wasn’t poisoned?’ Cranston barked, enjoying the look of stupefaction on their faces. He lumbered to his feet. ‘You did what any person might do, seated at a table waiting for a meal. You found something nice and popped it into your mouth. Fitzroy was no different. Indeed, with his appetite, he could scarcely resist.’

‘Yes, but who placed it there?’

The atmosphere chilled as Gaunt’s question hung like the sword of Damocles above them, Cranston pointed to Lord Adam Clifford.

‘You, sir, are a traitor, a liar and a murderer! I accuse you of maliciously causing the deaths of Sir Fitzroy, Peter Sturmey and Sir Gerard Mountjoy!’

Clifford sprang to his feet, his eyes wide with anger, his face suffused by rage. ‘You fat old fool!’ he yelled. ‘How dare you?’

Gaunt sat back in his chair, looking as if he had been pole-axed, whilst the Guildmasters started unbelievingly at Cranston. Clifford advanced threateningly towards the Coroner, hand on his danger. Sir John drew his own sword but the captain of Gaunt’s guard moved swiftly between the two men.

‘Lord Adam, I suggest you sit down,’ the solider said softly. He looked over his shoulder at his master. Gaunt had now regained his composure and nodded silently. His eyes never leaving his young lieutenant.

Sit down, Adam.’ He said quietly.’ My Lord Coroner, continue. But if his allegation is false, you shall answer for it.’

‘I will answer to God,’ Cranston retorted. He started round the assembled men. ‘Now let me tell you a story,’ he began, ‘of a kingdom where the prince is a mere child and all power rests with his uncle, the Regent. In the absence of a strong ruler, factions emerge, jostling for power. At court the nobles become immersed in deadly rivalries; in the city powerful burgesses vie for power. Outside in the countryside the labourers mutter treason, forming secret covens and groups to plot treasonable rebellion.’