By Murder's Bright Light (19 page)

‘Well! Well!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘We must be ready. Stay along the river bank, watch the water.’ He chuckled. ‘Like the good book says, the deep shall yield up its riches.’ His face became serious. ‘Oh, yes, my beauties. Father Thames has many secrets.’

He hid his flicker of annoyance as he made out the lights of the
God’s Bright Light.
The Fisher of Men felt cheated. Three sailors had disappeared from that cog. The Fisher of Men had heard about the murder of Bernicia and the search for Bracklebury, but what had happened to the other two members of the watch? Why wouldn’t the river give up this secret to him?

Sir Jacob Crawley greeted Cranston and Athelstan warmly. The friar was embarrassed by Sir John’s slight unsteadiness, but Sir Jacob chose to ignore it as he welcomed them into his cabin. A small trestle table had been set up, covered with white linen cloths and laid with silver goblets, cutlery and the very best pewter dishes. Lanterns had been lit and candlesticks, carefully fixed on to the table, bathed the cabin in a soft warm glow. Like its slightly smaller sister ships, the
Holy Trinity
was ready for war. Athelstan had seen these preparations as he and Cranston had come aboard. The
Holy Trinity’s
deck was cluttered with buckets of seawater against fire, while archers were bringing up bundles of arrows and placing them into small, iron-hooped barrels around the mast. As the admiral closed the cabin door behind him, Athelstan sensed he was entering a different world. Crawley ushered them to their chairs. They were served dishes that had been bought from cookshops and bakeries in Vintry. The food was not of the best, but still hot and spicy – venison pies, beef pastries, hot broth, quince tarts and different wines by the jugful. At first the conversation was a mere exchange of pleasantries, broken now and again by a knock on the door as an officer came to ask for advice or receive instructions.

‘Do you think Eustace the Monk will bring his galleys this far up the Thames?’ Athelstan asked.

Crawley nodded. ‘Within the hour, that mist on the river will be boiling thick and afford him the best protection.’ The admiral drank from his goblet and sat back. ‘It’s to be expected. For weeks we have been raiding towns along the Normandy coast and Eustace is insolent enough to try something daring. That he is here at all is danger enough.’ Crawley leaned closer. ‘Why, Brother, do you wish to go ashore? Please feel free.’

‘No.’ Cranston burped, smacked his lips and peered at a piece of velvet damask hanging on one wall of the cabin. ‘Sir Jacob, Brother Athelstan has fought in the king’s armies in France.’ Cranston did not elaborate on Athelstan’s brief military career, when his younger brother had been killed. ‘And old Jack Cranston is not frightened of any pirate.’ The coroner’s fat fingers drummed on the table top. ‘Moreover, Sir Jacob, we have business to attend to.’ He turned and winked quickly at Athelstan as a sign that they should tell Sir Jacob nothing about their discovery on board the
God’s Bright Light.

The admiral spread his hands. ‘Sir John, ask your questions. This time I will tell you the truth.’

‘Good, you disliked Roffel?’

‘No, Sir John, I hated him with every fibre of my being as a pirate, as a killer and a degenerate. In my eyes Roffel received his just deserts.’

‘Were you involved in his death?’

‘By the sacrament, no!’

‘Did you know about his attack on the fishing smack between Calais and Dieppe?’

‘No, Sir John, I did not. Once at sea, my captains are free to act as they wish. Their task is quite simple – to seek out and destroy as many of the enemy as possible. No questions are asked and, if they are, they rarely receive an honest answer.’

‘And on the day the
God’s Bright Light
came to anchor?’

Crawley shrugged. ‘I went aboard. I saw Roffel’s stinking corpse. I had a few words with Bracklebury and came back here.’

‘You sensed nothing wrong?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Yes, there was a feeling of unease. Bracklebury refused to meet my eye and seemed to resent my presence on board.’

Cranston cleared his throat and took one deep gulp from his goblet. Athelstan watched him warily. Sir John was already deep in his cups, his red face was now fiery, his whiskers bristling.

‘Sir Jacob,’ Cranston boomed, ‘there are two matters about which you have lied.’ He held a hand up as Crawley flinched at the insult. ‘Yes, sir, I say lie because I am your friend, not because I am a coroner. You told us you did not go back to the
God’s Bright Light
that night. We now know you did approach the ship, sometime after midnight, and spent some time there.’

Crawley chewed the corner of his lip. He played with a piece of crust on his trancher. ‘I am admiral of this flotilla. Roffel’s death disturbed me and Bracklebury’s suspicious conduct only deepened my mistrust. I saw the crew leave and I was concerned that just Bracklebury and two others stayed on board.’ He twisted his shoulders. ‘At first I accepted that. The passwords were carried, the signal lamps shown, the ships seemed quiet. But while I was on deck, I noticed light from the quayside signalling the
God’s Bright Light.
’ Crawley paused. ‘You said there were two matters?’

‘Aye!’ Cranston snapped. ‘The whore Bernicia came down to the quayside and hailed the
God’s Bright Light.
Bracklebury drove her off with a stream of curses. Surely you heard their altercation?’

‘Yes, yes, I did,’ Crawley answered wearily. ‘I heard that and I also saw a lantern blinking through the mist from the quayside. I became suspicious, so I went across. On board I found everything in order. The two sailors were on watch. Bracklebury was in the cabin, he was eating ship’s biscuit and drinking quite heavily, but he wasn’t drunk. I asked him about the signal, but he just smiled. He said it was from a whore he had befriended and this often happened when he stayed aboard on watch. He was polite in rather an offensive way, smirking as if treasuring some secret.’

‘How was the cabin?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Did you notice anything untoward?’

‘No. I went back on deck. I talked to the other two sailors.’ Crawley shrugged. ‘You know how seamen are, Sir John? They were awake and on watch but they’d made themselves comfortable. One was playing a game of dice against himself. The other joked about the different ways he would take the first whore he met ashore.’

‘So there was nothing wrong?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Yes there was, but I can’t put my finger on it. Something untoward. Something out of the ordinary. I went below deck. All was dark and silent, but I could see nothing wrong so I returned.’ The admiral sipped his wine. ‘The rest you know.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘When daylight came and the sailor returned and found Bracklebury and the watch missing, I became frightened. Something was dreadfully wrong and I did not want to take the blame so I lied.’

Athelstan sat back, cradling the cup between his hands. He remembered the entries at the back of Roffel’s book of hours.

‘Tell me, Sir Jacob, do the letters S L mean anything to you?’

The admiral shook his head. ‘No, I have told you the truth. I committed no crime.’

‘Oh, but you did,’ Athelstan replied. Even Cranston looked at him in astonishment.

Sir Jacob’s face paled. ‘What do you mean?’ he spluttered.

‘Well, a sort of crime,’ Athelstan continued. ‘You broke into St Mary Magdalene church. You plucked Roffel’s corpse from its coffin, cut its throat and left the proclamation ASSASSIN pinned to its chest.’

Athelstan watched the admiral carefully. He had reached this conclusion only as Crawley had given vent to his feelings about Roffel.

‘You have no proof of that,’ Crawley said.

‘Oh, come, Sir Jacob, let’s examine it logically. First, if any of the crew of
God’s Bright Light
had wished to abuse their dead captain’s remains, they would have done so on the return journey. But once Roffel’s corpse was removed from the ship they were only too pleased to see the back of it. Secondly, whoever perpetrated the crime was strong and fit. Now where would we find such a person?’ Athelstan looked Crawley straight in the eye. ‘Emma Roffel hated her husband, but she lacked the skill and strength to scale a church wall, force a window, pluck a man’s corpse out of a coffin and place it in a sanctuary chair. And, in any case, why should she? Thirdly, you, Sir Jacob, had the motive. You are the only one who holds against Roffel a specific crime – the murder of a kinsman.’ Athelstan smiled and relaxed. ‘You are, undoubtedly, innocent of Roffel’s murder. But you felt cheated. So you carried out your own trial then passed sentence.’

‘It could have been Bracklebury,’ Cranston smacked his lips and gazed blearily at the friar.

Athelstan frowned at him. ‘Sir John, Master Bracklebury has spent most of his time hiding from everyone. Why should he risk all on such a crime? I am right am I not, Sir Jacob?’

The admiral picked up his cup and glared defiantly at Athelstan.

‘Yes, Brother, you are. I was glad Roffel died. He was a murderer. On the day his corpse was taken ashore, I sent a member of my crew to find out where the body had been taken. He returned saying it now lay before the high altar in St Mary Magdalene church, but that Roffel’s widow was with it.’ Crawley slammed the cup down. ‘So I decided to wait.’ He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘What I did was wrong but Roffel deserved it!’

‘Tush! Tush!’ Cranston placed his hand over that of his former comrade. ‘Sir Jacob, you have told the truth?’

‘Jack, I have. I swear that!’

Any further conversation was cut short by a bump alongside and the sound of raised voices. Men ran along the deck outside, then the cabin door was thrown open and an officer rushed in.

‘Sir Jacob, my apologies.’

‘What is it, man?’

‘You had best come on deck, sir.’

Sir Jacob, with Cranston and Athelstan in tow, followed him out. Darkness had fallen and the admiral’s words had proved prophetic: the river mist now boiled and swirled like steam from a cauldron, obscuring the bows of the ship. The river itself was hidden, almost as if a heavy cloud had descended, cutting the ship off and shrouding it under a thick wall of silence and mystery. Athelstan peered through the gloom. Now and again he could see lights from the other ships. Then he heard the sound that had caused the alarm.

‘What the bloody hell is it?’ Cranston slurred.

Athelstan made his way cautiously to the ship’s side.

‘Bells, Sir John. Church bells sounding the alarm.’

‘There’s something else as well,’ the officer who had interrupted their meal shouted from the other side of the ship. ‘Sir Jacob, a boatman’s here. He calls himself Moleskin!’

Athelstan crossed the slippery surface of the deck and peered over the side. He could just make out Moleskin’s cheery face in the light from the lamp the boatman held up.

‘Moleskin, what are you doing?’ Athelstan cried.

‘Father, I knew you were here. I went across to the city side and they told me you were aboard the
Holy Trinity.
’

‘For God’s sake, man!’ Sir Jacob, who had joined Athelstan, shouted down. ‘What is so urgent? Have you not heard the news, man?’

‘I belong to Brother Athelstan’s parish,’ Moleskin retorted. ‘He looks after me. Came out to see my old mother he did.’

‘Sweet Lord!’ Crawley whispered. ‘The fellow’s mad!’

‘What do you want, Moleskin?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Oh, nothing really, Father. I was just worried. You see, those clever bastards on board think the French galleys are coming up-river against them. Well, I’ve seen them near the far bank, on the Southwark side. I couldn’t care what happens to the other buggers but I was worried about you and Lord Horsecruncher!’

‘Piss off!’ Cranston yelled.

‘And a very good evening to you, Sir John,’ Moleskin replied.

‘You had best go,’ Athelstan shouted down.

‘Don’t you worry, Brother, no bloody Frenchmen will catch me! I was working this river when they were little tadpoles!’

Moleskin’s voice echoed out of the depths of the mist. Athelstan peered down, the mist shifted for a few seconds but Moleskin and his boat had gone. Cranston leaned drunkenly against the side of the ship and looked at Crawley. Sir Jacob peered into the mist, rubbing his fingers through his small pointed beard. ‘What do you know of Moleskin, Father?’ the admiral asked.

‘One of the best boatmen on the Thames,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Shrewd, honest and sober. He knows the Thames like the back of his hand.’

‘Oh, sweet Lord!’ Cranston muttered. The cold night air was beginning to clear the wine fumes from his brain. ‘Farting Frenchmen!’ he said viciously.

‘What’s the matter?’ Athelstan asked.

Sir Jacob began shouting orders, instructing his officers to send a message to the ships along the line.

Athelstan grasped Cranston’s arm. ‘Sir John, what is happening?’

Cranston pulled him into a corner.

‘Look, Brother, the Frenchman is a cunning sailor. He’s probably come up the Thames, shadowing its north bank, passing Westminster, coming within sight of the Temple, Whitefriars, even Fleet Street. He did that to cause consternation, put everyone on their guard. Now, we expect an enemy coming up-river behind us, from the west. What the clever bastard Eustace has done is taken his galleys across river to the Southwark side. He’ll turn just before London Bridge and come sliding down from the opposite direction Sir Jacob’s expecting.’

‘And?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Brother! It’s the element of surprise!’ Cranston’s whiskers bristled at the prospect of action. ‘Can’t you see? It’s like me expecting a knifeman to come from my left but he rushes from my right. What will happen is this. Eustace has turned his galleys round. He’ll come sliding back, do as much damage as he can here, using the element of surprise, and then press on to the river mouth. He’ll make fools of the city, not to mention the king’s admiral. But not,’ Cranston bellowed into the mist-shrouded darkness, ‘of Sir John Cranston!’ He clapped Athelstan on the shoulder. Thanks to you, most favoured of friars and to that cheeky bugger, Moleskin, we’ll be well prepared!’