The Devil's Domain (31 page)

A short while later de Fontanel swept in, cloak billowing about him, his high-heeled boots rapping on the wooden floor.

‘My Lord of Gaunt.’ De Fontanel slapped his feathered hat against his thigh. ‘Why am I summoned here? To receive your apologies, your assurances?’

‘Shut up!’ Gaunt barked. ‘And sit down!’

Gervase waved him to the stool beside him. De Fontanel obeyed. He sat opposite Gaunt, face impassive; now and again he glanced down the table at Vamier.

‘You arrived at a most interesting time, Monsieur,’ Athelstan began. ‘I want to make certain things very clear. First, the English had no spy on the St Sulpice and St Denis: their capture and destruction were due to the fortunes of war.’

De Fontanel scraped the stool back.

‘I swear,’ Athelstan held his hand up, ‘by the Mass I celebrated this morning that I speak the truth.’

The consternation on de Fontanel’s face was apparent.

‘Secondly, Monsieur de Fontanel, you are no more a Frenchman than I am. Your name is Richard Stillingbourne, formerly an English clerk. You fled to France where you are known as Mercurius, an assassin and a spy.’

‘This is nonsense!’ De Fontanel made to rise but Gervase grasped his wrist.

He snatched the envoy’s gold chain from round his neck and threw it to the floor. The Keeper of the House of Secrets’ delight was apparent. If Gaunt hadn’t stretched out a restraining hand, de Fontanel would have been struck as well as disgraced. The Frenchman placed his hands on the table, breathing heavily, eyes darting about.

‘You are a traitor.’ Gaunt picked up the small fruit knife, balancing it between his fingers. ‘And you are in my jurisdiction, Monsieur de Fontanel.’

‘Where’s the proof?’

‘I’ll come to that,’ Athelstan said. ‘So, let’s go at it hand in hand. Let’s charge the truth, Monsieur de Fontanel, and grasp it with both our hands.’ He picked up the Abrin peas and threw one down on the table. ‘You know what these are?’

De Fontanel caught the hard pea.

‘You do know what they are, don’t you?’ Athelstan persisted. ‘After all, you have been to Italy and visited Venice.’

‘I know nothing about gardens or herbs,’ de Fontanel sneered, but his sallow face had paled. He kept glancing at Vamier.

‘In which case,’ Athelstan said, ‘swallow it. Chew it carefully and swallow it. I assure you there’s nothing wrong.’

De Fontanel threw the pea down on the table and let it bounce on to the floor.

‘Of course you wouldn’t.’ Athelstan sighed. ‘And I apologise for my lie. The Abrin seed is deadly. If a full-grown man took two, death would occur within the hour. From the little I know it has similar properties to hemlock. The Council of Ten in Venice use it to determine the truth. The accused is given two of these. If the prosecutor wishes him to die, he is made to chew. However, if the prosecutor, for his own secret reasons, wishes the man to be deemed innocent, he simply tells him to swallow them. The casing of the paternoster pea is very hard, rather like the pip of an apple. It goes into the gut and is discharged into the privy with no ill effects. Now.’ Athelstan opened his wallet and took out his own rosary beads. ‘Mercurius, Monsieur de Fontanel, whatever you wish to call yourself.’ He waved a hand airily. ‘You were sent from Paris to kill the supposed spy among these prisoners. You knew one of them was innocent, your own agent Pierre Vamier. Before you entered, I offered Vamier the seeds: he was quite prepared to swallow them because he knew their secrets. You came here and gave each prisoner a set of Ave beads.’ Athelstan wrapped his own rosary beads round his fingers. ‘Apart from Vamier! He can’t find his now because, instead of ordinary beads, he was given a string of Abrin seeds, the wherewithal to kill the prisoners.’

Confusion broke out as de Fontanel and Vamier protested their innocence. Gresnay, however, remained quiet, gazing intently at his companion. Athelstan realised that Gresnay himself must have seen something which he now judged suspicious.

‘How could I do this?’

Only the presence of Gaunt’s guards forced de Fontanel back into his seat.

‘Oh, it was quite easy,’ Athelstan replied. ‘You visited the prisoners. You were allowed to talk to them, bring them gifts. Who would object to a set of rosary beads for men far from hearth and country? Vamier would be given secret instructions. You, of course, had been in the city and visited Mistress Vulpina who kept every known poison under the sun. You really didn’t care if the prisoners died! You would be rid of a spy, no ransoms would have to be paid while the Goddamns would take the blame. What you didn’t realise was that my Lord of Gaunt was deeply interested in these murders. Mercurius might come out of the shadows. His masters in Paris were both furious and frightened: two great warships lost. Mercurius, himself, would have to deal with the matter. A truce was arranged and you were immediately despatched to England as an official envoy. Your appearance has changed, you speak French fluently, and you have all the protection protocol dictates. My Lord of Gaunt, of course, did not know this but he suspected Mercurius was in England. So, he sent in his most feared investigator, the lord coroner, Sir John Cranston.’

Sir John bowed his head and beamed at the compliment.

‘Questions were being asked,’ Athelstan continued. ‘So Vulpina had to disappear. You killed her and her two henchmen then burnt their infernal den to the ground. You also had other orders: Sir Maurice Maltravers had to be punished. You hired those two shaven-headed assassins.’ Athelstan’s voice rose. He felt a hot flush of anger in his cheeks. ‘They crossed to Southwark to kill both him and me. Life to you, Mercurius, is very, very cheap!’

‘This is nonsense,’ de Fontanel rushed in. ‘You have no evidence. Nothing but conjecture.’

‘He has evidence.’ Gresnay spoke up, his eyes fixed on Vamier.’ I was in your room, Pierre, a few days ago. I saw your rosary beads were broken; some of the beads were missing. You kept it well hidden, underneath the candlestick on your table.’

‘That’s how poor Lucy died,’ Sir John said. ‘Vamier here was careless. Some of the beads fell on the ground. Poor Lucy was always picking things up and putting them in her mouth.’

‘A useless and futile death,’ Athelstan said. ‘A poor, witless innocent.’

Vamier dropped his gaze.

‘Didn’t you care?’ Gresnay burst out. ‘Pierre.’ He spoke quickly in French but Athelstan could follow him. ‘They were our friends. We fought back to back against a common foe. Aye, we burned and we pillaged, but murder like this? Of your own friends and companions?’

‘Mercurius’ real work,’ Athelstan went on, ‘was here at Hawkmere and it was quite easily done.’ He pointed at the French envoy. ‘You met Vamier and handed over the poisonous Ave beads. You convinced him how they were only noxious to chew. Vamier had no choice but to accept. After all, he wanted to return to France as quickly as possible.

‘Serriem was the first to die. He’d be easy to persuade, especially after he had seen you swallow the seeds and suffer no ill effects. How did you describe them?’ Athelstan asked. ‘As a herb which would help? And was it the same for Routier? He would be the most gullible victim. He would need his strength, be ready to take any medication which might help his escape. Again, you showed him the seeds were not noxious, probably just before he climbed that wall and made his escape. Both men, even in their dying agonies, would never suspect the seeds were the cause of their deaths. Not from a friend who had eaten them himself and suffered no ill effects.’

‘That’s true, Vamier!’ Gresnay’s voice rose to a scream. ‘You always were persuasive, a senior officer whose hatred of the Goddamns was well known.’ He beat on the table. ‘You were playing chess with Serriem the night he died! That poor bastard would take anything you offered, as would Routier!’ Gresnay blinked back the angry tears. ‘He trusted you completely. He was worried that he might not have the physical strength to make his escape. I offered him some food. You gave the poor fool those damn seeds. What did you do? Swear him, and poor Serriem, to secrecy? Tell them how you didn’t have enough to share among the rest? I suppose,’ he added bitterly, ‘I was next.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Athelstan said. ‘I suspect de Fontanel would offer to pay for your and Vamier’s ransom from his own pocket, or take a loan from the merchants in the city. He would act all concerned. However.’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘Monsieur Gresnay, I do not think you would have survived long in France.’

‘And Maneil?’ Gresnay asked.

‘Ah. Mercurius, or Monsieur de Fontanel, was very clever. Two men had died from poisoning but the death of Limbright’s daughter, well, it muddied the pool a little. You see Mercurius wanted the blame for all these deaths to be laid firmly on the doorstep of the Goddamns. None of the prisoners were armed so, when Mercurius last visited Hawkmere, he probably came armed with a small arbalest for his own protection. However, in the confusion following Routier’s escape, Mercurius decided to seize his opportunity. The arbalest and the bolts were hidden away. Vamier was told of their whereabouts, behind a chair, a bench or even a latrine. He was allowed to mix with you?’

‘Yes,’ Gresnay snarled. ‘And he had a word with each of us.’

‘That’s true.’ Sir Maurice spoke up. ‘The manor was in uproar.’

‘Mercurius simply exploited the opportunity,’ Sir John added. ‘Limbright was mourning for his daughter. The guards were still recovering from the hunt for Routier. Mercurius realised that death by a crossbow bolt would simply confirm suspicion that the assassin could not possibly be one of the prisoners.’

‘Is that possible?’ Aspinall asked. ‘I mean, to dispose of?’

‘There are privies here, aren’t there?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Yes, yes there are, along the top gallery where Maneil had his chamber.’

‘The arbalest would be small,’ Athelstan explained. ‘Like one ladies use when they go hunting. How long would it take Mercurius to tell Vamier that an arbalest was hidden in a certain place, a few seconds? Vamier acted quickly, exploiting the chaos: he collected the arbalest, concealed it beneath his doublet, knocked on Maneil’s door and killed him. He then dismantled the crossbow and probably threw it down a privy where it would sink in the mud and ordure, never to be found.’

‘You still have no real evidence,’ de Fontanel screamed.

‘Oh, we have evidence,’ Athelstan replied. ‘As well as the sheer logic of my conclusion. I began to suspect there were two killers. One inside and one out. First, let’s take Routier’s escape. Why did he choose that particular way? How did he know the shutters of the window in that outhouse weren’t locked? The prisoners were never allowed to go there, so the information must have been given by someone visiting the manor. Secondly, Mercurius, on your last visit, you said something intriguing just before you left Hawkmere. You came here and sat beside Vamier. You told the prisoners to fall to their prayers. I recalled the gift of Ave beads and wondered if your words were a code, a secret message.’

De Fontanel got to his feet. ‘I am an envoy of the French court,’ he said. I know nothing of this Mercurius. I certainly have no responsibility for the terrible deaths which have occurred here or elsewhere.’ He swallowed hard, glancing at the door. ‘I have hardly left my lodgings! Why should I wander around Whitefriars?’

‘Who told you Vulpina lived there?’ Sir John jibed. ‘You went there disguised as a priest; that was a mistake, strangers never visit Whitefriars.’

‘And, as for your lodgings,’ Gervase smiled, ‘one of your retinue could act the part, especially with that ridiculous popinjay hat you wear. How did you leave there, disguised as a servant? Our intelligence is that Mercurius is a master of disguise.’

‘My movements are my own concern! As are my conversations with my countrymen!’

‘I saw you whispering,’ Gresnay declared, hot-eyed. ‘I saw you, Monsieur, talking to Vamier here on a number of occasions before the murders began!’

‘Monsieur Gresnay, remember where you are,’ de Fontanel snarled. ‘You are a prisoner of the English but one day you must return to France.’

Gaunt stared at Athelstan: from the Regent’s look, the friar realised that more proof would have to be given. He nodded slowly.

‘We have all the evidence we need,’ he said. ‘It’s here in this hall, so sit down, Monsieur de Fontanel!’

‘What evidence?’ The envoy looked shaken, nervous.

‘First, we will search for Monsieur Vamier’s Ave beads and we will find them. We know you gave them to him! Secondly, Monsieur Gresnay here is going to rack his brains, and he will start recalling the minutiae, helpful little details.’

‘And?’ de Fontanel asked.

‘We have Monsieur Vamier. If we can prove, and we will, that his Ave beads are highly poisonous Abrin seeds then Vamier is a murderer. Be he French or English, my Lord of Gaunt will have him taken to the dungeons in the Tower where the interrogators will begin to work. Oh, they’ll piece the story together like I did. You don’t know Godbless, do you? He’s a poor beggar who lives in my cemetery; once he was a soldier and visited Venice. He talked of a man who should die but didn’t. And then I visited a Venetian galley berthed in the Thames. The captain was a merry fellow. Of course he knew about the Abrin seed, how the Council of Ten gave it to their criminals. He simply confirmed what I had learned from our librarian in Blackfriars as well as the gossip of little Godbless. A short while later I visited an apothecary near Cheapside. He confessed it was one of the secrets of his trade; he told me all about Abrin’s noxious properties.’ Athelstan ticked the points off on his fingers. ‘Venice, you have been there. Abrin seeds were on the Ave beads you gave to Vamier, he still has these.’ Athelstan gazed straight at Sir Maurice. And, finally, one of those assassins, the shaven-heads you sent against us? He didn’t die. He’s lodged in the Tower. I suspect he will recognise you and your voice. It’s wonderful what a man will do to escape the noose.’

‘Both men are dead,’ de Fontanel insisted. He closed his eyes at his terrible mistake.

‘How do you know that?’ Gaunt asked, getting up. He grasped de Fontanel by the shoulder. ‘How do you know, Monsieur, about assassins who attacked a poor priest in Southwark?’