Robert was tired of holding the Passio Christi. He wanted to give it back.’
‘To whom?’ Cranston asked.
‘Why, the Abbey of St Fulcher,’ Alesia replied. ‘Father truly disliked those old soldiers. He’d always thought the bloodstone was taken as the legitimate plunder of war but, in the last few years, he began to wonder whether they had stolen it – an act of sacrilege. Of course he liked to go to the abbey itself. He was a generous benefactor and often visited the brothers.’
‘For what?’ Cranston asked.
‘To retreat, to pray, to fast, to cure his soul.’
‘And would the exchequer have agreed to the Passio Christi being given to the abbey?’ Cranston asked.
‘My father . . .’ Alesia’s voice faltered, she looked askance at Crispin.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake tell them the rest,’ Lady Helen almost shouted. ‘Sir Robert intended to leave the Passio Christi at St Fulcher’s and let the Crown fight its own battle. The Abbey of St Calliste outside Poitiers was Benedictine. Sir Robert couldn’t return it there but he could at least hand it over to the Benedictines in this kingdom. True?’
Athelstan glanced at the others, who murmured their agreement.
‘Very astute,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Once Holy Mother Church seizes something, it is very difficult to force her to relinquish it, especially when she can claim rights in the first place. So,’ he drew a deep breath, ‘nothing else was discussed? You’re sure the Passio Christi was still here when the good brothers left?’
‘We all saw it,’ Edmond replied. ‘Brother Athelstan, I know what you are thinking.’
‘Do you?’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Then you are a better man than I.’
‘I suspect you are wondering whether we allowed the Passio Christi to be taken by our visitors, but that would have been highly dangerous. The Crown would have blamed us, yes?’
Athelstan nodded.
‘What Edmond is saying,’ Alesia spoke up, ‘is my father would have taken the bloodstone to St Fulcher’s on the very day he left for Jerusalem. It would be his decision, his responsibility, not ours. Brother,’ Alesia waved around, ‘look at our great wealth. My father was a hard but honourable man; in his last days he turned more and more to God. Sir John,’ she appealed to the coroner. ‘Would you like to be the custodian of the Passio Christi? A sacred relic possibly pillaged from the sanctuary of an abbey?’
‘But why the change?’ Cranston asked. ‘After all the bloodstone was in his care for decades, yes?’
‘In years past my father would take it to the exchequer at Westminster where one or all of the Wyvern Company would always be present. He simply viewed that as part of his many business relationships.’
‘And recently?’
‘Four years ago the Wyverns were given lodgings at St Fulcher’s. It was agreed that the twice a year journey would take place whilst they were there.’
‘Why?’
‘The soldiers were growing old; William Chalk became frail. My father also had considerable business with the abbey. All parties agreed to that so the indenture was amended accordingly.’
‘And Sir Robert’s attitude towards the Wyverns?’
‘At first they were simply one group amongst my father’s many commercial acquaintances. However, once they were at St Fulcher’s, my father’s attitude towards them changed. I suspect that as he grew more devout, he began to question whether they really had stolen it. He grew to resent them.’
‘Why did he change?’
‘I’ve told you, there are two accounts: first that the Wyvern Company found the Passio Christi, the other that they’d stolen it. My father began to believe the latter.’
‘Did he have proof for that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When your father visited St Fulcher’s, which monk was he friendly with?’
Alesia moved her head from side to side. ‘From what I gather . . .’ She glanced at Crispin.
‘Abbot Walter,’ the old clerk replied. ‘Prior
‘To whom?’ Cranston asked.
‘Why, the Abbey of St Fulcher,’ Alesia replied. ‘Father truly disliked those old soldiers. He’d always thought the bloodstone was taken as the legitimate plunder of war but, in the last few years, he began to wonder whether they had stolen it – an act of sacrilege. Of course he liked to go to the abbey itself. He was a generous benefactor and often visited the brothers.’
‘For what?’ Cranston asked.
‘To retreat, to pray, to fast, to cure his soul.’
‘And would the exchequer have agreed to the Passio Christi being given to the abbey?’ Cranston asked.
‘My father . . .’ Alesia’s voice faltered, she looked askance at Crispin.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake tell them the rest,’ Lady Helen almost shouted. ‘Sir Robert intended to leave the Passio Christi at St Fulcher’s and let the Crown fight its own battle. The Abbey of St Calliste outside Poitiers was Benedictine. Sir Robert couldn’t return it there but he could at least hand it over to the Benedictines in this kingdom. True?’
Athelstan glanced at the others, who murmured their agreement.
‘Very astute,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Once Holy Mother Church seizes something, it is very difficult to force her to relinquish it, especially when she can claim rights in the first place. So,’ he drew a deep breath, ‘nothing else was discussed? You’re sure the Passio Christi was still here when the good brothers left?’
‘We all saw it,’ Edmond replied. ‘Brother Athelstan, I know what you are thinking.’
‘Do you?’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Then you are a better man than I.’
‘I suspect you are wondering whether we allowed the Passio Christi to be taken by our visitors, but that would have been highly dangerous. The Crown would have blamed us, yes?’
Athelstan nodded.
‘What Edmond is saying,’ Alesia spoke up, ‘is my father would have taken the bloodstone to St Fulcher’s on the very day he left for Jerusalem. It would be his decision, his responsibility, not ours. Brother,’ Alesia waved around, ‘look at our great wealth. My father was a hard but honourable man; in his last days he turned more and more to God. Sir John,’ she appealed to the coroner. ‘Would you like to be the custodian of the Passio Christi? A sacred relic possibly pillaged from the sanctuary of an abbey?’
‘But why the change?’ Cranston asked. ‘After all the bloodstone was in his care for decades, yes?’
‘In years past my father would take it to the exchequer at Westminster where one or all of the Wyvern Company would always be present. He simply viewed that as part of his many business relationships.’
‘And recently?’
‘Four years ago the Wyverns were given lodgings at St Fulcher’s. It was agreed that the twice a year journey would take place whilst they were there.’
‘Why?’
‘The soldiers were growing old; William Chalk became frail. My father also had considerable business with the abbey. All parties agreed to that so the indenture was amended accordingly.’
‘And Sir Robert’s attitude towards the Wyverns?’
‘At first they were simply one group amongst my father’s many commercial acquaintances. However, once they were at St Fulcher’s, my father’s attitude towards them changed. I suspect that as he grew more devout, he began to question whether they really had stolen it. He grew to resent them.’
‘Why did he change?’
‘I’ve told you, there are two accounts: first that the Wyvern Company found the Passio Christi, the other that they’d stolen it. My father began to believe the latter.’
‘Did he have proof for that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When your father visited St Fulcher’s, which monk was he friendly with?’
Alesia moved her head from side to side. ‘From what I gather . . .’ She glanced at Crispin.
‘Abbot Walter,’ the old clerk replied. ‘Prior