They were at their posts all night and noticed nothing untoward. Neither did I on my usual nightly rounds.’
Athelstan held up his hand. ‘This business of the keys?’
‘Sir Ralph had a key to his own chamber, as did the guards, on a key ring below.’
‘And the door at the end of that passage?’
‘Again, both Sir Ralph and the guard had a key. You will see them when you go below, hanging from pegs driven into the wall.’
‘Go on, Lieutenant, what happened then?’
‘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 cannot be woken,” he proclaimed.’ Colebrooke stopped, scratched his head and closed his eyes in an attempt to recall events. ‘Geoffrey took the key to Sir Ralph’s chamber from the peg but changed his mind and came for me. I was in the great hall. I hurried here, collected the keys and unlocked the door.’ The lieutenant gestured towards the bed. ‘We found Sir Ralph as you did.’
‘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
Athelstan held up his hand. ‘This business of the keys?’
‘Sir Ralph had a key to his own chamber, as did the guards, on a key ring below.’
‘And the door at the end of that passage?’
‘Again, both Sir Ralph and the guard had a key. You will see them when you go below, hanging from pegs driven into the wall.’
‘Go on, Lieutenant, what happened then?’
‘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 cannot be woken,” he proclaimed.’ Colebrooke stopped, scratched his head and closed his eyes in an attempt to recall events. ‘Geoffrey took the key to Sir Ralph’s chamber from the peg but changed his mind and came for me. I was in the great hall. I hurried here, collected the keys and unlocked the door.’ The lieutenant gestured towards the bed. ‘We found Sir Ralph as you did.’
‘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
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