Athelstan opened his eyes.
‘Where in the world is the sky no more than three yards wide?’ he asked.
Alcest nodded.
‘Why, at the bottom of a well,’ Athelstan replied.
Alcest clapped his hands. ‘Well done, Brother.’
‘I have answered the riddle,’ Athelstan pointed out.
‘Repeat yours,’ Elflain asked.
Athelstan did so; the clerks murmured and whispered amongst each other, oblivious to the young woman sitting at the end of the table.
‘They are new,’ Napham declared. ‘Brother Athelstan, you must give us more time.’
‘And we will,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘But tell me, sirs, do you know of someone who, for any reason, wanted the deaths of Chapler and Peslep?’
A chorus of denials greeted his words.
‘You are sure of that?’ Cranston insisted.
‘Sir John, we are clerks,’ Elflain replied. ‘We come from different parts of the country. We have no family here.’ Elflain waved around. ‘So our companions here, these are our kinsfolk. We would know of any danger which threatened any of us.’
Cranston whistled through his teeth. ‘In which case,’ he lumbered to his feet, ‘none of you, sirs, will be leaving London!’
‘We are busy enough,’ Lesures declared primly. ‘No one can leave.’
Athelstan stared round the Chancery. Each desk had manuscripts covering it. In the far corner were seven cups, red glazed earthenware with a letter inscribed on each. Alcest followed his glance.
‘Our drinking cups, Brother.’ His face became sad. ‘Seven, if you include Master Tibault’s. Now Peslep and Chapler are dead, we’ll toast them ceremoniously tonight.’
‘It’s our custom,’ Lesures intervened. ‘After working hard at charters and writs, we always finish the day with a cup of malmsey. Tonight we’ll toast our deceased friends.’
‘What do you do here?’ Athelstan asked, getting to his feet, his writing bag clasped in his hands.
‘This is the Chancery of the Green Wax,’ Lesures said in hushed, reverential tones.
‘Yes, I know that.’
‘If I want,’ Cranston explained, ‘to renew a charter, obtain a licence to go overseas, to beg or have the right to enter my father’s property, secure a writ against an enemy, I petition the Chancellor. The Chancellor and his clerks will either approve or reject; if they approve, the writ, charter, or whatever document is needed, will be drawn up and sealed.’
‘And that is done here?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes,’ Napham replied. ‘And, Brother,’ he pointed to the hour candle fixed on a large iron spigot near the door, ‘we have further work to do.’
‘Where did Peslep live?’ Athelstan asked, ignoring the hint to leave.
‘In Little Britain, near St Bartholomew’s Priory,’ Alcest replied.
And Edwin Chapler?’
‘He had lodgings near the city ditch.’
‘I think we should visit both,’ Athelstan said. He glanced round quickly and caught it, a slight grimace of annoyance on Ollerton’s face, an anxious licking of the lips by Elflain.
‘Is that proper?’ Alcest asked.
‘I am the King’s coroner,’ Cranston retorted, swaying slightly on his feet. And I know what I can do, sir, and I know what I cannot. I will visit their dwellings.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Let us not forget, sirs: you are clerks of the Green Wax, an important office of state. God knows why your companions were killed but His Grace the Regent has a deep interest in the matter.’ He waved a stubby finger around. ‘Every preacher leaves with a good text, so will I. Two of your comrades are dead. Now that may be the end of the matter but, for all I know, the assassin may wish more, or even all of you, dead. So I beg you to be careful.’ He glanced round, pleased to see these arrogant young men had lost some of their hauteur. ‘I also ask you to think, to reflect. Have you made any enemies? Have the clerks of this office offended someone? Who may nurture a grievance against you? Brother Athelstan, the day draws
‘Where in the world is the sky no more than three yards wide?’ he asked.
Alcest nodded.
‘Why, at the bottom of a well,’ Athelstan replied.
Alcest clapped his hands. ‘Well done, Brother.’
‘I have answered the riddle,’ Athelstan pointed out.
‘Repeat yours,’ Elflain asked.
Athelstan did so; the clerks murmured and whispered amongst each other, oblivious to the young woman sitting at the end of the table.
‘They are new,’ Napham declared. ‘Brother Athelstan, you must give us more time.’
‘And we will,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘But tell me, sirs, do you know of someone who, for any reason, wanted the deaths of Chapler and Peslep?’
A chorus of denials greeted his words.
‘You are sure of that?’ Cranston insisted.
‘Sir John, we are clerks,’ Elflain replied. ‘We come from different parts of the country. We have no family here.’ Elflain waved around. ‘So our companions here, these are our kinsfolk. We would know of any danger which threatened any of us.’
Cranston whistled through his teeth. ‘In which case,’ he lumbered to his feet, ‘none of you, sirs, will be leaving London!’
‘We are busy enough,’ Lesures declared primly. ‘No one can leave.’
Athelstan stared round the Chancery. Each desk had manuscripts covering it. In the far corner were seven cups, red glazed earthenware with a letter inscribed on each. Alcest followed his glance.
‘Our drinking cups, Brother.’ His face became sad. ‘Seven, if you include Master Tibault’s. Now Peslep and Chapler are dead, we’ll toast them ceremoniously tonight.’
‘It’s our custom,’ Lesures intervened. ‘After working hard at charters and writs, we always finish the day with a cup of malmsey. Tonight we’ll toast our deceased friends.’
‘What do you do here?’ Athelstan asked, getting to his feet, his writing bag clasped in his hands.
‘This is the Chancery of the Green Wax,’ Lesures said in hushed, reverential tones.
‘Yes, I know that.’
‘If I want,’ Cranston explained, ‘to renew a charter, obtain a licence to go overseas, to beg or have the right to enter my father’s property, secure a writ against an enemy, I petition the Chancellor. The Chancellor and his clerks will either approve or reject; if they approve, the writ, charter, or whatever document is needed, will be drawn up and sealed.’
‘And that is done here?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes,’ Napham replied. ‘And, Brother,’ he pointed to the hour candle fixed on a large iron spigot near the door, ‘we have further work to do.’
‘Where did Peslep live?’ Athelstan asked, ignoring the hint to leave.
‘In Little Britain, near St Bartholomew’s Priory,’ Alcest replied.
And Edwin Chapler?’
‘He had lodgings near the city ditch.’
‘I think we should visit both,’ Athelstan said. He glanced round quickly and caught it, a slight grimace of annoyance on Ollerton’s face, an anxious licking of the lips by Elflain.
‘Is that proper?’ Alcest asked.
‘I am the King’s coroner,’ Cranston retorted, swaying slightly on his feet. And I know what I can do, sir, and I know what I cannot. I will visit their dwellings.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Let us not forget, sirs: you are clerks of the Green Wax, an important office of state. God knows why your companions were killed but His Grace the Regent has a deep interest in the matter.’ He waved a stubby finger around. ‘Every preacher leaves with a good text, so will I. Two of your comrades are dead. Now that may be the end of the matter but, for all I know, the assassin may wish more, or even all of you, dead. So I beg you to be careful.’ He glanced round, pleased to see these arrogant young men had lost some of their hauteur. ‘I also ask you to think, to reflect. Have you made any enemies? Have the clerks of this office offended someone? Who may nurture a grievance against you? Brother Athelstan, the day draws
Similar Books
