By Murder's bright Light
of wielding so much power. It was not often that he was able to order about the ordinary inhabitants of the city in which he lurked. He and the gargoyles swept down the alleyway, Cranston still roaring at them that they were to bring everyone to the tavern. He took Athelstan back there. Cranston slumped on to a stool. He pushed his great back into the corner of the wall and roared for refreshment until all the slatterns in the place were hopping like fleas on a frisky dog.
‘It can’t be Bracklebury,’ he breathed. ‘Yet it must be Bracklebury.’
Athelstan thanked the landlord and pushed the platter of food he had brought and a goblet of claret towards Cranston .
‘If the corpse isn’t Bracklebury’s,’ he said, ‘then he is still our principal suspect. But if it is, then, to quote a famous coroner I know, Hell’s teeth!’
‘Or mermaid’s tits!’ Cranston smiled.
‘Aye and those too, Sir John.’ Athelstan sipped from his tankard of ale. ‘If it is Bracklebury, then who is the murderer of Bernicia? And, more importantly, who killed Bracklebury? Why and how?’
Cranston rubbed his face. ‘You know, I have this awful nightmare, Brother, that we have been concentrating on Bracklebury and forgetting the other two sailors. We don’t even know their names. What if they are the villains of the piece?’
Athelstan’s mind teemed with the possibilities.
‘The war cogs will sail soon,’ Cranston said. The officers on board the God’s Bright Light will go with them. Everything will remain a mystery.’
‘Do you have the silver, Sir John?’
Athelstan whirled around and Cranston looked up at the two scrutineers who had come to stand silently beside them, the false smiles on their plump faces belied by the hardness of their eyes.
The exchequer wants its silver back,’ Peter said. ‘And soon!’ the other added.
Uninvited, they pulled stools over but shook their heads when Cranston offered them refreshment.
‘No, Sir John, we have not come for meat and drink. We are here for the king’s silver. Any progress?’ Cranston described what they had discovered on board the God’s Bright Light.
‘So you found the hiding place but not the money,’ Paul summed up.
Cranston nodded.
‘We have the tally men out,’ Peter said. ‘You see, the silver was freshly minted.’ He smiled sourly. ‘When you buy spies and traitors, they always bite the silver first.’
‘But how could it have been freshly minted?’ Cranston asked. ‘Sir Henry sent it to the exchequer!’ The silver bullion he sent was melted down and coins struck from it at the royal mint in the Tower.’
‘And you have searched for these coins?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes, we have.’
‘And you’ve found no trace?’
‘I didn’t say that. A goldsmith just off Candlewick Street was visited by one of our tally men. Some of the coins are already in circulation.’
‘How much was your spy carrying when Roffel attacked the ship?’
‘A hundred groats,’ Peter replied.
‘A hundred groats in freshly minted coins on the open market!’ Cranston exclaimed.
Athelstan held up his hand. ‘And, of course, you have questioned this goldsmith?’
‘Oh, of course! We even threatened him with a short sojourn in the Tower’s deepest dungeon.’
‘And what did he tell you?’
‘Very little. But he described a man — a strong, well-built sailor dressed in a battered leather jacket, hair tied in a knot at the back of his head. Or so he thinks.’
‘And his features?’
‘He had his cowl and hood pulled full across his face. The goldsmith did not think it was suspicious. The man claimed the silver was payment for booty handed over to the crown. Of course, any further questions were silenced by the goldsmith’s greed.’
‘And how much was exchanged?’
‘Ten groats. What concerns us is that it’s easy to chase money in London but what happens if this fellow goes to Norwich, Lincoln, Ipswich or Gloucester?’ Cranston put his finger to his lips as the officers of the God’s Bright Light, led by Cabe, entered the tavern. Most of them looked tired and rather angry at being dragged away for yet another interrogation. One of the scrutineers looked over his shoulder; he tapped his companion on the arm and they both got to their feet.
‘We’ll be back, Sir John.’ They pulled up their hoods and slipped soundlessly out of the alehouse. Cabe, Coffrey, Minter and Peverill now stood over Cranston, thumbs pushed into broad,
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