Murder most holy

killed instantly.’
    ‘Coincidences!’ William de Conches snapped, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. ‘Bruno was an old man, the stairs are steep.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Alcuin went into the church and, perhaps overcome by emotion, decided to flee the monastery. He leaves, locks the church behind him and steals away like a thief in the night.’ The inquisitor glared brazenly at Athelstan. ‘He wouldn’t be the first friar to have done so and he certainly won’t be the last!’
    Athelstan gazed coolly back, trying to hide the surge of rage. I hope you are the murderer, he thought, because there is murder here. He blinked, trying to clear such malicious thoughts from his mind.
    ‘And Brother Callixtus?’ Athelstan asked. ‘He, too, fell from the ladder?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ Eugenius snapped, half-turning his head, refusing to look at Athelstan.
    The friar leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, vowing not to look to his right where Cranston sat snoring like a baby. ‘Brother Henry, Brother Niall, Brother Peter?’ He smiled at the theologians. ‘You have all studied logic?’
    All three men nodded.
    ‘And the theory of probability and the possibility of coincidence?’
    Again there were nods of assent.
    ‘Then tell me, Father Prior,’ Athelstan continued, ‘how many violent deaths have there been at this monastery in the last three years? Not deaths due to natural causes but violent and unexpected deaths?’
    ‘There have been none.’
    ‘So,’ Athelstan concluded, ‘in three years before the Inner Chapter met, perhaps even in six, there are no violent deaths. But this Inner Chapter meets, and within two weeks two brothers die and another disappears in mysterious circumstances. Now tell me, all of you, is that probable? Is that logical?’
    Brother Henry of Winchester smiled and shook his head.
    ‘Brother Niall, Brother Peter?’
    Their agreement with Brother Henry showed in their faces.
    ‘Moreover, we have other evidence,’ Athelstan continued, ‘Something Father Prior hasn’t told me.’
    Anselm gazed back in surprise.
    ‘There is something else, isn’t there, Father Prior?’
    Anselm licked his thin dry lips. Had he done the right thing, he wondered fleetingly, in bringing this young Dominican back? Athelstan was too quick, too sharp. Would the cure he proposed be worse than the disease? Was William of Conches right? Would it be best to leave these things be? Athelstan’s sea-grey eyes held his.
    ‘Yes, yes, there is,’ Father Prior replied. ‘ Alcuin would never have fled the monastery. His cell was as he left it; he took no scrip, no wallet, no food, no money, no boots, nor a horse from the stables. And, if he fled, surely someone would have seen him? Secondly, Alcuin felt excluded from the Chapter. He and his close friend Brother Callixtus,’ Anselm smiled weakly, ‘always did consider themselves theologians. The other brethren overheard their chatter. They dismissed the Inner Chapter as a farce. Alcuin said his friend Callixtus could prove that you, Master Inquisitor, were wasting your time.’
    ‘What did he mean by that?’ William of Conches barked.
    ‘He meant, monk —’ Cranston smacked his lips and opened his eyes.
    The Dominicans jumped as the coroner brought himself fully alert, stretching and looking sharply round the room for anyone laughing at him.
    ‘He meant,’ the coroner repeated, ‘that there were two monks—’ he smiled ‘-sorry, friars, who believed the Inner Chapter was a waste of time. One’s now dead, the other’s disappeared. Am I right, Father Prior?’
    Anselm nodded quickly. Cranston held up a stubby finger. ‘I have not studied logic but always remember the old proverb, “Just because a dog has its eyes closed, that does not mean it’s asleep”. I am Sir John Cranston, King’s Coroner in the City. Even asleep I am alert.’
    Athelstan groaned to himself. He wished Cranston would not play his trick of pretending to be a drunken toper.
    ‘Father Prior,’ Athelstan asked quickly, ‘what do you think Alcuin and Callixtus meant by saying the Master Inquisitor was wasting his time here?’
    ‘I don’t really know. The two of them were for ever in corners whispering and Callixtus was searching the library for some manuscript.’
    ‘The other one,’ Cranston rudely interrupted, glaring at Athelstan. ‘You know, the old one, the first to die — Bruno. Was he connected with the Inner Chapter?’
    ‘No, he