Murder most holy

strange.’
    ‘What was?’
    ‘Alcuin discovered the corpse, but only after he himself had lit the torch. I remember him saying that.’ The infirmarian’s face creased in puzzlement. ‘So what was Bruno doing, staggering around in that pit of blackness?’
    ‘Only Alcuin can answer that,’ Cranston replied tersely. He stared at Athelstan. ‘Which means the mystery of Bruno’s death lies with a man who has now disappeared!’
    They thanked the infirmarian. Athelstan made the waiting lay brother take them to the library and, despite the man’s protests, ordered all the candles to be lit. Athelstan went across to the long, narrow ladder which stretched up to the darkened shelves. He tried to ignore Cranston ’s murmurs of admiration: the room held sweet memories for Athelstan. Here at the tables, in one of the finest libraries in the kingdom, he had studied as a young monk. The rich smell of leather and the sweet perfume of freshly cured manuscripts were deeply nostalgic and brought a lump to his throat. Yet it was here that Athelstan had made his decision to leave the monastery and take his brother to serve in the King’s wars in France . He stared quickly around. Were there ghosts here? he wondered. That of his brother, or of his parents who later died of a broken heart? Athelstan blinked furiously and grasped the ladder.
    ‘You see, Sir John, Callixtus climbed up here. He slipped and fell.’ Athelstan pointed at the floor. ‘The paving stones are even, there’s no sharp object. Sir John, would you help the lay brother gather all the candlesticks together?’
    ‘Why?’ Cranston queried. ‘Brother, what on earth are you doing?’
    Athelstan held up a finger. ‘Reflect and think,’ he said. ‘I am applying the very lesson you taught me. Callixtus’s head was smashed by a sharp object. Apart from the corners of tables and stools, the only sharp and heavy objects in this library are the candlesticks.’
    Sir John shrugged and helped a bemused lay brother move all the candlesticks into the centre of one of the long study tables.
    ‘He could have struck himself on the side of a table,’ Cranston protested.
    Athelstan stood by the ladder and shook his head.
    ‘Nonsense, Sir John. The library shelves are on one side of the scriptorium, the tables on the other. If you fell from the top of this ladder, you would hit only the floor.’ Athelstan grinned. ‘We could always find out.’
    ‘That ladder wouldn’t take my weight,’ Cranston muttered, slamming the candlesticks down.
    At last Cranston finished and Athelstan went over to a large oaken cupboard just inside the scriptorium door. He rummaged amongst the shelves, moving ink horns and rolls of parchment until he found a small wooden box and took out a large rounded piece of glass.
    ‘What’s that?’ Cranston asked as Athelstan came back to the table.
    ‘It’s a glass which magnifies, Sir John. We often use it in the study of manuscripts where the letters are faded, cramped or small. A subtle device used by the Arabs. Watch!’ Athelstan held the glass near the base of one of the candlesticks and Cranston exclaimed in pleasure at the way it magnified the thick metal rim. ‘Now,’ Athelstan said. He took each candlestick in turn, using the massed lights to examine each of the holders carefully.
    The lay brother fidgeted anxiously.
    ‘There’s been a lot of wax spilt on the floor,’ he complained.
    ‘Then clear it up!’ Cranston barked.
    The man scurried away and Athelstan continued his study.
    ‘Ah!’ He pulled out one candlestick and offered the glass to Sir John. ‘Take a look, my Lord Coroner, and you will see murder staring you in the face.’
    Cranston obeyed.
    ‘By the tits!’ he murmured. He squatted even closer. ‘Flecks of blood,’ he muttered. ‘Bits of hair.’
    Athelstan took both glass and candlestick. ‘Callixtus’s blood, Callixtus’s hair. That poor friar didn’t fall from the ladder. He was pushed and then finished off with this candlestick. Extinguish the lights!’ Athelstan ordered the lay brother. ‘And put everything back as we found it. I thank you for your assistance. Father Prior will be told.’
    Carrying the candlestick, Athelstan led Cranston back to the guest house where Brother Norbert was busy laying the table. He looked at the candlestick in surprise and opened his mouth to ask questions but Cranston gripped him tightly by the shoulder.
    ‘Brother,’ he growled, ‘my belly is as empty as