Murder most holy

consternation increased. He stared around. Something jarred his memory. Perhaps he had always prided himself on counting the number of statues.’
    ‘Of course!’ Brother Peter exclaimed. ‘Instead of twelve Apostles he counted thirteen!’
    ‘I would hazard a guess he realised that later. At the time he would go scurrying down the church, through the sanctuary and out into the nave, looking for Brother Alcuin. By the time he returned the murderer had slipped into the sacristy and out of the church.’
    They all stared at Athelstan.
    ‘My clerk,’ Cranston grandly announced, filling himself another goblet of wine, ‘has expressed my own deductions admirably.’
    Athelstan lowered his head. When he looked up, both Brother Peter and Brother Niall were nodding in agreement. Henry of Winchester just smiled in admiration. Eugenius looked doubtful but Athelstan caught a gleam of admiration in William de Conche’s eyes.
    ‘What now?’ Brother Henry asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ replied Athelstan. ‘ Cranston and I find ourselves at the end of an alleyway with nothing but a brick wall facing us.’ He glanced quickly at the prior. ‘Father, we can do no more. Tomorrow is Sunday. We can stay here a little longer, but on Monday I must return to St Erconwald’s.’ He glared at Cranston . ‘Isn’t that correct, Sir John?’
    The coroner drew together his brows and blinked. He was about to protest when Athelstan abruptly took leave of Father Prior, genuflected towards the high altar and stalked quickly out of the church, with Cranston huffing and puffing behind him. The friar refused to speak until they were safely back in the guest house.
    ‘You are just going to leave?’ the coroner exclaimed.
    ‘Of course not, Sir John. But the murderer was in that church. We must pretend to be baffled. If we betray the slightest knowledge of Hildegarde or what Brother Paul told us, then someone else will die and I think it may well be me. Come, Sir John, another cup of wine?’
    Cranston needed no second invitation but sped like an arrow towards the buttery. From his exclamations of delight, Athelstan realised that Norbert had brought across fresh supplies of mead. Leaving Cranston to his pleasures, Athelstan went quickly upstairs and smiled when he saw the great leather tomes already piled on his and Cranston ’s bed.
    ‘Sir John,’ he called, ‘we shall spend the rest of today and tomorrow on the study of theology.’
    Cranston , a brimming tankard in his hands, clumped upstairs and stared round-eyed at what Norbert had brought.
    ‘We have to go through all of these?’
    ‘Aye, Sir John, and more.’
    Cranston cursed under his breath. ‘Athelstan,’ he pleaded, ‘sweetest Brother, a week tonight I must return to the Palace of Savoy .’
    Athelstan turned his back so the coroner couldn’t glimpse the dismay on his face. So far he could see no solution to that problem but if Cranston sensed his failure, there would be no holding the coroner from drowning himself in a sea of despair, not to mention one of claret.
    ‘Courage, Sir John!’ he called out over his shoulder. ‘I have an idea,’ he lied. ‘But, for the time being, let us concentrate on the problem in hand.’
    ‘Why?’ snapped Cranston .
    Athelstan turned, went over and crouched before him. ‘Sir John, we are dealing with a murderer. We know how he killed, but we still don’t know why. Do you realise, we haven’t a single clue, not a shred of evidence, to lay against anyone? Somehow or other these books contain the answer and I intend to find it!’ Athelstan gripped Cranston ’s wrist. ‘And I thank you, Sir John, for what you did in church, taking care of poor Alcuin’s corpse. Your decision not to publicise the manner of his death may, at some later stage, trap the murderer. Believe me, Sir John, we must trap him!’
    Cranston mournfully agreed. Norbert brought other books across as well as refreshment to satisfy Cranston ’s prodigious appetite. In the main he and Athelstan stayed in the guest house, only leaving for the occasional walk or visit to the church. Father Prior came across to seek assurances that Athelstan would return and, when he received these, left to arrange the proper burial of his two colleagues.
    Athelstan and Cranston went through one leatherbound book after another.
    ‘Look for the name Hildegarde,’ Athelstan ordered. ‘If you find anything connected with that name, alert me at once.’ They spent most of