The House of Shadows

tapped the side of his head, ‘in all this confusion.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘Well, I’ll quote the great Archimedes, and his famous phrase, ” Pou-sto “-, it means ”I act from where I stand“. Archimedes meant that if you stand in the right place with the right instruments, no problem is impossible.’ He gestured round the sombre church. ‘This is where we begin, Sir John, this is our place.’
    ‘And the right instruments?’
    ‘Well, I recall my studies of that brilliant Dominican Thomas Aquinas, and his quinque viae .’
    ‘Oh no,’ Cranston groaned.
    ‘No, Sir John, Aquinas had to study a more complex problem than the one facing us — the existence of God. He established what he termed the quinque viae, the five ways. To summarise, Sir John, everything must have a cause. So let’s look at the cause of all this, and the place where it all began. Well, my Lord Coroner?’
    ‘Why, the robbery of the Lombard treasure, twenty years ago on the Oyster Wharf.’
    ‘Right, let’s start there. We are told the treasure was brought to the wharf.’
    ‘Yes,’ Sir John grunted.
    ‘Why?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Well, because it was away from the City but near the Crusaders’ fleet.’
    ‘How do we know that?’
    ‘Well,’ Cranston spread his hands, ‘it’s the accepted story.’
    ‘Yes, that’s what intrigues me. Indeed, old Margot was less specific. Would you send treasure to a quayside in Southwark? What guarantee would you have that the quayside would be safe, that footpads and outlaws weren’t sheltering there? The Good Lord knows Southwark has enough of those, and always has. And if you are going to rob it, would you launch an attack on four strong men and just hope that there would be no witnesses? No beggar loitering in the shadows, no footpad sheltering from the law, no lovers locked in close embrace? If you had planned such a robbery you would be taking a terrible risk. After all, you didn’t know John of Gaunt wasn’t sending a company of archers with it.’
    ‘But that proves Culpepper and Mortimer are guilty,’ Sir John retorted. ‘We now know they were by themselves.’
    ‘No we don’t. The boatmen must have been accomplices because they have disappeared as well. I know what you are thinking, Sir John, but your hypothesis is weak. I find it difficult to accept that Culpepper and Mortimer received the treasure chest, loaded the barge, persuaded two honest boatmen to go out on the river with them, journeyed to some lonely place, broke the chest open and disappeared into the night for ever. I don’t think, Sir John, that Culpepper and Mortimer stole the treasure, which means others did, which in turn brings us back to the problem of how the attackers felt so secure in robbing a valuable treasure on one of the well-known quaysides of Southwark. Remember, Sir John, the Oyster Wharf is mentioned in all accounts, but according to old Margot, that was only the place her husband was to reclaim his barge. Did he take it there or somewhere else?’
    Sir John’s lower lip came out, a sign that he was seriously considering Athelstan’s theory. He held the friar’s bright-eyed gaze and winked.
    ‘You’re correct, little monk.’
    ‘Friar, Sir John.’
    ‘Whatever, you’re still right. I wonder what Moleskin would think of your theory?’
    ‘ Res ipsa loquitur — the matter speaks for itself. Now let’s look for the proof. I know Moleskin is not far, he’ll be plotting with Merrylegs.’
    Athelstan hurried out through the main door and down the steps. Cranston heard him shouting at Crim, who was playing hodman in the cemetery. When the friar returned, Cranston was pleased at Athelstan’s ill-concealed excitement. He started walking up and down, fingering the vow knots on the cord round his waist.
    ‘It can’t be the Oyster Wharf ,’ he kept exclaiming, ‘it just can’t be, not with a parish like this nearby.’
    So distracted, Athelstan ignored Cranston’s questions about Moleskin and went off to fill the situla with holy water. Only then did he return to sit opposite Sir John.
    ‘Benedicta has left to deliver the letter,’ he declared. ‘We must question the Regent whether he likes it or not.’
    ‘Is he behind this mystery? Oh, Jesu miserere, I hope not.’ Cranston lowered his voice. ‘He’s a veritable salamander. Everything he touches becomes tainted.’
    ‘Salamander or not,’ Athelstan retorted, ‘he has a finger in this pie.’
    Athelstan was about to go and