The House of Crows

as one of his companions has just described, was a constant scribbler. He must have listed all his requirements, yet I found not a scrap of parchment amongst his possessions. Of course, these would have been removed by Master Banyard after he had taken Sir Francis’s head.’
    ‘More importantly,’ Cranston added, ‘Sir Francis was lured to his death by Banyard who knew about his secret negotiations with the soldier from the Tower. In his haste and excitement, Sir Francis forgot about the killer stalking him: his mind was stuffed full of dreams about obtaining an exotic animal.’
    ‘And how did I get into the Pyx chamber at Westminster Abbey?’ Banyard taunted. ‘How could I go through cordons of soldiers and archers? Whistling a tune, an axe over my shoulder?’
    ‘Oh, no, there was something else missing from Harnett’s possessions.’ Athelstan retorted. ‘His seal. And I wondered where the seals of the other two dead knights were as well.’ Athelstan glanced at Coverdale. ‘Did you ever find those?’ The knight shook his head. ‘No, I...’ His voice faltered. ‘I never even thought about them.’
    ‘Banyard did,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘He took the seals of the first three men he killed and used them to get into the abbey. After all, the soldiers on duty there can’t be expected to recognise each of the two hundred different representatives who have come to this Parliament. People going to and fro. Typical soldiers, they had their orders: anyone carrying one of those seals bearing the chancellor’s imprint were to be allowed through. Now, when Harnett was killed it was dusk. Members of the Commons were hurrying hither and thither. Banyard, probably wearing the cloak and hood he is now, slips in.’
    ‘But the axe?’ Aylebore asked.
    Athelstan gestured round the church. ‘Take a good look round here, Sir Humphrey. Look at the stacked stools and benches, the shadowy recesses, the small alcoves, the gap behind the altar.’
    ‘You mean the axe is hidden here?’
    ‘Probably,’ Athelstan replied, ‘or somewhere close to the Pyx chamber. I told the servants at the Gargoyle before I left that I was going to St Faith’s Chapel to look for an axe. Banyard pursued me here, not only because I knew his true identity, but because I was searching for evidence. I am sure that, when we find the weapon, someone will recognise it as an axe used at the Gargoyle tavern.’
    ‘But when did he put it here?’ Coverdale asked.
    ‘Long before the Commons ever assembled,’ Athelstan replied. ‘And the same goes for the crossbow he used to kill Goldingham. Remember that tangle of gorse bushes near the latrines off the east cloister?’
    ‘Of course,’ Coverdale replied. ‘Before the Commons met here, Banyard could come and go as he pleased.’
    Athelstan continued. ‘Now, on the night he killed Sir Francis, Banyard came into the vestibule, up into St Faith’s Chapel, collected the axe, went down to the Pyx chamber and murdered Sir Francis Harnett.’ He glanced at Banyard and saw the fear in the man’s eyes. ‘Poor old Harnett,’ Athelstan declared. ‘But he did not die in vain. Only when I reflected on what was missing from his possessions did the tangle begin to unravel: the lack of parchment, his personal seal, his desire to buy an ape stolen from the Tower. All this, together with the fact that he returned to collect his sword the night he left for Southwark, made me begin to suspect Master Banyard. I took what I’d learnt and applied it to the deaths of the other knights: Bouchon not wearing his sword; the dirt under his fingernails. The evidence still pointed to Banyard. The same is true of Swynford being garrotted in his chamber at the tavern.’
    ‘And Goldingham?’ Malmesbury asked.
    ‘Well, once I knew how Banyard had passed through the guards, that was easy. Goldingham had a weak stomach. He was always talking about it...?’
    Malmesbury nodded.
    ‘And no doubt he approached mine host to ask for this or that special delicacy?’
    ‘Yes, yes, he did,’ Malmesbury replied. ‘Sops soaked in milk. Goldingham always fussed about what he ate and drank.’
    ‘And the morning he died?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘He ate what we did. Porridge made of oatmeal, some bread.’
    ‘Aye,’ Athelstan nodded. ‘He also ate something which was not in yours; a slight purgative, courtesy of mine host, to loosen the bowels and send him hurrying to the jakes. Banyard knew all about the Commons and