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brought no poison into here, left no potion, gave no medicines. The prisoners are soldiers, seamen, hard and sturdy. The food could have been improved and their humours were disturbed by being confined but nothing else.’
    ‘And you know nothing of the prisoners or this man’s death?’
    Aspinall got to his feet. ‘I know nothing, Sir John.’
    ‘Why are you here today?’
    ‘I came to ensure all was well. I inspected the corpse this morning but thought I should return, just in case.’
    ‘In case of what?’ Athelstan asked, getting to his feet.
    Aspinall turned at the door and leaned against it, hands behind his back. He stared up at the ceiling.
    ‘Brother, you are the coroner’s secretarius. I am a physician, not a master of logic. We have a man poisoned. Now it could have been an accident. He may have found something in this house and eaten it but, God knows, that’s not the truth.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘In my experience, Brother, when such deaths occur they are not isolated events.’
    ‘You mean others will be poisoned?’
    ‘I know they will be. Oh, I thought about it this morning. Why should anyone kill Serriem? Hawkmere Manor is close and securely guarded; the murderer must know that he stands a good chance of being caught. So Serriem’s death was meticulously planned. It was no crime of passion and it may be one of many.’
    Athelstan scrutinised the physician. Aspinall spoke sense. Was there conflict between the prisoners? He glanced sideways at Sir Walter. Or a paying-off of old scores?
    ‘I’ve also checked the stores and the wine cellar.’
    ‘You had no right,’ Sir Walter protested.
    I have every right, Sir Walter. I am physician to the prisoners. My Lord of Gaunt has paid me good silver. However, do not trouble yourself. The meat and cheese could be fresher, the wine sweeter but the food stores are not tainted.’
    ‘Are there vermin here?’ Athelstan asked, remembering Ranulf the rat-catcher.
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘You put down no poison?’
    ‘We have three great cats.’ Sir Walter smiled sourly. ‘We do not feed them and they are half-wild, they take care of the vermin.’
    ‘When did Serriem retire to bed?’
    ‘With the rest at nine o’clock. They supped at seven, walked in the garden. Serriem played checkers with one of the prisoners. Pierre Vamier.’
    ‘And the relationships?’ Sir John asked. ‘Between the prisoners?’
    ‘They are cordial enough.’ Aspinall spoke up. ‘Sir Walter will confirm this. They keep to themselves. They are homesick for their families in France, eager for their ransoms to be raised. Yet.’
    Sir John undid the stopper of the wine and took two great gulps. He offered it to his companions but they shook their heads.
    ‘Well, go on.’
    ‘In the last week to ten days,’ Sir Walter said, ‘something has changed, they do seem wary of each other.’
    ‘How were they captured?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘I did that.’ Sir Maurice spoke up. ‘There are five of them, or there were. Vamier, Gresnay, Routier, Maneil and Serriem. They were captains, lieutenants and masters of the two great French cogs of war: the
St Sulpice
and the
St Denis.
Our wine fleet from Bordeaux had sailed up into the Channel. Now, it is customary for the ships to disembark some of their cargo at Calais and make a dash across the Straits into Dover. The
St Sulpice
and
St Denis
were waiting for them.’
    ‘And what happened?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘I was in Dover at the time,’ the young knight continued. ‘Commanding a large force of knights, hobelars, men-at-arms and archers. We had four craft at our disposal led by a cog of war,
The Great Edward.
The Constable of Dover Castle received information that the
St Sulpice
and
St Denis
would be waiting for our ships so we took to sea. It was a long and bloody fight: the
St Denis
was sunk, the
St Sulpice
captured.’
    Athelstan picked up his writing-bag, tying the cord at the top.
    ‘That’s almost miraculous,’ he observed. ‘From