The chamber was' small but pleasant, with a window overlooking the garden. On the bed, a small four poster with the bolsters piled high, Allingham lay as if asleep. Athelstan looked round the room. There was a short, coloured tapestry on the wall depicting Simeon greeting the baby Jesus, two or three chests, a table, one high-backed chair, some stools and a cupboard with a heavy oak frontal pushed open. He caught the fragrant smell of herbs sprinkled inside to keep the robes fresh. Athelstan went across and stared down at Allingham's body. He said a short prayer. Cranston sat on the bed just staring at the corpse as if the man was alive and the coroner wished to draw him into friendly conversation.

Athelstan knew that Cranston, despite all his bluster and drunken ways, was quite capable of making a careful, perceptive study of the dead man. Athelstan leaned over to perform his own examination. The dead merchant's skin was like the cold scales of a fish. Rigor mortis had set in, but not totally. He pushed the mouth open and inhaled. A slight spicy smell but nothing unusual, and no discoloration of the skin, nails or face. He picked up the fingers. Again no smell except for chrism where the priest had anointed the dead man. Athelstan felt slightly ridiculous, he and Sir John sitting on the bed, Buckingham and Sir Richard looking down at them. Behind them, at the door, Lady Isabella peered on tip-toe over their shoulders, as if watching some masque or mummer's play. And then, behind her, the dull dragging footsteps of Father Crispin as he, too, came up to join them.

'Tell me,' Athelstan said, 'who found the corpse?'

'I did,' Sir Richard replied. 'We had all risen early this morning. Father Crispin here took one of the horses, a young one, out through Aldgate to gallop in the fields. He came back, stabled the horse and came in to break fast with us. We then noticed Allingham had not come down although he was generally an early riser. We sent up a manservant. He tried to rouse Stephen but, unable to, came down to tell us. Father Crispin had unfortunately just knocked over a wine cup and was cleaning up the mess with a napkin. When the servant summoned me, I went up; Father Crispin, Master Buckingham and Lady Isabella followed me. Allingham could not be roused so we then sent for the workmen in the yard. They brought up a timber and forced the door.'

Athelstan went over to the door and looked carefully at it. Both the bolt and the lock were now broken beyond repair where the makeshift battering ram had forced a way in.

'Inside, Stephen Allingham was lying on the bed, as you see him now. Father Crispin examined him and said there was no sign of life.'

'What else happened?'

'Nothing. We arranged the body which was lying half sprawled, legs on the floor, the rest on the bed.'

'Nothing suspicious?'

'No.'

'Except one thing,' Father Crispin spoke up, ignoring Sir Richard's warning glance. 'I could not understand why, if Allingham had been taken by a seizure, he had not tried to open the door, turn the key and call for help. I thought the lock might have stuck.' He shrugged. 'I went back and examined it. The handle of the door was jammed. I tried to free it, using the cloth I had brought up from the hall to gain a better purchase. I did not succeed, perhaps because of the way it had been forced. The lock itself seemed good, though wrenched away by the forced entry. The key was lying on the floor.

'And how had Master Allingham been in recent days?'

'Morose!' Sir Richard snapped back. 'He kept to himself. On one occasion my mother, Lady Ermengilde, found him muttering to himself, something about the same number Vechey mentioned – thirty-one. And about shoemakers!'

'Yes, that's right,' Lady Isabella said. 'At table he would just glower at his food and refuse to talk. He said he must be more careful about what he ate and drank. He spent a great deal of time in the yard below with the carpenters and masons who were making the pageant cart for the coronation procession. He spent hours talking to them, especially the master carpenter, Andrew Bulkeley.'

'What was so important?' Cranston asked.

Lady Isabella shrugged her pretty shoulders, a movement which made even Athelstan's breath catch in his throat.

'I don't know,' she murmured. 'He used to go down there and stand and look at the frieze Bulkeley was carving; the one that will surmount the cart and later be hung in the chantry chapel at the other end of this house. Perhaps you should speak to him?'

Cranston looked across at Athelstan and nodded.

'Oh, one further question, Lady Isabella, and I ask it here in the presence of your household. Your husband's wealth – he made a will?'

'Yes, it's already with the Court of Probate in Chancery at Westminster Hall. Why do you ask?'

Athelstan noticed how her cheeks had become flushed and Sir Richard moved restlessly.

'Who were your husband's heirs?'

'Sir Richard and myself.'

'You are to receive all his wealth?'

'Yes, all.'

'And, Sir Richard,' Cranston continued, 'you have now been through all the memoranda, documents, household books and accounts in your brother's possession. Have you found anything suspicious? Loans made perhaps to powerful men who refused to pay?'

Sir Richard smiled.

'Nothing of the sort. Oh, the powerful lords owed my brother, and now me, monies but none of them would dare renege. Remember, they can only do it once. After that who else will loan them monies?'

Cranston patted his thigh and grinned.

'The world of finance, Sir Richard, escapes me – and of course Brother Athelstan here, with his vow of poverty. Come, Brother!' He rose and Athelstan followed him out.

'Where are you going?' Sir Richard hurried to catch up with them.

'Why, to see Master Bulkeley, of course! I would like to know what Master Allingham found so interesting in the yard.'

Sir Richard led them down through a flagstoned kitchen and scullery, out into the great yard around which the house was built. The place was a hive of activity. Dogs charged about like lunatics, scattering the chickens and geese which pecked for food in the hard-packed soil. Grooms, farriers and ostlers were taking horses in and out of the stables, checking legs, hooves and coats for any injuries or blemishes. A few small boys, the children of servants, played hide and seek behind the carts, baskets and bales of straw. Servants hurried in and out of kitchens with pitchers of water while others sat in the shade whiling their time away with dice and other games of hazard. Outside the kitchen door scullions were bringing out steaming chunks of bloody red meat to throw into huge casks of pickle and salt to preserve them. At the other end of the yard, carpenters were busy around a huge, gaily decorated cart, the four sides now being covered with elaborate cloths and carvings. Sir Richard took Cranston and Athelstan over.

'Oh, by the way, Sir Richard. The Syrians, the beautiful chess set, what happened to them?' asked Cranston.

Sir Richard stood still, staring up at the blue sky, turning his face to feel the sun.

'Too precious to be left out on display. Master Buckingham has polished them and put them away, locked in a casket. They are safe. Why do you ask?'

Cranston shrugged. 'I wondered, that's all.'

The noise around the carts was terrible: the banging and the sawing and the moving of wood. The air was thick with sawdust and the sweet smell of freshly cut wood. The pageant prepared by Springall, which was only a small part of the vast coronation procession, looked even more magnificent at close quarters. The cart was huge, about nine feet high. The merchant explained there would be a tableau which would give honour to the king as well as reflect the glory of the Goldsmith's Guild, with huge screens on which the carpenters and masons had carved elaborate scenes.