canopy. ‘I swear,’ he declared flatly. ‘Father, I swear by all that is holy and by the life of my future child that I have spoken the truth!’
His voice trembled and he blinked furiously to keep back the tears. ‘Father, you have got to help me. Sir John, I am sorry.’
‘Please! Please!’ Simplicatas grasped Athelstan’s hand. ‘We meant no harm.’
‘Sit down,’ Athelstan ordered.
Perline obeyed.
‘How much did Sir Francis give you?’
‘Ten pounds sterling, though I have spent one already.’
‘Right.’ Athelstan winked at Cranston. ‘Perline, my boy, you are to take the money down to St Erconwald’s church and seek out Benedicta. You know her?’
Perline nodded quickly.
‘Benedicta will summon Watkin, Pike, Ranulf and Tab the tinker. You will offer each of them one pound for the ape to be recaptured. Now I suspect,’ Athelstan continued, trying to keep his voice flat and avoid Cranston’s eye, ‘that the poor creature is terrified and has not wandered far from St Erconwald’s cemetery: that’s the last place it was fed properly and the last place it saw you. You are to put the cage in the death-house, keeping the door open, and spend another pound on fruit in the market. Nothing rotten, nothing that has been thrown away but good, ripe fruit.’ He pointed a finger at Perline. ‘Are you listening to me?’
The young soldier nodded.
‘You are to sleep in that cemetery, day and night, until that poor creature returns. . and it will!’
‘How do you know, Father?’ Cranston asked curiously.
‘Because Bonaventure always comes back for his milk,’ Athelstan replied. ‘And, Sir John, though this may come as a surprise to you, certain human beings can also be found at certain eating or drinking places.’
Sir John made a rude sound with his lips.
‘And you think I’ll recapture it?’ Perline asked hopefully.
‘Oh yes. Tell Benedicta that the money is not to be paid to Watkins and the rest until that animal is safely caged.’
‘And once it is?’
‘Well, you had better take another pound down with you, hire Moleskin the boatman. Tell him you have spoken to me. He will take you and the animal back across the river to the Tower.’
Simplicatas was now smiling, drying her eyes quickly.
‘And there’s the constable?’ Perline asked.
‘Give him a pound,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll look the other way. Say you took the ape out to show it to other parishioners.’
‘And what about the remaining money?’ Perline asked hopefully.
‘You may keep it,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Not for yourselves,’ he added quickly, ‘but for your child.’ Athelstan shook his head. ‘If you had only told me the truth, a great deal of confusion could have been avoided.’
‘I know.’ Perline glanced up from underneath his eyebrows.
‘Simplicatas has told me about the rumours.’
Athelstan got to his feet. ‘Yes, your fellow parishioners think that the ape is a demon. If they catch it, they would probably kill the poor creature. Now, you have your orders, Perline. You are not to come back to this house. You are not to see Simplicatas until that ape is back where it should be.’ He glanced across at the wooden cradle. ‘You’d make a fine carpenter, Perline.’
‘I’ll carve you a statue,’ the soldier offered. ‘A peace offering, Father.’
And, with the young couple’s thanks ringing in their ears, and the coroner’s parting shots of advice being bellowed through the doorway, Athelstan and Cranston went back along the alleyways of Southwark. For a while they walked in silence, then Cranston grasped Athelstan tightly by the arm.
‘If I ever, Brother, hear the words “Barbary ape” and ‘Cranston” in the same sentence again — ’ he shook a finger in the friar’s laughing face — ‘the devil really will come to Southwark!’
CHAPTER 11
They walked back towards the quayside, Cranston still loudly declaiming against an ape being named after the king’s own coroner. Athelstan pulled the cowl over his face, nodded gravely, and hoped Sir John would not realise he was fighting hard not to laugh. Outside the priory of St Mary Overy, however, Cranston’s mood suddenly changed. He turned to face his companion squarely.
‘You don’t really believe that scapegrace has anything to do with Harnett’s death, do you?’
‘No, Sir John, I don’t.’
Athelstan glanced away; he studied an old beggar clad in tattered rags who stood at the mouth of an alleyway. The man’s face was covered in bluish stains, as if he had been disfigured in some terrible fire.
‘Well?’ Cranston asked. ‘Brother!’ he exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you staring at?’
Athelstan held a hand out. ‘Stay there, Sir John.’
The friar marched towards the beggar, whose eyes widened in alarm as he recognised his parish priest.
‘Mousehead!’
Athelstan seized the beggar by his stocky shoulder. The beggar flinched, but the friar held him fast as he scraped a finger down Mousehead’s face, removing the dirty coating of powder and paint.
‘Father!’ The beggar began to hop from one foot to another.
‘Mousehead!’ Athelstan warned. ‘If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times! To beg if you are unable is acceptable to the Lord, but to beg when you are able and pretend you are the opposite, only makes the good Lord angry.’
Mousehead stared fearfully at the friar, his buck teeth even more protuberant, his nose twitching faster than usual. Athelstan pushed him away.
‘Now go and see Widow Benedicta. You will find her at St Erconwald’s. She’ll have a task for you: tell her you can help Perline.’
‘But Perline has gone missing, Father, and there’s a demon near your church.’
‘There’s no demon, Mousehead, and Perline’s not missing. You’ll find him there.’
Mousehead scampered off. Athelstan walked back to where Cranston stood leaning against the wall, staring up at a cat which sat in an open window. Athelstan followed his gaze.
‘Don’t worry, Sir John, I think there’s a solution to your missing cats.’
‘And Perline and Harnett?’ Cranston asked. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
Athelstan sighed. ‘I’d swear on the cross that Perline had nothing to do with Harnett’s death. However, Harnett did go into the lonely Pyx chamber at a time when he and his companions were being stalked by a killer. Now, why should he do that? What would draw Harnett out away from the rest?’
‘Some conspiracy perhaps?’ Cranston replied. ‘Or Perline Brasenose?’
‘Or Perline Brasenose,’ Athelstan repeated. ‘No, no, Sir John, I am not talking in riddles. What I think happened is that someone knew about Harnett’s secret negotiations with that young soldier. Somehow or other, the killer used Perline’s name, and the prospect of buying a Barbary ape, to lure Harnett into the Pyx chamber where he was killed.’
‘But, apart from Brasenose, the only people who would know that would be Harnett’s companions, wouldn’t it?’
‘Not just them, Sir John.’ Athelstan linked his arm through Cranston’s as they walked down towards the quayside. ‘You must never forget Sir Miles Coverdale, who hates the knights and also hails from Shropshire. Or, again, His Grace the Regent who, I believe is dabbling in this matter even though he acts the role of the aggrieved observer.’
Cranston stopped and took a swig from the wineskin. ‘Riddle upon riddle. . But come, Brother, these cats?’
Athelstan began to explain as Moleskin, sweating and cursing against the rising swell of the tide, took them
