‘Be careful, Father!’ one of the boys shouted.
Athelstan stared down at the green-slimed steps.
‘The Lombard treasure arrived,’ he murmured. ‘It would be unloaded, probably left on the quayside. Culpepper and his companion, helped by the two bargemen, would…’ He stopped his whispering. ‘No,’ he reflected, ‘Culpepper would have waited until those who had brought the treasure had left. He and his accomplice would then kill the bargemen, load their bodies with stones, and arrange…’ Athelstan chewed on the corner of his lip. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘This is all nonsense, I must find out more.’
‘What are you thinking, Brother?’ Cranston came up beside him, sucking on an oyster.
‘I can think of nothing, Sir John, nothing now.’
‘I don’t think I’ll go home,’ Cranston declared.
‘But the Lady Maud will miss you.’
‘I’m going to stay at the Night in Jerusalem, but only after a few more oysters.’
Athelstan patted Sir John on the hand. He made his farewells and, grasping his writing satchel and walking stick, left the quayside.
When he reached St Erconwald’s, he found his parish a hive of activity. The Judas Man had lit braziers and his comitatus were grouped round these, warming their hands as they roasted strips of bacon. Athelstan knew better than to object. They had every right to food and warmth on the Crown’s business, yet, he smiled to himself, the men hadn’t had it all their own way. Apparently the women of the parish had decided to do their washing and, as usual, had laid the wet clothes over the tombstones and the walls of the cemetery. He glimpsed the Judas Man standing near the lychgate and raised a hand. The Judas Man popped a piece of meat into his mouth and turned away. Athelstan shrugged. He entered the cemetery by the small wicker gate at the side and glanced around. The soil here was very thin and it was not unknown for some of the children to play skittles using bones for pins and skulls for balls. He walked along the winding path around the church to the death house. Thaddeus was picking at the grass, whilst God-Bless must have joined the comitatus.
Athelstan went inside to make sure everything was safe. He unlocked the mortuary chest; the parish pall, pickaxe and shovel were still there, as was the rammer used to press corpses down into the soil. He relocked the chest and patted each of the three parish coffins stacked on the three-wheel trestle. God-Bless was keeping everything tidy. As he left the death house, Athelstan noticed two chickens busy pecking at the earth and wondered if God-Bless had stolen them or if they had just wandered in. He went across, unlocked the coffin door and entered the church. The usual smell of ancient walls, incense and candle wax greeted him. In the sanctuary a candle glowed, as did tapers before the small Lady Chapel. Athelstan walked carefully round. The scurrying of mice echoed from shadowy corners.
‘You shouldn’t be here, little ones,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Bonaventure the killer will find you!’
‘Who is it?’ the Misericord called, all alarmed. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Pax et bonum,’ Athelstan called back. ‘Do not concern yourself, it’s only Brother Athelstan.’
He walked back up the nave through the rood screen, and paused. The wood smelt freshly polished and he remembered how the previous day five of his parishioners, who called themselves the ‘Brotherhood of the Rood Light’, had cleaned and polished the oaken screen. The sanctuary lay in darkness, except for the candle on the high altar and the red lamp which showed where the pyx containing the Sacred Host hung from its silver chain. A shadow moved beside the altar.
‘You can come out, sir.’
The Misericord stepped into the light and sat on the top step.
‘I’m hungry, Brother, I thought you would never return.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Athelstan replied. ‘I was longer than I thought. Murder is a vexing business. So stay there, sir, and I shall come back with food, a good jug of wine, some meat and bread, not to mention a piece of cheese. Afterwards we shall talk about what part, if any, you played in these terrible killings.’
‘Brother…!’
‘Oh!’ Athelstan came back. ‘I believe a coffer was brought here from the Night in Jerusalem?’
‘What’s happening?’ the Misericord pleaded. ‘I heard rumours. When I went out to relieve myself, Pike the ditcher said there’d been hideous murders.’
‘Did he now? But where’s the coffer?’
‘Watkin put it over there. He and Ranulf brought it in.’
Athelstan walked across the sanctuary. The coffer was under the offertory table. He drew it out and, ignoring the Misericord’s demands for his food to be brought quickly, walked back down the nave and out through the open door, where he put the coffer down. The Judas Man was sitting on the bottom step. He turned and pointed at the chest.
‘That was brought earlier. I hoped it would be safe in there.’
‘It has three locks,’ Athelstan replied, ‘and the Misericord is no fool, and neither are you. If a sanctuary man steals from the Church, or interferes with anything, the law says he can be handed over to the sheriff’s men.’
The Judas Man bit at the quick on his thumb. ‘I’ll have him soon enough.’
‘Are you always so zealous in hunting men down?’
‘You preach, I hunt,’ came
