‘I’ll stay here,’ she said in a sing-song tone. ‘Mother Superior gave us an hour. We have left our porter outside. He’ll see us safely back.’
‘Do you want something to eat or drink?’
‘There’s no time, there’s no time.’ Edith’s voice was stern and the old nun nodded in agreement.
Athelstan escorted the brother and sister back up into the sanctuary. He brought a chair for the novice whilst he and the Misericord sat on the rood-screen step.
‘I heard you were taken,’ she began.
‘I’m not taken,’ the Misericord declared, ‘and you shouldn’t have come here. I’ll escape, something will happen.’
‘I’ve brought you some—’
‘There’s no need,’ the Misericord interrupted. ‘Brother Athelstan, would you leave us alone?’
‘Only if you tell me what this is all about?’
‘Edith and I,’ the Misericord’s haste was apparent, ‘are full brother and sister. Our parents lived near Cripplegate. They were clothiers. They died when the plague returned. Other relatives, too, perished. I have to look after Edith. Now, she was betrothed to Henry Sturny—’
‘Ah, yes!’ Athelstan interrupted. ‘They are cloth merchants in Cheapside.’
‘Henry loves Edith, Edith loves Henry, but there was the question of the dowry.’ The Misericord took a deep breath. ‘I wasted my parents’ wealth. Now, Brother, you know the reason for my mischief. I placed Edith in the care of the good Minoresses, and have spent every waking moment of the last three years trying to raise her dowry. Five hundred pounds sterling in all.’
Athelstan could tell by the way this cunning man was staring at his sister how much he loved her. He made to go away, but turned back.
‘Do you know any of these knights, with their rather grand title of the Golden Falcon? They’d be known to you by their name and status in the shire of Kent.’
The Misericord blinked and cleared his throat. ‘I have,’ he chose his words carefully, ‘done business with them.’
‘You mean you’ve tricked them?’
‘What is this?’ Edith interrupted.
‘Your brother’s usual depredations,’ Athelstan explained. ‘You do realise he is well known to every law officer south of the River Trent?’
Edith coloured with embarrassment.
‘Well, sir,’ Athelstan continued. ‘Answer my question and I’ll leave you alone.’
‘I have taken a hare for the pot and a pheasant from their fields,’ the Misericord confessed. ‘I have also sold all manner of things to their villagers and tenants.’
‘Do they have a grievance against you?’
‘They may have.’
The Misericord’s eyes shifted, and Athelstan knew there was more meat to his admission than the few scraps he had thrown. The Dominican leaned down.
‘You think you’re safe,’ he warned, ‘but you are not. Those are very powerful men, warriors, land owners, who would see you swinging from a branch and not blink an eye. Are any of them your enemies?’
‘I had a dalliance with one of their daughters.’
‘And?’
‘Some of their womenfolk, but I forget who. It was some years ago. Brother, that is all I shall say.’
Athelstan sketched a blessing in his direction and walked down the church. He talked to Sister Catherine, a kindly, garrulous old soul, about her own girlhood, how she had been raised in Southwark and had often visited St Erconwald’s. Oh yes, she certainly remembered Fitzwolfe, the demon priest, and talked in a hushed whisper about his dabbling in the black arts. Athelstan, with his back to the sanctuary, half listened, ears strained. The echoes in the church were very good, a fact Athelstan always tried to remember when he listened to his parishioners’ confessions. Edith and her brother had begun their conversation in whispers, but their discussion had spilled into a quarrel, and their voices were raised. Athelstan was sure he heard the name Mother Veritable mentioned. Sister Catherine chatted on about how Fitzwolfe was supposed to have sacrificed a black hen at night and had committed other blasphemies in the darkness of the night. Athelstan smiled and nodded his head. The conversation at the top of the church had now returned to whispers, and eventually Edith, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, came tripping down the aisle, hands concealed in the voluminous sleeves of her gown. She stopped before the friar and bowed.
‘Brother Athelstan, I thank you for your kindness to my brother and myself. Now I must leave, as the night is drawing on…’
Distracted, she stepped around him. Sister Catherine caught her by the arm, and when Athelstan unbarred the door, they both slipped through and down the steps. Athelstan closed and locked the door behind him. He returned to the rood screen, eager to question the Misericord, but the fugitive was now lying in the sanctuary fast asleep, or pretending to be. Athelstan crossed himself, left by the side door, locking it behind him, and walked into the night.
‘Who was that?’
Athelstan spun round. The Judas Man was standing almost behind him.
‘This is God’s Acre,’ Athelstan snapped, ‘church land. You should not be slipping about like a thief in the night.’
‘Who was that woman?’
‘None of your business,’ Athelstan replied, stepping closer. ‘You are truly determined to bring that man to justice, aren’t you?’
‘I’m being paid well.’
‘By whom?’
‘I don’t know,’ the Judas Man grinned. ‘If I did, I would certainly ask for more. By the way, where’s your cat?’
‘In the church,’ Athelstan gestured with his head, ‘hunting for mice. He can leave by the sacristy door.’
‘Your cat and I have a lot in common.’
‘No, sir, you do not,’ Athelstan replied. ‘My cat hunts to eat. You…’ Athelstan played with the cord around his waist. ‘You, sir, you love it. It helps fill the dark void in your own soul, doesn’t it? A way of exorcising your demons. I bid you goodnight.’
Athelstan returned to his house, locking the door behind him. It had fallen cold. He built up the fire, plucked some of the charcoal from it, filled the warming pan and took this up to the bed loft. He pulled back the blankets and the linen sheets beneath. The straw mattress underneath felt cold, icy cold. Athelstan put the warming pan carefully under the blankets and went back down
