They exchanged the kiss of peace and Athelstan ushered him into the kitchen. Due to the fast before Mass, he could only offer a cup of water, but Malachi shook his head, saying he was only too pleased to warm his fingers above the fire.
‘Did you stay at the Night in Jerusalem?’ Athelstan asked.
‘No.’ Malachi spread his hands out to catch the warmth. ‘I’ve had enough of my companions. I left late in the afternoon, I was ashamed of what they said, those two poor girls lying murdered! Sir Maurice and the rest acting all righteous during the day but slinking out like sinners at night!’
‘Are you shocked?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes, yes, I am,’ the Benedictine replied. ‘Oh, I understand the feasting and the drinking. I can understand them being smitten by a tavern wench, but singling out those two girls, it’s callous, cruel, especially as they knew their mother. I am not being self-righteous,’ Malachi made himself more comfortable on the stool, ‘but I do not think I will join them next year. The past is gone, it’s finished.’
‘You have searched for your brother?’ Athelstan raised his hand in apology. ‘I know, I have asked you before.’
‘I have done what I can,’ Malachi replied. ‘My order has houses the length and breadth of Christendom, all manner of travellers rest there. It also does business with both the great and the lowly so it is well positioned to hear things. Oh, I have heard reports, but I know in my heart my brother is dead.’
‘And Guinevere the Golden?’
‘The same.’
‘Did your brother ever hint at what was planned?’
‘He was much younger than I. He was full of knightly dreams and chivalry, of beautiful women, of jousting and tournaments and brave deeds. Oh yes, he could act the merry rogue, but he truly lost his heart and soul to Guinevere. He didn’t see her as a courtesan or a whore, but a beautiful damsel in distress, trapped in a life she was desperate to escape from.’
‘And was she?’
‘She had a face as beautiful as an angel, not an evil heart but a greedy one. Fickle of mind, changeable in mood, yet I might as well have asked your cat to sing the Ave Maria than make my brother realise the truth. The last time I saw him was the day before the treasure arrived. He seemed distracted, perhaps excited.’ Malachi pushed back the stool and got to his feet. ‘But after that, nothing.’
‘And why was he chosen?’ Athelstan asked.
‘I’ve told you. Lord Belvers, his commander, trusted him. John of Gaunt also played his part; Mortimer was his man.’
‘Do you truly think he stole that treasure?’ Athelstan asked.
‘In my heart no, but the evidence seems to point otherwise. I’ll pray for him at Mass.’
‘As will I, at mine,’ Athelstan replied. ‘You know my story, Brother Malachi?’
‘I’ve heard about it,’ the Benedictine replied. ‘How, when you were a novice, you and your brother joined the levies bound for France. He was killed there, wasn’t he?’
‘And I came back,’ Athelstan agreed. ‘My order made my novitiate twice as long, every humble task was given to me.’ He opened the door. ‘Let me put it this way, Brother, I know everything there is about the latrines and sewers of Blackfriars.’
They left the house and entered the church by a side door. Athelstan walked to the rood screen, stopped and gasped.
‘Brother?’
‘Where is he?’
Athelstan hastened across into the sacristy. He opened the side door which led out to the small latrine built over a sewer. Across the cemetery, members of the posse were staring at him. Athelstan returned to the church and locked the door.
‘It’s the Misericord,’ Athelstan gasped. ‘He appears to have vanished. Come, Brother, help me.’
They searched the church, the chantry chapel, the sacristy, even the small disused crypt, but of the Misericord not a sign, nothing to mark his stay, except an empty ale pot and a trancher with some stale crumbs. He had vanished along with his weapons. Athelstan scratched his head. He didn’t want to shout the Misericord’s name or raise the alarm. He was surprised, yet slightly relieved. How had the rogue managed to escape? Once again he searched the church, sending Brother Malachi out to walk the perimeter of the cemetery and visit God-Bless snoring in the death house. The Benedictine returned shaking his head.
‘Gone,’ he said, ‘like the snow in spring. Neither hide nor hair of him.’
‘We’ll not raise the alarm,’ Athelstan declared. ‘Not until I’ve celebrated Mass.’
They busied themselves preparing the altar, lighting the candles, filling the cruets with water and wine. Athelstan vested and celebrated his Mass alone in the small chantry chapel, whilst Malachi did the same at the high altar. Athelstan tried to think only of what was happening, of the Great Miracle, of bread and wine changing into the body and blood of the unseen God, but as he confessed to Malachi afterwards, he was distracted by another miracle. How could a criminal like the Misericord vanish from his church, walk through a ring of armed men ever vigilant to catch him, without let or hindrance?
‘Well,’ Athelstan crossed himself, ‘I might as well proclaim the good news for all to hear.’
He walked down the nave, opened the main door and, ignoring the protests of Pernel and Cecily the courtesan, who had been waiting for Mass, though they confessed they had arrived late, called across the Judas Man from his usual position by the lychgate. This hound and scourge of criminals came swaggering across, sword slapping against his thigh.
‘Good morrow, Brother.’
‘Good morning to you, sir.’ Athelstan forced a smile. ‘I must inform you that our sanctuary man, the Misericord, has disappeared.’
‘What?’
The Judas Man bounded up the steps, almost knocking Athelstan aside, and throwing back the door with a crash ran up into the sanctuary. Athelstan followed, protesting. The Judas Man took the small horn hanging from his belt, opened the corpse door and blew three long blasts. Soon the nave was filled with men milling about, Pike,
