‘I suspect we are the Regent’s guests,’ Cranston whispered, ‘whether we like it or not.’ They sat down on the stools placed before the fire. Cranston gazed around at the assembled company and, fumbling beneath his cloak, brought out the miraculous wine skin. He offered it around and, when no one accepted, took a generous swig and placed it between his feet.
‘We have heard the news.’ Samuel’s face and voice were bitter, no longer the bonhomie or gracious courtesy of a few hours earlier. ‘They say Barak is the assassin, that he was killed while escaping.’
Athelstan held his gaze, staring at that ruddy face, the neatly clipped moustache and beard. A resolute, determined man, Athelstan thought, well educated and skilled. A former soldier, perhaps a mailed clerk?
‘Is that true, Brother?’ Rachael, even more pale-faced, her fiery red hair now hidden beneath the hood of her gown, stretched out her hands to the fire.
‘Those heads,’ Eli whispered, repressing a shiver, ‘where did those grotesques come from? Brother Athelstan, they were severed heads.’ He pulled a face. ‘Real heads, no mummers’ trickery, no subtle device.’
‘God have mercy on them, whoever they were,’ Athelstan replied slowly. ‘They were the heads of two unfortunates. I suspect they were severed some time ago, washed, soaked in heavy brine and left to dry.’ He shrugged at their cries and exclamations. ‘Possibly the work of the Upright Men.’ Athelstan blew his lips out. ‘They must be; they were left as a warning, weren’t they, for our noble Regent?’
‘When I first saw them,’ Eli declared, ‘I really did think they were part of our wardrobe – masks we’d left unpacked.’ He laughed, shaking his head. ‘Foolish lad I am! Brother, Rachael stitches and embroiders our costumes, paints and cuts most of our scenery, yet I’d never seen them before. They were not Rachael’s work. I stared again and realized they were real.’
‘How long before you noticed them there?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Oh, only a few heart beats before I yelled.’
‘And nobody saw them being placed there?’ Cranston asked.
‘We saw nothing,’ Rachael replied. ‘I was eating some food, there were those explosions from the braziers, then Lettenhove was struck and almost immediately Oudernarde on the other side of the chapel. We fled.’
‘It’s true, it’s true,’ Samuel murmured. The rest of the company quietly agreed.
‘Brother Athelstan,’ Gideon, his blond hair so heavily oiled it seemed pressed down and held by a net, half rose; Samuel gripped him by the shoulder and forced him back on to the stool. ‘You claim this is the work of the Upright Men?’
‘You know who they are?’ Athelstan demanded.
‘Of course,’ Samson and Eli answered as one. ‘Who hasn’t heard of them?’
‘Are you saying,’ Samson accused, ‘that we are their retainers, members of their coven? Is that why we have been brought here, to be questioned?’
‘Hush now,’ Samuel intervened, ‘Brother Athelstan, I’m sorry, but this is…?’ He gestured at Cranston.
‘Sir John Cranston,’ Athelstan finished the sentence. ‘My friend, also Lord Coroner of London, the King’s law officer.’ Athelstan stared around. ‘Sir John is no retainer or lackey of this lord or that lord but the keeper of the King’s peace. Nevertheless, he, like me, like you, has little knowledge about what is truly happening here.’ Athelstan paused as a snow-white cat slipped through the buttery door and padded softly down the hall. Athelstan wondered how his constant companion, the one-eyed Bonaventure was faring.
‘Brother Athelstan is correct,’ Cranston, basking in the heat from the fire, stirred and stared round the semicircle of anxious faces. ‘Yes,’ he breathed, still jovial and benevolent after the claret he’d supped. ‘We truly are in the kingdom of mayhem and mystery.’ He smiled at his description taken from Athelstan. ‘Though some things are becoming clearer.’ He pointed at the fire. ‘Those explosions before the two men were struck were caused by cannon powder, I suspect – small leather pouches wedged between the charcoal.’
Athelstan nodded in agreement.
‘Now,’ Cranston smacked his lips and straightened up, ‘I am the Lord Coroner. Murder has been committed.’
‘Is this an inquisicio?’ Samuel protested.
‘Yes and no,’ Cranston retorted. ‘Let us at least determine where we were. Brother Athelstan and I stayed in the chapel. What happened to you?’
‘When the second man was struck,’ Judith replied, screwing up her eyes as she peered at the coroner, ‘we all fled. We were frightened.’ Her voice broke. Samson went to stroke her arm and she shrugged him off, a look of distaste on her face. Rachael leaned over, murmuring comfortingly.
‘We ran down the steps with the rest,’ Judith continued in a rush, ‘out into the snow.’
‘Do you all know where you were?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Brother,’ Rachael replied, ‘we were terrified. We all fled. I cannot remember who was where.’
Athelstan nodded in agreement. He realized it would be futile to ask anybody where they had been. All was confused. Everyone would describe not so much what happened but how they perceived it. The assassin would certainly not betray himself. Moreover, there were others, such as the leading citizens, whom he could never question. ‘Asking people where they were, when and what they were doing is not helpful,’ Athelstan conceded. He stared down at the floor, tapping his sandal-clad feet. ‘We do not even know when the severed heads were placed. Before or after the explosions? During the attacks, before or after?’ He shook his head.
‘Did anyone see Barak leave?’
‘Brother,’ Judith retorted, ‘we’ve told you.
