‘Brother, for the love of God, please help us!’
At the door, a man stood in the darkness, supporting another, his head down, arm across his shoulder. Athelstan glimpsed an unshaven face and a brass ring glinting in an ear lobe.
‘We’ve been attacked, Brother! For the love of God, can we come in?’
Athelstan stepped back. The man, grunting and groaning, brought his companion into the house. Athelstan was closing the door when he heard Sir Maurice’s exclamation. He turned round to see both men were now on their feet, cowls back, the crossbows in their hands lowered and primed. They were both shaven-headed with lean, vicious faces, made all the more so by the brass rings hanging from their ear lobes. Athelstan glimpsed the sword and dagger belts beneath their cloaks.
‘I am a priest,’ Athelstan said, coming forward.
Both men stood back.
‘You have no right to come here! This is God’s acre and you commit the terrible sin of sacrilege!’
‘It’s years since I’ve been to church,’ the taller one declared. ‘So, no mealy-mouthed homilies though, if you wish, you may say a prayer.’
He gestured at Athelstan to move away from the door, to the far side of the table where the knight moved restlessly, his gaze straying to the inglenook where his war belt hung on a hook, the hilt of his sword glistening enticingly in the candlelight. The shaven-head leader followed his gaze.
‘You may, if you wish.’ He grinned, running his tongue round cracked, yellow teeth. ‘You have eaten and drunk well. You’ll not be as lithesome as you might like.’
‘Why are you here?’ Athelstan asked.
He could see both men were bent on murder yet there was nothing else he could do. He recognised the types, killers from the alleyways, professional assassins.
‘Like you, Brother, we have a task to do.’
‘And that is?’
The taller shaven-head pointed quickly at Sir Maurice.
‘He has to die. I am afraid you must die with him because we cannot leave a witness.’
He glanced down at the fire where Thaddeus, crouched on his haunches, was basking in the heat; Bonaventure beside him had risen, back arched, tail up, as if he sensed these men were threatening.
‘Who sent you?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Why, the devil himself.’
Athelstan gazed at the knight, who gestured with his eyes towards the fire. Athelstan swallowed hard. He knew the knight was asking that he cross between the two assassins and himself. Athelstan took a step forward.
‘Where are you going, Brother?’
‘I’m going to douse the fire,’ Athelstan said. ‘If I am to be killed, I don’t want the house burned down. They are poor people I serve. The Bishop would expect them to build a new house for the next priest.’
He saw a flicker of puzzlement in shaven-head’s eyes, as he went forward.
‘Come on now, Bonaventure!’
Athelstan stooped, picking up the cat. He heard a movement and turned quickly, throwing the cat at the shaven-head’s feet. Sir Maurice had moved, his speed taking Athelstan by surprise. A crossbow bolt whirred and smacked into the plaster at the far end. Athelstan felt himself pushed. He went staggering back and, by the time he regained his balance, Sir Maurice was among the killers. Both men had loosed their crossbows and that was their undoing, for they didn’t have time to draw sword and dagger. The knight’s sword sliced into the shoulder of one, sending him screaming back. The other threw his crossbow at Sir Maurice, hitting him on the arm as he turned. The knight stopped, flinching with pain, giving the taller shaven-head time to draw his weapons, throwing his cloak back over his shoulder. Sir Maurice moved in, sword cutting the air. The assassin was quick-footed and blocked the thrust with sword and dagger. The other assassin was now crouched near the door. The elder one yelled at him. He forgot his pain, and getting to one knee he drew his sword, glancing at the melee then at the Dominican. Athelstan picked up a stool. The assassin clambered to his feet. Athelstan threw it, the man ducked, the stool missed but then Godbless came in, throwing the door back. It struck the assassin and sent him staggering forwards.
Bonaventure was now on the table, hair up, spitting in fury. Thaddeus had got to his feet and fled to a far corner. Sir Maurice and the shaven-head were now in close combat, sword and dagger locked, each trying to seek the advantage. Athelstan picked up another stool but Godbless snatched it from him. The wounded assassin turned and, as he did so, Godbless brought the stool down. Athelstan closed his eyes; the stool hit the assassin with a resounding thwack full in the forehead. The man collapsed. Before Athelstan could do anything, Godbless, dagger in hand, was standing over the man and in one quick swipe, he slit his throat from ear to ear. As he did this, Sir Maurice stepped back. Athelstan thought the struggle was still continuing. The shaven-head was crouched, a look of puzzlement on his face, his lips slightly parted. He came forward, sword and dagger still gripped. Athelstan saw the great dark patch under his heart; a froth of bubbles appeared at the corner of his mouth.
‘In God’s name!’ the man gasped. His eyes rolled up as sword and dagger slipped from his hand.
Sir Maurice went in again, thrusting his dagger deep into the man’s throat. The assassin fell to his knees, blood pouring from the wounds in his chest and throat, then he gave a groan and fell on his face.
Athelstan found he couldn’t stop shaking. He picked up Bonaventure, took one of the stools and sat in front of the fire. He stroked the cat. Sir Maurice was speaking but he couldn’t understand a word the knight was saying. Godbless came over and tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Are you well, Brother? It’s always like this after a blood spilling.’
‘This is my house,’ Athelstan replied, finding he couldn’t stop the tears. ‘This is my house. I live here with Bonaventure.’
Sir Maurice crouched down beside him. He filled a goblet with wine and Athelstan sipped from it.
‘Of course it’s your house,’ the knight said quietly.
‘Did you kill those men?’ Athelstan asked.
‘You know I have, Brother. And Godbless the other.’
‘No, no.’ Athelstan shook his head and put Bonaventure down. ‘I mean those Frenchmen at Hawkmere. Did you kill them?’
‘No, Father, you know I did not.’
Athelstan’s body shook with a shiver. ‘I am sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I have seen men die before but,’ he took a great gulp from the wine cup, ‘I wish old Jack was here!’
‘I could send for him.’
‘No, no.’ Athelstan put the cup down. I am trembling like a maid.’
He got to his feet and, despite the objections of the other two, knelt before each of the former assassins and gave them the last rites. The men lay crumpled on the floor. They looked pathetic now, empty faces, sightless eyes, pools of blood around their heads.
‘If God can forgive you, so can I,’ Athelstan said.
The beggar man immediately went through the assassins’ paltry possessions and found nothing but some coins which Athelstan told him to keep. They then wrapped the corpses in their cloaks and took them out. The storm had passed, the rain had stopped. They put both corpses just within the lych gate.
‘We’ll bury them tomorrow,’ Athelstan said. ‘We can put them in the ditch Pike and Watkin have dug.’
Sir Maurice now took over. He insisted that Athelstan, Bonaventura and Thaddeus go into the church.
‘I can help,’ Athelstan protested.
‘No, no, Brother, those men came for me. The least I can do is clean your house.’
Athelstan unlocked the church and, followed by the two animals, went inside. He went up into the sanctuary and, taking some cushions from a chest in the sacristy, sat there, arms crossed, staring up at the red winking sanctuary lamp. He tried to pray for himself, for Sir Maurice, for Sir Jack and those two hapless souls sent into the darkness. He prayed they would not fall into eternal night. Thaddeus was still trembling and Athelstan had to put his arm round him. Bonaventure crawled into his lap.
‘We are not a very brave trio, are we?’ Athelstan said. ‘But it was the speed, the savagery of the killing!’
Bonaventure purred.
‘I’m sorry I threw you,’ Athelstan apologised. ‘But what could I do?’
The door opened. He saw a lighted candle and two dark shapes, Sir Maurice and Godbless, came up the
