nave.
‘The house is clean, Brother. There wasn’t much blood.’
Godbless was eating from another bowl of stew.
‘Nothing like the cut and thrust to give a man an appetite.’
Sir Maurice stretched his hand out. ‘Come on, it is time we slept. There’s nothing more we can do.’
‘Who sent them?’
‘Ah!’ The knight’s usually handsome face turned ugly. ‘Parr! I’ll go down there tomorrow and challenge him.’
Athelstan shook his head. ‘Don’t do that, Maurice, please, for my sake!’
The knight crouched down, cupping the candle flame in his hand.
‘You really don’t think it was Parr, do you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Athelstan replied. He got to his feet. ‘Those assassins. You see, if they had been captured and questioned, Parr would have lost his head on Tower Green or even hanged at Tyburn!’ He sighed. I suspect it’s Mercurius. And how could those villains lead us back to him? Ah well. In the end we’ll know the truth. Come on, Godbless, you’d best sleep on the kitchen floor.’
Athelstan glanced at the knight.
‘Won’t my Lord of Gaunt miss you at the Savoy?’
‘I’m in the Regent’s favour. What I do, Brother, for two or three days, is of no concern to him.’
While Sir Maurice and Godbless, accompanied by Thaddeus and Bonaventure, went back to the house, Athelstan locked the door of the church. He then went and stood over the two corpses laid out on the wet grass. He sketched a blessing above them and returned to the house.
At Mass the following morning, St Erconwald’s was well attended. The parish council turned out in force, thronging into the sanctuary. Athelstan realised that the news of the attack had somehow spread throughout Southwark. He gave the final blessing and turned to go into the sanctuary.
‘Shall we hang them, Brother?’ Pike coolly shouted, leaning on his shovel. ‘Shall we hang them up by their heels as a warning?’
His words were greeted by a roar of approval from the other parishioners. Athelstan glimpsed Benedicta’s pale face as she stared hollow-eyed at him, her lips moving as if she were quietly reciting a prayer.
‘You’ll leave the corpses as they are. What are their bodies now but poor husks? Their souls are before God, but you can help me.’
After he had divested, Athelstan went into the cemetery, his parishioners streaming around him. Hig the pigman stood on guard over the corpses, a thick cudgel in his hand.
‘Crim,’ Athelstan said. ‘Go back to the sacristy. Bring a stoup of holy water and an asperges rod. Pike, over there, beneath the yew trees, you’ll find an old wooden cross.’
‘You are not going to bury them here?’ Pernell the Fleming woman screeched.
‘It’s a Christian act to bury the dead,’ Athelstan replied.
‘Aren’t you going to tell us what happened?’ Manger the hang-man spoke up.
‘They came here to rob. And my good friend Sir Maurice Maltravers heroically defended me! A true hero, a Sir Galahad!’
The knight was immediately mobbed by the parishioners.
‘Your priest was brave as well,’ he declared. ‘And so was Godbless!’
The beggar man, too, received tribute. Athelstan glimpsed Benedicta slipping him some coins.
‘We’ll bury them here,’ Athelstan announced. ‘And they’ll wait till the resurrection.’
‘Aye, when the buggers wake up,’ Watkin roared, ‘the first thing I’ll do is smack them in the ear!’
A chorus of approval greeted the dung-collector’s words.
‘Rats they are.’ Ranulf the rat-catcher spoke up. ‘And rats they died. Oh, by the way, Brother, you haven’t forgotten our Mass tomorrow?’
‘What’s this?’ Watkin asked.
‘Ranulf will tell you,’ Athelstan said. ‘And I want no argument.’
Pike returned carrying the little wooden cross.
‘Where are you going to bury them, Brother?’
‘In that ditch along the cemetery wall.’
Pike’s face fell. He glanced sideways at Watkin.
‘It stands to reason,’ Athelstan continued. ‘They will be buried in consecrated soil but only just.’ He scuffed the wet grass with his sandals. ‘Despite the rain, the soil’s too hard. It saves you digging an extra grave. Finally, no one ever asks to be buried next to the wall.’
‘That’s true,’ said Bladdersniff. He was still swaying on his feet as the effect of last night’s ale made itself felt. ‘Best place for them,’ he added.
Watkin and Pike reluctantly agreed.
‘Very well,’ Athelstan said. ‘Lift the bodies up. Pike, you go ahead carrying the cross. The rest of you can be my witnesses. Say a prayer for their unfortunate souls.’
The strange procession wound its way across the cemetery. Athelstan loudly recited the Pater Noster. Pike carried the cross before him. Watkin trailed behind muttering, ‘Bastards they were born, bastards they die!’
They reached the trench, most of it now refilled. The bodies were lowered, one on top of the other, Pike and Watkin ordering everyone around. Athelstan blessed the grave and muttered a prayer.
‘Well,’ he said to Watkin and Pike. ‘Fill the ditch in!’
‘Yes, fill it in,’ Godbless added. ‘What’s the matter with you two? We can’t leave two corpses out like that!’
Mumbling under their breath, Watkin and Pike began to shovel in the dirt. Athelstan looked up at the huge sycamore tree and then he noticed it. Part of the bark had worn away as if someone had tied a hempen rope around it. On closer inspection some of the branches were freshly broken, the sap still clean and white. A vague unease stirred.
Ah well, we’ve buried them now.’ He sighed. ‘And that’s the end of that matter!’
CHAPTER 14
Athelstan felt rather exhausted, tired and depleted, so he decided to spend the day in his parish. He went up on to the bell tower and stared out across Southwark, watching the plumes of smoke rise from the cottages and the tannery shops. The people in the narrow streets looked like colourful insects scurrying about. On such a clear day, though the sun was hazy, he could make out the Thames and the different ships and barges moving along it. He let the breeze cool his face as, crouching down with his back to the wall, he reflected on the previous day’s happenings.
‘What do we have here?’ He addressed Bonaventure who had followed him up and now lay sunning himself on the trap door. ‘We have a lovelorn knight but, in battle, he’s a warrior who has taken two ships. Secundo, my dear Bonaventure, our beloved Regent may have a spy among the officers on those two ships. Whether that spy is still alive or dead we don’t know.’
Athelstan watched the birds soar overhead. For some strange reason he recalled his sudden departure from St Erconwald’s before Prior Anselm had abruptly ordered him to return. Was he pleased to be back? Yes, he was. For all the strife and blood, the petty annoyances of life, he loved this church and the people who thronged it.
‘Even though some of them are villains,’ Athelstan said loudly. ‘However, back to the matter in hand, my dear Bonaventure. Tertio, we know the French have a spy, Mercurius, in England. He is a bloody-handed assassin. He may be responsible for the deaths of those men and that poor girl at Hawkmere, although it doesn’t make sense. He may have used some strange poison and probably bought this from Vulpina. He undoubtedly found out we had visited Vulpina so she had to die. Quarto.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘We have the death of that woman at the Golden Cresset. Undoubtedly the work of someone who wants to discredit poor Maltravers. Quinto, we have the death of the Frenchman Maneil but, this time, he is murdered with a crossbow bolt, not poison. However, none of the prisoners, or even the guards at Hawkmere, have crossbows. And who else had been in the manor apart from him,
