Angel of Death

belongings.'
    'Was the chalice kept here? I mean, the one he used at mass?'
    'Oh, no,' Plumpton said, 'I am the sacristan. Canon Law insists such sacred vessels are always kept in or near the church under lock and key. De Montfort himself enforced that rule.'
    Corbett smiled and strode out. They went down the stairs, the clerk thanking the priest for his attention and help and, followed by a rather bemused Ranulf, Corbett left the cathedral precincts.

10
    Corbett and Ranulf entered Paternoster Row and walked on into Cheapside. The streets were already filling up with people. The sky was bright blue and a warmish sun was gradually melting the snow so that it fell off the sloping roofs, crashing into the streets below. Londoners had decided to take advantage of the fair weather and Cheapside was thronged. Shop fronts were down and booths erected, the striped awnings flapping in a strong breeze. The goldsmiths, pelterers, furriers and parchment-sellers were all busy, intent on recovering the business lost during the bad weather. Ladies in fur-lined cloaks tripped through the snow followed by anxious maids; lawyers, making their way up into the nave of St Paul's to do business, swaggered haughtily by. There were men-at-arms from the Palace and Tower. Young children were everywhere and apprentices ran out from behind the booths, trying to catch the attention of would-be purchasers. Two beggars staggered by, each holding the other, for the ground underfoot was slippery. Now and again, snow would fall onto a striped awning to the anguished yell of a shopkeeper and the ecstatic cries of the urchins who swarmed everywhere.
    Corbett felt as if he had come into a different world. St Paul's had been cold, dark, still in the icy grip of winter. Here, everything was bright, full of life, movement and colour. He and Ranulf forced their way through the crowds. Most people tried to keep to the centre of the street, well away from the sloping roofs and the ever falling snow. Shoemakers hammered away at their benches. Carters, having brought their goods into the city through the snow, had decided to celebrate and the taverns had no need to hang out garlands or signs to attract custom. The Sun on the Hoop, The Cock, The Red Door, The Bell and The Cat and Fiddle, were all doing a roaring trade. The cooks and valets stood outside the doors shouting, 'Hot pies!'; 'Hot good pies and cheese!'; 'Come and dine!'; and competed with cries of 'White wine of Alsace!'; 'Red wine of Gascony!': 'Wine of the Rhine!'; 'Wine of Rochelle!' The cold, the smells of cooking and the loud cries reminded Corbett how hungry he was. He stopped beside a fish stall to watch a furious debate between two vendors, which broke into a fight. One man was sent crashing against the wooden framework, spilling onto the slushy ground his wares of cod, salmon, conger, ray, sturgeon, herring, pilchards, and sprats. Immediately, these were picked up by urchins and, to the anguished cry of their owner, taken off without a 'by your leave' or a penny paid.
    Corbett, usually a solitary man, often enjoyed mingling with the crowds and watching the different scenes. On one corner he saw a corpse lying covered in a rough awning. Around it the Wardman had called twelve people to sit in judgement. Some unfortunate had evidently dropped dead or been killed in a brawl and the local coroner was now empanelling a jury of twelve men to decide on the cause of death and what procedures should be followed.
    Down the middle of Cheapside came a cart covered with a black cloth on which a white cross was painted. The horse, moving slowly and dolefully, had a bell on its bridle which tolled mournfully. A Carthusian monk carefully led the beast through the slush and dirt of the street. A bare-headed and bare-footed sanctuary man who had agreed to abjure the kingdom, his legs and ankles purple with the cold, walked down the street carrying a wooden cross before him, on his way to Bridgegate and accompanied by the Serjeant of his ward. Apparendy, he was a murderer who had taken sanctuary but then released himself from it by promising to abjure the kingdom. Corbett knew the felon had three days to reach Dover and quietly concluded that there was very little chance he would reach it: either he would die in the intense cold or the relatives of the person he had murdered would follow and kill him in some lonely spot.
    For a few moments, the hubbub of the market-place died as a city officer, clad in a tunic