By Murder's bright Light

left.’ Athelstan sat down beside him. ‘Don’t worry about that. But they will be back. They might not invade the church but they will certainly keep a watch. So, if I were you, my lad, I’d stay where you are, at least for the time being.’
    ‘What will happen now?’ Ashby asked anxiously.
    Cranston took a swig from his wineskin, then thrust it at Ashby. ‘Well, you can stay here for forty days. Once that’s up you either surrender to the sheriff’s officers or, dressed in the clothes you’re wearing now, walk the king’s highway to the nearest port, carrying a cross before you. If you drop the cross, or leave the highway, Marston and his men can kill you as a wolfshead.’ Cranston took the wineskin back. ‘Marston and his gang will probably follow you all the way. Unless they have powerful friends, very few sanctuary men reach port.’
    Ashby’s head drooped.
    ‘Did you kill him?’ Athelstan asked abruptly.
    ‘No!’
    ‘But you had your hand on the dagger when Marston entered the chamber?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I went in, I saw my master lying there, I... I tried to pull the dagger out.’
    ‘Strange,’ Cranston mused. ‘You tried to take the dagger out? Was it yours?’
    ‘No, no, it was Sir Henry’s own!’
    ‘But instead of screaming “Murder!” and looking for help,’ Athelstan put in, ‘you tried to remove the dagger from the dead man’s chest?’
    Ashby looked away, licking his lips. ‘I’m telling the truth,’ he muttered. ‘I went into the room. I saw my master’s corpse. I tried to take the dagger out. Marston came in and I fled.’
    ‘Well, tell that to the king’s justices,’ Cranston said merrily, ‘and you’ll soon find yourself on your way to the scaffold.’
    Ashby crossed his arms and leaned back against the altar.
    ‘What can I do? If I stay, I hang. If I flee, I die anyway.’
    ‘And there’s another matter,’ Cranston told him. ‘You seem mixed up in a great deal of murder, my lad. Do you know anything about the death of Captain William Roffel?’

CHAPTER 3

    Athelstan went across to his house and brought back a bowl of oatmeal, two blankets and a bolster. He returned for a napkin, a bowl and a pitcher of water so that Ashby could wash himself. Then Cranston began his questioning.
    ‘You are Sir Henry Ospring’s squire?’
    ‘Yes, Sir John,’ Ashby replied between mouthfuls of oatmeal.
    ‘You also sailed on the God’s Bright Light with Captain Roffel?’
    ‘Aye. Sir Henry financed most of the crew’s wages and brought the armaments for the ship. In return he drew fifty per cent of all profits.’
    ‘And you were sent to keep an eye on things?’
    Ashby smiled sourly. ‘You could say that. I left on the God’s Bright Light— Ashby screwed his eyes up. “What date is it today?’
    ‘It’s the feast of Simon and Jude,’ Athelstan replied. The 28th October.’
    ‘Well, we left the Thames two days before Michaelmas, so it would have been on the 27th September. The weather was good, the winds fair. We took up a position between Dover and Calais and began to attack the occasional merchant ship. The plunder was good and we soon had our hold full of foodstuffs, wine and cloths, not to mention the occasional precious object.’
    ‘What was Roffel like?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘A hard man, Father. A good sailor, but brutal. He always attacked, never allowed an enemy to surrender. Fishing smacks, galleys, wine ships from the Gironde . The pattern was always the same. We would pursue, pull alongside and the archers would loose. After that a boarding party would cross and—’
    ‘And?’
    Ashby looked down at the floor.
    ‘And?’ Cranston repeated.
    Ashby muttered something.
    ‘Speak up, man!’
    ‘There were never any prisoners. Corpses would be thrown overboard. Captured vessels of poor quality would be sunk. The others would be towed back to the nearest English port.’
    ‘Did anything untoward happen? Anything at all?’
    ‘Yes, on about the 11th October we captured a small fishing smack which had been trying to slip from one French port to another. I think it was heading towards Dieppe , but the wind blew it out to sea. We attacked and the ship was sunk. Nothing untoward except—’ Ashby put the bowl down and wiped his lips on the back of his hand. ‘Captain Roffel seemed pleased, very pleased. You know, like a cat who has stolen the cream. Usually Roffel was a taciturn man, but I saw him walking on the poop and he was