By Murder's bright Light

sin.’
    ‘Am I, Father? Men like Roffel? I have known them as far as my memory stretches. They like to use me as a woman, so why blame me for what others made me? Oh, yes, there were priests too. They liked such strange bed sports.’
    Athelstan held his hand up. ‘I am not your judge nor your confessor.’
    ‘Little point in that,’ Bernicia interrupted. ‘I have no need for either. There’s no God and, if there is, he’s forgotten all about us.’ Bernicia moved on her chair. ‘Roffel used to bring me precious trinkets — fingers with the rings still on them, once an ear with a small gold band in it. He used to sit where you are, Father, and boast about what he had done. How he would cheat his crew, his business partner Ospring and even his dull wife.’
    ‘Did you return to the ship last night?’ Cranston abruptly asked.
    Bernicia looked away.
    ‘Don’t he ! Did you return?’
    ‘Yes, I did. Well, at least, to the quayside. I wanted to see if Roffel had left any of his valuables. He always had a full purse and a little coffer full of trinkets. I thought the first mate might let me back on board.’
    ‘Why only to the quayside?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Well, there was no bumboat available to take me to the ship. I did hail it, though.’
    ‘And what happened?’
    ‘One of the watch must have heard me, for the first mate came.’
    ‘What time was this?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Oh, it was about midnight. I thought it was safe then. The quayside is usually deserted by that time — all the revellers have gone home or are too drunk to care.’
    ‘And what happened?’
    The mate came to the side of the ship. He was drunk. He just waved his cup at me and shouted, “Piss off!”.’
    ‘Strange,’ Cranston mused. The nearest ship was the admiral’s Holy Trinity and he did not tell us about any disturbance?’
    ‘I have told you what I saw.’ Bernicia pulled a face. ‘But there was something strange.’
    ‘What?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Well, I was on the quayside; it was deserted, cold and windswept. I realised how foolish I had been, even in going there. Now, as I turned away, I am sure I saw a figure move in the doorway of one of those warehouses.’
    ‘You are certain?’
    ‘Oh yes. There were the usual night sounds along the quayside — rats slithering about, the lapping of the water — but I heard a scrape as if someone had drawn a sword or was carrying some metal implement. I am sure whoever was hiding there was keeping watch and guard on the ship. I called out, but there was no response so I hurriedly left.’
    ‘And that’s all you saw or heard?’
    ‘Yes, yes, it is.’
    ‘Did you ever meet any of Roffel’s crew?’
    ‘Oh, only from a distance. When they accompanied the captain ashore, Roffel usually kept me away from them.’
    ‘And Sir Henry Ospring?’
    ‘No, though Roffel did receive letters from Ospring accusing him of embezzling some of the profits.’
    ‘And Roffel’s squire, a man called Ashby?’
    Bernicia shook her head.
    Cranston looked at Athelstan and raised his eyes heavenwards. He took a sip of the wine, but it tasted bitter to him. He pulled a wry mouth and got to his feet.
    ‘So, you know nothing at all?’
    ‘No, I don’t. Sir John,’ Bernicia pleaded, ‘you will keep my secret?’
    The coroner nodded.
    ‘I have one final question.’ Athelstan picked up his leather writing bag and cradled it against his chest. Tonight we visited St Mary Magdalene’s church. Someone had broken in, plucked Roffel’s corpse from his coffin, slit his throat and left him sprawling in the sanctuary chair. There was a piece of parchment pinned to his chest with the word “assassin” daubed on it in his own blood. Now, who hated the captain enough to do that?’
    Bernicia sneered. ‘Sir Henry Ospring for one.’
    ‘He’s dead, murdered too!’
    Bernicia smiled. ‘Roffel will be pleased to have company in hell.’
    ‘Who else?’ Cranston insisted. ‘Whom did Roffel mention in anger or spite?’
    ‘You should go back to the fleet, Sir John. Ask the admiral, Sir Jacob Crawley. Roffel always said he hated him.’
    ‘Why should Roffel hate Crawley ?’
    ‘Oh, no, the other way round. Crawley couldn’t stand the sight of our good captain. I think there was bad blood between them. Roffel once said Crawley had accused him of sinking a ship in which one of Crawley ’s kinsmen had been murdered. Roffel said he’d never drink or eat with the admiral and would always be