By Murder's bright Light

careful never to turn his back on him.’
    ‘In which case, mistress—’ Cranston grinned sourly. ‘Yes, I’ll call you that. In which case, we bid you goodnight.’
    Once outside the house Cranston gave vent to a belly laugh which rang like a bell through the narrow street. A householder opposite opened a window and shouted for silence. Cranston apologised, hitched his cloak about him and led Athelstan back into Cheapside .
    ‘So, so, so,’ he muttered. ‘Here’s another mystery. A man who dresses as a woman and claims to be the dead captain’s whore.’ He yawned, stretched and looked up at the night sky. ‘Tomorrow we’ll continue,’ he said. They talk of the mysteries of the sea. But, mark my words, Brother, what happened on the God’s Bright Light last night is a mystery that deepens by the hour.’ He patted the friar on the back. ‘Now, come on, Brother, I’ll walk you back to London Bridge and tell you a very funny story about the bishop, the parson and someone very like our young Bernicia!’

CHAPTER 5

    Athelstan celebrated his usual early morning Mass, surprised to see his sparse congregation graced by the presence of Aveline Ospring. She knelt by the rood screen, hands piously joined, but her eyes never left young Ashby, who was helping Crim the altar server during the ceremony. Once the Mass was finished, Athelstan hung up his vestments, cleared the altar and went out to find Aveline and Ashby sitting on the sanctuary steps quietly conversing.
    ‘Do you want some breakfast?’ Athelstan asked.
    Ashby nodded. ‘I am starving, Father. Is it possible to have a razor and some soap? Lady Aveline’ — he patted the saddle bag — ‘has brought me other necessities.’
    Athelstan went across to his house. He built up the fire and, after giving the ever-hungry Philomel his morning meal of hay, washed his hands and took a tray of bread, cheese and wine back into the church. Ashby ate hungrily. Now and again Aveline, who looked more composed and certainly more radiant than on the day before, sipped from Ashby’s cup or nibbled on the bread and cheese.
    ‘I came to see that all was well,’ she said shyly, looking at him from beneath long-lashed eyelids.
    Athelstan nodded, then started as Bonaventure, who was sleeping by the pillars, suddenly stood up, back arching, tail high, as the door of the church opened. Marston entered and stood, arms crossed, staring down into the sanctuary. Athelstan ignored him and looked down at Aveline.
    ‘My lady,’ he said quietly, ‘you are in the House of God, so you must not he.’
    Ashby choked on a piece of bread. Athelstan patted him vigorously on the back.
    ‘It is barely dawn, my lady,’ Athelstan continued drily, ‘yet you, the daughter of the man Ashby has supposedly murdered, bring him supplies and whatever comforts he needs. Now you sit beside him on the altar steps sharing his food.’
    Lady Aveline blushed crimson and glanced away. ‘Do you love him?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
    ‘And you her, young Ashby?’
    The young man nodded and wiped his eyes, still streaming after his fit of coughing.
    ‘Well, well, well!’ Athelstan said. ‘And I suppose you want to marry?’
    ‘Yes,’ they whispered in unison.
    ‘Good!’ Athelstan rubbed his hands together. ‘However, Holy Mother Church teaches that before you can take the sacrament of matrimony you must confess and be shriven. Now, I can hear your confessions separately or perhaps together?’
    The two lovers stared at each other.
    Athelstan fought hard to hide his amusement. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You have no objections, so I’ll proceed. Nicholas, you stand accused of the sin of murder, of slaying Sir Henry Ospring.’ He spoke softly so that his words were not carried to where Marston stood at the back of the church. ‘You didn’t do it, did you?’
    ‘I am innocent!’ the young man whispered.
    ‘Which,’ Athelstan said, turning to Aveline, ‘cannot be said of you. ’
    She looked up, her eyes rounded in shocked surprise.
    ‘God forgive me,’ Athelstan continued. ‘But, Lady Aveline, I accuse you of your father’s murder.’
    The young woman’s face turned white as chalk. She stood up, placing her fingers together in agitation.
    That’s wrong!’ Ashby hissed, but Athelstan pressed his fingers against the young man’s lips. ‘Don’t lie in confession!’ he said. ‘Lady Aveline, please sit down.’
    The young woman did so and Athelstan gripped her