By Murder's bright Light

The present king’s grandfather conquered and held the greater part of northern France . However, those of the same blood, but of a more feckless nature, are fast losing this patrimony. What does the crown hold now?’ Cranston shrugged. ‘Parts of Gascony around Bordeaux.’
    ‘And in Normandy?’
    ‘Calais and the area around it.’
    Peter nodded. ‘We have men working out of Calais to recover the lost lands.’
    ‘You mean spies?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Yes, yes, you could call them that. Now their task is to weaken the French.’ Peter shrugged and smiled at his companion. To keep them busy. You know — arranging the occasional accident to their ships, stirring up discontent, collecting information.’
    ‘And how does that concern us?’ Athelstan asked. ‘Well, my dear friar, it really doesn’t, except that you are investigating Captain Roffel’s death and the disappearance of the watch from the God’s Bright Light. Yes? Now that doesn’t really concern us. What does concern us are the movements of Roffel’s ship during his last voyage. You see, two of our brethren sailing on a fishing smack from Dieppe to Calais never arrived. Their ship disappeared.’
    ‘And you think Roffel sank it?’
    ‘Possibly. Roffel was a bastard, a pirate, a robber sailing under the king’s colours. We know of his little business ventures. However, the killing of two of our agents is a different matter. Murder and piracy sire serious crimes. More importantly, we want to discover just how did Roffel know where to intercept that fishing smack?’
    ‘He could have just been lucky,’ Cranston interrupted.
    ‘We don’t believe in luck!’ the scrutineer snapped. ‘Some traitor must have paid Roffel to intercept that ship and kill our messengers.’ Peter leaned across the table. ‘In other words, Sir John, we are talking about treason.’
    ‘In our investigations we discovered nothing like that,’ Cranston said.
    The scrutineers smiled in unison.
    ‘Oh, but you might,’ Paul purred, like a sleek cat. ‘You might very well, Sir John, and, if you do, we want to know.’
    ‘How can we inform you?’ Athelstan asked.
    The two scrutineers drained their tankards together, putting them back on the table in a single movement.
    ‘You know the great statue of Our Lady and the infant Jesus in St Paul ’s?’ the taller of the two scrutineers asked.
    Athelstan nodded.
    ‘And before it stands a great iron-bound chest where the faithful place their petitions. Well,’ Peter got to his feet, indicating Paul to do the same, ‘if you wish to speak to us, put a petition in the chest — Saints Peter and Paul, intercede for us. Within the day you’ll hear from us. Good night, Sir John, Brother Athelstan.’
    The two scrutineers slipped out of the tavern. Sir John whistled softly under his breath, drained his tankard and roared for another.
    ‘And a bowl of onion soup!’ he shouted. ‘Brother?’
    ‘Just ale for me, Sir John.’
    ‘Well, well, well!’ Cranston said. ‘What do you make of that, eh, Brother? Piracy, murder, sailors who disappear and now treason.’
    ‘I cannot see the connection,’ Athelstan replied. “Why should Roffel put his neck on the block when he was doing so well out of piracy?’
    Cranston clicked his fingers and told a tapster to clear the table.
    ‘Out with your parchment and pen, monk!’
    Athelstan groaned but did what Sir John asked, taking a roll of parchment and smoothing it out on the table.
    Leif, the one-legged beggar, had been watching them from a far comer; he now hopped across, his tall, ungainly frame balancing precariously on a makeshift cratch.
    ‘What’s the matter, Sir John? Brother Athelstan? Why are you writing here?’ Leif shouted. ‘Sir John, Lady Maude said you should come home. She has baked two great pies and some pastries. The poppets are asleep and Lady Maude wants to see you. Have you had a good day, Sir John?’
    ‘Bugger off, you idle sod!’ Cranston shouted. ‘Bugger off and leave me alone!’
    Leif touched his forelock and grinned.
    ‘A man gets terribly thirsty, Sir John, carrying messages. Now I have to go back and tell Lady Maude where you are, what you are doing and what you’ve just said.’
    Cranston narrowed his eyes and tossed the beggar a halfpenny.
    ‘What you haven’t seen you can’t tell, can you, Leif ?’
    ‘That is true, Sir John, but lying is also thirsty work.’
    Another halfpenny was tossed over.
    ‘Drink your ale!’ Cranston