By Murder's bright Light

already flown’.
    ‘Gone to his chamber in the Guildhall, or so he says,’ she announced darkly. ‘And you know where that is, Father?’
    Athelstan tactfully smiled back. Once the door was closed, he led a snorting, snickering Philomel, still protesting at his recent rough usage, across the busy marketplace. He gave the reins to an ostler and went in to the Holy Lamb of God’s taproom. Sir John was already sitting there, two great empty wine cups before him as well as a few crumbs of a meat pie.
    ‘Good morrow, Sir John.’
    Cranston burped gently.
    ‘In fine fettle as usual, I see,’ Athelstan continued, joining him.
    There’s been another bloody murder,’ Cranston announced. ‘Do you remember Bernicia , Roffel’s little tart? Well, he or she is dead! Throat slashed from ear to ear and the house ransacked.’ Cranston slapped the table top with his hand. ‘God knows whether to call him him or her. Anyway, Bernicia ’s dead.’
    ‘ Bernicia lived in the shadows,’ Athelstan replied.
    ‘I couldn’t give a toss where the creature lived,’ Cranston snapped. ‘God rest the poor bastard! But, listen to this, Brother.’ He eased his bulk on the chair. There’s not many places in London where people like Bernicia can go! Four or five drinking-holes in all and all within walking distance of each other.’ Cranston stopped and paused to roar for another drink. ‘Usually, I leave such places alone. I have a pity for the poor people who use them. However, this morning I went as soon as I had seen Bernicia ’s corpse. After the expected protests, the silver-tongued landlord produced a pageboy who swore to a number of facts. First, Bernicia had been there the previous evening. Secondly, the whore had met and left with someone.’
    ‘And?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘According to the boy, this stranger might have been Bracklebury. Anyway, he was a sailor who knew Roffel and the ship God’s Bright Light.'
    Athelstan leaned back and whistled through his teeth.
    ‘Strange,’ he whispered. ‘Mistaken logic, Sir John. I always considered all the watch were either dead or had fled.’
    “If it was someone from the watch,’ Cranston continued, ‘we have to draw another picture — and one so simple it’s a wonder we never thought of it before. The first mate killed his two companions and then jumped ship. Why, or with what, we don’t know.’
    ‘I think we do,’ Athelstan replied.
    He produced the crudely drawn map that Aveline had given him that morning and tersely told Cranston of his own conclusions.
    Cranston sipped from the cup the landlord had placed before him. ‘So Ospring gave instructions to Roffel to stop and sink that fishing smack. But why? Are you saying that Ospring and Roffel were traitors?’
    ‘It all depends,’ Athelstan answered, ‘on what the ship carried. To find that out I have sent Benedicta with a petition to St Paul ’s. Only our friends the scrutineers can tell us that.’
    There are others we need to question,’ Cranston added. That’s why I have invited everyone involved in this business — Sir Jacob Crawley, the other officers, not to mention Mistress Roffel — to meet us in the Guildhall just after midday. I also told the ship’s clerk, Coffrey, to bring the log book.’ Cranston smacked his lips and stretched. ‘So, Father, we have some time to waste. What more can we do?’
    Athelstan gazed despairingly at the empty wine cups.
    There is one further thing, Sir John, the footpad who is house-breaking. I think we can set a trap.’ Cranston slammed his wine cup down.
    ‘No, don’t ask me how!’ Athelstan smiled. ‘I know you, Sir John — you have a generous heart but a wagging tongue. What I want is for one of your powerful merchant friends to go on a journey for two or three days, to take his family with him and to make sure it’s publicly announced.’
    Cranston stared up at the rafters. “There’s no one,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, my dear physician Theobald de Troyes. He could go to some property he owns in Suffolk . Perhaps I can persuade him?’
    ‘Do so now,’ Athelstan urged, hoping to put as much distance as possible between Cranston and a cup of wine. ‘But tell him not to leave for two or three days.’
    ‘And if he doesn’t agree?’ Cranston asked.
    Athelstan shrugged. “Then we’ll have to find someone else.’
    Mumbling and protesting, Cranston lumbered out of the tavern. Athelstan sighed, sat back, closed his eyes and wondered if Benedicta