By Murder's bright Light

He’s probably come up the Thames, shadowing its north bank, passing Westminster , coming within sight of the Temple , Whitefriars, even Fleet Street. He did that to cause consternation, put everyone on their guard. Now, we expect an enemy coming up-river behind us, from the west. What the clever bastard Eustace has done is taken his galleys across river to the Southwark side. He’ll turn just before London Bridge and come sliding down from the opposite direction Sir Jacob’s expecting.’
    ‘And?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Brother! It’s the element of surprise!’ Cranston ’s whiskers bristled at the prospect of action. ‘Can’t you see? It’s like me expecting a knifeman to come from my left but he rushes from my right. What will happen is this. Eustace has turned his galleys round. He’ll come sliding back, do as much damage as he can here, using the element of surprise, and then press on to the river mouth. He’ll make fools of the city, not to mention the king’s admiral. But not,’ Cranston bellowed into the mist-shrouded darkness, ‘of Sir John Cranston!’ He clapped Athelstan on the shoulder. Thanks to you, most favoured of friars and to that cheeky bugger, Moleskin, we’ll be well prepared!’
    Athelstan stared around as the ship was prepared for action. Sailors now thronged the decks. The charcoal braziers glowed red under their metal hoods. Archers strung their bows and boys ran around filling quivers. Crawley went into his cabin and came out with a war belt, mailed hauberk and a conical steel helmet with a nose guard. Other officers followed suit. A drum beat began to roll, but Crawley quickly silenced it. Small catapults were wheeled out from beneath their tarpaulin covers. One last message was despatched via the ship’s boat to the other cogs, confirming the change in plan and warning their captains to expect an attack from the east after the French galleys turned at London Bridge . Crawley shouted up to the look-outs.
    ‘A silver piece for the first man who sights the enemy!’
    ‘Thick as soup!’ a voice shouted back. ‘No sign of anything, Sir Jacob!’
    Athelstan felt the fear and apprehension. Long poles and grappling hooks were brought up from below. Swords and daggers were eased in and out of scabbards. One man came up, begging Athelstan to shrive him. Athelstan crouched and heard the man’s whispered, hurried confession. He was no more than eighteen or nineteen summers old. ‘In a few minutes,’ he whispered as they crouched in a comer of the deck between the ship’s side and the stern castle, ‘I might be killing people.’
    ‘God will be your judge, my son,’ Athelstan responded. ‘All I can say is , do what you think right in whatever the moment presents to you.’
    Other men, too, wanted him to hear their confessions. In the end Athelstan pronounced a general absolution. Cranston meanwhile had been walking impatiently up and down, peering into the mist.
    ‘Sir John,’ Crawley called out, ‘you can go below or, if you wish, we can put you ashore!’
    ‘Sod off!’ Cranston roared. ‘Never will it be said that Jack Cranston scuttled away!’
    ‘But what about Brother Athelstan?’
    Cranston stared at the friar. ‘Brother, you must go ashore.’
    Athelstan shook his head. ‘I am here. That means God intended me to be here. Anyway, Sir John, someone’s got to protect your back.’
    Cranston walked closer. ‘Sod off, you little friar!’
    ‘Sir John,’ Athelstan replied evenly, ‘what if something happened to you? Your face is as red as a beacon, so large a target. What could I say to Lady Maude or the poppets?’
    Cranston looked over his shoulder at Crawley . ‘We stay,’ he bawled. ‘Sir Jacob, a sword belt, dagger and shield. Oh yes, and a helmet.’
    ‘If you have one big enough,’ Athelstan said under his breath.
    Sir John busily armed himself, his curses and black good humour easing the tension around him. Once finished, he looked a veritable fighting barrel, made all the more ridiculous by the too-small helmet on his head.
    The chatter and laughter died as a look-out on the forecastle shouted. ‘I see something! No, it’s gone! It’s gone!’
    Now all the ship’s company were turning, gazing upriver. Athelstan walked to the side. What was it he heard? A creak?
    ‘God in heaven!’ Cranston shouted as fire-arrows hissed through the mist. One hit the deck, another hit an archer in the shoulder, sending him whirling