By Murder's bright Light

quote the famous Cranston , leave that bloody ship?’
    ‘Suppose he had an accomplice?’ Ashby said. ‘Someone who brought a small boat alongside?’
    ‘Without anyone seeing it?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘What if it came from the Southwark side?’
    Athelstan nodded and got to his feet. ‘ Aye, and what if pigs fly? Would you trust Cabe?’
    ‘About as far as I can spit. Of the same ilk as Bracklebury! The two were as thick as thieves and the same goes for the other officers. They were hard men, Father. They all have murky pasts which they prefer kept hidden.’
    Athelstan thanked him, told them both to be careful and walked into the nave of the church. He stood for a while admiring the cart now being transformed into a stage. Posts had been set up around it and fixed to them was the great piece of canvas that would serve as backdrop and wings. It was sagging woefully. Huddle was putting the finishing touches to his painting of the yawning mouth of Hell, blissfully ignoring the comments and advice from the rest of the parish council. Athelstan smiled and slipped by. He was half-way across to Philomel’s stable when he guiltily remembered that he had left the old warhorse at the Holy Lamb of God.
    ‘Oh, he’ll be all right,’ he comforted himself. The landlord, he knew, was a warm-hearted man and, as long as Philomel was warm and dry and had plenty of food within inches of his greying muzzle, he wouldn’t care where he was.
    Athelstan went back to the house, which Benedicta and Cecily the courtesan had cleaned and swept. He took some bread and cheese from the buttery and sat at his table, moodily reflecting on the battle of the night before.
    ‘What,’ he asked the fire, ‘did Crawley mean by his remark “everything was so tidy"?’
    The friar shook his head and popped another piece of cheese into his mouth. What had Bracklebury done to the other two crew members? How did he get off the ship? And, if he had the silver, why did he murder Bernicia ? He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Bladdersniff the ward bailiff swaggered in, his fleshy face quivering with self-importance.
    ‘I bring a message, Father, from Sir John Cranston. One of the Guildhall servants brought it to me.’ The bailiff pursed prim lips. ‘Sir John Cranston, coroner of the city, is desirous of meeting you at the Holy Lamb of God.’ Bladdersniff coughed. ‘He also mentioned something about a doctor’s house.’
    Athelstan groaned. Bladdersniff looked at him suspiciously.
    ‘What does that mean, Father?’
    ‘Nothing, Master Bladdersniff,’ Athelstan replied. He waited until the bailiff had left. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered to himself, ‘except another night away from my parish!’
    The friar sighed, went upstairs, took off his sandals, put on woollen hose under his gown and pulled on an old, battered pair of boots. He then banked up the fire, fastened the windows, collected his cloak and staff and walked down to the area in front of the church. Crim and others were playing with counters on the porch steps.
    ‘Crim! Come here!’
    The young boy scuttled down, yelling at his friends that it was his turn next.
    ‘Crim, tell Benedicta I may not be back this evening.’
    ‘Is it the French pirates again, Father?’
    ‘No, it isn’t. However, tell your father to lock the church, though he is to let Lady Aveline in.’
    They are in love, aren’t they, Father? I saw them kissing! That’s a sin in church isn’t it, Father?’ Athelstan smiled at the thin, dirty face. ‘No, it is not,’ he said solemnly. ‘But it is a sin, Crim, to spy in church.’
    ‘I wasn’t spying, Father. I was just hiding from my sister behind a pillar.’
    Athelstan tousled the boy’s head and put a farthing in his hand. ‘Buy some marchpane from Merrylegs’ shop. Give some to your sister and your friends — even though,’ Athelstan added darkly, ‘they are moving your counters!’
    Crim turned around and ran back screaming.
    ‘Don’t forget to give your father my message, Crim!’ Athelstan called out after him.
    He walked out into the alleyway. Marston and two of his bully-boys were sitting just inside the doorway of the Piebald tavern. Marston saw him, hawked and spat. Athelstan, swinging his great staff, a gift from Cranston , walked across and confronted him.
    ‘You’d best leave, Marston,’ he said.
    ‘I can stand where I bloody well like, Father!’ He smirked. This isn’t your church.’
    ‘No, it isn’t,’ Athelstan