Field of Blood

more.'
    'Did you like Bartholomew?' Athelstan asked.
    'He was a good, kindly man. But, Brother, I have suitors enough. Bartholomew was of little interest to me.'
    'And the others?' Sir John asked. 'What others?' the woman snapped. 'Your own servants. Enquiries have been made here of people who visited the Paradise Tree.' 'That is nonsense!' Hengan spoke up heatedly. 'In what way, sir?'
    'The Paradise Tree is a busy tavern. It stands near the Tower and the river. People often visit here. It is logical that enquiries were made. Did so and so come? Where have they gone?'
    'But they also said you burned the possessions of people who stayed here?'
    'Sir Jack,' Mistress Vestler replied. 'There are at least twenty chambers in this tavern. Guests come, they leave scraps of clothing, items of saddlery which are broken or disused. I keep a clean and tidy house. What crime is there in burning such paltry things?'
    Sir John got to his feet and, in the time-honoured fashion, touched her shoulder.
    'Mistress Kathryn Vestler, by the power granted to me by the King and his city council, I arrest you for the murder of Bartholomew Menster, Margot Haden and other unnamed victims!'
    Mistress Vestler bowed her head and sobbed.
    'You will be taken to Newgate and lodged there to answer these charges before the King's justices at the Guildhall.'
    Hengan got to his feet.
    'Sir John, may I have a word?'
    The two left the chamber. Athelstan looked across at the weeping woman. He did not know what to think. In his time he'd discovered that murder could have the sweetest face and the kindliest smile.
    'I shall pray for you, Mistress Vestler,' he murmured.
    The woman's face came up, her eyes hard.
    'Pray, Brother? What use is prayer now? Alice Brokestreet has had her way. Will you pray for me when they turn me off the ladder at Smithfield?'
    'That has not yet happened. Put your trust in God and Sir John.'
    Gathering up his chancery bag, Athelstan joined Sir John and Hengan out in the gallery. The lawyer was deeply agitated.
    'Sir Jack! Sir Jack! What can we do?'
    'Master Hengan, I've told-you the evidence. What other explanation could there be?'
    'Is it possible that Alice Brokestreet and another murdered Bartholomew and Margot then buried their corpses in Black Meadow?'
    'What proof is there of that?' Athelstan asked.
    Hengan, anxious-eyed, stared back.
    'Master Hengan, you are a lawyer,' Athelstan continued. 'I merely ask what Chief Justice Brabazon will demand. Why should Alice Brokestreet and this mysterious accomplice kill these two people? Why should they take them out and bury them in Black Meadow where they could have been seen by anyone in the tavern or that motley crew, the Four Gospels, whom Fve just met?'
    Hengan's face creased into a smile.
    'Mistress Vestler let them stay here out of the kindness of her heart,' he countered. 'Perhaps they can be of assistance? They must have seen something, surely? Corpses cannot be trundled out and buried in such a place without someone noticing!'
    'Precisely,' Sir John confirmed, taking a swig from his wineskin. 'And the justices will ask the same question.' He looked up at the white plaster ceiling. 'Master Ralph, you will defend Mistress Vestler?'
    'Of course!'
    'Then let me speak to you privately.'
    Sir John strode to the top of the stairs and bawled for Flaxwith, who came lumbering up. Sir John told him to guard Mistress Vestler then gestured at Hengan and Athelstan to follow him. They went down through the taproom and out into the garden. A small, flowery arbour built out of trellis wood stood at the far side, a cool, secretive place with a quilted bench round its curving sides. They took their seats, Sir John bawling for tankards of ale. While they waited till these were served, Athelstan studied the different plants and herbs: matted sea lavender, bog bean, pea flower, fairy flax; bees buzzed above them, butterflies, white and deep coloured, flitted from plant to plant. A mallard from the small stew pond at the other end of the garden strutted around. Swallows swooped across the grass and out over Black Meadow, somewhere a woodpecker rattled noisily against the bark of a tree. Athelstan could scarcely believe that this peaceful, pleasant place masked bloody murder and hasty burial.
    'You'll represent Mistress Vestler?' Sir John asked again.
    The lawyer stroked the tip of his sharp nose, lower lip coming up.
    'I am not skilled in such legal matters, Sir John. I only advise Mistress Vestler