Field of Blood

on her business affairs. However, I will prove her innocence in this matter.'
    'She has no children?' Athelstan asked.
    'None whatsoever, nor kith or kin.'
    'But she must have a will?'
    Hengan sipped from the tankard and wiped the white foam from his lips.
    'She brews the best ale on this side of the Thames,' he said. 'She's no murderess. Yes, she has drawn up a will and I am her executor. Mistress Vestler has laid down clear provision. On her death the tavern is to be sold for the best possible price and all proceeds are to be sent to the Knights Hospitallers at their Priory of St John's in Clerkenwell.'
    'Of course,' Sir John trumpeted, his good humour returning. 'Stephen, her late husband, was a bit of a noddle-pate. He maintained that, if Kathryn died before him, he'd journey east and join the Hospitallers in their struggle against the Turks.'
    'The will is very short and terse,' Hengan confirmed. 'And cannot be denied. I even tease Mistress
    Vestler that she hasn't left one penny to me.'
    Athelstan looked at him sharply.
    'A jest, Brother. I have sufficient riches.'
    'She is a widow woman,' Athelstan pointed out. 'Comely and wealthy. Surely she had suitors? After all, Master Ralph, you are a lusty bachelor yourself.'
    Hengan put his tankard down. 'Oh, suitors came and went: adventurers, profiteers, Kathryn would have none of them. There's a chamber in the tavern, Brother, used by her late husband, Stephen. She has turned it into a shrine to her husband's memory with his writing-desk, his sword, his shield and armour, the pennant he carried at Poitiers. Mistress Vestler is a comfortable woman, happy in what she does. She has vowed never to remarry.' He held the tankard up in a mock toast. 'And, as for me, Brother.' He sighed. 'I speak in confidence?'
    'Of course, Master Ralph.'
    'I am a man, Brother, how can I put it? The company of women is pleasing enough.' His kindly grey eyes held Athelstan's. 'But I have no desire to bed one.'
    'And what will happen now?' Athelstan persisted. 'If Mistress Vestler is found guilty and sentenced? Because, in this secret place, Master Ralph, I speak the truth, unpalatable though it be. If the jury find her guilty there'll be no pardon for what she has done.'
    'Brother, I take your warning. Mistress Vestler stands in great danger of being hanged. If that happens…'
    'The tavern and all its moveables,' Sir John interrupted, 'are forfeit to the Crown,'
    Athelstan cradled his tankard; his deep friendship with Sir John, whatever his troubles in Southwark, committed him to this matter. In conscience he must do all he could to prove Mistress Vestler's innocence.
    'Has anything untoward occurred?' he asked. 'Is there anyone with a grievance against Mistress Vestler?'
    The lawyer shook his head.
    'Does anyone desire the tavern? Or its properties?'
    'Mistress Vestler was very fortunate,' Hengan replied. 'She and Stephen bought this when prices throughout the city had fallen after the great pestilence. The tavern was not what it is now. These gardens, the carp pond, the chambers are all their doing. Mistress Vestler is a skilled cook. Her venison pies, baked in spices, are famous through the city. Now, to answer your question bluntly: about eighteen months ago a member of the Guild of Licensed Victuallers, Edmund Coddington, did offer a price for the tavern. Mistress Vestler refused.'
    'And where is this Coddington now?' Sir John asked.
    'Oh, Sir Jack, he died of some ailment or other. Apart from him, no one else.'
    Athelstan recalled the Four Gospels and repressed a shiver. They looked and acted fey-witted but what if their smiles concealed some secret purpose? They would not be the first so-called witnesses to truth who masked their nefarious practices under the guise of religion. He finished his ale and got to his feet.
    'Sir Jack!'
    He gave the surprised coroner his empty tankard.
    'I shall be with you shortly.'
    Athelstan strode into Black Meadow. He paused at the pit where the bailiffs were now sheeting the skeletons and two corpses.
    'Can I help you, Brother?' One of the bailiffs leaned on his mattock. 'Dark deeds, eh?'
    'Dark deeds certainly. Tell me, sir, where did you find the two corpses? The man and the woman?'
    The bailiff scratched a cut on his unshaven chin.
    'Ah, that's right.' The fellow pointed. 'Over there, Brother.'
    Athelstan went to the spot indicated and looked back towards the lych gate. The bailiff came over, his mattock resting against his shoulder like a