Field of Blood

hedgerow or a ditch?'
    'No, Brother, they generally tend to disappear. So no one can take the blame.'
    'I agree.' Athelstan moved on the bench. 'Now, Master Eccleshall, you are a soldier. I, too, have fought in the King's wars. Here we have a strong, well-armed young man riding his horse along the country lanes back into Southwark. You and I, Master Philip, are rebels. What do we do? We must get this man to stop and dismount.'
    'One of us could lie down,' Eccleshall replied. 'Pretending to be injured.'
    'But would you do that?' Athelstan asked.
    'No, Brother, I wouldn't.'
    'Of course not,' Athelstan retorted. 'It's a well-known trick and royal messengers, I understand, are under strict instructions to be wary of such guile and knavery. Miles Sholter was an experienced messenger, a soldier. Even if he was dismounted he would still be a powerful adversary. What I am saying, Master Eccleshall, is that Miles Sholter, if attacked by rebels or robbers, would first have been struck by an arrow.'
    'It's possible, Brother, that his horse was brought down beneath him.'
    'Yes, yes, I hadn't thought of that.'
    'I understand your unease, Brother,' Eccleshall continued. 'But bailiff Bladdersniff said that Miles's corpse was found in a derelict house, an old miser's home in the middle of a field.'
    'Yes, and that's the mystery. How did Miles get there? Where is his horse, his tabard, his war belt? And you see, Master Philip, we know that the two others, the whore and her customer, were killed because they surprised the slayer.'
    'In what way, Brother?'
    Athelstan rubbed the side of his head.
    'I don't know. Sholter was apparently killed the day before yesterday, his corpse taken to that derelict house. The following evening the killer returns to strip it completely but he's surprised, so he slays his unexpected visitors.'
    Athelstan tapped his foot on the floor. Bonaventure took this as a sign to jump in his lap and sat there purring.
    'I'm intrigued,' Athelstan continued. 'Would robbers or rebels go to such lengths? Surely they'd drag poor Sholter off his horse, kill him and flee?'
    'I disagree, Brother. Rebels would certainly hide the corpse and show little mercy to anyone who disturbed them.'
    'Them?' Athelstan asked.
    'It must have been more than one to attack a man like Miles Sholter.'
    Athelstan caught the note of pride in Eccleshall's voice.
    'And then to kill two more people. I've seen the corpses: both the whore and the other man were young, vigorous. They would have resisted, wouldn't they?'
    Athelstan stared at the royal messenger: what Eccleshall said made sense.
    'But you know what will happen?' the friar said quietly. 'The corpse of a royal messenger has been discovered in my parish, at a time when the shires round London seethe with unrest.'
    'I'm sorry, Brother: what the Regent does is not my concern. I know a fine will be levied but you could argue the murder didn't take place here.'
    'That's not the law!' Athelstan snapped. 'Master Eccleshall, Mistress Sholter, I grieve for your loss, I truly do. I shall remember Miles and the other victims at Mass. However, hideous murders have taken place! Blood cries to God for vengeance and, if I know the Lord Regent, justice will be speedily done. It has not been unheard of for Gaunt to hang people out of hand as a warning to others. Whoever killed those three unfortunates could have more blood on their hands.' He rose to his feet. 'If you learn anything at all?'
    Eccleshall promised that he would return immediately. Athelstan gave them his blessing and they both left the church. Benedicta locked the door behind them.
    'Is that safe?' Athelstan smiled. 'What if Pike the ditcher's wife comes? Benedicta the widow woman and the parish priest locked in the church?'
    'Bonaventure's my escort,' Benedicta teased back.
    Athelstan looked down at the cat; Bonaventure stretched, then padded over into the corner to search out the cause of certain sounds, only to return and stare up at his master.
    'You are worse than a monk,' Athelstan teased. 'You know the hours and times for food.'
    'What do you think?' Benedicta sat down on a bench.
    'Benedicta, God forgive me, I am in God's house but what I say is the truth between the two of us. Miles Sholter, the preacher, and that pathetic young woman were murdered. I don't think Sholter was attacked by rebels or robbers. An arrow wound to the back or one loosed deep into the heart: that's the mark of the night people.'
    'So what?' Benedicta