Field of Blood

excommunicate that animal!
    'We are ready, Brother,' Watkin announced sonorously. 'The council is in session.'
    'Do you know what that means, Watkin?' Pike jibed.
    'Shut your mouth!' Watkin's wife retorted. 'My man knows his horn book, he can make his mark. Unlike some of the ignorant…!'
    'Thank you. Thank you,' Athelstan intervened. 'Remember we are in God's house. The Lord is a witness to what is going to happen. I do thank you all for coming.'
    Before anyone could object, Athelstan made the sign of the cross and intoned the 'Veni Creator Spiritus'. He sat down.
    'We are in session!'
    'We need more sinners for the choir!' Mugwort spoke up: his remark immediately provoked roars of merriment. 'I mean singers,' he corrected himself.
    'In St Erconwald's,' Athelstan said, 'it's the same thing. We are not here for singers.' He continued, 'You know the reason why. Eleanor, Basil's daughter, is deeply in love with Oswald, Joscelyn's son. They are both good young people. I hope to witness their vows here at the church door. We will have dancing, singing, church ales…'
    'Aye and a lot of fun in the long grass in the cemetery!' Pike's wife snapped, glaring at Cecily.
    'Why, is that what you do?' the courtesan answered in mocking innocence.
    'However,' Athelstan continued remorselessly, 'we have a problem. The Church's law is very clear on this matter. You cannot marry within certain blood lines. It would appear that Basil and Joscelyn's great-grandmothers were sisters. Now, you know that, although we have a blood book, it does not go back to those years.'
    'What years?' someone asked.
    Everyone looked at the blacksmith.
    Basil flapped his leather apron and folded his great muscular arms. 'I don't know.'
    'It must have been in the time of the young King's great-grandfather, Edward II,' Athelstan put in.
    'Wasn't he the bum-boy?' Mugwort asked, eager to show his knowledge. 'Didn't they kill him by sticking a hot poker up his fundament?'
    'That's disgusting!' Watkin's wife exclaimed. 'Anyway, how could they put a poker…?'
    'Listen,' Athelstan continued. 'We have a blood book but it doesn't go back that far. What we are missing…' He waved his hand. 'Well, you know the previous incumbent?'
    'He was a bad bastard, Brother,' Pike said darkly. 'Dabbled in the black arts, out at the crossroads in the dead of night.'
    'He was sinful and he was wicked,' Huddle added. 'He didn't like painting. He kept the church locked.'
    'He also stole things,' Athelstan continued. 'And probably sold them for whatever he could, including our blood book.'
    'Yet, what's the harm in all this?' foscelyn asked. He sat awkwardly, the empty sleeve, where he had lost an arm at sea, thrown over his shoulder, his other hand stretched out to balance himself. 'I mean, Brother, if they marry? Our great-grandmothers lived years ago, the blood line must be pure.'
    'Not necessarily,' Pike's wife retorted. 'Things can still go wrong. We don't want monsters in the parish.'
    'True, true,' Ranulf murmured. 'We have enough of those already.'
    'How do we know they were sisters?' Athelstan asked. 'That's the reason for this meeting. Who will speak against me proclaiming the banns? You know what they are. I ask you formally. Who, here, can object to such a marriage taking place? It is a very grave matter. You must answer, as you will to Christ Himself.'
    All eyes turned to Pike's wife.
    'There is a blood tie,' she declared, adopting the role of the wise woman of the parish. Her voice became deeper, relishing the importance this proclamation gave her. Pike looked down and shuffled his feet.
    'And what proof do you have of this?'
    Athelstan's heart sank at the spiteful smile on the woman's face.
    'Proof, Brother? No less a person than Veronica the Venerable.'
    'Oh no!' Basil groaned.
    'And you are sure of this?' Athelstan asked.
    'Go and see her yourself, Brother. She may well be four score years and ten but her mind is still sharp and her memory good. I know the rules. If two witnesses speak out against a marriage, it cannot take place.'
    Athelstan lowered his head. Veronica the Venerable was an ancient crone who lived in a tenement on Dog Tail Alley just behind the Piebald tavern. She claimed to be too old to come to church so Athelstan sometimes visited her. She was old, frail, but her mind was sharp. A cantankerous woman who had a nose for gossip and a memory for scandal, she had lived in Southwark for years and claimed she even watched Queen Isabella's lover Roger