Field of Blood

the Wizard Gundulf and the treasure 'which lay under the sun'. 'It's a riddle,' he concluded. 'But what can it mean?'
    'Bartholomew was a clerk in the Tower,' Sir John replied. 'Let us say, for sake of argument, and remember Brother, I am writing a treatise on the governance of the city, that Bartholomew was a historian. Now, there are supposed to be treasures buried all over London. Every year the Crown lays claim to treasure trove, either from the river or dug up in some field or cemetery. Bartholomew may have stumbled on such a story. Is it possible he was murdered for that?'
    Athelstan closed the small cupboard fixed to the wall which contained the sacred species. He absent-mindedly took the key out and put it into his purse.
    'And what if,' he continued Sir John's theory, 'Bartholomew believed the treasure was buried somewhere under the Paradise Tree? He goes to Mistress Vestler and shares the secret with her?'
    'So she decides to kill him? I have a friend,' Sir John continued. 'Richard Philibert. He's an old clerk who once worked in the royal treasury. He sat at the Exchequer and audited the sheriff's accounts when they were presented at Westminster.'
    'What has he got to do with this?' Athelstan asked.
    'Well, Brother, yesterday as I sat sunning myself in the garden, I had a close look at the Paradise Tree. The garden is beautiful: the eaves, the roof, the furnishings within, everything is in a pristine state.'
    'But Mistress Vestler does a good trade?'
    'Aye, but Hengan said something interesting: how Kathryn had gold and silver salted away with the bankers.' Cranston got to his feet and patted his stomach. 'My friend Philibert will look at the accounts of the Paradise Tree. I'd wager a wineskin against a firkin of ale that Kathryn's income is excessive and Brabazon will swoop on that like a hawk. I've seen him before in court. A man for minutiae is Chief Justice Brabazon. He can pick at a prisoner like a raven does a corpse; he'll wonder whether she and Bartholomew found this treasure.'
    'Will Hengan defend her?'
    'Oh yes, but he's troubled. I called at his house this morning on my way here. He looked as if he hadn't slept. So, what shall we do, Brother?'
    'First things first.' The friar rubbed his hands. 'Sir
    John, we face an army of troubles, but it's not for the first time. If Mistress Vestler is a killer then there is little we can do to save her from the scaffold. What we must ask is, if she didn't kill Bartholomew or Margot, then who did?'
    Sir John stared bleakly back.
    'Think of it as a tapestry, Sir John,' Athelstan insisted, 'which tells a story. We have Mistress Vestler. We have the victims. Who else could have killed those people? Be responsible for the grisly remains in Black Meadow? Come on, Sir John, think! Because if you don't answer that question, Chief Justice Brabazon will make sure he hangs your friend on it!'
    'We have Alice Brokestreet,' the coroner replied slowly. 'It's possible she could have killed them.'
    'Perhaps.'
    'I asked the gaoler at Newgate,' Sir John continued, 'if Alice Brokestreet had any visitors. He claimed a friar had visited to give her solace and shrive her. Now the priests come from many of the houses in London. There are more friars in London than there are flies upon…!'
    'Thank you, Sir John! Your opinion of friars is well known!'
    'Well, Newgate is near Greyfriars House so I went in to see Father Prior. They're Franciscans aren't they, not one of your coven?'
    'Thank you, Sir John.'
    'According to his records, the friars are responsible for the prisoners in Newgate. They provide comfort and consolation. However, not one of his brothers seemed to have any knowledge of Alice Brokestreet.'
    Athelstan smiled. 'So, Brokestreet has an accomplice?'
    'It's possible.'
    Athelstan was going to reply but paused as the bell began to toll for mid-morning prayer. He sighed and hid his exasperation. Sometimes Mugwort remembered his duty, other times he was too drunk to forget. Now, the way the bell was tolling it seemed as if Mugwort were summoning everyone in the city to prayer. He waited until the clanging had stopped.
    'Who could this accomplice be?'
    'I don't know, Brother but I've got old Flaxwith and that damnable dog sniffing away. Remember Brokestreet worked in a brothel.'
    'Who are you looking for, Sir Jack?'
    'An old acquaintance of ours, the vicar of hell.'
    'Oh no!' Athelstan groaned. 'I remember that rapscallion!'
    'He may be able to help. Flaxwith will track him