Field of Blood

makeshift wheel like that of a water-mill. Others were laying bets as to how many times the rat would turn it before it wearied and climbed off. A pickpocket, recently released from the stocks outside, was loudly complaining about his stiff neck. A little boy stood on a table and tried to massage it for him. The tavern-keeper swept out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a bloody rag which he stuffed beneath his stained apron. He took one look at the coroner and bustled across.
    'Good day, sir. Can I help you? Our ales are the best you'll find on the Canterbury Road. Indeed, anywhere in Southwark, if that's your direction.'
    'Miles Sholter!' Sir John barked, showing his wax seal of office. 'And Philip Eccleshall. Two royal messengers, they arrived here last Saturday evening.'
    'What was it sir, two quarts of ale? A piece of chicken pie? Or we have eel pastries? I am a busy man, sir.'
    'And I am a King's officer!'
    'Two quarts of ale and a chicken pie would do nicely.' Athelstan pulled out a silver piece. 'And we'll sit over in the corner.'
    The taverner's oily face broke into a smile. Athelstan tried not to flinch at the blackened stumps and his yellowing teeth, jagged and broken. He looked at the man's dirty fingernails.
    'On second thoughts,' he added, 'just two quarts of ale.' He pressed his sandalled foot on the toe of Sir John's boot. 'I do urge you, sir, to help us or Sir John Cranston here, who is coroner of the city, might come back with his merry boys.'
    The taverner held his hands up as if in prayer.
    'Sir Jack Cranston. I've heard of you, sir.' He hurried across and wiped two stools with his rag. 'Make yourselves comfortable. The ale is free, my gift.'
    'No, it isn't.' Athelstan put the silver piece on the table. 'We pay for what we drink and for what we learn.'
    Despite his ponderous girth the taverner moved quickly. He roared out the order and a slattern hurried across. The blackjacks were large and looked clean, the ale frothing at the top and running down the sides.
    'Now, sir, how can I help you?' The taverner pulled a stool across.
    'Miles Sholter and Philip Eccleshall,' Sir John repeated. He sipped from the tankard and smacked his lips in appreciation. 'Tell the truth and, bearing in mind the ale is fragrant, I'll forget your earlier rudeness.'
    'They arrived here on Saturday evening. You know the way they are. They came bustling in, cloaks on, hoods up, spurs clinking, sword belts on. One, of medium height, had long dark hair, the other was taller.'
    'And what happened?' Athelstan asked.
    'They gave their names, Sholter and Eccleshall, and their office. Sholter was rather quiet but Eccleshall was full of his own importance.'
    'Did they order food or drink?'
    'No, they immediately hired a chamber. I took them up to one on the first floor, the best we have: two beds, a chest, coffer, table and a…'
    'Thank you. Just tell us what happened.'
    'They stayed there. One of the maids took some food up, about an hour after they arrived. One was lying on the bed, the other was mending a spur. Their saddlebags were unpacked and they were talking about their journey. About seven or eight in the evening, one of them came clattering downstairs all in a hurry, the other behind him. The taller one, Eccleshall, was arguing with his companion. "Why not leave it?" he cried. But the other said no and demanded his horse be saddled. They had already paid for their chamber so I didn't object and off the other one went.'
    'Did you know he was murdered?' Sir John asked.
    The taverner shook his head and wiped his face with a rag.
    'Who was murdered?'
    'The one who left.'
    'So, that's what happened.'
    'What do you mean?' Sir John demanded, glaring across at the group of chapmen whose shouts and curses shattered the peace of the taproom. The pedlars, who'd overheard that Cranston was a King's officer, immediately fell silent.
    'Well, the taller one, Eccleshall, after his companion left, he came down here.' He pointed to the inglenook. 'He just sat there looking into the flames.'
    'And he never left?' Athelstan asked.
    'Never.'
    'You are sure of that?'
    Athelstan felt a surge of disappointment.
    'Well, you see, Brother…?'
    'Athelstan. I am Sir John's secretarius. I am also parish priest of St Erconwald's.'
    'Ah.' The taverner tapped the side of his fat nose. 'I've also heard of you. Look, I tell the truth. Eccleshall drank deeply that night. I could see he was worried. He had great difficulty climbing the stairs and that was