Field of Blood

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Chapter 8
    Athelstan stared up at the great keep of the Tower. On the green around him the women of the garrison were washing their clothes in great iron-hooped vats. Children also played in these, splashing water, jumping out and chasing each other. Soldiers lounged in the shadows drinking ale and playing dice. A lazy, pleasant place. The autumn sun was now warm and the grounds of the Tower seemed more like the setting for a midsummer fair than a formidable fortress. The mangonels, catapults and battering rams were all covered with tarred sheets. A horseman rode in, the hooves of his mount clattering on the cobbles. Grooms shouted and ran out to help take off the harness and lead the horse away. Cooking smells drifted from the kitchens and, from the royal menagerie, came the powerful roar of the lion sent as a gift by the Prince of Barbary to John of Gaunt.
    The great hall, which lay next to the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula, had its door flung open. Servants and retainers were bringing out the greasy laden trestle tables to be scraped and washed once the women had finished with the vats of water. Two great hunting dogs snarled and fought over blood-spattered bones. Athelstan's gaze travelled to the parapets where archers, supposedly on guard, sought shade against the autumn sun.
    Athelstan eased his writing bag off his shoulders and sat down on the grass. One of the great hunting dogs came over, chased by a child; it would have licked his face but the little boy grabbed the dog and pulled it away. Athelstan turned back to study the keep which soared up into the sky six or seven storeys high, built of dressed stone. Athelstan wondered at the ingenuity of the builder, Gundulf.
    'He was a Bishop of Rochester,' he said to himself. 'He may not have been much of a churchman but, as a mason, he had a real gift.'
    Athelstan glanced across at the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula which lay to his left. The old church was being refurbished and Athelstan noted how the derelict cemetery had been turned into a pleasant green yard; the old tombstones and other monuments had been removed then the ground grassed over.
    Athelstan loosened the cord round his waist and made himself comfortable. Sir John had met Flaxwith at the Tower gates and despatched him on certain errands. He had then gone to report to the constable, Sir Marmaduke Mount joy. However, this newly appointed official was out hunting on the marshes so Sir John had to do business with the surly-faced lieutenant, Colebrooke. The coroner now sauntered back out of the hall whistling under his breath. One of the great dogs ran up. Athelstan was always amused how animals loved Sir John. The coroner skipped away.
    'Nice dog! Nice dog!' he said. 'Now go and eat someone else!'
    'What are we waiting for, Sir John?'
    Athelstan saw Colebrooke, dressed in a brown leather jerkin, green leggings and battered boots, come out on to the steps of the half-timbered great hall, thumbs stuck into his war belt. Sir John crouched down on the grass and indicated with his head.
    'Old Merry Eyes over there,' he declared sardonically, 'will take us up into the chamber where Bartholomew Menster worked and kept his possessions. Thank God the place has not been cleared. They are still looking for a replacement. When I called this morning, I told Master Hengan to meet us here around noon. Look, Brother.' The coroner made himself comfortable. 'You really believe that precious pair we've just visited are guilty of murder? But how could it be done? Sholter was definitely seen leaving the city, crossing the bridge and arriving at the Silken Thomas.'
    'I don't know, Sir John, but, as you often say, I feel it in my water.' Athelstan plucked at a piece of grass and chewed on it.
    'Are you hungry, priest?' Sir John unstoppered the wineskin. 'Old Merry Eyes over there filled it.' He took a swig, pulled a face and spat it out. 'Satan's futtocks! It's vinegar!'
    'It will clean the wineskin,' Athelstan replied, his mind going back to Mistress Sholter and Master
    Eccleshall. Two killers, posturing in mock innocence. She, the grieving widow, he the understanding friend. You played the two-backed beast together, he thought. You've committed adultery and, in some subtle way, you killed that poor man. My parishioners will now pay for your wickedness. Time will pass and, by Easter, you will be married, adding blasphemy and sacrilege to your sins.
    'Be of good cheer, Brother. Here comes Master