Field of Blood

Godbless, Benedicta, I want you to do a job for me.' He emptied the contents of the bag out on to the table, opened an inkpot and scratched a short message on a piece of parchment. 'Go down to London Bridge. If you can, collect Bladdersniff on the way, I want you to go to the gatekeeper.'
    'The mannikin Robert Burdon?'
    'Yes, that's the one. Give him this message. Ask him to think carefully then come back to me. He must tell the truth.'
    Benedicta looked at the scrap of parchment, shrugged and, with Godbless and Thaddeus escorting her, left the house. Athelstan watched them go then closed and locked the door behind them. He went and sat back at the table.
    'Right, friar.' He sighed. 'There's no rest for the wicked and that includes you.'
    Bonaventure lifted his head then flopped down again. Athelstan wrote down his conclusions on the murder of Miles Sholter and the two other unfortunates.
    'Very clever,' he said to himself. 'It's true that the sons and daughters of Cain are more cunning in their ways than the children of the light. But, saying it is one thing, proving it another.'
    He wrote a title on a scrap of parchment: the Paradise Tree. Bonaventure jumped on to the table.
    'You've come to listen, have you? We have a tavern-owner, Bonaventure.'
    The cat nudged his hand and Athelstan stroked Bonaventure's good ear.
    'We know she is a good victualler and what else? A widow. She allows those Four Gospels to camp on her land. She is undoubtedly innocent of the deaths of those other remains. They are simply the skeletons of poor people who died in the great pestilence. But!' He spoke the word so loudly Bonaventure started. 'We have Bartholomew Menster and Margot Haden! They were undoubtedly killed on her land, either in the tavern itself or in Black Meadow. Their corpses were hurriedly buried. Why?' Athelstan closed his eyes. Gold! He thought: Bartholomew believed Gundulf's treasure was hidden in the church or chapel beside the Tower. It was a treasure which shone like gold. Bartholomew also made a reference, which I can't trace, something to do with the treasure shining like the sun buried beneath the sun. So, that means there's a scrap of parchment, some piece of evidence missing, probably destroyed. Athelstan wrote down other conclusions.
    Item – How could Bartholomew and Margot enter Black Meadow without Kathryn Vestler knowing?
    Item – Was Kathryn Vestler jealous of Margot Haden?
    Item – Bartholomew had offered to buy the Paradise Tree. Why? To search for gold? Or had Mistress Vestler already found it and decided to silence Bartholomew and his paramour? After all, if Bartholomew knew the gold had been found, he could blackmail Mistress Vestler over not revealing treasure trove to the Barons of the Exchequer.
    Item – Why had she burned Margot Haden's possessions?
    Athelstan lifted his head. 'We know nothing about the dead girl,' he said. 'But I wager Master Whittock does.'
    Athelstan returned to his writing. What were those black shapes and shadows glimpsed by the Four Gospels? What had they to do with Mistress Vestler? Athelstan paused.
    'I am missing something,' he whispered. 'Master Cat, I am missing something but I can't remember what.'
    Bonaventure yawned and stretched. Athelstan went into the buttery and brought back a small dish of milk and the remains of the pie. He put these down near the hearth and watched as Bonaventure delicately sipped and ate. The friar sat in the chair and closed his eyes. What was missing? Something he had learned? Athelstan rubbed his arms. If matters don't improve, he thought, Mistress Vestler will hang and that will be the end of the matter.
    'It's this gold!' Athelstan declared loudly. 'These legends about Gundulf's treasure!'
    He remembered the accounts book Flaxwith had taken from the Paradise Tree. He took a candle from the table and sat, going through the dirty, well-thumbed ledger. The accounts were a few years old. He could tell from the different entries that they marked the year Kathryn Vestler became a widow. There were Mass offerings made to a local church for her husband's requiem as well as regular payments to a chantry priest to say Mass for the repose of the soul of Stephen Vestler. Items bought and sold. Athelstan turned to the front of the ledger and noted the date 1374 to 1375. He studied the last page and whistled softly at the profits the Paradise Tree made, hundreds of pounds sterling.
    'I am sure Master Whittock's found the same,'
    Athelstan mused.