Field of Blood

of the jury will draw one conclusion: Kathryn Vestler killed them!'
    'Hear ye! Hear ye! All ye who have business before the King's justices of Oyer and Terminer seated in the Guildhall of the King's own city of London, draw close and witness the King's justice being done!'
    The herald standing before the bar of the court proclaimed the message twice again. In a blare of trumpets, the justices sat down on their cushioned seats beneath the great scarlet canopy. Athelstan, next to Sir John on the witness benches, closed his eyes, bowed his head and prayed. Brabazon looked in fine fettle, florid face beaming round the court. He was the King's justice and the other judges, who flanked him on either side, mere appendages to his own majesty. On the red and gold steps below, Master Whittock, dressed in a russet robe lined with lambswool, sat like the chief justice's hunting dog. The serjeant-at-law leaned slightly forward, keen eyes studying members of the jury as they took their seats and swore the oath. At the far end of the hall, men-at-arms in the royal livery held back the crowds. The news had spread throughout the city and many had flocked to the Guildhall to witness the unfolding drama.
    The witnesses' and spectators' benches were full, so that Sir John had had to use all his authority to gain admission. Now he sat in his blue and gold doublet, cloak thrown across his green hose, legs slightly parted, tapping his high-heeled boots on the wooden platform. He kept glaring at the chief justice. Athelstan, who felt slightly tired after the previous day's revelry, looked down at Mistress Vestler. She had been brought up in chains and now stood at the bar flanked by two tipstaffs carrying their white wands of office. Behind her stood a line of archers, arbalests hooked to their war belts.
    'May the good Lord and St Antony help her!' Athelstan prayed.
    Mistress Vestler looked pale in mourning weeds, black gown and a veil of the same colour.
    'You'd think she was dead already,' Sir John whispered. 'But she holds herself well. Pleas for mercy will find no echo here.'
    Beside Mistress Vestler, Ralph Hengan sat and shuffled among certain papers. The small gate to the bar was open; two clerks carried forward a lectern which bore a book of the gospels. This was where the witnesses would stand, take the oath and give their testimony. Chief Justice Brabazon made a cutting movement with his hand. The two heralds stepped forward and gave a shrill blast on their silver-plated trumpets. The clerks seated at the foot of the steps rose, turned and bowed to Sir Henry. He nodded.
    'The court is in session!' the chief clerk proclaimed. 'Let the charges be read!'
    Confusion immediately followed. Whittock sprang to his feet and walked down to stand at the other side of the bar from Mistress Vestler.
    'You are?' Sir Henry Brabazon asked.
    'Odo Whittock, scrjcant-at-law. My lord, before the charges are read, I must inform the court that its principal witnesses Alice Brokestreet has been found poisoned.'
    'In which case,' Hengan interrupted, 'the case should be dismissed.'
    'Not so! Not so!' Whittock retorted. He held up a sheaf of parchments. 'Mistress Brokestreet had made a statement under oath; her testimony has been accepted by the court.'
    'Are you implying,' Master Hengan snapped, 'that Mistress Brokestreet's murder must be laid at the door of Kathryn Vestler?'
    'What does it matter?' Whittock replied languidly. 'Hang for one, hang for ten, you are still hanged!'
    Sir Henry smiled.
    'In which case,' Hengan said, leaning against the bar, 'I would also like the other matters to be discussed.'
    'What other matters?' Sir Henry asked.
    'My lord, the corpses of Bartholomew Menster and Margot Haden were discovered in Black Meadow, which belongs to my client. However, my lord,' Hengan pointed to Athelstan, 'I can produce good witnesses and sound testimony that Black Meadow was used as a burial ground for victims of the pestilence. These human remains, pathetic though they may be, are not a matter for this court to consider.'
    Sir Henry played with his scarlet skullcap and conferred quickly with colleagues on either side.
    'All this,' he replied, 'is wasting the court's time. Hanged for one is the same as being hanged for ten.
    The murder of Alice Brokestreet is beyond the power of this court. As regards the other matter, there is no need to call Brother Athelstan.' The chief justice beamed in Sir John's direction. 'I will accept what you say,