Field of Blood

great charity. If I had my way I'd have dug the corpses up and slung them in the river. Anyway, I've smuggled a little wine and allowed my girls to pleasure some sailors. What are you going to do, my lord coroner, arrest me?'
    'No, sir, I'm not.' Sir John turned away. 'Today is Friday. I shall return on Tuesday. And you must be gone.'
    'There will be no trouble,' Athelstan added, as he undid his pouch and pulled out a piece of parchment. 'Provided you answer one question.' The friar felt a tingle of excitement as he approached the main reason for this meeting. 'When you were on oath, Master Whittock asked you about your sister's question on the morning of the twenty-sixth of June last?'
    'Did I see anyone I knew here in Black Meadow?'
    'Look at that list,' Athelstan said. 'You are lettered?'
    'Of course, Brother.' The First Gospel grinned. 'Father always said schooling was the beginning of my downfall.'
    'This is a list of names of all those who use the Paradise Tree. Which of them do you recognise?'
    First Gospel studied the list carefully. Athelstan winked at Sir John. He had drawn up the names this morning in bald, round letters.
    'This one,' First Gospel said, jabbing his finger.
    'And, of course, this one and this one, but those two are dead.'
    'Anyone else?' Athelstan asked. 'Anyone I have missed out?'
    First Gospel shook his head and handed the piece of parchment back.
    'Is there anything else, Brother?'
    'No, sir, there isn't.' The friar turned. 'Angels might not come on time,' he declared, 'but, sometimes, God does work in wondrous ways. Master Trumpington, ladies, I will not trouble you again.'
    Athelstan, followed by a bemused Sir John, walked back to the Paradise Tree.
    They sat in the garden and were joined by Flaxwith. Cranston hurriedly brought the mastiff a large, cooked sausage from the kitchen. The dog seized it, grinning evilly at his benefactor.
    'Just keep him away, Henry!'
    A sullen tapster brought tankards of ale.
    'Master Flaxwith,' Athelstan said. 'When you have finished your ale, I would be grateful if you would go for Master Ralph Hengan. You know where he lives?'
    Flaxwith nodded.
    'Bring him here. Tell him we'll meet him under the great oak tree in Black Meadow.' 'And if he's busy?'
    'Oh, he'll come. Tell him we have found Gundulf's treasure.'
    Flaxwith choked on his ale. Cranston nearly dropped his blackjack; even Samson stopped chewing the sausage.
    'Brother, are you witless?'
    'No, Sir John, I am not. The treasure is not very far from us. Master Flaxwith, I beg you to go.'
    Flaxwith finished his ale and hurried off, Samson loping behind him.
    'Where's the treasure, Brother?' Sir John whispered.
    'Here in the garden.'
    'Friar, don't play games. If we find the treasure, God knows we could turn Gaunt's mind to mercy'
    'Oh, I'll do more than that, Sir John. Now, do you remember when we went to the Tower?' Athelstan asked. 'We do know Bartholomew read manuscripts we never saw. However, there was an entry in that chronicle about the treasure glowing like the sun. What was it now? "In ecclesia prope turrem"?'
    'That's right. Which we translated as "in the chapel or church near the tower": the site of the Paradise Tree.'
    'I don't think so.' Athelstan smiled. 'You see, Sir John, Gundulf was a bishop. He held the See of Rochester. I read a book at Blackfriars. His real interest wasn't theology but mathematics: he loved buildings and measurements. He was fascinated by anything which could calculate, weight or measure. Because he was William the Conqueror's favourite stone mason, Gundulf also amassed a treasure. Before his death he had it all smelted down, fashioned into one great block.'
    'Yes, yes, we all know that,' Sir John interrupted.
    'He was a churchman,' Athelstan continued. 'And, before he died, he used his status to hide the treasure away.'
    'Where?' Sir John almost bawled. 'Why, Sir John, he had it smelted down and then covered with a brass face.'
    'What?'
    Athelstan pointed to the sundial. 'I think it's in there.'
    Sir John stared open-mouthed at the sundial. The stone pillar which held it was covered in lichen and chipped. It reminded him of a long-stemmed chalice with the cup holding the sundial at the top. The coroner went across and tapped it with his finger.
    'But it's only a sundial, Brother. Look, it has an arm.' He peered down. 'And it's divided into Roman numerals.'
    Athelstan joined the coroner.
    'When Gundulf talked of his treasure being in "ecclesia prope turrem" we