Murder most holy

from the bed, I get up from the stool.’
    They played out the mime like actors, then stared at each other in exasperation.
    ‘You’ve got nowhere,’ Cranston moaned.
    ‘Could it have been something on the fire or the candles?’ Athelstan queried.
    ‘I thought of that,’ Cranston replied. ‘But, remember, when the second person died, the priest from the village, no candles were lit and the fire had died.’
    ‘It’s the last two deaths which concern me,’ Athelstan declared at Cranston ’s pleading look. ‘Let’s act it out again, Sir John. Lie on the bed.’
    Cranston obeyed. Athelstan sat on the stool and leaned against the wall.
    ‘What,’ he asked, ‘woke that archer? What terrified him so much that he killed his comrade before it killed him? Most professional bowmen will shoot at a moment’s prompting. That’s how the archer’s comrade died. As mathematicians say, there must be a common denominator, something which links both deaths. We must not confuse the issues. Don’t you agree, Sir John?’
    A loud snore greeted his words. Athelstan stood up in disbelief. Cranston lay sprawled on his back, a smile on his red face. He lay like a child, lost to the world. Athelstan pulled off the coroner’s boots, undid his belt and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. He blew out the candles and went to kneel beside his own bed, crossing himself as he tried to chant the evening prayer of the church, but it was almost impossible. His mind twisted and turned from one problem to another: Brother Roger’s simple face; Callixtus, cold and dead; the inquisitors with their malevolent, accusing eyes; Cranston ’s insoluble problem; the chaos outside St Erconwald’s church; and then Benedicta, beautiful in her loneliness. Athelstan shook his head, crossed himself and lay down on his bed, praying for sleep to come.
    He woke early the next morning, Cranston still snoring like a pig on the other bed. The Dominican quietly shaved, washed and donned a clean set of robes, slipping his feet into thonged sandals. He crept out of the guest house and across the mist-shrouded grounds, answering the muffled tones of the bell tolling for lauds. Athelstan joined the community in the stalls of the choir. The monks chanted their psalms and listened to the readings, arms folded, heads down, though Athelstan sensed their curiosity about his presence. He celebrated mass in a small chantry chapel and tried to concentrate on the mystery of changing the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ.
    Brother Norbert acted as altar server and afterwards helped him put away the vestments and sacred vessels. Athelstan then went across to the refectory for a bowl of oats, milk and honey and two fresh rolls of the whitest bread. He remembered some of his meagre breakfasts at St Erconwald’s and smiled as he sipped the watered ale. He sat at the table, just within the doorway, specially reserved for visitors and guests. From the lectern at the top of the refectory a sleepy reader droned through the life of St Dominic until Father Prior rang the bell and the community rose and dispersed to their different tasks. Athelstan kept his eyes down.
    ‘You are well, Brother?’
    He looked up. Henry of Winchester stood beside him.
    ‘As well as can be expected. Do sit down.’
    The young theologian slipped on to the bench next to him. Athelstan noticed how lithe and quick he was in his movements. Henry had a physical grace and ease which neatly complemented his keen intellect.
    ‘Your investigations are going well?’
    Athelstan made a face. ‘I’ll tell you later, Brother, when I have reported to Father Prior. And your treatise?’ Athelstan continued.
    ‘“Cur Deus Homo — Why God Became Man”.’
    ‘If the Inner Chapter declares for you, your work will be studied at every university in Europe .’ Athelstan nudged him playfully. ‘And what next, eh, Brother Henry? A bishopric? A cardinal’s hat? A place in the Curia?’
    Henry of Winchester laughed softly and turned away, playing with the crumbs on the table.
    ‘I’ll be pleased just to win the approval of the Master Inquisitor. If I had known my work would have caused such a stir, I might have thought again. You have read my treatise?’ Athelstan shook his head.
    Brother Henry looked up at the refectory and grimaced as Father Prior moved towards them.
    ‘Then I’ll send a copy across to the guest house. Please read it, I would value your opinion.’
    The