Murder most holy

they waited for Brother Norbert to return, Cranston searched for further refreshment in the buttery and Athelstan took the book sent from Oxford and once more read the pages he had first seen the previous evening.
    At last there was a knock on the door and Norbert reentered.
    ‘Father Prior is ready,’ he announced. ‘Though a little angry that you did not tell him when you first arrived. The rest are also gathered.’
    ‘Good!’ Athelstan breathed. He put the book back in the sack and handed the surprised lay brother the quarter-staff he had left in the guest house. ‘Whatever happens, Brother Norbert, you will stay at the meeting with Father Prior and the rest. Stand near the door. If anyone attempts to leave before I finish,’ he gazed sharply at the young lay brother, ‘you are to use this quarter-staff. Even,’ he added, ‘against Father Prior himself!’ The lay brother just gaped back in amazement. ‘Brother Athelstan, have you lost your wits?’
    ‘Do as he says,’ Cranston grated, swinging his cloak about him. ‘And don’t worry if any violence breaks out — Sir John Cranston will soon settle it.’
    ‘One final thing,’ Athelstan concluded. ‘When all is finished, Brother Norbert, and it will be, sooner than you think, you will be sworn to secrecy. You are not to repeat what you will see or hear in that room.’
    They left the guest house and crossed into the cloisters, now filled with friars sitting on benches or the low redbrick wall to enjoy the fine summer’s morning. On Sunday, the community was released from the usual routine. The hum of conversation died as Cranston and his party swept by on their way to Father Prior’s room.
    Athelstan gazed across at the small fountain built in the middle of the cloister garth. He suddenly remembered his days in the novitiate. How he used to sit here chattering with the rest, never for one moment imagining what the future might hold. Now here he was, a fully sworn member of the Dominican Order, only a few minutes away from unmasking and confronting a colleague responsible for the deaths of four other brethren, not to mention a vicious assault upon himself. Athelstan stopped and gazed up at the sky, now brightening as the sun rose. The clouds which had massed during the night had begun to disappear like puffs of smoke. Cranston stopped and turned back.
    ‘Come on, Brother, what are you waiting for?’
    ‘Nothing, Sir John, just remembering. Isn’t it strange how the past always seems sweeter than the present?’
    ‘Come on, Brother,’ Cranston murmured gently. ‘We have no choice in the matter.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘For the love of God, Athelstan, remember those who are dead, brutally murdered. Their blood cries for vengeance and we do God’s work as well as the King’s.’
    Athelstan nodded and followed Sir John into the building, along the stone paved passageway to Father Prior’s chamber. Anselm and the rest were already assembled there.
    ‘You should have told us you had arrived, Brother,’ the prior declared meaningfully.
    ‘Why?’ Athelstan snapped back sharply. ‘So the murderer here could strike at my life?’
    The prior’s eyes rounded in angry amazement.
    ‘Brother Athelstan, such an allegation demands proof.’
    ‘We have it!’ Cranston declared. He stared round at what he called his secretive friars: Niall and Peter, tom between truculence and curiosity, and the sombre faces of the Inquisitors. He noticed how William de Conches had already sat down and was drumming his fingers restlessly. Eugenius just glared at Athelstan whilst Brother Henry stood, arms folded, staring down at the table.
    ‘You say you have proof?’ Brother Eugenius jibed. ‘What proof, Sir John? This Inner Chapter has been destroyed by our waiting around for you and the good Athelstan to resolve these matters. Father Prior, we will wait no longer. Let Cranston say what he has to and let’s be gone.’
    The coroner drew himself up to his full height. ‘Sit down!’ he roared. ‘Believe me, Brother, we shall not keep you long.’ All the Dominicans present looked towards Father Prior for guidance. He just nodded.
    ‘Yes, yes,’ he muttered. ‘Do as Sir John says and let’s sit down.’
    They took their seats round the long polished table. Father Prior at one end, Cranston and Athelstan at the other. There was further objection to the presence of Norbert and the quarter-staff he carried but, once again, Cranston roared that he would