Satan in St Mary

barrels used by the servants who rushed back and forth with dirty pots brimming with the rich brown London ale.
    Corbett introduced himself and the man stared back with watery-blue eyes. "Yes, Master Clerk, what can I do for you?"
    "Robert Savel?" Corbett replied. "He worked here?"
    The man's eyes slipped away before he answered. "Yes, he worked here. Why? What is it to you?"
    "I am, was related to him, " lied Corbett. "I want to know how, even why he died?"
    The man nodded to a small table in the corner. "You want my custom? Then sit down, drink, and pay for it. "
    Corbett shrugged, moved over and sat down, the owner later joined him with a dish of beef sprinkled with pepper, garlic, leeks and onions. A large pot of ale in his other hand. "Eat, " he commanded, "and I will talk. "
    Corbett did as he was told; the ale was strong and tangy but the food was hot and well spiced. The landlord sat opposite and watched him. "Who Robert Savel really was, " he began, "I do not actually know. He seemed well bred. I know people. I watch them and I saw through his disguise. But, he was a good stableman, he knew horses, so I gave him a job here. "
    "What did he do? I mean, apart from his job?" Corbett asked.
    The man grimaced. "Like you, Master Clerk, he asked a lot of questions, and also went to places I would never dream of going. " He leaned forward, his breath a gust of stale onions and garlic. "I am an honest man, " he confided. "I liked Savel, but we all know what is going on in the city. The unrest, the plotting. I am an innkeeper, people talk and chatter in their cups, I just listen and keep my mouth shut. I want no trouble. "
    "So, whom did Savel meet?" Corbett queried.
    "I don't know, except that he used to go out at night. Sometimes he used to talk about the Populares, the dead de Montfort and the unrest in the city. Savel tried to question people here but I put a stop to that. " The man shrugged wearily. "It was only a matter of time before something happened. "
    "So, you know nothing about him really?" Corbett asked. The innkeeper looked around the now noisy and crowded room.
    "Yes, " he muttered, "one thing. He used to go and talk to an old hag who lived in a hovel down near an old, disused church by the river. This aged crone boasted that she could talk to demons and tell fortunes with her magic bones. "
    "Is she there now?" Corbett impatiently interrupted.
    The innkeeper shook his head. "I doubt it. She was found sewn in a sack a few days ago, her magic bones thrust in her mouth and her throat slashed from ear to ear, trussed and tied she was, like a hog at Michaelmas. "
    "And Savel left nothing?"
    "A change of tunic, that is all. "
    Corbett leaned across the table. "And he said nothing to you?" he asked anxiously. "Surely there was something?"
    The innkeeper rubbed his mouth and concentrated on a point beyond Corbett's head. "Only a riddle, " he replied. "He came back early one morning, in fact the very day he went missing. He was excited and he told me a riddle. What was it now?" The man paused, eyes screwed up in concentration.
    "Oh, yes, " he continued. "When is a bow which cannot be used, stronger than a bow which can?"
    "And the answer?" Corbett interjected.
    "Savel's answer, " the innkeeper flatly replied, "was another riddle – 'when it includes all other weapons'. " The innkeeper rose. "That is all. Now I must go, and so should you!" He wandered off while Corbett sat thinking about what he had learnt.
    First, Savel must have stumbled on some truth, probably through the old hag who was murdered. Secondly, judging from the short note sent to Burnell, it must be connected with a secret coven of witches and rebels. But what about the riddle? Was the bow somehow connected with Saint Mary Le Bow? If it is, Corbett thought, then it's a tenuous link between a secret coven and Duket's death. His mind probed at the riddle but concluded it could mean anything. If it was a reference to Saint Mary Le Bow then it was not, at this time, worth pursuing; his task was to find the murderers and an explanation of how they so effectively carried out the assassination.
    Corbett looked round the tavern, now more noisy and packed with people. The pedlar, drunk, was offering a phial containing, so he said, the Virgin Mary's tears. Corbett looked hard at some of the customers and realized it was time that he was gone. He felt uneasy as if someone evil was watching him, a malevolent presence, but it could be anyone, any of the