The Anger of God

his left,’ Sudbury added. ‘Why, what are you implying?’
    Cranston looked at the servants huddled near the door. ‘You, sir.’ One stubby finger singled out a frightened-looking steward. ‘Come here!’
    The fellow scuttled forward.
    ‘Did Sir Thomas Fitzroy eat or drink anything we did not?’
    ‘No, sir. All food was served from the one platter and his wine came from the same jugs as everyone else’s.’
    ‘I will stand as surety for that.’ Bremmer, Guildmaster of the Drapers, spoke up.
    ‘As will I,’ Marshall of the Spicers declared. ‘You see, old Fitzroy liked his food and drink. Bremmer and I had a quiet wager that Fitzroy would ask for double portions of everything and his cups be refilled more than anyone else’s. I was right,’ the spicer added slyly, glancing quickly at Cranston . ‘He ate and drank even more than you, Sir John.’
    Cranston glared back and belched loudly as if that was the only answer such a statement warranted. He turned to Bremmer. ‘You are sure of that?’
    ‘I am, Sir John.’
    ‘And you?’ Beginning to sway slightly, Cranston looked sharply at the steward.
    Oh, Lord, Athelstan prayed silently, don’t let Sir John sit down and go to sleep. Not now. Please, please!
    Cranston , however, seemed to have the bit between his teeth as he advanced threateningly on the frightened steward.
    ‘Are you sure that Fitzroy ate and drank only what we did?’
    ‘Of course, Sir John. You see,’ the steward turned, bobbing to the King and the Regent, ‘all meats and all drinks were served to His Grace the King and my Lord of Gaunt first, then to everyone else. If any servitor had returned for more wine or meat by the time he had reached Sir Thomas, I would have remembered.’
    ‘Can the servants be trusted?’ Goodman jibed.
    The steward glared furiously back. ‘How could any of us,’ he retorted, ‘while serving meat and drink with both hands, stop to sprinkle or pour poison with others, including Fitzroy, watching?’
    ‘I only asked!’ Goodman smirked.
    Cranston made a rude sound and walked over to Athelstan. He towered above the friar and glared down at him. ‘You’d better be right!’ he hissed.
    ‘Don’t worry, my good Coroner.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Ah, here comes the physician.’
    Theobald de Troyes, swathed in a voluminous cloak, strode into the room, eyes heavy with sleep and face angry at being disturbed so late. Adam Clifford arrived at the same time, his riding boots covered in mud, the spurs still attached, clinking and jangling. As the physician went to crouch beside the corpse, Gaunt signalled Clifford away from the rest and stood whispering. Athelstan watched Clifford’s face and knew that not only was he right about Fitzroy but, from the look of surprised anger on the Regent’s face, this second murder was a major blow to Gaunt’s political dreams.
    Clifford asked the Regent a question. Gaunt drew back his head sharply and shook his head. Clifford strode forward, pushing his way through the group of Guildmasters. Without a by-your-leave, he curtly ordered the physician to stand aside whilst he searched the dead man’s wallet, ignoring cries of protest from the others. At last he found what he was searching for and, with a key in his hands, beamed triumphantly at Gaunt. ‘We have it, My Lord!’
    ‘Good!’ The Regent sighed with relief. ‘Keep it for a while.’ He turned. ‘Master physician, can you determine the cause of death?’
    ‘Oh, yes.’ De Troyes got to his feet, wiping his hands on his robe. ‘Oh, yes,’ the physician repeated sarcastically. ‘First, Sir Thomas is dead. Second, the cause is murder. And third, the means is probably white arsenic administered to his food and drink.’
    ‘Impossible!’ Goodman shouted, his bulbous eyes glaring at the doctor. ‘How do you know he didn’t eat or drink something before he came here?’
    ‘Now, now.’ The physician held up his slender fingers. ‘I am merely the physician, not the poisoner.’ De Troyes turned, choosing to ignore Goodman. He smiled and bowed at Sir John and Athelstan. ‘My Lord Coroner, Brother Athelstan, so we meet again?’ The physician enjoyed seeing Goodman’s bubbling fury at being snubbed. ‘You are the city Coroner, Sir John. I have been summoned here to determine the cause of death and have given it. May I now ask a question of my own? How long were you feasting here before Fitzroy collapsed?’
    ‘About three hours,’ Cranston replied.