The Anger of God

dogs.’
    Beneath the table Athelstan suddenly gripped Cranston ’s wrist and the Coroner quickly bit back the question he was about to ask.
    ‘Then, Your Grace,’ he said instead, ‘why am I summoned here? Do you have news?’
    ‘Yes, of two things,’ Gaunt replied. ‘First, a proclamation has been pinned on the Guildhall door. A simple message from Ira Dei. It reads: “Death follows death”. What do you make of that, Sir John? Or should I ask Brother Athelstan who is so strangely silent?’
    The friar gently tapped the top of the table. ‘A warning, Your Grace, that someone else in this room might be murdered.’ Athelstan glanced at the Guildmasters but they seemed unperturbed by his reply.
    ‘Has another murder occurred?’ Cranston asked. ‘Where is my Lord Clifford?’
    ‘A third was planned,’ Gaunt replied. ‘Lord Adam was attacked this morning by a group of malefactors near Bread Street but, thank God, managed to escape. He is now resting at his town house. I suggest you visit him there.’ is that all?’
    ‘Oh, no.’ Gaunt rose quickly to his feet but his eyes never left those of Athelstan. ‘You are, Brother, a loyal servant of the Crown?’
    ‘Under God, yes.’ He tried to control his panic: he was the real reason this group of powerful men wanted to see Cranston and he half-suspected what lay behind their smug, complacent looks. Gaunt stood, smoothing his moustache between finger and thumb.
    ‘Brother, you have been approached by Ira Dei. You are a priest working amongst the poor of Southwark. You are, strangely enough, much loved and respected. If we asked, indeed if the King ordered, would you reply to Ira Dei, join the Great Community of the Realm and... ?’
    ‘Betray them?’ Athelstan snapped.
    ‘Your Grace!’ Cranston shouted, pushing back his chair. ‘The notion is both foolish and rash. Brother Athelstan is my secretarius. I am an officer of the Crown. He would always be held suspect.’
    Gaunt shook his head. ‘Sir John, you contradict yourself,’ he replied, choosing his words carefully. ‘Yesterday, both you and Brother Athelstan claimed that Ira Dei, or one of his henchmen, was present at my banquet. If this so-called Great Community of the Realm can turn even the most powerful into a traitor, why not a Dominican who works amongst the poor?’
    ‘Yes, why not?’ Goodman spoke up, and Cranston softly groaned at the way both he and Athelstan had slipped into this neatly laid trap.
    ‘After all, Sir John, what are your thoughts on this matter?’ Goodman continued. ‘Are you not for the poor? Have you not advocated reform in the city and the shires? To ease the burden of the petty traders and peasants?’
    ‘You cannot force me,’ Athelstan interrupted quietly. ‘My obedience is to my Father Superior and to God!’
    ‘And your allegiance to the Crown?’ Gaunt shouted back. ‘As for your Father Superior, I have already obtained his permission.’
    ‘Your Grace, you cannot force me to act against my conscience!’
    Gaunt sat down and smilingly extended his beringed hands. ‘Now, now, Brother, what are we asking for? We do not wish you to be a traitor, to the Crown or to this so-called Great Community or to yourself.’
    ‘What is it you want?’ Cranston quietly asked.
    ‘Nothing much,’ Gaunt murmured. ‘Ira Dei has communicated with Brother Athelstan. Let our faithful loyal friar write back. Who knows? This mysterious traitor may reveal his hand.’ Gaunt smiled. He sat down and spread his hands. ‘I am sure this traitor is no fool and Brother Athelstan would never be trusted. But, as the old proverb puts it, Sir John: “If you shake the apple tree, it’s wonderful what might fall out”.’
    Athelstan remained tight-lipped, refusing to commit himself further, and only gave vent to his anger once they had left the council chamber and were returning downstairs to the ground floor of the Guildhall. Cranston was more sanguine, aided by another swig from his wineskin.
    ‘Take heart, Brother.’ He patted Athelstan on the shoulder. ‘Remember, my Lord Regent must be desperate.’
    Athelstan stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘The meeting was quite fruitful, Sir John, yes?’
    Cranston grinned. ‘Yes. Two juicy morsels. First, how did Denny know that My Lord Sheriff was sipping wine and talking to his dogs? Quite a detailed observation from someone who supposedly never went near the Lord Sheriff when he was sunning himself in his private