The Anger of God

garden.’
    ‘And Goodman’s embarrassment?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Yes, yes. I think our dead master locksmith had some dark secret which My Lord Mayor shares.’
    Cranston looked sharply at Athelstan. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there, Brother?’
    The friar looked away but Cranston glimpsed the turmoil behind his troubled eyes. Athelstan murmured something.
    ‘What’s that, Brother?’
    ‘Tell me, Sir John, my Lord Regent has a legion of spies?’
    ‘Legion is the correct word, Brother. More like a swarm of ants across the city. No one can be trusted, and that even includes people like Leif the beggar. Such people are not evil, it’s only that being so poor they can be quickly bought.’ Cranston stepped closer and Athelstan tried not to flinch at the gust of wine fumes. ‘Of course,’ the Coroner whispered, ‘you are wondering how Gaunt knew about Ira Dei?’
    Athelstan was about to reply when they both heard a sound and turned to find Sir Nicholas Hussey, the King’s tutor, standing behind them.
    ‘My Lord Coroner, Brother Athelstan.’ The suave, silver-haired courtier bowed slightly. ‘We heard you were in the Guildhall. His Grace the King requests a moment of your time.’
    Athelstan looked curiously at this dark-skinned scholar, a lawyer by profession. Hussey’s quiet control of the King, his subtle manipulation of the young boy, was now making itself felt. He noticed the bright blue of the man’s eyes, clear as a summer day. He also saw the cunning in his face and quickly concluded Hussey might be even more dangerous than the Regent they had just left. Cranston , too, stayed silent, quietly wondering how much Hussey had heard. Then the Coroner smiled.
    ‘It would be an honour,’ he murmured.
    Hussey led them down a corridor and, surprisingly enough, into the Guildhall’s private garden where Mountjoy had been killed. The young King, dressed in a simple Lincoln green tunic, his blond hair tousled, sat on a turf seat, a leather baldrick and a pair of spurred hunting boots alongside him. A toy crossbow lay propped at his feet and, by the mud-marks on his face and hands, Cranston realized the young man had been hunting, probably in the woods and meadows north of Clerkenwell. Both he and Athelstan bowed but Richard dismissed the pleasantries and waved to the seat beside him, pushing the baldrick and boots unceremoniously aside.
    ‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan.’ Bright-eyed, the King gestured them to sit. ‘Uncle’s not here so I can do what I want. Sir Nicholas, you will stay?’
    The tutor bowed. Athelstan was quick enough to catch the glance exchanged between the young King and his mentor. Richard seized Cranston ’s huge hand and leaned forward so that Athelstan could hear his conspiratorial whisper.
    ‘Have you found the murderer yet?’
    ‘No, Your Grace.’
    ‘Or who this Ira Dei is?’
    Again Cranston shook his head. Richard smiled.
    ‘But my uncle’s upset. I have heard him shouting,’ he continued. ‘He blames everyone. Goodman, My Lord Mayor, and even his creature Lord Clifford have not escaped censure. Do you think Uncle will be murdered?’ Cranston gazed severely at the boy. ‘Your Grace, how can you say such a thing?’
    ‘Oh, quite easily, for Uncle would like to be King.’
    ‘Your Grace, whoever tells you that is a traitor and a knave. One day you will be King. A great prince like your father.’
    Richard’s eyes clouded at Cranston ’s mention of Gaunt’s brother, the famed Black Prince.
    ‘Did you know Father well, Sir John?’
    Cranston ’s gaze softened. ‘Yes, I did, Sire. I stood beside him at Poitiers when the French tried to break through.’
    And, urged on by Richard’s pleading, the Coroner gave a blow-by-blow account of the last stages of the Black Prince’s famous victory. Richard sat listening, round-eyed, until Hussey intervened, pointing out the Lord Coroner was a busy man and had other matters to attend to. Richard gave them leave to go, thanking both Athelstan and Cranston warmly. They were just about to leave when Richard, tip-toeing over the grass, ran up and caught them both excitedly by the sleeve.
    ‘If you find Ira Dei,’ he whispered excitedly, ‘bring him to me, Sir John!’
    Cranston smiled and bowed. He and Athelstan walked back through the Guildhall and out into the heat of Cheapside .
    ‘Now what was all that about?’ Cranston muttered to himself.
    Athelstan shook his head. Only when they were safely ensconced in