The Anger of God

slack-jawed. Athelstan recognized him as an easier quarry. ‘O, Lord,’ he reflected, quoting from the psalms, ‘Stretch out your hand and show your justice.’ Rosamund soon regained her composure.
    ‘Murder? Treason? What nonsense is this?’
    ‘You know full well, Mistress.’ Cranston produced from his voluminous sleeve the small jug which he had taken from the chamber above. ‘You agree, Mistress, in the presence of witnesses, that this is the jug containing your late husband’s medicine, an infusion of foxglove or digitalis? A medicine, I understand, which can strengthen the heart if taken in small doses?’
    ‘Yes, it is. What are you going to say, Sir John, that my husband took too much? He insisted on pouring it himself. No one else was allowed to touch it.’
    Cranston nodded. ‘And would you agree, in the presence of witnesses, that this is the jug that was left in your husband’s chamber when I sealed it, and that in your husband’s death throes he knocked it over?’
    ‘Yes, yes!’
    Cranston turned at a sound near the door and summoned over the old manservant.
    ‘Just in time, me lad!’ he boomed. ‘I could do with another witness. Tell me, Mistress.’ He turned back to the woman. ‘Have you ever tasted foxglove?’
    ‘Of course not! Sir John, you have been drinking!’
    ‘Yes. Yes, I have. I even drank from this jug.’ Athelstan gazed quickly at Albric, who might be a coward but, by the look on his face, had already guessed the direction of Cranston ’s interrogation. It seemed only to increase his terror.
    ‘Well,’ Cranston continued evenly, ‘foxglove is fairly tasteless. And that’s how you murdered your husband. He kept the main supply of the potion in a stoppered flask in the buttery. What he didn’t know is that, perhaps a month before his death, you poured the potion away and replaced it with nothing more harmful than water.’
    ‘Don’t be stupid, my husband would have noticed!’ Cranston smiled. ‘Where is that flask?’ i’ve thrown it away!’ Rosamund stammered.
    ‘Well, well,’ Cranston snapped. ‘Why should you do that?’ it wasn’t needed!’
    ‘Rubbish. You wished to hide the evidence! It would never have occurred to him. After all,’ Cranston continued, ‘we see what we expect to see. I understand from my medical friends that foxglove in its liquid form is both clear and tasteless. Perhaps you added something to thicken it a little? What do we have, woman, eh? A man with a weak heart, worried sick about his faithless wife, being deprived for weeks of a life-giving medicine. Oh, yes, Sir Oliver, God rest him, died of a heart seizure — but one brought about by you. Now, Brother Athelstan here is a theologian.’ Cranston glanced quickly at Albric who sat slumped in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. ‘Athelstan will tell you that there are two types of sin. The first is an act, the second an omission. Albric, do you know what omission means?’
    The young fop shook his head.
    ‘It means, you treacherous little turd, that you commit evil by not doing something. You can kill a man by throwing him into the river. You can also kill him by refusing to help him out.’
    ‘What proof do you have?’ Rosamund demanded.
    ‘Enough to hang you,’ Cranston answered sharply, coming forward. ‘You see, as your husband died, in the middle of his seizure, his hand flailed out and he knocked over the medicine jar, allowing the liquid to spill out. Now, this house is plagued by rats, hungry and inquisitive.’ Cranston was so furious he found it hard to speak.
    ‘What My Lord Coroner is saying,’ Athelstan intervened quietly, ‘is that if a rat would gnaw a dead man’s body, it would certainly drink any liquid left lying about. I have looked at that table,’ he lied. ‘As has the professional rat-catcher here. There are signs of rats on that table. Their tracks, as well as their dung, are all over the chamber.’ He glanced quickly at Ranulf who nodded wisely. ‘More importantly,’ he continued, ‘as my good friend here will swear, any rat who drank foxglove would soon die but we discovered no dead rat in that chamber.’ Athelstan schooled his features. He was bluffing and no Justice would convict anyone on the evidence they had produced. His heart skipped a beat as he heard Albric moan. The young man uncrossed his arms and made to rise.
    ‘This is nonsense!’ Rosamund snapped, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. ‘First the rat could