The Anger of God

growing around a small pond. The air was sweet with fragrance from the herb banks: camomile, fennel, lavender, even some hyssop and marjoram. Athelstan noticed a small brick house at the end of the garden and followed the path down. He was surprised to see the sturdy door heavily barred and padlocked so returned to the house and asked the young boy for the key. The apprentice shook his head.
    ‘Master Sturmey kept that separate,’ he declared. ‘We was never allowed in there.’
    Now curious, Cranston and Clifford followed Athelstan back into the garden. The Coroner took a hammer and chisel from one of the work benches and soon made short work of the lock. Inside, the stone shed was musty, rather airless. Cranston knocked open the shutters and stared round. There was a bench and some chests. Cranston grinned and pointed to the small forge near the fire-hearth.
    ‘This is where he made the keys,’ Cranston declared, and using the mallet and chisel, soon opened the chests. Inside were all the implements a locksmith would need; strips of lead and steel, casting-irons and bits of keys. Cranston rummaged amongst the contents of the chest and brought out a mould which had been deliberately shattered. He handed this to Clifford.
    ‘If you take that to the Lord Regent, as cats love milk, I am sure you will find Sturmey used this and others to fashion a second set of keys.’
    ‘For whom?’ Clifford asked.
    ‘Ah, that’s the mystery.’
    A small book, deep in the shadows of the chest, caught Cranston ’s eye. He pulled this out whilst Clifford walked back into the garden to study the fragments of the mould more closely. Cranston flicked through the pages. At first he thought it was a small Book of Hours but then he looked at the illustrations, cleverly drawn, and slipped it up his sleeve. He now knew Master Sturmey’s dark secret.
    Clifford was excited by Cranston ’s find and could hardly wait to hurry off, leaving Cranston and Athelstan to thank the apprentice and maid. Once outside the house, Cranston showed Athelstan the book. He turned over the finely grained parchment pages and whistled under his breath as he studied the paintings some clever artist had depicted there. Boys and young men, as naked as they were born, in a variety of poses. Some fought with swords; one group lounged on cloth-of-gold couches; two practised spear-throwing. Other pictures were more daring — young men washing each other or exchanging embraces and kisses.
    ‘Master Sturmey did have his secrets,’ Athelstan whispered. ‘Such a book could condemn a man to be burnt alive.’
    Cranston tapped the side of his nose.
    ‘I knew I had it. Come on, Athelstan!’
    He strode back into Cheapside , the friar having to trot to keep up with the Coroner’s surprising spurt of speed. Leif the beggar, however, stopped them only a few yards from the Coroner’s house.
    ‘Be on your guard, Sir John!’ he whispered dramatically. ‘Be on your guard!’
    ‘What are you talking about, you silly bugger?’
    ‘The Lady Maude’s back.’
    Cranston ’s jaw sagged. ‘She’s come back early,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, my God, she’ll see those bloody dogs!’
    ‘She’s in a strange mood,’ Leif declared sombrely, trying hard to hide his glee.
    ‘Domina Maude is always in a strange mood,’ Cranston growled. He stared longingly across Cheapside at The Holy Lamb.
    ‘Oh, no, Sir John!’ Leif warned, now thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘The Lady Maude was most insistent. I was to stand guard on The Holy Lamb and tell you to go home immediately.’

CHAPTER 11

    Athelstan felt sorry, for all the life seemed to have gone out of old Cranston . He just stood scratching his bald pate like a little boy caught stealing apples.
    ‘Come on, Sir John,’ Athelstan whispered, ‘I‘ll be with you. Lady Maude will scarcely lay a hand on Holy Mother Church .’
    ‘Domina Maude would challenge God himself if she thought the cause was right!’
    Cranston blinked, drew in his breath, pushed Leif aside and walked like a condemned felon into his house. In the doorway he stopped for one last generous swig then, raising his fingers to his lips, tiptoed down the passageway and peered into the kitchen.
    ‘Be still!’ The Lady Maude stood by the table. Gog and Magog sat like two carved statues before her. Domina Maud was in full spate, giving the dogs a pithy lecture about the rules of the house. Athelstan, peering over Cranston ’s shoulder, could see that both