The Anger of God

muttered, ‘put an end to this stupid trade?’
    ‘I wonder where he would obtain the hair of John the Baptist?’ Benedicta muttered.
    Cranston just gaped at her. ‘What did you say?’ he whispered.
    ‘How could he get the head of St John the Baptist? And how does he know the prophet had red hair?’
    Cranston grabbed the surprised woman and kissed her on both cheeks.
    ‘Come on!’ he whispered. ‘To The Holy Lamb of God!’
    The Coroner forced his way through the throng. Athelstan could see how excited he was by the way Cranston kept bellowing at people to get out of his way. Once in the tavern he dug into his broad purse and drew out a silver coin.
    ‘Benedicta, take this across to the relic-seller. Say you have five more to purchase the head of St John the Baptist.’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sir John!’ Athelstan interrupted. ‘You know the man’s a fraud. There’ll be no head, just some stupid trick or device. Who knows, Benedicta may even be robbed?’
    ‘Shut up, Athelstan!’
    ‘But, Sir John,’ he pleaded. ‘You know! I know!’
    ‘What?’ Cranston snapped.
    ‘He can’t have the head of the Baptist...’Athelstan’s voice trailed away and he grinned at Cranston . ‘Ah! To quote the good St Paul , My Lord Coroner, I see in a glass darkly.’
    Cranston clapped his hands like a child and Benedicta, with the assurances of both men ringing in her ears, walked back across Cheapside with Cranston ’s silver clasped firmly in her hand. Athelstan and Cranston watched her go. Benedicta stopped and whispered to the relic-seller and the man left his perch as quickly as any hungry gull. He led her off, down an alleyway with Athelstan and Cranston following quickly behind. Cranston was excited, Athelstan fearful for Benedicta’s safety, but the man seemed harmless enough. At last he turned off an alleyway going down to Old Jewry. He stopped before the door of a house, said something to Benedicta, she nodded and they both went in. Cranston and Athelstan hurried up.
    ‘Give the bastard a few minutes,’ Cranston whispered.
    Athelstan nodded. Cranston counted softly and, when he reached thirty, kicked with all his might against the rickety door and sent it flying back on its rusty hinges. The house was dingy and smelly and, as they hurried along the passageway, Athelstan gagged at the terrible stench. They heard raised voices, Benedicta’s exclamations. They found her in a small chamber at the back of the house with the relic-seller and the latter’s young assistant. Benedicta looked white, the two tricksters paled with fright at the commotion and Cranston’s shouts, whilst on a table in front of them lay the severed head of a red-haired man, eyes half-closed and purple lips agape. If the two relic-sellers could have escaped they would have but they just huddled together in a corner as the Coroner grabbed the severed head and lifted it up. Benedicta had seen enough and, hand to mouth, hurriedly left the chamber for the street beyond.
    ‘Well, well, my buckos!’ Cranston grinned. ‘You are both under arrest!’
    ‘What for?’ the relic-seller shouted.
    ‘Theft of Crown property, my lad, counterfeiting, deceptive practices and blasphemy. This is not the head of John the Baptist but of Jacques Larue, the French pirate taken off the Thames and legally executed!’ Cranston gazed round the chamber. ‘Lord, this smells worse than the shambles at Newgate!’
    He walked out of the door, pushing Athelstan before him, and took the key from the inside lock, imprisoning the two very subdued relic-sellers within.
    ‘There are no windows or other doors, Athelstan. The rogues can stay there until I hand this key over to the ward officials. Now, let us see what this house of treasures contains.’
    Athelstan followed him around but, after a while, gave up in disgust at the different grisly objects discovered and went to join Benedicta in the street outside.
    ‘Hell’s teeth!’ he whispered, quoting Cranston . ‘The place should be burnt from top to bottom.’
    Cranston , however, came out full of himself. He pulled the house door close then locked it.
    ‘Benedicta,’ he grinned, ‘you are an angel. Where else would a relic-seller get a head to sell as that of a saint except from the execution yard?’ The Coroner rubbed his hands together. ‘One more small victory for old Jack, eh?’
    They walked back into Cheapside and waited whilst Cranston summoned officials and sent them to the house. One