The Anger of God

official walked with a gaudily painted proclamation describing ‘The horrible crimes of these two counterfeit men’.
    ‘What will happen to them?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Not what they deserve,’ Cranston growled. ‘The carts full of their so-called relics will be taken down to London Bridge to be burnt by the public hangman. After that our two beauties will be whipped to Aldgate, cut loose and banned from the city, under pain of forfeiture of a limb for the first offence, their lives for the second.’ Cranston gazed over the crowd, now yelling abuse as the carts disappeared up the Mercery, it’s a lesson for the others — which by tomorrow they will undoubtedly have forgotten.’
    They continued across Cheapside, the little armourer drawing Cranston back into an acrimonious debate over the superiority of certain weapons. At the Guildhall they had to cool their heels for a while before a tipstaff took them up to the council chamber where Gaunt, flanked by Clifford and Hussey, sat with the Guildmasters. The Regent dispensed with ceremony, not even inviting them to sit, whilst he looked disdainfully at the little armourer. Simon was so overcome in the presence of such august personages he couldn’t stop bobbing and bowing, until Cranston hissed at him to stay still and stand by the door.
    ‘You have something to report, My Lord Coroner?’
    ‘Yes, Your Grace.’
    Gaunt played with the leather tassels on his expensively quilted jacket. Athelstan could see that the Regent had been looking forward to a morning’s hunting in the fields and marshes north of Clerkenwell. Hussey was his usual diplomatic self, pleasant-faced but quiet. Clifford rubbed his wounded shoulder thoughtfully, whilst the Guildmasters were like a pack of hunting dogs: Goodman the Mayor tapping his fingers loudly on the table. Sudbury and the rest were arrogant and resentful at being summoned from a morning’s trade.
    ‘Well?’ Goodman snapped. ‘We are busy men, Sir John!’
    ‘As am I, My Lord Mayor.’
    ‘You have come earlier than we thought,’ Sudbury snarled. ‘Do you have our gold?’
    Cranston shook his head.
    ‘Have you arrested Ira Dei?’
    ‘No.’
    Gaunt leaned forward and smiled falsely.
    ‘So why in God’s name are we here, Sir John?’
    ‘Perhaps to arrest a murderer, Your Grace. All entrances to the Guildhall must be secured.’
    Gaunt stared back, a spark of interest in his eyes as he realized this was to be no ordinary meeting.
    ‘You have discovered something, haven’t you?’ he said softly. ‘You and your little friar.’
    The atmosphere in the chamber changed dramatically. They’d dismissed us as failures, Athelstan thought to himself. These arrogant hawks thought a fat Coroner and his dusty friar too dim-witted to search out the truth. He breathed deeply to control his anger. Gaunt sat back and spread his hands.
    ‘Sir John, in this matter we are your prisoners.’ He glared over his shoulder and bellowed at a captain of the guard standing against the wall behind him: ‘Have the Guildhall secured! No one is to leave or enter until I say.’ He looked at Cranston . ‘What else do you need, My Lord Coroner?’
    Athelstan spoke instead. ‘I want the banqueting table laid out, as it was the night Fitzroy died.’
    Gaunt nodded. ‘And what else?’
    ‘I want cushions and bolsters where Sir Gerard Mountjoy the Sheriff was sitting. The garden must be cleared.’
    Gaunt smiled. ‘And finally?’
    ‘Until I and Sir John have finished, Your Grace, I would be grateful if you would all stay here.’
    A hubbub of protest broke out but Gaunt slammed the table top for silence, his face flushed.
    ‘A few days ago,’ he roared, ‘I came to this Guildhall to seal a pact of friendship between myself and the city. The deaths of Fitzroy, Mountjoy and Sturmey put an end to that. Sirs, you will wait until this business is finished.’ He jabbed a finger at Cranston . ‘And, My Lord Coroner, God help you if you are wasting my time!’
    The servants were summoned. Gaunt gave his instructions. Athelstan led Cranston and the trembling armourer out of the chamber, down the stairs and into the small pentice which connected the kitchens to the Guildhall. Athelstan tried to curb his excitement as he peered through the gaps in the paling, watching the servants place the cushions and bolsters as he had ordered. From where he stood he could see through the gaps that they were piled high on the very spot Sir Gerard had been