The Anger of God

for help, Brother. I mean you no harm.’
    ‘So why don’t you ask your question?’ he retorted. ‘Which is?’
    ‘Do I know your identity? And the answer is no. Nor do I want to, nor do I care!’
    The hooded figure stepped back a little. ‘You are a good priest, Athelstan. You love the poor. You are a shepherd who is interested in his flock, not just their fleeces. Soon the storm will break around us, but as long as you don’t interfere you will be safe.’
    ‘I do have a question of my own.’
    ‘Ask it!’
    ‘Clifford was your murderer?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And there are those at court and at the Guildhall who are in your pay?’
    ‘You said you had only one question.’
    Athelstan shrugged. ‘You have a captive audience.’
    ‘Turn round, Brother.’
    Athelstan was about to refuse but could see little point, so did so.
    ‘To answer your question, Brother, treason is like a vine. It has many branches.’
    Athelstan stood still, tensing his shoulders. When he did look round, the alleyway was empty.
    The friar continued down to Wool Quay, hired a skiff and leaned back in the stern as a grizzled, toothless boatman with arms like steel vigorously rowed him to the far shore. Athelstan paid him and walked through the dusk, back to St Erconwald’s. The house and stable were quiet. Someone had filled Philomel’s bin and the old war horse was munching away as if it was his first and last meal. Athelstan walked round to the front of the church and noticed with alarm that the door was unlatched. He pushed it open and tip-toed gently inside. He peered through the darkness.
    ‘Who is there?’ he called.
    His words rang hollow and empty. Athelstan, gripping his staff, walked through the shadowy nave towards the rood screen.
    ‘Who’s there?’ he called. ‘This is God’s house!’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, monk, you gave me a fright!’ Athelstan whirled round and dimly made out the portly figure of Sir John as he sat resting against the base of a pillar, the miraculous wineskin cradled in his hands. ‘Sir John, you’ll send my hair grey!’
    ‘Then lose it all, Brother, and like me you won’t give a damn!’ Cranston patted the ground beside him. ‘Come on, sit down. Where have you been?’
    Athelstan crouched beside his plump friend.
    ‘Do you want some wine?’
    ‘Sir John, this is a church.’
    ‘I’ve had a word with the good Lord, he won’t mind.’ in which case, Sir John.’ Athelstan lifted the wineskin and poured a generous gulp into his mouth. ‘True,’ he murmured, ‘wine does gladden the heart of man.’ He handed the wineskin back. ‘Sir John, I have been to see Elizabeth Hobden at the Minoresses. She’s happy and contented.’
    ‘Her father and step-mother are in the Marshalsea prison,’ Cranston muttered. ‘God knows what will become of them. However, until such matters are settled, the girl will remain a ward of court. And where else?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve been to Hell, Sir John. Or, more precisely, the dungeons in the White Tower. Tomorrow Adam Clifford will lose his head at dawn. He asked me to hear his last confession.’
    ‘You!’
    ‘Yes, Sir John. He said he could confess only to me.’
    ‘And what did he say?’
    Athelstan shook his head. ‘You can’t ask me that, Sir John. Not even the Pope can break the seal of confession.’
    ‘But we did arrest the right man?’ Cranston demanded anxiously.
    ‘Yes, Sir John, we did.’
    ‘And is he sorry?’
    ‘He is sorry he is going to die, but he saw it as a game very much like a tourney — a matter of luck and skill.’
    ‘And Ira Dei?’
    Athelstan breathed in deeply, deciding it would be best if he didn’t tell Sir John about his meeting near the Wool Quay.
    ‘Come on, Brother,’ Cranston urged. ‘You must have asked Clifford that question? Surely it’s not covered by the seal of confession?’
    ‘Yes, I did.’ Athelstan gripped his friend’s fat wrist. ‘Sir John,’ he whispered, ‘before God I will only tell if you swear, give me your word, that you will not reveal it to anyone!’
    ‘You have my word, that’s good enough.’
    ‘Well, I did ask Clifford about Ira Dei. He immediately denied any knowledge then said that since his arrest he had reflected on many things. He was not sure about Ira Dei: he was making his final confession and was about to meet God so did not wish to worsen the situation by false allegations, but...’
    ‘Well?’
    ‘On the few occasions Clifford actually met Ira