The Devil's Domain

great open space was used by the beadles and bailiffs of the city to punish malefactors. A whore had been bent over a barrel; her grimy, fat buttocks were being lashed by a switch of canes. A counterfeit man was being branded on his left thumb. Another was getting his ears clipped. Sir John glanced away. He hated such sights. The stocks and pillories were also full. He recognised a cheeky, dirty face under a shock of white hair straining between the wooden slats placed round his neck.
    ’Why, if it isn’t old Godbless!’
    The man pulled up his head as far as he could, wincing with pain.
    ’God bless you, Sir John, it’s kind of you to notice. You have a fine billy goat there. Cleaner and more obedient than a dog, Sir John.’ He stretched his neck. ’Lord save us, I’m here to dusk and my neck’s already aching.’
    ’What did you do?’ Sir John asked, an idea forming in his mind.
    ’The watch found me with a piglet under my cloak. They claimed I was stealing it. I said I had found it wandering and was looking for its mother.’
    Sir John laughed and called over one of the bailiffs.
    ’Free this man!’ he ordered.
    The bailiff wiped his dirty, sweaty face on a rag.
    ’But, Sir John, the law says...’
    ’I am the law. Now, sir , either you free him or I’ll free him and make you take his place!’
    Godbless was soon released. A small, sinewy man dressed in a motley collection of rags, he danced in glee at his liberation. The other malefactors in the stocks now began to shout.
    ’Sir John, over here!’
    ’Innocent as a lamb, I am, Sir Jack!’
    ’I didn’t mean to hit the beadle!’ another cried.
    ’I only drank four quarts of ale!’ someone else bawled.
    Sir John ignored them and seized the dancing Godbless. ’You’ve worked with animals, haven’t you, Godbless?’ The man stopped his dancing and nodded.
    ’Well, you’ve been freed to help the Crown.’ Sir John passed the rope over. ’This is Judas and he’s well named. I’m taking him to St Erconwald’s. You will follow behind at least a good three yards.’ He passed across a coin. Godbless took it in the twinkling of an eye. The coroner leaned down and, grasping the beggar by the jerkin, picked him up till his face was level with his.
    ’Don’t even think of it, Godbless!’
    ’What, Sir John?’ Godbless’s bright eyes gleamed.
    ’Running!’ Sir John declared. ’Taking my goat and running.’ He shook Godbless. ’Understood?’
    ’Every word, Sir John. I’ll be your shadow.’
    ’Not too close,’ Sir John warned.
    He put the beggar man down and, with Godbless trailing behind him leading the little goat at a trot, Sir John Cranston, coroner of the city of London , swept down to London Bridge .

CHAPTER 3

    Brother Athelstan leaned back in the sanctuary chair and gazed round at the members of his parish council. He drew a deep breath and glanced warningly at Watkin the dung-collector, leader of this council: one of the prime movers in everything which happened in St Erconwald’s parish.
    ’Would you mind repeating that, Watkin?’
    The dung-collector got up from his bench and walked into the middle of the circle of benches just inside the porch of the parish church.
    ’The cemetery is God’s acre, yes, Brother?’
    Athelstan nodded.
    ’And, according to Canon Law...’ Watkin smiled round at the rest, eager to show his knowledge off.
    Athelstan closed his eyes. He regretted, for the umpteenth time, ever telling his parishioners about Canon Law and their rights.
    ’ According to Canon Law,’ Watkin continued triumphantly, ’and the sayings of St Judas...’
    ’Peter,’ Athelstan interrupted. ’Judas was the traitor. Peter was the chief of the apostles.’
    ’Same thing.’ Hig the pigman, who prided himself on some knowledge of the gospels, spoke up.
    ’I beg your pardon! Have you been reading the same text as I?’
    ’Judas betrayed Jesus,’ Hig the pigman insisted. And so did Peter.’
    ’Yes, but Peter asked for forgiveness. Judas didn’t.’
    Hig scratched his red, greasy hair. With his flaring nostrils and jutting lower lip, Hig looked like the beasts he cared for. Athelstan nipped his thigh; he should remember charity but he was becoming rather tired. He surveyed the people present. Pernell the Fleming woman was carefully examining the tendrils of her dyed orange hair. Cecily the courtesan kept leaning down to fasten a thong on her sandal. Every time she did so, her well-endowed bodice strained and