The Devil's Domain

Brother,’ he snorted, ’you wouldn’t be here. The chamber was locked from within. A guard stood at the end of the passageway. There’s no window except a narrow aperture, no secret entrances, nothing. Serriem had drunk some wine before he retired but, when Limbright broke the door down, and there were others present, the cup was untainted. A thorough search was made of the room. Nothing suspicious was found.’
    ’And when did Sir Guillaum eat?’ Athelstan asked.
    ’With the rest at about seven in the evening. He drank the same, ate the same, then played chess in the parlour.’
    ’Couldn’t the poison have been administered then?’
    ’I doubt it. Again the same wine jug was shared. Nothing suspicious occurred.’
    ’And now the French are outraged?’ Sir John opened his eyes and sat up, putting the cup down on the desk in front of him.
    ’Why, Sir Jack, I’m glad you’ve joined us!’
    ’My Lord Gaunt, I never left you.’
    The Regent laughed softly. ’You are right, Jack. You can guess what has happened. According to the laws and usages of war, prisoners are held for ransom in our care. The French are demanding reparation and justice.’
    ’But there’s more, isn’t there?’
    ’Aye, Jack, there is. A week ago we made a truce with France, one very much in our interests. No war by land or sea.’
    ’But if the French believe,’ Athelstan interrupted, ’that we are killing hostages, men of quality?’
    ’Exactly! They could declare it a casus belli, justification for war and the truce, so carefully arranged by the papal negotiators, would end.’
    ’And you believe this Serriem was murdered?’ Athelstan persisted. ’It was no accident or suicide?’
    Gaunt pulled a face and shook his head. ’Serriem had a wife and family in France , he was desperate to go home.’ Gaunt turned and snapped his fingers. ’Maurice, if you will bring my Lord de Fontanel up here. Justice must not only be done,’ he added wearily, ’it must also be seen to be done!’
    Sir Maurice left. Gaunt sat staring moodily at the parchments on his table. He didn’t even move when Sir John got up and filled his wine goblet. Athelstan looked round the chamber. How much, he wondered, was the truth? Gaunt was as slippery as a fish and Athelstan knew that they were about to begin the pursuit of a red-handed son of Cain, an assassin, a murderer. They would enter the domain of demons, seek out the truth to bring about justice, but it was never simple.
    Athelstan was about to ask his own questions when he heard footfalls outside and Sir Maurice entered the room. The man who swept in behind him was dressed in a long houpelonde, a long, high-necked gown which fell beneath the knee, bound round the waist with a silver belt. On his feet he wore soft buskins ornamented with silver buckles, and a jewelled fleur-de-lys, on a golden chain, hung round his neck. He had bright red hair, a white puffy face and a hooked nose; the eyes were arrogant, narrow and close-set, the lips thin and bloodless. A man of fiery temper, Athelstan considered, sly and cunning as the weasel he looked. A man who also stood on ceremony. De Fontanel bowed at Gaunt and waited while Sir Maurice brought up a chair so he could sit next to the Regent. He lowered himself carefully, moving the silver dagger pouch so it didn’t catch on the arm of the chair. Only then did he bother to notice Athelstan and Sir John. A quick, summary look then he stared above their heads while fiddling with the rings on his fingers.
    ’My Lord de Fontanel.’ Gaunt moved sideways in the chair to face him. ’May I introduce Sir John Cranston, coroner of the city, and his secretarius Brother Athelstan, a Dominican?’
    De Fontanel’s eyes moved, snake-like. He looked quickly at Sir John and dismissed him with a flicker of contempt. He looked more intently at Athelstan as if he couldn’t make up his mind who the Dominican was. He took the silver goblet Sir Maurice passed and handed it to Sir John.
    ’I do not wish to be poisoned,’ he lisped. ’Not like poor Serriem! You, sir, will taste it!’
    ’Certainly!’ Sir John grabbed the goblet, drained it in one gulp and thrust it back.
    Anger spots glowed high in de Fontanel’s cheeks. Gaunt lowered his head to hide his snigger. Sir Maurice hastened to fill the goblet again.
    ’My Lord de Fontanel,’ Gaunt intervened. ’You are safe here.’
    ’You gave the same assurances to poor Serriem and now he’s dead,