The Devil's Domain

goes on, and we have a lady to visit. Vulpina.’
    Sir John reluctantly agreed and they walked up Westchepe, down Ivy Lane , passing the great soaring mass of St Paul ’s Cathedral. Along its cemetery wall sat the rogues and vagabonds who sought sanctuary in St Paul ’s graveyard beyond the jurisdiction of the city officers. They recognised Sir John and hailed him with raucous raillery. Athelstan pulled his hood close up over his head as Sir John, still angry at Hersham’s mocking laughter, hurled good-natured abuse back.
    ’One day, my lovelies!’ he shouted before they turned a comer, ’I’ll see you all on the gallows ladder!’
    Invigorated by this exchange, he walked a little quicker, almost dragging Athelstan with him, out along Fleet Street and through a warren of mean alleyways into Whitefriars.
    Whitefriars was not a wholesome place. The houses and tenements were shabby, ill-painted, the plaster decaying, the paintwork flaking. The streets seemed like needles pushed between the overhanging houses which blocked out the sun and hid the sky. Dark, cavernous passageways abounded, where beggars thronged at alley mouths and whores stood brazenly in the doorways soliciting custom. All around them swirled the rogues and rifflers of London .
    Sir John was never checked. Apart from the occasional hurled obscenity, the coroner was a respected and feared figure. If provoked, it was not unknown for the coroner to enter one of the ale-houses and arrest a whole gaggle of rogues by the scruff of their necks. At the end of one alleyway he stopped, fingers to his lips.
    ’The streets of hell, Brother,’ he breathed. ’In daylight it’s safe but, once darkness falls, the demons appear.’
    As if in answer a group of dwarfs and mannikins, just over a yard high, came hurtling out of a doorway and ringed the coroner, jumping up and down like noisy children. They were dressed in a motley collection of rags and scraps of armour. One had a small helmet on his head. Another carried a shield. They greeted Sir John like scholars would a favourite master. Athelstan recognised the ’scrimperers’ who lived in Rats Castle ; dwarfs who lived together for self-protection. They were known to hire their services out to night-walkers and housebreakers as there wasn’t a window they couldn’t slip through or passageway too small.
    ’Sir John! Sir John!’
    Sir John clapped his hands and offered their leader, who rejoiced in the name of Sir Galahad, a draught from his wineskin. The diminutive, seamy-faced dwarf took it, almost falling flat on his back as he tilted his head to drink.
    ’Lovely boys!’ Sir John remarked. ’And what news do you have for Sir Jack?’
    The scrimperers replied in a volley of high-pitched voices, talking the patois of the London slums. He listened, nodding benevolently, then crouched down as Sir Galahad beckoned him close to speak in his ear.
    ’Well I never! Well I never!’
    The coroner dropped some coins into the little man’s hand.
    ’They want you to bless them, Brother.’
    Athelstan lifted his hand in benediction. He could hardly believe this, it was just like a scene from some dream. But, as soon as he began the benediction, they all went down on one knee, heads bowed.
    ’Give them a special blessing!’ Sir John urged.
    ’I give you the blessing of St Francis,’ Athelstan intoned, keeping his face solemn. ’It can only be given once a month and you are to receive it.’
    They now went down on both knees. Athelstan felt a pang of compassion at the way they folded their little hands before them.
    ’May the Christ Jesus show His face to you,’ he said. ’May He smile at you. May He keep you safe all the days of your life. ’ He sketched the sign of the cross in the air.
    Sir John caught his wrist.
    ’They also want an invitation,’ he said hoarsely.
    ’Where to?’ Athelstan asked.
    ’To St Erconwald’s.’
    Athelstan’s heart sank but he kept his face creased in a smile.
    ’They are moving house,’ Sir John continued. ’They say they are unsafe here.’
    ’Oh, don’t tell me, Sir John, they have chosen Southwark?’
    ’Apparently, yes. They know one of your parishioners, Ranulf the rat-catcher. They have heard about his Guild.’
    Athelstan knew what was coming next and his heart sank even further.
    ’They like you, Athelstan. You see, they have formed their own Guild.’
    ’And they want to make St Erconwald’s their church?’
    ’Don’t refuse. They are very