The Devil's Domain

John,’ the beadle continued mournfully, ’the two houses are very close together, or at least their top stories are. Now Elias and Humphrey were old men.’
    ’Where’s Humphrey now?’
    An old, rheumy-eyed man came out of the small crowd which had gathered and raised his ash cane.
    ’That be me, Sir Jack.’
    ’My lord coroner to you!’ He stared up; the upper stories were at least twenty feet above the ground.
    ’What they did,’ the beadle continued, ’was to build a house of ease...’
    ’You mean a latrine?’
    ’Yes, Sir John, between the upper stories.’
    ’And did you have a licence for this?’ Sir John glowered at Humphrey.
    The old man shook his head fearfully.
    ’Continue!’
    ’Well, the latrine was wedged between the two stories. They could use it at night and, in the morning, empty the chamber pots. Last night poor Elias answered the call of nature and sat on the latrine.’
    Sir John looked warningly at the beadle as he caught the humour in his voice.
    ’Now, from what I can gather,’ the beadle continued, keeping his face straight, ’Elias was rather drunk. He used the chamber pot but then decided to dance.’
    ’I heard the noise.’ Humphrey spoke up. ’The silly old bugger was always doing that. A real piss-pot he was, Sir John, I mean my lord coroner.’
    Sir John studied the small door on the outside of each upper tier and the damage where the house of ease had broken away.
    ’The rest is obvious,’ the beadle said. ’The whole thing collapsed, Sir John: boards, ceiling, chamber pot and small stool.’
    ’And poor old Elias?’ Sir John added. ’Right.’ The coroner pinched his nose at the smell. ’Does Elias have a family?’
    ’No friends except me.’ Humphrey spoke up.
    ’Good, then you are responsible for the corpse. Don’t whine, man. It was a stupid idea to build the place and against the civic regulations. I fine you one third of a mark.’
    Simon, his scrivener, made the entry in the small calfskin ledger he always carried.
    ’And who built this so-called house of ease?’
    ’Michael Focklingham,’ Humphrey whined, wiping his rheumy eyes.
    ’Ah yes, old Focklingham.’ Sir John smiled. ’A man who builds wherever he wishes. Not the best carpenter in London . This is not the first time I’ve met his handiwork. He’s fined one mark.’
    The scrivener paused to dip the nib in a small inkpot he carried on his belt.
    ’And he’s to pay it by Michaelmas: that’s my verdict. Simon here will write it up.’ The coroner turned away.
    ’Are we going to the Guildhall, Sir John?’ Simon came hurrying up behind him. ’There are a number of cases ..
    ’I haven’t broken my fast yet. I’ve been to Mass and I’ve just had to witness the stupidity of man. I need some ale and a juicy meat pie.’
    ’So, it’s the Holy Lamb of God, Sir John?’
    He brought his great paw on the scrivener’s skinny shoulder.
    ’It’s the Holy Lamb of God for you and me, Simon and, until then, the city of London can wait.’
    Thankfully Sir John was just finishing his pie and ale when Crim, who’d already disturbed the Lady Maude, wandered into the tavern screaming for him.
    ’Over here, boy!’ Sir John waved him over.
    Crim tottered across, his mouth half-full of the freshly baked manchet loaf Lady Maude had given him. The honey she had smeared on it now covered the boy’s face.
    ’It’s Brother Athelstan.’ Crim swallowed hard.
    ’What is it, boy?’ Sir John got to his feet and towered over him.
    ’Brother Athelstan.’ Crim closed his eyes, his hand on his crotch. ’Oh, Sir John, I want to pee!’
    ’Out in the garden!’
    Crim dashed off then returned smiling with relief, still gnawing at the remains of the loaf.
    ’Brother Athelstan.’ Crim closed his eyes. ’He has gone to the nuns at Syon. He says it’s very important that you join him there. You’ll find him at the tavern called the Jerusalem ...’
    ’The Jerusalem Tree,’ Sir John finished.
    ’That’s right, Sir John.’
    He dug into his purse and gave the boy a halfpenny.
    ’I’ll go there. Simon.’ He beamed at his scrivener. ’Go back to the Guildhall, write up my verdict on Elias Ethmol and sift through what’s awaiting us. Deaths I deal with. The rest... Use your noddle-pate!’
    ’Very good, Sir John.’
    Simon followed Crim out of the tavern. Sir John picked up his war belt where he had thrown it and strapped it on. He gave the taverner’s wife a juicy kiss and, full of the