The Devil's Domain

citizen of France, a sailor. I’m kept in this fly-blown, rat-infested midden-heap and threatened. The Tower would be a welcome change!’
    ’Routier escaped,’ Vamier intervened smoothly, ’because he could no longer tolerate being confined, trapped like a bird in a snare. He thought he had seen a weakness and could use it. He would have either gone into London or some other port. Sought shelter and succour from some captain. I cannot blame him.’
    ’Why didn’t you go with him?’ Athelstan asked.
    Vamier shrugged. ’His chances were poor. The more who tried to escape, the more dangerous it became. Anyway, our ransoms will be paid soon.’
    ’Yes, I was going to ask about that.’ Athelstan picked up his writing bag and put it on the table. ’Monsieur de Fontanel, these men are experienced sailors, as English shipping has discovered. Why doesn’t the French Crown pay their ransoms and have done with it?’
    Athelstan was not surprised to see the prisoners nod their heads in agreement. De Fontanel spread his hands.
    ’You have French prisoners at Hawkmere but you also have them in Calais , Dover , Winchelsea and Rye . The French parliament would be inundated with petitions.’ He smiled crookedly. ’But you are right, Brother, I have pressed these men’s claims with my masters in France ; their ransoms will arrive soon.’
    ’But not soon enough for Routier!’ Vamier spat out.
    ’I am not responsible for what happens in Paris . I do the best I can for your care.’ De Fontanel then added something quickly in French.
    Vamier sat back crestfallen.
    ’What was that, Monsieur?’ Athelstan asked.
    ’I merely reminded him that I was not responsible for his capture.’
    ’Let us return to the matter in hand.’ Sir John took a swig from his wineskin. ’Routier was poisoned before he fled Hawkmere. You, Monsieur Gresnay, were the last to give him anything to eat or drink, which could make you the poisoner.’
    ’It is also very obvious,’ Gresnay sneered back, ’if I had given Routier poison, I would know he could not travel very far. I would expect to be accused, wouldn’t I?’
    Athelstan had to agree with the Frenchman’s logic. He was about to ask further questions when the door to the hall was thrown open and a soldier clattered in, helmet in hand, his face white.
    ’Sir Walter, it’s your daughter! You’d best come quickly!’

CHAPTER 12

    ’I think we’d best go with him,’ Athelstan said.
    Sir Walter was striding up the main staircase. In the stairwell a frightened-looking servant whispered in his ear and he stopped, grabbing the newel of the staircase. He rocked backwards and forwards and gave the most terrible moan.
    ’Oh my God!’ he cried. ’My poor, poor daughter!’
    He disappeared down the gallery. By the time Athelstan, Sir John and Sir Maurice reached it they could hear his lamentations through an open door. Inside the chamber they found him kneeling beside his prostrate daughter who lay sprawled on her back, head slightly twisted to one side. Athelstan grasped the girl’s wrist and felt her throat for the life pulse but he could detect nothing. He turned the girl’s face. The eyelids were almost closed, jaws slack, a drool of spittle on her chin; her face was livid rather than pale, her skin cold and clammy. Athelstan ignored Sir Walter’s groans and quickly checked the girl’s body but could see no mark, bruise or slash. Aspinall came in the doorway and crouched down. He held the girl’s face between his hands and, ignoring Sir Walter’s protests, took a small knife and cut the brown smock. Her neck and upper chest were already tainted with faint purplish blotches.
    ’She’s been poisoned,’ Aspinall said softly. ’Probably died within the hour.’
    ’Why?’ Sir Walter clutched his daughter’s hair, twisting it round his fingers. ’Why?’ he moaned. ’She had no wits, she had no life!’ Athelstan whispered the ’ Absolvo Te ’ in the dead woman’s ear, uttered a short prayer then blessed the corpse. He got up and helped Sir Walter to his feet. The knight’s face was stricken with grief, tears streaming down his face, lips moving but no sound came.
    ’Sir Walter?’ Athelstan made him sit down on a chair. ’Sir Walter, listen to me.’
    The knight turned, bleary-eyed.
    ’Those bastards!’ he grated. ’Those French bastards! They are responsible for that!’ He clasped his hands together and rocked backwards and forwards. ’I’ll kill them