The Devil's Domain

Norbert!’
    Sir Maurice smiled. ’Of course!’
    He left, closing the door behind him.
    ’That man,’ Sir John declared, taking a swig from the wineskin, ’is so deeply in love, I don’t think he even knows what day of the week it is.’
    ’It’s Tuesday, Sir John, and we have villainy to pursue, the truth to discover and God’s justice to carry out.’
    ’You are in fine fettle, Brother. Was it the attack last night?’
    ’No, not that. The business at Hawkmere will have to wait. It’s more St Erconwald’s, or some of its parishioners that concern me: a few strands are coming together and that arrow neatly ties them.’ After that the friar refused to be drawn. Instead he took his book of accounts and pretended to immerse himself in these. Sir John went off to get another pie, and probably also to renew his acquaintance with the Piebald Tavern.
    Once the coroner had left, Athelstan checked on Philomel, his old war horse, and went into the church to prepare for the Mass for the Guild of Rat-Catchers the following morning.
    By the time he came out, Sir John had returned, walking down the alleyway with his old friend, chief bailiff Henry Flaxwith, the ugly, squat Samson trotting behind them. Godbless, holding Thaddeus, trailed along looking rather tired. The attendant bailiffs were a brawny, stout group who carried mattocks and hoes, picks and shovels. Athelstan grasped Flaxwith’s hand.
    ’I thank you for coming, Henry. I can’t give you refreshment yet. However, I’d like you to dig a ditch for me.’ He scanned the sky where fleecy white clouds floated. ’It’s late afternoon,’ Athelstan said. ’And probably the best time. Once we are in the cemetery, I want one of your men to guard the lych gate. No one is to be allowed in until we finish. Now, Godbless, go into the house and refresh yourself. Keep Thaddeus away from Samson.’
    The rest all marched into the cemetery, Flaxwith leaving one of his men to guard the lych gate. Athelstan led them across to the boundary wall.
    ’This,’ Athelstan explained, ’is a ditch dug by two of my parishioners, Watkin and Pike. At first I made no objection, as they said they only wished to check that the foundations of the walls were firm. They apparently dig it, fill it in later then continue the trench.’
    Flaxwith scratched his balding head. ’What’s wrong with that. Brother? It’s often done. It’s the only way to make sure the foundations of a wall are firm and secure, especially a place like this where the damp can seep in.’
    ’That’s what they said. A small brook runs on the far side. Now and again it can flood and break its bank. However, I’ve become suspicious about their entire plan. Can you and your lads re-open the ditch? I’d like to see what you find.’
    The bailiffs set to with gusto. The soil was soft, being freshly turned over and soaked by the previous night’s rain. Sir John and Athelstan walked back to the priest’s house where the coroner immediately became immersed in an animated conversation with Godbless about their warring days abroad and the depredations of the Free Companies in Southern France and Northern Italy .
    Athelstan went up to his bed loft where he opened the divine office, crossed himself and began the psalms and readings for that day. Every so often he would stop and lift his head as if waiting for something. He wondered what would happen if nothing were found but then he heard the sound of running footsteps as Flaxwith burst into the house.
    ’Brother Athelstan! Sir John! You’ve got to come and see this!’ They followed him out across the cemetery. The ditch was now opened. The two corpses, buried earlier that morning, were back up, lying on the side of the ditch. Athelstan caught Flaxwith by the sleeve.
    ’I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ’I should have told you about them.’
    ’Oh Brother, that’s what cemeteries are for and we saw the cross. Anyway, Sir Jack and Godbless told us what had happened. However, this is what we’ve found.’
    He led Athelstan and the coroner over to a pile of soil-stained canvas sacks. Two of them had been opened; one glance and Athelstan knew he was correct.
    ’Arrows! Freshly cut and barbed! I suppose it’s the same with the rest?’
    Flaxwith nodded.
    ’Lucifer’s bollocks!’ Sir John exclaimed. ’Henry, you’d better get the lot out!’
    ’Hide them over there.’ Athelstan pointed to some gorse bushes in the far comer of the cemetery.
    ’You