The Devil's Domain

was whirling, the voices were like a faint roar and, spitting blood, he tumbled to the ground.
    Sir John Cranston, chest heaving, wiped his sword on the dead man’s cloak then sheathed it. He told the bailiff to come closer with the torch, turned the corpse over and pulled down the vizard.
    ’Satan’s bollocks!’ he swore, it’s Ralph Hersham!’
    Athelstan knelt down and pulled back the hood and cowl. He recognised the surly, close-set features of Sir Thomas Parr’s henchman. He gave the man the last rites and, even as he felt for the pulse in the neck, realised the soul had gone out to meet its judgement. He rose at the cries coming from the far end of the cemetery. Sir Maurice and other bailiffs were bundling a figure across. The man’s head was exposed, the vizard pulled off. As he was pushed into the pool of torchlight, Athelstan could see he was badly bruised and terrified out of his wits. The man took one look at Hersham’s face and fell with a groan to his knees, hands extended in supplication.
    ’Oh, God have mercy!’
    ’What’s your name?’ Sir John barked. He came over and dragged the man’s head back by the hair.
    ’Clement, Clement Margoyle!’
    ’And are you Valerian?’
    ’No, I’m Domitian. Hersham was Valerian.’
    ’You brought arrows to St Erconwald’s?’ Athelstan accused. The friar drew close and pressed his finger against the man’s lips. ’Are you in a state of grace, my son?’ Athelstan glanced over at the coroner and winked.
    ’Brother, I don’t know.’
    Sir John stood over the man and drew his sword, which he held up by the hilt.
    ’Clement Margoyle, you are a felon and a traitor. You have brought arms by night and the only reason must be that you plot treasonable mischief against our sovereign lord the King. You are also hooded and armed, travelling by stealth at night which is specifically condemned by the Statute of Treasons.’
    ’No! No! No!’ Margoyle wailed.
    ’Therefore,’ Sir John continued, his voice rolling like the peal of a funeral bell, ’I, Sir John Cranston, King’s coroner in the city and its environs, do sentence you, Clement Margoyle, to death! Sentence is to be carried out immediately. May the Lord have mercy on your soul! ’ He stepped back, refusing to meet Athelstan’s eyes. ’Hang him!’ he barked.
    One of the bailiffs threw a rope over the branch of the sycamore tree. The speed at which they worked surprised Athelstan. One end was formed into a noose and put round the unfortunate Margoyle’s head. Sir Maurice made to protest but Sir John commanded him to shut up. He rapped out an order. Immediately the bailiffs holding the other end of the rope began to tug. Margoyle, choking and coughing, was hoisted into the air, legs kicking.
    ’Sir John!’ Athelstan implored him. ’For the love of God!’
    ’Oh yes, I forgot that. Let him down!’
    Margoyle was dropped with a thud. He lay for a while on the wet grass coughing and retching. Sir John undid the noose.
    ’Maltravers, take him over to the priest’s house. Henry.’ He summoned Flaxwith forward. ’I want every single arrow removed from the cemetery and carted into the city. Take Hersham’s corpse and give it to the Harrower of the Dead. He can find a burial plot for it. Tell him to send the bill to the Guildhall. Athelstan, let’s adjourn elsewhere and question Master Margoyle.’
    They left the confusion behind them and went into the priest’s house. Margoyle sat on a stool, still shaking with fright from his rough handling. Athelstan poured him a goblet of wine and thrust it into his hands. Godbless and Thaddeus tried to enter, but Athelstan asked them to wait outside. He handed the beggar man the keys of the church.
    ’Go across,’ he told him. ’And let those two miscreants out. Tell them to go straight home. There is nothing for them here.’
    Athelstan locked the door behind him and sat down opposite Margoyle.
    ’Sir John, can this man hang?’
    ’He certainly will,’ the coroner answered cheerfully from where he sat at the table. ’Either at Tyburn or Smithfield , it depends on the Justices.’
    Margoyle took a deep sip of the wine.
    ’But what happens if he co-operates, Sir John?’ Athelstan saw the hope flare in the prisoner’s eyes. ’What would you do if Master Margoyle here made a full and frank confession?’
    ’That would depend on the song I heard. I do feel in fine fettle: that sword fight brought back memories of skirmishing with French