The House of Crows

men who call themselves after animals: the Weasel, the Fox...’
    ‘The Great Community of the Realm?’Cranston asked.
    ‘Aye, Sir John, the peasant community busily plotting rebellion.’ He shook his head. ‘It will all end in blood and Pike will hang.’
    Cranston stared across the river. He could see the gleaming spire of St Paul’s and the great cross surmounting the steeple, packed with famous relics as a protection against lightning.
    ‘Pike’s right,’ Cranston muttered. ‘Oh, he’s not right to plot, but there is a vengeance coming.’ He pointed to a long line of barges heading towards Queenshithe.
    ‘Grain barges,’ Moleskin volunteered.
    ‘I know they are,’ Cranston snapped, but Moleskin continued, unperturbed. ‘Without them there’d be no bread in the bakeries. The Corporation is buying from across the seas.’
    ‘Where do they go?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘To the warehouses at East Watergate,’ Moleskin replied. ‘You should take Bonaventure across there, Brother. The barges are full of rats and mice.’
    ‘When do you think it will come?’ Athelstan asked. ‘This planned revolt?’
    ‘This summer, next summer,’ Cranston replied.
    ‘And what will you do, Sir John?’
    ‘I’ll put on my helmet and armour, ride down to the Tower and put myself under the king’s banner. I am his coroner.’ Cranston paused. ‘I just pray I don’t see Pike or any of your parishioners at the end of my sword.’ He leaned closer. ‘And what will you do, Brother? The rebels say that those who don’t join them will die, and they have no love of priests.’
    ‘I shall rise every morning, God willing,’ Athelstan replied.
    I shall give Bonaventure his bowl of milk. I shall lock my church, kneel beneath the rood-screen, offer Mass and go about my own business.’
    Cranston snapped his fingers in annoyance. ‘And you think you’ll be safe?’ he snarled.
    Athelstan grabbed him by his plump hand. ‘Sir John,’ he replied, ‘I can only do what I can. Father Prior has already raised the matter. He wants members of our Order to leave the capital until the crisis has passed.’
    Cranston’s blue eyes blinked furiously.
    ‘And, talking about the Tower,’ Athelstan hurriedly added, eager to change the subject, ‘that, too, is concerning me.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘It’s Perline,’ Moleskin interrupted.
    The boatman’s old face was now wrinkled in concern, Athelstan secretly admired the way he could deftly eavesdrop and yet row so expertly at the same time.
    ‘Perline Brasenose,’ Athelstan explained. ‘A rattle-brained young man: his mother was a whore who raised him in the stews. He spent a year in the Earl of Warwick’s retinue, then left and married a girl, Simplicatas, a member of the parish. A young man, a good fellow,’ Athelstan declared, ‘but a bit of a madcap, attracted to mischief as a bee to honey.’
    ‘And?’Cranston asked.
    ‘He has gone missing,’ Athelstan declared.
    ‘I always said he would,’ Moleskin volunteered.
    ‘Oh, shut up!’ Athelstan replied. ‘For God’s sake, have some charity! Perline entered the royal guard at the Tower. I thought he was settling down but now he has gone missing.’: Athelstan fingered the girdle round his waist. ‘And, before you say it, Sir John, some men may desert their wives, but not Perline. For all his faults he loved Simplicatas, yet no one’s seen hide nor hair of him. Could you just keep an eye open, and if you hear anything...?’
    ‘I did see him.’ Moleskin looked aggrievedly at his parish' priest. ‘I saw him two nights ago. He was standing on the quayside just near the steps of St Mary Overy. I was bringing one of those knights from the Parliament across.’ Moleskin stopped rowing and rested on his oars. ‘That’s right. Sir Francis Harnett from Stokesay in Shropshire. Funny little man he was.’ Moleskin drew back his oars. ‘All a-quiver, sitting where you were.’
    ‘And what would a distinguished member of Parliament want with Southwark?’ Cranston sardonically asked.
    Moleskin just winked whilst Athelstan glanced away. Aye, he thought, what do the rich ever want with Southwark but the pursuit of some fresh young whore from the many brothels there. He glanced at Moleskin.
    ‘And Perline?’
    ‘He was waiting for him on the river steps. Up goes the knight, Perline shakes him by the hand, and into the darkness they go.’ Moleskin pulled a face. ‘That’s all I know.’
    Athelstan sighed