The House of Crows

often talks about you.’
    Athelstan was too tongue-tied to reply.
    ‘And you, of course, must be Sir John Cranston: the fattest, loudest and most bibulous of coroners!’ She held a hand out. Cranston grasped and kissed it.
    ‘Madame, I am your servant.’
    ‘No you are not,’ Dame Mathilda snapped, ‘you have nothing to do with whores, Sir John, more’s the pity.’ Her eyes softened a little. ‘But they say you can’t be bribed, and that makes you unique.’ Dame Mathilda swept away and sat down on a small cushioned chair before the fireplace.
    ‘Sir John, you are not here for pleasure, so what is your business?’
    Cranston sat down in the windowseat next to Athelstan. For some strange reason he felt like a little boy again, quietly throwing stones into the stewponds and being reproved by one of his elderly aunts.
    ‘I’d offer you some refreshment,’ Dame Mathilda declared, ‘but I’ll be honest, Sir John, the sooner you’re gone the better!’ She smiled thinly. ‘Banyard cackles like a goose. No one will dare come near the house whilst you are here.’
    ‘Including the honourable representatives from Shrewsbury?’ Cranston asked. ‘They were here last Monday night, Dame Mathilda. Bellies full, deep in their cups.’
    ‘Aye, and their purses full of silver. They came here about two hours before midnight.’ She continued. ‘My girls entertained them...’ She indicated with her head at the ceiling. ‘Each went their separate ways with the girl of his choice.’
    ‘All of them?’
    ‘One left.’
    ‘Who?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘The small, funny one. He sat for a while with one of my girls, boring her to sleep with chatter about animals, beasteries and what he had seen in the Tower. He looked at the hour-candle, gabbled an excuse and left.’
    ‘And he did not return?’
    ‘I did not say that. He came back just before the rest left. And, before you ask, Cranston, I don’t know where he’d gone or what he’d been doing: his cloak was damp so I think he had been on the river. Mind you, if he stayed,’ she continued tersely, ‘he’d have been as useful as the rest.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Sir John, these are men of middle years, mature in wisdom, their bellies full. They may still hold their lances straight, but not in the bedchamber.’
    ‘Yes.’ Cranston glanced quickly at Athelstan, but the friar seemed totally bemused at what Dame Mathilda was saying. ‘And I suppose, good lady, when your guests stay here, you keep an eye on them?’ The coroner gazed round. ‘Even in this room there must be eyelets and hidden peep-holes?’
    ‘Sir John, you are wiser than you look.’
    ‘And they talked to the girls?’
    ‘Sir John, come, come!’ Dame Mathilda clasped her hands demurely in front of her. ‘Do you really expect me to tell you that?’
    ‘Well...’ Sir John stretched out his legs and folded his arms. ‘You can either tell me here or I could ask the bailiffs to accompany you to the Guildhall tomorrow.’
    ‘They boasted, Sir John, like all men do: what barns they had, what granges, how fat their sheep, how high their own standing...’
    ‘And what?’
    ‘How they were members of the Commons and would not lift a finger to help the regent unless he met their demands.’ Dame Mathilda got to her feet. ‘And that, Sir John, is all I can tell you, either here or in your Guildhall.’ She walked towards the door then turned. ‘Brother Athelstan, have you found out where Perline Brasenose is?’
    ‘Why no.’ The friar got to his feet. ‘You know him?’
    ‘Yes, I do.’ Dame Mathilda came back. ‘Years ago his mother worked here. Perline was, how can I put it, an unexpected result of a night’s work here.’
    ‘He’s a member of my parish, he’s married to Simplicatas.’
    ‘Oh, is that what she’s calling herself now?’
    ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Athelstan smiled and stared down at his hands.
    Perline and his mother had come to Southwark a few years ago, then Simplicatas had suddenly appeared in their household. Perline had always claimed she was a very distant kinswoman. When he had married her at the church door of St Erconwald’s, all Athelstan had been concerned about was that there was no kinship of blood between them, as laid down by canon law. He closed his eyes and recalled Simplicatas’s pale, elfin face, her blonde hair and green smiling eyes.
    ‘Well I never,’ he murmured. He glanced up. ‘You know Perline is