The House of Crows

once powerful men now so pathetic in death. Banyard, taking them down to Dame Mathilda’s: that young whore, her beautiful breasts exposed.
    Athelstan smiled. ‘She was very beautiful, Bonaventure,’ he murmured. ‘Hair black as night and a body which would tempt a saint.’
    The cat lifted its head as if to acknowledge him, then flopped back. Athelstan stared into the flames. If only Bonaventure could speak and tell him what he saw in the dark alleyways and runnels of Southwark! That would solve the mystery of the demon. Athelstan pressed his lips together. Well, the demon would have to wait until he received advice from Father Anselm. He wondered if Sir John was asleep, and recalled their meeting with the Harrower of the Dead. Thank God the fellow had not discovered Perline’s corpse! Cranston was probably correct: Perline had not deserted the Tower garrison, but paid the constable to look the other way whilst he absconded to do something else. But what? And why should Perline be meeting a knight of the shire on a dark, lonely quayside? Athelstan scratched his chin: apparently Harnett had gone to Southwark to meet Perline and they had both crossed the river to the steel yard, but why? Could Perline be involved in the macabre deaths of these knights?
    Bonaventure stirred and stretched, Athelstan recalled Cranston’s worries about the disappearing cats in Cheapside. He leaned down and stroked Bonaventure.
    ‘A sea of troubles, Bonaventure!A sea of troubles!’
    And, going back to the table, he sat down, picked up his quill, closing his eyes to concentrate. I have finished my Office, he thought; Philomel is snoring fit to burst. I can’t do anything about our demon until Prior Anselm answers. Sir John and his cats? Well, they will just have to wait. So what about the murders at Westminster?
    Athelstan sighed, opened his eyes and wrote down his thoughts.

    Item: Bouchon and Swynford belonged to a powerful group of men who formed a company called the Knights of the Swan.
    Item: What happened to this company?
    Item: Does the arrowhead, the candle and that scrap of parchment have anything to do with these knights’ chivalric pursuits?
    Item: Are the deaths of Bouchon and Swynford connected to the break-up of the company of the Knights of the Swan?
    Item: What other antagonisms exist between the knights, besides the failure of a business venture at sea?
    Item: What were the knights trying to hide from their past? What terrible secrets did they share?
    Item: Was it just coincidence that Father Benedict, Chaplain to the Commons, knew, through his dead colleague Father Antony, these powerful men from Shropshire?
    Item: What was Harnett doing visiting Perline Brasenose? Why didn’t he just tell Cranston the truth?
    Item: Whom had Bouchon met last Monday night? Where did that black dirt under his fingernails come from?

    Athelstan threw down the pen and stretched. Bouchon’s body, he thought, had been found down near Tothill Fields: that meant he must have been killed and thrown into the Thames when the river tide was running full towards the sea. Otherwise the body would have been swept back, up towards the city. Athelstan rubbed his lips. But did that say anything about where he had been killed? The corpse had been found trapped amongst reeds. Athelstan shook his head. He would remember that.
    Athelstan picked up his quill and continued writing.
    Item: That mysterious priest who appeared entering and leaving the Gargoyle tavern without anyone really noticing? Why was he so confident he would escape undetected? Unless, of course, it was one of the knights themselves?
    Athelstan threw his pen down in exasperation.
    ‘Oh, Bonaventure,’ he spoke as the cat leapt up from the table and nuzzled his hand. ‘That’s the real mystery, most cunning of cats. Why don’t these knights leave Westminster and return to Shrewsbury? After all, they are avowed opponents of the regent. Unless, of course...’ Athelstan stroked Bonaventure and stared down at what he had written. ‘Unless, most faithful of cats, the regent himself knows their terrible secrets and is forcing them to stay at Westminster.’
    Athelstan placed the cat gently back on the floor. He went to the buttery, poured some milk into a metal dish and placed this before the hearth. Bonaventure leapt down from the table and crouched, sipping the milk with his little pink tongue.
    Athelstan knelt beside it, listening to the cat’s purrs of pleasure. He spoke into