The House of Crows

where I am, unless Father Prior orders otherwise.’
    Benedicta saw the stubborn line to his mouth, and knew any further discussion was closed.
    ‘And the demon?’ she asked quickly.
    ‘I am still hunting it.’
    ‘And Perline?’
    Athelstan shook his head.
    ‘I met Simplicatas in the marketplace,’ Benedicta continued. ‘She still looks worried. I asked her if there was any news but she shook her head and continued shopping.’ Benedicta laughed self-consciously and played with the silver chain round her neck. ‘I would have been here earlier, but I helped to carry her basket.’
    Benedicta jumped as the door was flung open and Cranston came crashing in like the north wind. He crowed with delight when he saw Benedicta and, gripping her by the shoulders, bent down and planted a juicy kiss on each cheek.
    ‘Thank God for pretty women!’ he bellowed, and turned, legs apart, thumbs tucked in his belt. ‘Well, Athelstan, pack your bags. Lock your church, we are off to Westminster!’
    Athelstan groaned.
    ‘The regent’s orders,’ Cranston continued. ‘Last night Sir Francis Harnett, knight, was found in the Pyx chamber. His body lay on the floor. His head was tied by the hair to a torch-holder in the wall.’ He grimaced at Athelstan. ‘Apparently yesterevening our good knight went down there to meet someone. God knows who. The guards let him through. This morning one of the archers saw a door open and went down to investigate. He came rushing out, screaming himself witless.’
    ‘But why was Harnett so stupid as to go to such a lonely place?’
    Cranston shrugged. ‘God knows. Malmesbury had told the knights to stay together. Anyway, that is what we have to search out.’ He patted Athelstan on the shoulder. ‘I am sorry, Brother, both you and I have no choice but to take chambers at the Gargoyle. It’s the regent’s orders.’
    Athelstan opened his mouth to protest but Cranston shook his head. ‘There’s no debate, Brother. Everything here will have to wait.’ He grinned over at Benedicta. ‘You’ll have to look after the parish and, if you sit there long enough, looking as pretty as you do, you might even trap this demon.’ He turned back to Athelstan. ‘There’s a further order. On Saturday morning, Gaunt and the young king intend to ride in procession to meet the Commons at Westminster.’ He puffed his chest out. ‘I, as the king’s law officer, will be part of that procession, and of course, dear Athelstan, you will have to go with me.’
    Athelstan stared into the fire. He felt like screaming his refusal, yet that would only upset Cranston and achieve nothing.
    ‘Benedicta, I’ll leave you the keys.’ He got to his feet. ‘Look after Bonaventure. Remember to feed Philomel and ask the priest at St Swithin’s if he would be so kind as to come and say a morning Mass.’
    Benedicta said she would. Athelstan went over to the hearth and, grasping a poker, began to sift amongst the cinders. ‘It will go out soon,’ he said absentmindedly.
    ‘Don’t worry, Brother,’ Benedicta offered, ‘I will make sure that all’s well.’
    Athelstan climbed the makeshift ladder into his bedroom. As he filled the saddlebags at the foot of his bed, he wondered, not about Westminster, but Simplicatas. Why should a lonely young woman, supposedly riven with anxiety about her missing husband, buy so much in the marketplace that Benedicta had to help her carry it!

CHAPTER 9

    ‘There’s little the corpse-dresser can do with that.’ Banyard pointed to the severed torso of Sir Francis Harnett. His remains lay sprawled on a shoddy tarpaulin in an outhouse behind the tavern: the head lolled to one side like a ball, the eyes were half open, and bruises marked the cheek where the head had rolled along the floor of the crypt.
    ‘For heaven’s sake, show some respect,’ Cranston murmured.
    ‘I merely describe things as they are, my lord Coroner, not as they should be.’
    Athelstan knelt down. He crossed himself, closed his eyes and whispered the requiem: ‘“Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace.
    ‘Amen,’ Cranston intoned.
    ‘What on earth was he doing in the Pyx chamber?’ Athelstan asked, getting to his feet.
    ‘God knows,’ Sir Miles Coverdale replied. ‘The Commons sat late yesterday. The abbey then became deserted, though, of course, members stayed around the precincts gossiping and talking.’
    ‘And your guards were