The House of Crows

shouldn’t have said that, Brother.’
    ‘Why?’
    Cranston flinched at the anger in Athelstan’s eyes. The friar shook his arm free. ‘Why, my lord Coroner, shouldn’t I say that? Three men have been found slain and the regent sits all innocent and a-feared. Now, I can accept that. The psalmist says, “Put not your trust in princes”. He also said, “All men are liars”, but I didn’t think that applied to friends and brother priests. A short while ago, Sir John, I sat under an oak tree and watched the power and the corruption seep like slime round this great abbey.’ Athelstan glanced away. ‘I just thought that an old monk would tell the truth.’ He tapped Cranston’s arm. ‘You know he’s lying, Sir John. Gaunt has been down here, that’s how he could blackmail those knights, the representatives of the Commons. God knows what they have done,’ he added fiercely, ‘but the regent found out and Master Aelfric helped him!’
    Cranston, surprised by the little friar’s vehemence, walked on, then stopped. ‘Come on, Brother,’ he called. ‘Don’t be angry with old Jack!’
    Athelstan joined him and they made their way out of the abbey grounds and back to the Gargoyle tavern.
    The taproom was full of boatmen and fishermen: Athelstan glimpsed Sir Edmund Malmesbury and his company in the far corner, but whispered to Sir John to keep well away from them. Banyard came sweeping out of the kitchen, his sweaty face wreathed in smiles. He greeted Sir John and took them out into a small garden. Cranston, happy at the thought of veal in black pepper sauce and a deep bowl of claret, was his old self. Athelstan found it difficult to match his companion’s humour, so they ate in silence until Athelstan apologised for his surliness.
    ‘I’d best go back to my own chamber,’ he concluded. ‘Sir John, I shall see you in the morning.’
    The friar went into the tavern and made his way up to his own chamber. He still felt restless and, for a while, lay on his narrow cot-bed. He tried to pray but, strangely enough, the only words he could summon up were those sombre sentences of the sequence from the Mass of the Dead, ‘O day of wrath, O day of mourning. See fulfilled the prophet’s warning!’

CHAPTER 12

    Athelstan rose early the next morning and decided to say an early Mass in one of the chantry chapels of Westminster Abbey. He went down to the taproom. Scullions and maids were cleaning the fireplace. Cooks were firing the ovens in the kitchen and filling the air with the sweet smell of freshly baked bread.
    ‘Good morning, Father!’ Banyard, looking as fresh as a daisy, came up the stairs of the cellar, a small tun of wine on his shoulder.
    ‘Good morning, mine host,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Is it too early to break fast?’
    ‘It’s never too early, Father.’
    Banyard showed him to a table and personally served him small, freshly baked loaves, strips of salted pork and, at the friar’s request, a stoup of watered ale. Athelstan ate slowly, conscious of the landlord hovering around him.
    ‘Will you be glad when the Parliament is ended?’ Athelstan asked. ‘I mean, it will diminish your profits.’
    The landlord pulled a face as he straightened some stools. He wiped his hands on a cloth and sat down opposite Athelstan, leaning his elbows on the table.
    ‘It’s as broad as it’s long, Father. Once the representatives go, the lawyers and judges return.’
    ‘And this tavern is always used by members of the Commons?’ Athelstan asked.
    Banyard spread his hands. ‘This is the third Parliament in four years, Father. Yes, our rooms are always taken by visitors from the shire.’
    ‘Including Sir Edmund and his party?’
    Banyard smiled. ‘Well, it’s not always the same group but, yes, Sir Edmund stayed here last time.’
    ‘And nothing untoward happened?’
    ‘Well, not exactly, Father, but, in the Michaelmas Parliament of 1379...’
    ‘Last year?’
    ‘Yes, Father, last year there was an altercation between Sir Edmund and my Lord Regent’s bully boys.’ Banyard raised a hand. ‘Oh, no blood was spilt or daggers drawn. It occurred just as Sir Edmund was about to leave London for Shrewsbury. Whether by chance or accident, he met two of Gaunt’s retainers in the courtyard.’ Banyard finished wiping his hands and put the cloth under his apron. ‘Nothing happened, but the air rang with threat and counter-threat.’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘Oh, the usual thing, Father.The regent’s