The House of Crows

these men had already carried out.’ He sighed. ‘And the red crosses etched on the faces of their dead victims were a grisly warning to others.’
    ‘Then what happened?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘I suppose Malmesbury and his gang had their way. After a number of these peasant leaders had been executed, others became more circumspect. But, of course,’ Athelstan screwed his eyes up against the sunlight, ‘the evil we do, Sir John, never dies. It dogs our footsteps and lurks in the corners of our souls. And so we come to the regent.’ Athelstan lowered his voice. ‘Gaunt holds lands along the Welsh march. He would make careful inquiries about these arrogant landowners. I am sure he discovered their secret sin. He organised their election to this Parliament and gave them a brutal warning: either they supported him or he might send the justices back into Shropshire to publicise their secrets.’
    ‘But Malmesbury and the rest oppose the regent bitterly.’ Athelstan smiled bleakly. ‘Oh, Sir John. How often have you played a game of chess? You watch your opponent’s pieces being moved. Sometimes you believe his judgement is faulty, even foolish, but at the end, when he takes your queen and traps your king, you realise the subtlety of his design.’
    ‘In other words, the game is not over yet?’
    ‘No, no, Sir John, it certainly isn’t.’
    ‘But the murders?’Cranston asked. ‘Surely Gaunt does not have a hand in these?’
    ‘My lord Coroner.’ Athelstan played with the tassel of the cord round his waist. ‘He could do. He might even argue that he is carrying out lawful execution. But, concedo, I think there is little likelihood. No, someone else has entered this game. We have three possibilities. First, Sir Miles: we must remember that Coverdale also comes from Shropshire. Did one of his kinsmen die at Malmesbury’s hands? Or, there again, Father Benedict. He seems very attached to the memory of his dead comrade Antony. Is he the sort of man to carry out God’s judgement? Or...’ Athelstan paused.
    ‘Or what?’Cranston asked, intrigued.
    ‘Well, I keep talking about the knights as a coven under the leadership of Sir Edmund Malmesbury and, Sir John, believe me, whatever is the truth, Malmesbury is their leader. However, there is one other consideration.’ Athelstan leaned across the table. ‘How do we know the others were involved? Aylebore or Elontius, or both, may be totally innocent of any crime, but might see themselves as angels of vengeance.’
    ‘In other words, Aylebore or Elontius might have suffered because of those judicial murders in Shropshire so many years ago?’
    ‘Possibly.’ Athelstan stretched and turned his face to the sun. ‘Come, Sir John.’ He smiled at the coroner. ‘St Dominic always said that, after a meal, a man should walk and talk with a friend in a beautiful garden.’
    Cranston, his gloom now forgotten, got to his feet and joined Athelstan. They wound their way through the herb plots and flowerbeds. At the bottom of the garden they sat on a stone seat framed by a flower-covered arbour. Athelstan leaned back and listened to the lilting bird-song.
    ‘It’s at moments like these, Sir John, that I realise why paradise was described as a garden.’ Athelstan lifted his face to catch the sun.
    ‘Aye,’ Cranston retorted. ‘And, as in Eden, Brother, there’s always a serpent, a canker in the rose.’
    Athelstan ran his thumb round his mouth. ‘Let’s summarise what we know so far.’ He nudged the coroner. ‘Come on, law officer, you’ve supped and dined well. Now use your razor-like mind.’
    ‘Well, first, we know that Sir Edmund Malmesbury, and certainly those men who have been murdered, committed terrible crimes in Shropshire. Secondly, our noble regent is using that knowledge to blackmail them, though for what purpose we still have to discover. Thirdly, we know these good knights formed a fraternity or brotherhood of the Knights of the Swan. This broke up after their famous chalice was stolen, though this has now been returned.’ Cranston paused. His hand fell to the wineskin nestling beneath his cloak, but Athelstan playfully knocked it away.
    ‘My lord Coroner, we are not finished yet.’
    ‘Well, we know these knights came here and the murders began.’ At the time of their death, each knight received warning tokens. Sir Oliver Bouchon left this tavern and was knocked on the head. We suspect he probably did not leave Westminster; his body was