The House of Crows

The doors to the chapter-house swung open. Two heralds in cloth of gold walked out, each carried a silver trumpet; after every few steps they stopped and blew a fanfare. Behind them came a knight banneret in shining Milanese armour. He carried his drawn sword up before his face, as a priest would a crucifix. Chamberlains began to clear the vestibule as the king, dressed in a brilliant silver gown decorated with golden fleur-de-lys, left the chapter-house, his hand clasping that of his uncle. Both princes were smiling at each other and at the crowd which thronged there. If he hadn’t known better, Athelstan would have thought Gaunt and Richard were the mutually doting father and son. Behind the king came more knights and officials, then the mass of the Commons, some of them still shouting, ‘ Vivat! Vivat Rex! ’
    ‘We’d best leave,’ Cranston urged. ‘Gaunt told us to meet him outside the doors of the abbey where the king has agreed to touch some poor men ill with the scofula.’
    Athelstan followed him out of the cloisters and round to a specially prepared area before the abbey’s great doors. Here, workmen from the royal household had set up a dais covered in purple woollen rugs. In the centre were two chairs of state. On each corner of the dais stood a knight of the royal household holding banners depicting the royal arms, as well as the insignia of John of Gaunt. Archers wearing the livery of the white hart had now cordoned this place off. The crowds milled there, pressed against this wall of steel, eager to catch a glimpse of their king. Cranston had a word with the royal serjeant who led them into the royal enclosure. They had to wait a further half an hour before the king, still grasping his uncle’s hand, finished his procession round the abbey and came out through the main doors to be greeted by a rapturous roar from the crowd. Once they were seated, flanked and surrounded by officials and knights of the royal household, Gaunt smiled and beckoned Cranston forward. Both Sir John and Athelstan knelt on cushions before the chairs of state, each kissing the ring of the king and the regent in turn. Richard, despite the majesty and solemnity of the occasion, did not stand on idle ceremony but clapped his hands boyishly.
    ‘Oh, don’t kneel, Sir John!’ he exclaimed. ‘You may stand — and you, Brother Athelstan.’ He leaned forward and whispered, ‘If I had my way you would sit beside me: one on my right and one on my left. Wouldn’t that be appropriate, dearest Uncle?’
    ‘Beloved Nephew,’ Gaunt smiled back, ‘Sir John and Brother Athelstan are two of your most loyal subjects.’ He waved elegantly towards the crowd. ‘But there are hundreds more waiting to greet you.’
    The king refused to shift his gaze. ‘They can wait. They can wait!’ Richard snapped furiously.
    For a few seconds the smile faded. Athelstan stared into those blue eyes and knew that the young king would use this meeting to taunt and bait his uncle.
    ‘My lord Regent, you told us to be here.’ Cranston, eager not to be drawn into this deadly rivalry, declared.
    ‘More deaths, Sir John,’ Gaunt answered brusquely. ‘More deaths amongst the Commons, which does not make our task easier.’
    ‘What deaths are these?’ the king interrupted.
    ‘Beloved Nephew, I have told you already. Certain knights of the shire have been barbarously murdered. So far,’ Gaunt murmured, glaring at Cranston, ‘little has been done either to stop them or to unmask the assassin.’
    The king, bored and resentful at being excluded from this conversation, sat back in his chair, apparently more interested in the tassels on the sleeves of his gown.
    ‘Well?’ Gaunt asked.
    ‘My lord Regent,’ Athelstan spoke up quickly, ‘you said so far? But our business here is not finished yet.’
    ‘Then, when it is, please tell me,’ Gaunt snapped back. The king suddenly leaned forward and grasped Athelstan’s sleeve. ‘I did very well in the chapter-house. I asked for the support and loyalty of my Commons.’
    ‘We heard the cheers, your Grace,’ Athelstan replied.
    The king pulled him closer. ‘It’s Uncle they don’t like,’ he whispered loudly. ‘I think if I had asked for the moon they would have given me it.’
    ‘They may ask for the removal of the lord Coroner,’ Gaunt taunted back. ‘There were complaints, your Grace, at the terrible murders being committed here in the abbey.’
    The king’s mood abruptly changed. He