The House of Crows

listen, but in terrible agony.’
    Banyard drew back the cowl of his cloak. His dark, thickset features betrayed no fear. His eyes flickered backwards and forwards, first to Athelstan then to the archer. He looked over his shoulder at the prie-dieu.
    ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Just a few sacks of grain; one of Simon’s companions brought them in here for me. I put them on the prie-dieu and covered them with my cloak. In the poor light I thought it was rather lifelike — and so did you.’
    Banyard took a step forward. The archer immediately loosed the arrow which sped a few inches past his face, making him swerve. By the time Banyard had steadied himself, a second arrow had been notched.
    ‘I shall shoot again,’ the bowman declared softly. ‘This is God’s house and Brother Athelstan is here on the orders of the regent.’
    ‘Do what Simon says,’ Athelstan said. ‘It is useless to resist. Outside there are more archers. I have asked them to stop anyone who tries to leave.’ Athelstan pointed to a bench next to the wall. ‘Now, sit down there. Simon will look after you.’
    Banyard obeyed. Athelstan went to the altar. He took the candle burning there and began to light more of the candles as well as two sconce torches. He then pulled across the sanctuary chair and sat opposite Banyard. The landlord just lounged back against the wall, staring at Athelstan from under heavy-lidded eyes.
    ‘You are probably thinking about how you can explain the attack, aren’t you?’ Athelstan began. ‘I wondered if you’d come. It’s the only real mistake you’ve made, isn’t it?’
    Banyard just smirked.
    ‘That’s why I told Christina and the potboy before I left that I was going to St Faith’s Chapel. When my lord Coroner made his announcement in the taproom, you panicked, made inquiries, and followed me here.’
    Again Banyard just stared at him. Athelstan suddenly realised that the landlord probably didn’t even suspect Athelstan knew about the terrible murders committed by Malmesbury and the rest so many years ago at Shropshire. Banyard was still confident: without any real evidence, he could worm his way out of this trap and scoff at any allegations laid against himself. Athelstan sat back, gazing at a point in the wall above the taverner’s head.
    ‘What are you waiting for, priest?’ Banyard leaned forward, hands on his knees. ‘So I came into St Faith’s Chapel and shot an arrow into someone I thought was lurking here.’ He pointed to the sacks still heaped on the prie-dieu. ‘The church courts might fine me, but what else have I done?’
    ‘You are a killer, Banyard,’ Athelstan replied slowly. ‘You murdered Bouchon, Swynford, Harnett and Goldingham!’
    ‘And why should I do that?’
    Athelstan heard footsteps outside. ‘I shall tell you in a while, Master Banyard, but for the moment I think we have visitors.’
    The door of the chapel swung open. Cranston came blustering in. He stared at the bowman, Athelstan, Banyard and then at the prie-dieu.
    ‘Satan’s tits!’ he breathed.
    Then he crossed himself: his surprise was echoed by Coverdale and the three knights who came in behind him. Athelstan sat further back in the sanctuary chair. He felt like a judge giving sentence. Cranston, Coverdale and the rest hurried to find seats. Banyard still remained calm, his eyes never leaving the friar.
    ‘Bow bells,’ Athelstan began, ‘When I first met you, Banyard, you said you were born within the sound of Bow bells, a Londoner.’ Athelstan leaned forward. ‘In which Parish? Which street? Which ward? Tell me, and Sir John Cranston will check the records.’
    Banyard stared back.
    ‘You were born in Shropshire. Your father was a hardworking farmer,’ Athelstan continued. ‘He resented the taxes due to the seigneurs, and their demands for forced labour, when he preferred to sell his work to them for wages. He met with others who thought similarly, and they resisted the lords of the soil with their destriers, helmets, tournaments, tourneys, levies, taxes, exactions, bridge-tolls and constant streams of demands.’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly what happened, but I think your father just ignored the likes of these three knights here, the so-called fraternity of the Knights of the Swan.’
    ‘Brother Athelstan,’ Malmesbury spluttered, ‘I object.’
    ‘Shut up!’ Athelstan snapped. ‘Now these seigneurs, led by Sir Edmund, petitioned the