The House of Crows

Crown, but to no avail; so they took the law into their own hands.’
    ‘This is slanderous.’ Aylebore half rose to his feet, his hand falling to his dagger.
    Coverdale sprang to his feet; drawing his sword, he held the point only a few inches away from Aylebore’s chest.
    ‘Sit down!’ Coverdale ordered. ‘And if any of you move again, I’ll strike and claim I was defending Brother Athelstan and the lord Coroner?’
    Sir Humphrey slumped back on the bench. Coverdale, smiling from ear to ear, also took his seat, but he kept his sword before him, cradling the pommel in his hand.
    ‘Continue, Brother Athelstan,’ he said softly, ‘because I think you are going to tell a tale of which I know a little.’ He tapped the point of the sword on the paving-stone. ‘And no one will interrupt you again.’
    ‘As I said,’ Athelstan declared, ‘Malmesbury, Aylebore, Goldingham, Harnett, Swynford and Bouchon and perhaps others...’ Athelstan stared at the knights. ‘I thought one of you might be innocent!’
    Elontius put his face in his hands.
    Athelstan sighed. ‘But, no, you’re all guilty.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ah well, these seigneurs saw themselves as lords of the earth, the descendants of Arthur and his knights. They played at being paladins until they lost their cup whilst, outside their dreams, the world was changing. Men like your father, Master Banyard, caked in soil, were rising above themselves. These lords formed their coven; visored, hooded and cloaked they struck at individual peasant farmers. First they would warn them by sending a candle, an arrowhead and a scrap of parchment with the word “Remember” scrawled on it.’ Athelstan saw the tears prick Banyard’s eyes. Men such as your father must have wondered, “Remember what?”
    ‘The threats soon became real enough, as individual farms were raided, the men dragged off and hanged, whilst these good knights sat on their horses and chanted the “ Dies Irae ”, their song of death.’ Athelstan glanced at the three knights. They looked as if they had grown old in such a short space of time, faces crumpled, shoulders bowed. They didn’t look up but just stared at the floor, lost in their own nightmares.
    ‘Now, in God’s eyes no sin goes unpunished,’ Athelstan continued. ‘These knights were probably successful, warnings were given, warnings received, but men like yourself, Master Banyard, never forget. You had nothing to do with Shropshire, but fled to London where, by hard work, you built up a tavern famous for its food and hospitality.’ Athelstan cocked his head sideways. ‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘did you always plot their deaths? Did you, over the years, nurse a terrible thirst for vengeance? Brood about the arrowhead symbolising violence, the candle for the funeral, and the terrible threat behind the word “Remember”!’
    ‘They took him out,’ Banyard began to speak, ‘we were eating our supper round the table. My father, my mother and myself. The door was flung open. Armed men, masked and cowled, burst into the room. My father tried to resist but they knocked the knife from his hand. Laughing and jeering, they pulled him out into the darkness and bundled him on to a horse.’ Banyard paused and put his face in his hands. ‘My mother just screamed, like a whipped dog. She went into a corner, crouching there, stuffing the hem of her smock into her mouth.' Banyard, lost in the past, shook his head. ‘We’d heard about the deaths, the other executions. My father had been sent the candle, the arrowhead and the note, “Remember”, but he scoffed at them and threw them into the fire. Banyard glanced up with such a look of horror on his face that Athelstan felt a spurt of sorrow at how greed and power had destroyed this man’s life.
    ‘I ran after them.’ Banyard declared. ‘Fast as an arrow but it was too late. They took my father down to an oak tree at the bottom of a meadow just near a stream. I could see his body twirling and the bastards chanting. I hid there until I saw their faces, then I went back to our farm. Within a year Mother was dead. By then I had a list of my father’s killers.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I sold our land and came to London.’ Banyard stared down at his hands. ‘I worked night and day. Brother Athelstan, I have good cause to hate these men, but did I kill them?’ His tone became more confident, a sly, secretive look on his face.
    Athelstan realised how the pain and desire