The House of Crows

for revenge had, over the years, unhinged the taverner’s mind.
    ‘You killed them,’ Athelstan remarked softly.
    ‘But, Brother,’ Coverdale interrupted, ‘is it not the most remarkable of coincidences that these knights came to a tavern owned by the son of a man they had killed?’
    ‘Oh, I think Banyard knew that these knights would come to London, Athelstan replied. Sooner or later every great lord must come to Westminster but, of course, Banyard helped matters along. Sir Edmund, you’ve stayed at the Gargoyle before?’
    The knight seemed not to hear.
    ‘Sir Edmund,’ Cranston went over and shook Malmesbury’s shoulder. ‘Brother Athelstan asked you a question.’
    ‘Yes.’ Malmesbury raised his haggard face. ‘Both I and my companions had stayed at the Gargoyle before. The hospitality, the food...’
    ‘And the lowest rates?’ Athelstan added. He glanced at the taverner. ‘Only God knows,’ he continued, ‘what Master Banyard plotted. Did he hope to make enough money to go back to Shropshire and wreak his revenge on his father’s assassins? However, as the Parliaments were called and Malmesbury and his companions began to attend, his murderous idea certainly took root. Over the years, Banyard would encourage, solicit their custom.’
    ‘Why didn’t he strike then?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Oh, I am sure he was tempted to but, as I understand, not all the same knights attend every Parliament. What Banyard did was ensure that they always came to his tavern by charging them rates much lower than any other hostelry. Isn’t that right, Sir Edmund?’
    The knight just nodded.
    ‘Oh course,’ Coverdale intervened, ‘Malmesbury and his companions always congratulated themselves on the tavern of their choice, on not being charged the exorbitant prices other representatives were.’
    ‘That was the lure,’ Athelstan remarked. ‘Then someone else became involved in the game, no less a person than His Grace the Regent.’ Athelstan held a hand up to still Coverdale’s protests. ‘No, don’t object, Sir Miles. The regent knows I am telling the truth, as do these men here. Gaunt arranged for all the Knights of the Swan, all those involved in those dreadful murders at Shropshire, to be returned as representatives to the Commons. Of course, as usual, they sent a steward to London to look for lodgings, and mine host Banyard was ready and waiting.’ He shook his head. ‘It was no coincidence, Sir Miles, that all those knights found lodgings in the Gargoyle. I made inquiries amongst other representatives. I went into Westminster Y ard yesterday. Oh yes, many of them had asked for lodgings at the Gargoyle, only to find the place was full. Mine host had arranged that. He was waiting for Malmesbury and the rest.’
    ‘So, he turned others away?’ Malmesbury asked. ‘In order that we took lodgings with him?’
    ‘Sir Edmund, whom did you send to London?’
    ‘My steward, Eudo Faversham.’
    ‘And he would tell Banyard who was journeying up to Westminster?’
    ‘Of course!’
    ‘And he found no difficulty in hiring rooms here?’
    ‘No, no, as I have said, we have stayed here before. My steward came back saying we had fair lodgings at reasonable prices.’
    Banyard, who had been listening coolly to all this, uncrossed his arms. ‘And, when they arrived, Friar,’ he taunted, ‘how did I kill them?’
    ‘Oh, that you’d planned well,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Bouchon was easy. Remember the night he left the supper party at your tavern? He didn’t say he was going anywhere. He simply went out. Now, if he was going to meet someone threatening, Bouchon would have taken a sword, but when his body was fished from the Thames, he wasn’t even carrying his knife. No, what I suspect happened is that you, Master Banyard, lured Bouchon out into the tavern yard on some pretext. Perhaps he was wondering who had delivered the arrowhead and candle at the tavern. Anyway, you meet him near the compost heap, that mound of rich black soil. You felled him with a blow to the head. He falls on to the mound, which explains why we found the black soil under his fingernails.’ Athelstan paused. ‘You then slid back into the tavern, going about your duties. At the appropriate time you leave. You put Bouchon’s body in a wheelbarrow, covered by a sheet of canvas, and trundle it down to the Thames, only a few yards away. The river was running at full tide; Bouchon’s body, however, kept near the bank until it was