The House of Shadows

and informed Malachi that tonight he would be sleeping in the church, the Benedictine glanced up sharply.
    ‘What is wrong, Brother? You have work to do? You seem agitated.’
    ‘That’s because I am.’ Athelstan shook his head. ‘So much to do,’ he murmured, ‘so little time to do it. Brother Malachi, you must excuse me, I have accounts to finish, certain business of Sir John’s, and of course,’ he forced a smile, ‘there’s always my parish council.’
    Athelstan continued going backwards and forwards, praying quietly that Brother Malachi would not question him any further. He turned the chantry chapel into a small chamber, with writing desk, chair, bed; it even included a tray bearing a jug of watered wine and three goblets. Malachi, as if he sensed Athelstan’s growing agitation, politely excused himself and said he would go down and sample the ale at the Piebald tavern. Once he had gone, Athelstan immediately relaxed, feeling the tension drain from his back and legs. Bonaventure appeared, following the friar like a shadow, getting under his feet and making himself a genuine nuisance. Only when the cat heard the scurry of mice in the far transept did he decide his bowl of milk could wait, as he loped across to investigate. Athelstan wheeled out two cupped braziers from the church tower and filled each with a small sack of charcoal.
    ‘Can I help, Father?’
    Benedicta had appeared suddenly in the doorway. Athelstan clutched his stomach.
    ‘Benedicta, you made me jump! If I had been drinking, I would have thought I was having a vision.’
    ‘You don’t have visions, Brother!’
    Benedicta pulled back her hood. Her black hair hung loose to her shoulders.
    ‘And don’t try to distract me; the bells will soon ring for vespers. The hour is growing late. Why are you lighting two braziers? You intend to spend the night here, don’t you? You are not going to study the stars? And don’t tell me,’ Benedicta drew close, ‘you are going to lie in front of the high altar and pray for our parish council.’
    Athelstan went over and closed the church door. ‘No, Benedicta, I’ll tell you the truth. I am hunting the sons of Cain. I want to trap men who have done great evil, who believe that they can wipe their mouths on the back of their hands and face God as if they were innocent.’ He walked out of the shadows and grasped her cold hands.
    ‘Why, Brother Athelstan?’ Benedicta kept her face serious, but her beautiful eyes smiled.
    ‘You’re cold.’ Athelstan let her hands slip.
    ‘I’ll help you light the braziers.’
    He brought out the tinder box and a bundle of dry bracken, which they pushed into the small gap under the charcoal. Benedicta found the bellows in the church storeroom. For a while, laughing and chattering, they attempted to fire the braziers, at first unsuccessfully, but eventually the charcoal caught and began to glow, as Athelstan remarked, ‘like the fires of hell’. Benedicta went out and brought back sweet-smelling weeds which she sprinkled on top, then helped Athelstan wheel the braziers up the nave and into the chantry chapel. She insisted that they dine together and hurried off to Merrylegs’ cookshop. On the way she met Crim and persuaded the altar boy to help her, and together they brought back a large meat pie.
    ‘Freshly baked,’ Benedicta announced. ‘Merrylegs went on oath to tell me the meat was no more than a month old. I also stopped at the Piebald.’ She gestured at Crim. ‘Jocelyn sent that free of charge, and Crim hasn’t spilt a drop, have you?’
    The altar boy, holding the beer jug as he would the sacred pyx, shook his head.
    All three sat at the entrance to the sanctuary, Athelstan sharing out the pie and ale, regaling Crim with stories about how the ghost of the leper woman had helped him solve a recent mystery. Crim sat round-eyed, and once the meal was finished, left, taking the jug back to the Piebald and the cookshop’s bowl for Merrylegs.
    Athelstan washed his hands and face in the small lavarium in the sacristy.
    ‘You were talking about the sons of Cain?’ Benedicta stood in the doorway.
    ‘He killed his brother, Benedicta, and when God questioned him, shouted back a question which has rung down the ages: “Am I my brother’s keeper?“ Like Pilate he didn’t wait for an answer, but, also like Pilate, received one whether he liked it or not. God hunted Cain down, seized him and marked his head. Tomorrow,’ Athelstan sighed,