The House of Shadows

morning streets. He paused outside Merrylegs’ cookshop to eat one of the cook’s specialities, a sweet pie of apple and raisins. He stopped at the Piebald for a mug of ale, then continued down to the riverside to watch the mist lift and the fishing fleets come in. People passed him, Athelstan smiled or raised his hand in blessing, yet he was still very distracted. He kept turning over in his mind what he had planned for that meeting in the solar at the Night in Jerusalem . Church bells chimed, drowning the scream of the hunting gulls. Athelstan felt the cold seep through his heavy robe, and turning round, he walked up to the tavern.
    Master Rolles greeted him in the doorway. Athelstan was equally courteous in reply.
    ‘I have received your message, Brother.’
    ‘Thank you, thank you. Master Rolles, do you have spades and mattocks? I would like to borrow them for my church field.’
    ‘Of course, quite a few.’
    ‘Good.’ Athelstan answered absent-mindedly, patting him on the arm. ‘I need to see you this morning, I assure you it won’t take long.’
    Athelstan warmed himself in front of the tap room fire, listening to the chatter of the spit boy, who questioned the friar closely on how much he ate, and did he have a spit? Was it true that friars were forbidden to eat? Athelstan laughed and gave the boy a penny. The lad was still chattering when Athelstan heard a clamour outside, and Sir John, with his retinue of bailiffs and serjeants-at-arms, strode into the tap room.
    ‘Brother, good morrow, what’s this all about?’
    Athelstan took him into a far corner, whispering what he had planned and what Sir John must do. The coroner loosened his cloak, took off his beaver hat, scratched his head and whistled under his breath.
    ‘Little friar, you have been busy!’ He nodded at the doorway. ‘As I came in, they were gathering in the solar.’
    ‘So, we must join them. There must be a guard in the room and one outside.’
    ‘And the bailiffs?’
    ‘Oh, they’ll be busy. They have a garden to dig!’
    Athelstan, clutching his writing satchel and leather bag, left the tap room, followed by a mystified Cranston . The others were already grouped either side of the solar table. Athelstan sat at one end with his back to the window, Sir John at the other.
    ‘Good morning, gentlemen.’
    The knights grunted a reply as if bored by the proceedings. Rolles, however, was clearly agitated by the presence of the guards and so many bailiffs.
    ‘Ah, Henry.’ Athelstan pointed at Flaxwith, who was standing behind Cranston . ‘I must ask you to leave. I have a very important task for you. In the outhouse, across the stable yard, you will find spades, mattocks and hoes. No, keep still, Master Rolles.’ Athelstan spoke as the taverner scraped back his chair. ‘I want you to collect them, go into the garden behind me and start digging.’
    Athelstan glanced quickly at the knights, gratified at the shock in their faces. Rolles was so agitated he couldn’t keep still.
    ‘Brother Athelstan,’ Flaxwith retorted, ‘Master Rolles’ garden is beautiful.’
    ‘Master Rolles, you will keep seated,’ Athelstan repeated, ‘or I will ask you to be bound. Henry, the garden behind me is not beautiful. It houses the mortal remains of five poor souls, murdered by the men who are now seated around this table.’
    The knights jumped to their feet, followed by Rolles. Cranston banged the table, shouting that they would be arrested if they moved three paces from their chairs. Once silence was imposed, Cranston looked over his shoulder and nodded at Flaxwith.
    ‘Do it!’ he ordered. ‘And dig deep. Brother Athelstan?’ He turned back.
    ‘Thank you, Sir John. I will repeat what I’ve said. Each of you seated at this table, all four of you, is guilty of the most hideous homicide.’ Athelstan paused. ‘One is missing. You may have made enquiries about her, Mother Veritable. She has been taken by two friends of mine across the river. She has confessed, and will do so again, to the murderous events of twenty years ago.’



Chapter 13

    ‘It is an unassailable theory,’ Athelstan began, ‘that murder, like charity, always begins at home. In this case, home was the Night in Jerusalem , where a group of young knights, brothers-in-arms, assembled over twenty years ago to take part in the Great Crusade of Lord Peter of Cyprus . Eager, hungry young men, raised in the House of War, who saw their fortunes threatened by the recent