The House of Shadows

down the room. He gripped Clinton’s shoulder and forced him back in his seat. ‘Sir Maurice Clinton, Sir Reginald Branson, I arrest you for high treason, for foul murder, for robbery, for breaking the King’s peace. You are my prisoners and will await the King’s pleasure.’ He prised the goblets from their hands, throwing each to the floor, allowing the metal cups to spill their contents and roll into a corner, then he walked to the door, gesturing for Athelstan to join him. He ushered the friar out and closed the door behind him, shouting for more guards. He ordered two to go into the room and told the others to allow no one in or out. Then he took Athelstan by the shoulder and led him into the great tap room, now deserted.
    ‘Well, well, little friar. You had scant proof. Clinton and Branson will not confess. They’ll try to pass the blame on to Rolles and others, whilst Brother Malachi will plead Benefit of Clergy. How did you know?’
    Athelstan led him across to a table and sat down. ‘Straws in the wind, Sir John, straws in the wind! As Brother Malachi said, it was like watching the weather changing.’
    He paused as one of Sir John’s bailiffs brought in both his writing satchel and the small casket he had left in the solar.
    ‘Think, Sir John,’ he continued, ‘of all these vile deeds being held in a basket. Time passes, the basket begins to rot, one or two strands break free: the ring, the casket, Brother Malachi. I used to wonder whether it was one or more murderers, and I eventually decided it must have been two.’ He used his hands to emphasise his point. ‘On the one hand we have Chandler and Broomhill, murdered secretly. I deduced there was only one assassin at work behind those deaths. But the others, the Misericord, the Judas Man, Beatrice and Clarice, as well as the attack on Brother Malachi, all pointed to a conspiracy. What we had to decide was who was part of that conspiracy? I concluded that all of them were, except Malachi. Davenport’s death, and the way it was twisted to look like some mysterious murder, convinced me. In the end it was merely a question of breaking the conspirators up and presenting them with the evidence I had gathered. And there’s one left. Oh no, Sir John.’ Athelstan got to his feet and smiled as he recalled the head ostler riding so swiftly out of the stable yard. ‘There are in fact three, with one more guilty than the others.’
    ‘Athelstan?’
    The friar handed Sir John the coffer. ‘Tell your men to keep this safe, place a close guard on those two knights and Brother Malachi and let’s hasten across the bridge. We have business with Mother Veritable. I knew her absence would unsettle Rolles.’
    During their swift walk through Southwark and across London Bridge , Athelstan tried to placate Sir John, whilst at the same time keeping his own counsel.
    ‘One thing I cannot understand, Brother Athelstan, is the treasure! If the knights stole it, then what became of it? According to all the evidence you have collected, it was not the source of their wealth. Indeed, it has never been traced.’
    ‘Hasn’t it?’
    Athelstan paused in front of the House of the Crutched Friars. Both men seemed unaware of the crowd milling around them and the strange glances they received from tradesmen in the stalls either side of the thoroughfare. Only a cart packed with prisoners heading up towards Newgate forced them to step aside.
    ‘Don’t talk in riddles, friar.’
    ‘I’m not, Sir John. When did you last lose something precious?’
    ‘Oh, about three years ago; a medallion.’
    ‘And did you find it?’
    ‘No, I didn’t.’
    ‘And are you still looking for it?’
    ‘Of course not!’
    ‘Precisely.’ Athelstan smiled, ‘But come, Mother Veritable awaits.’
    They were hardly through the gate of the Minoresses when they became aware that something was wrong. A cluster of brown-robed nuns greeted them excitedly; led by Sister Catherine, they gathered round Sir John.
    ‘Oh, my Lord Coroner, an accident! A terrible accident!’
    Athelstan’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Oh no, not Edith?’ he whispered.
    ‘Oh no,’ Sister Catherine answered, ‘her visitor, Mother Veritable.’
    She pointed across the courtyard towards the very steep steps running up one side of the convent building.
    ‘A strange one her, Brother.’
    Athelstan gazed across the courtyard and felt a chill of fear. A dark stain blotched the bottom step and the cobbled yard beneath.