The House of Shadows

sweet-smelling. They passed the tap room, still being vigorously cleaned after the previous night, and into the more comfortable part of the tavern, the solar, a large chamber which overlooked a well-laid-out garden.
    ‘I grow my own herbs and vegetables,’ Rolles explained. ‘So visitors don’t come at the dead of night,’ he continued sharply, ‘to offer me leeks and shallots for sale.’
    Cranston laughed and patted him on the shoulder. The taverner shrugged this off and pointed to the polished wooden table which ran down the centre of the room.
    Cranston sat at the top, Athelstan on his right, with Malachi and Sir Maurice on his left. Athelstan placed his writing satchel on the floor. What he learned today he would write up later. Brother Malachi still looked pale. The taverner’s offer of a jug of Rhenish wine and a plate of comfits was eagerly accepted by Cranston . Athelstan believed the taverner wished to eavesdrop, so he nudged Sir John under the table. The coroner took the hint and loudly began to praise the solar’s furnishings, pointing at the mantled hearth, where a log fire spluttered, the coloured drapes above the wooden panelling, the glass in the windows. Despite the taverner’s obvious annoyance, the coroner heaped praise upon praise and continued to do so until Rolles had served the wine and the silver dish of marchpane, and left the room. Even then Cranston got to his feet, still talking, opened the door and slammed it firmly shut.
    ‘Well done, Brother, well done.’ He smiled, tapping the side of his nose.
    Malachi’s colour had returned, and he drank greedily at the wine but refused to eat anything. Athelstan wondered what had so alarmed the Benedictine. He was, Athelstan reflected, a youngish man, yet he appeared to have aged. His usual cheeriness had crumpled, the furrows around his mouth were more obvious, his skin was pasty, his eyes tired, his mouth slack.
    ‘Brother Malachi need not tell you. I shall,’ Sir Maurice offered, patting the Benedictine gently on the arm. ‘Twenty years ago the French signed the peace treaty of Bretigny, and the war with France ended, at least for a while. I and my companions... well, Sir Jack, you know how it was, young knights with little land and no wealth? We all came from Kent , we’d fought across the Narrow Seas , but none of us had taken any plunder or ransoms. We became mercenaries. The Crusader, Peter of Cyprus, organised an expedition against the Turks in North Africa . He hoped to seize Alexandria and free the trade routes in the Middle Sea .’
    ‘I remember it,’ Cranston nodded. ‘An army assembled in London . The King loaned ships, a squadron, berthed here in the Thames , cogs and merchantmen.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Sir Maurice, I think I know what you are going to talk about. The treasure, the Crusaders’ war chest?’
    ‘The Lombard treasure,’ Sir Maurice agreed. ‘Peter of Cyprus raised a huge loan from the Bardi in Lombard Street . Now the Crusader fleet lay at anchor in the Thames , taking on men and supplies. It became common knowledge that the Lombard treasure was to be taken aboard. It was decided the treasure should be moved by night, and as few people as possible would be told when and how it was to be transported to the flagship, The Glory of Westminster . The leader of the English force, Lord Belvers, a Kentish man, apparently arranged for two of our company, two knights, Richard Culpepper and Edward Mortimer, to receive the Lombard treasure and transport it by barge to the flagship.’ He coughed. ‘We learned all this later.’
    He paused as Brother Malachi lifted a hand.
    ‘My monastic name is Malachi, a famous Celtic saint, but I am Thomas Culpepper by birth. Sir Richard was my brother.’ He sipped his wine. ‘We all came up to London , excited by the prospect of war, glory and plunder. The Pope had promised a plenary indulgence for all those who took the Cross. We called ourselves the Company of the Golden Falcon — that was our emblem — eight of us in all, led by Sir Maurice here, whilst I was their chaplain. We all hoped to achieve great things, to win glory for God and Holy Mother Church . Only afterwards did we discover that two of our company, my brother included, had been chosen for a special task.
    ‘We all lodged here, not so luxuriously as we do now.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Master Rolles had just bought the tavern from his profits. You, Sir John, were not coroner, and there was no