The House of Shadows

is well known to every law officer south of the River Trent?’
    Edith coloured with embarrassment.
    ‘Well, sir,’ Athelstan continued. ‘Answer my question and I’ll leave you alone.’
    ‘I have taken a hare for the pot and a pheasant from their fields,’ the Misericord confessed. ‘I have also sold all manner of things to their villagers and tenants.’
    ‘Do they have a grievance against you?’
    ‘They may have.’
    The Misericord’s eyes shifted, and Athelstan knew there was more meat to his admission than the few scraps he had thrown. The Dominican leaned down.
    ‘You think you’re safe,’ he warned, ‘but you are not. Those are very powerful men, warriors, land owners, who would see you swinging from a branch and not blink an eye. Are any of them your enemies?’
    ‘I had a dalliance with one of their daughters.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Some of their womenfolk, but I forget who. It was some years ago. Brother, that is all I shall say.’
    Athelstan sketched a blessing in his direction and walked down the church. He talked to Sister Catherine, a kindly, garrulous old soul, about her own girlhood, how she had been raised in Southwark and had often visited St Erconwald’s. Oh yes, she certainly remembered Fitzwolfe, the demon priest, and talked in a hushed whisper about his dabbling in the black arts. Athelstan, with his back to the sanctuary, half listened, ears strained. The echoes in the church were very good, a fact Athelstan always tried to remember when he listened to his parishioners’ confessions. Edith and her brother had begun their conversation in whispers, but their discussion had spilled into a quarrel, and their voices were raised. Athelstan was sure he heard the name Mother Veritable mentioned. Sister Catherine chatted on about how Fitzwolfe was supposed to have sacrificed a black hen at night and had committed other blasphemies in the darkness of the night. Athelstan smiled and nodded his head. The conversation at the top of the church had now returned to whispers, and eventually Edith, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, came tripping down the aisle, hands concealed in the voluminous sleeves of her gown. She stopped before the friar and bowed.
    ‘Brother Athelstan, I thank you for your kindness to my brother and myself. Now I must leave, as the night is drawing on...’
    Distracted, she stepped around him. Sister Catherine caught her by the arm, and when Athelstan unbarred the door, they both slipped through and down the steps. Athelstan closed and locked the door behind him. He returned to the rood screen, eager to question the Misericord, but the fugitive was now lying in the sanctuary fast asleep, or pretending to be. Athelstan crossed himself, left by the side door, locking it behind him, and walked into the night.
    ‘Who was that?’
    Athelstan spun round. The Judas Man was standing almost behind him.
    ‘This is God’s Acre,’ Athelstan snapped, ‘church land. You should not be slipping about like a thief in the night.’
    ‘Who was that woman?’
    ‘None of your business,’ Athelstan replied, stepping closer. ‘You are truly determined to bring that man to justice, aren’t you?’
    ‘I’m being paid well.’
    ‘By whom?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ the Judas Man grinned. ‘If I did, I would certainly ask for more. By the way, where’s your cat?’
    ‘In the church,’ Athelstan gestured with his head, ‘hunting for mice. He can leave by the sacristy door.’
    ‘Your cat and I have a lot in common.’
    ‘No, sir, you do not,’ Athelstan replied. ‘My cat hunts to eat. You...’ Athelstan played with the cord around his waist. ‘You, sir, you love it. It helps fill the dark void in your own soul, doesn’t it? A way of exorcising your demons. I bid you goodnight.’
    Athelstan returned to his house, locking the door behind him. It had fallen cold. He built up the fire, plucked some of the charcoal from it, filled the warming pan and took this up to the bed loft. He pulled back the blankets and the linen sheets beneath. The straw mattress underneath felt cold, icy cold. Athelstan put the warming pan carefully under the blankets and went back down the ladder. He felt agitated and restless. He had spent the day dealing not only with hideous murder, but with people who hid their sins behind lies and conceits. The Misericord had been less than truthful, whilst the presence of the Judas Man was oppressive and menacing.
    Athelstan went to the scullery and, from the small