The House of Shadows

Mother Veritable said this morning.’
    ‘She was lying. Those knights lusted after the two girls. I have seen them visit the house. It was always the same, Beatrice and Clarice, either individually or together.’
    ‘So Mother Veritable hates the Misericord?’
    ‘I think so, Brother, but I don’t know why.’
    ‘Could she have hired the Judas Man?’ Athelstan asked. ‘You’ve heard of him. He’s outside guarding the doors of my church.’
    ‘Everybody knows about him,’ Donata agreed. ‘Mother Veritable may have hired him.’ She gave a great sigh. ‘That’s why I was allowed out tonight. I was sent to comfort him, invite him to Mother Veritable’s solar. So I arranged to meet Jocelyn.’ She pulled back her cloak. ‘I left in what I was wearing. I had to seize this opportunity. I shall not return.’
    ‘Was Mother Veritable at the Great Ratting?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘It’s possible.’
    ‘Could she have killed those two girls?’
    ‘Mother Veritable is violent.’ Jocelyn spoke up. ‘I visited her house, that’s how I met Donata. I have seen her with cudgel and knife. Brother, she is ferocious as any mercenary.’
    ‘So why have you come to me?’ Athelstan asked. He took the young woman’s hand, still cold, and gently caressed her fingers.
    ‘I want your absolution, Brother. I want to confess my sins.’
    Athelstan let go of her hand.
    ‘You already have.’ He raised his own hand in blessing. ‘And I absolve you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.’
    ‘Is it as simple as that, Brother?’
    ‘As simple as that,’ Athelstan agreed.
    ‘Aren’t you supposed to give me a penance?’
    ‘You’ve already done that,’ Athelstan pushed back his chair, ‘but I’ll give you a fresh one: leave Southwark, never come back. Cling to Jocelyn, love him, close the door on the past, lock and bolt it... But there’s something else, isn’t there?’
    The young woman gnawed at her lip.
    ‘You’ve left in your shift,’ Athelstan joked, ‘with just a cloak and a pair of sandals. You need money, don’t you?’
    ‘I have some,’ Jocelyn spoke up, ‘but Donata was insistent that she ask you for help. She said your eyes were kind.’
    ‘Is that why you brought the coffer?’ Athelstan asked.
    Donata shook her head. ‘No, that’s my gift. Beatrice and Clarice were my friends, that’s all that is truly left of them. They loved this casket, I don’t know why. Mother Veritable shouldn’t have it.’
    Athelstan stared at the small coffer with its faded blue leather cover and the black Celtic crosses painted there. It was certainly old, its locks broken, the lid not too secure, whilst the painted leather covering was faded and chipped. Athelstan tipped back the lid; the coffer was empty.
    ‘Why were Beatrice and Clarice so attached to this?’
    ‘I don’t know, Brother. They said it was a keepsake and entrusted it to me. They must not have wanted Mother Veritable to know they had it, but,’ she rubbed the side of her head, ‘if they had it so long, she must have known.’
    Donata blinked away tears.
    ‘Brother, I’m sorry, but you can help me more than I can help you.’
    Athelstan got to his feet, went up to his bed loft and, from its hiding place, brought out a small purse. He came back down and thrust this into the young woman’s hand.
    ‘Can you tell me, before you leave, how Beatrice and Clarice intended to escape Mother Veritable?’
    ‘I don’t know, I truly don’t. All I know is that the Misericord may have been involved.’
    ‘Would Mother Veritable resort to murder to keep such girls?’
    ‘Of course, Brother, she said they were worth more than a bag of gold.’
    ‘And she would kill them as a warning to the rest?’
    Donata got to her feet. ‘Brother, I thank you, and to answer your question, yes, that’s why I am fleeing now. I must go,’ she pleaded. ‘Time is short.’
    Athelstan opened the door and the lovers slipped into the night, whispering their farewells and thanks. Athelstan closed the door and bolted it, crossed himself and said a small prayer that both would be well.
    He returned to the contents of Sir Stephen Chandler’s casket and eagerly sifted amongst them. There was a smell of mint from the quilted sachets placed there. The contents were personal possessions, relics of Sir Stephen’s past: a dark blue pennant, neatly folded, displaying a golden falcon, wings outstretched, talons curved to strike,- a key; a Turkish dagger