The House of Shadows

Rolles came into the chamber. ‘He talked of a great river beast which could swoop up and gulp a man’s body. He was feverish, he didn’t know what he was saying.’
    ‘What was he doing in the cellar?’
    ‘He went down in the evening. I found a jug nearby; perhaps he was going to fill it from one of the vats?’
    ‘Aren’t there servants, scullions, tap boys?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Of course,’ Rolles snapped, ‘but sometimes the galleries are deserted, and I do not object to favoured customers helping themselves. The knights always pay well.’
    ‘Pay well.’ Athelstan echoed the words. ‘Brother Malachi, what is the source of these knights’ wealth?’
    ‘Estates, some of the most fertile land in Kent, flocks of sheep, fishing rights. You could fill a charter with the sources of their profit.’
    ‘But once they were poor.’
    ‘Poor men become rich when their fathers die. Moreover, the knights brought plunder back from Egypt . They stormed palaces and treasures. Sir Maurice Clinton seized a box of mother-of-pearl, exquisite in their beauty, called the Pearls of Sheba; supposedly they once belonged to the great Solomon’s lover.’
    ‘And what happened to these?’
    ‘On our way home, the fleet docked in Genoa . The Genoese were only too pleased to buy whatever treasure the Crusaders had seized.’
    ‘Did you receive a portion of this wealth?’
    ‘No,’ Malachi smiled, ‘but my order did.’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, let’s leave here.’ Cranston picked up a coverlet and draped it over the corpse. ‘Master Rolles, I want to see where he was wounded.’
    Malachi stayed in the chamber whilst Rolles took them down to the cellar, Athelstan gingerly following the coroner down the stone steps, where a few candles glowed in wall-niches. At the bottom they paused as Rolles lit lantern horns slung on hooks to reveal a long, low-ceilinged cavern with vats and barrels stacked down either side. In the comer, to Athelstan’s right, were garden implements: mattocks, hoes and spades.
    ‘I did my best to clean the blood,’ Rolles muttered, and gestured at the great oval-shaped mantrap now resting against the wall. He pulled this out and prised apart the teeth.
    ‘A simple contraption,’ Athelstan conceded, ‘yet so deadly.’
    The trap opened up and was kept apart by a spring. When Rolles touched this with a stick, the teeth came together with such a clash Athelstan jumped.
    ‘I need this,’ Rolles explained, sensing Athelstan’s horror. ‘Brother, ask Sir John, anyone! I have carp ponds, stables and outhouses which must be protected. A gang of rifflers can take your livestock in a night. Just knowing the traps are here will keep them away.’
    ‘You need a licence,’ the coroner snapped.
    ‘I have that. I know the law, Sir John, I can only use this when I can prove I am in danger of being robbed.’
    ‘More importantly,’ Athelstan crouched down, ‘why was it left open down here last night? And why did Sir Laurence come down here?’
    He picked up the metal jug.
    ‘Was this from his chamber?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    Athelstan stared down the narrow passageway of this gloomy cellar, trying to imagine what had happened. Undoubtedly the Knights of the Golden Falcon would have been upset by Chandler’s death, as well as their own forced confessions about consorting with prostitutes. They might have drunk deeply. Sir Laurence, eager for more wine, took a jug from his own chamber or the kitchen and came down here.
    ‘This cellar is always in darkness, isn’t it?’
    ‘Of course,’ the taverner replied. ‘Candles are lit only when necessary.’
    ‘What if Sir Laurence came down here expecting to see somebody. He didn’t know this place. What do you do, Sir John, when you walk downstairs in the dark, particularly if you have been drinking?’
    ‘Take great care; those small candles in the wall-niches provide scanty light.’
    ‘And we don’t know,’ Athelstan mused, ‘if Sir Laurence was carrying a lantern.’
    He closed his eyes, trying to recall how he came down the steps of the bell tower at his church. He hated that spiral staircase; he was never too sure when he reached the bottom. Wouldn’t Sir Laurence have felt the same? Athelstan got to his feet. The area around the steps stank of the brine and vinegar Rolles had used to clear up the blood; here and there splashes still stained the wall and the ground at the foot of the steps.
    ‘Sir Laurence must have been