The House of Shadows

poisoned...’
    Athelstan watched their faces for any reaction. The knights seemed unconcerned, whilst Mother Veritable just shrugged, a bitter twist to her mouth.
    ‘Look around you, Sir John,’ Sir Maurice urged. ‘Who is missing?’
    ‘The Judas Man.’ Sir Thomas Davenport spoke up. ‘In fact, I haven’t seen him since this morning. And where is Brother Malachi?’
    ‘Why should we be interrogated,’ Sir Reginald Branson coughed, ‘because a rogue, undoubtedly bound for the hangman, had his pie laced with poison?’
    His words provoked laughter, which Cranston stilled by banging on the table.
    ‘The Judas Man,’ Athelstan asked, ‘is his horse still in the stable?’
    ‘Yes,’ Rolles replied, ‘I saw it there myself. If you want, I’ll check his chamber.’
    They all waited as the taverner left the solar and, complaining loudly, stamped up the stairs. He returned a short while later.
    ‘The door was off the latch,’ he declared, retaking his seat, ‘but the chamber is empty. All his goods, saddlebags,’ he spread his hands, ‘gone.’
    ‘But not his horse?’
    ‘No, Brother, neither his horse nor the harness. Perhaps the Judas Man has hired another chamber?’
    ‘I wouldn’t blame him,’ Sir Thomas Davenport grumbled. ‘Master Cranston, if we want to, we should be able to leave here.’
    ‘Sir John, to you,’ Cranston snapped, ‘and I assure you, sir, that if you leave Southwark, I’ll have you arrested and dragged back at my horse’s tail.’
    ‘Enough!’ Athelstan’s raised voice created a surprised silence. ‘Why this hostility?’ the Dominican continued. ‘Five people have been foully murdered, their souls sent to God before their time. Beneath such murders the events of twenty years ago, the Lombard treasure being stolen, and again five souls disappeared. God knows if they were murdered or not.’
    ‘Brother, that’s a closed book,’ Sir Maurice countered. ‘The truth couldn’t be established then.’
    ‘Surely you know the proverb, Sir Maurice: truth is the daughter of time. If we resolve the mystery of twenty years ago, we shall be able to establish the truth now.’ Athelstan glanced quickly at Cranston . ‘So, none of you left the tavern this afternoon and, therefore, were probably not involved in the murder of the Misericord.’
    ‘Probably?’ Mother Veritable spat out.
    ‘Well, mistress, you may not have left the tavern, but a man you hated lies murdered.’
    Mother Veritable sneered, tapping her fingers on the table.
    ‘Twenty years ago,’ Athelstan continued blithely, ‘the Lombard treasure was stolen. Master Rolles owned this tavern and the Knights of the Golden Falcon were staying here.’
    They all agreed.
    ‘On that particular night you gathered here. The only two persons missing were Richard Culpepper and Edward Mortimer.’
    ‘Brother Malachi wasn’t here.’ Sir Maurice spoke up. ‘He had been absent all day visiting Charterhouse and Clerkenwell. He didn’t return until afterwards, when the news of the robbery was all over the city.’
    ‘Very good.’ Athelstan folded back the full sleeves of his gown. ‘Whilst you stayed here, Richard Culpepper fell smitten with the courtesan known as Guinevere the Golden. That is correct?’
    Sir Maurice agreed; Mother Veritable echoed the word ‘smitten’ under her breath.
    ‘Mistress, you find this funny?’
    ‘Yes, I do, Brother,’ came the cool reply. ‘Everybody was smitten with Guinevere, whilst she was smitten with anyone who had gold and silver.’
    ‘Guinevere hinted,’ Athelstan declared, ‘that there was to be a change in her life. Do any of you know what she was referring to?’
    ‘She was a whore!’ Davenport shouted. ‘We can’t be held responsible for what went on in her pretty empty noddle.’
    ‘So none of you were smitten with her?’
    ‘Well of course not!’ Branson spoke up, his face all aflush. ‘Culpepper was our comrade; each to their own, I say.’
    ‘Did Culpepper or Mortimer,’ Athelstan continued, ‘tell you why they had been chosen to receive the Lombard treasure and transport it to the flagship?’
    ‘No.’ Maurice shook his head. ‘We only found that out later. Apparently, as I’ve said, Lord Belvers chose them especially, though rumour claimed His Grace the Regent was responsible.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘They’d both fought in John of Gaunt’s retinue. He was, I suppose, their liege lord.’
    ‘Both of them?’ Cranston queried. ‘Culpepper is a