The House of Shadows

the cresset torches burning, Culpepper and Mortimer, the two bargemen.
    ‘How was the treasure transported?’
    ‘According to Tonnelli, in an iron-bound coffer with three locks. The keys had been given to the captain of the flagship.’
    ‘Ah!’ Athelstan sighed. ‘Further precaution, eh? I can’t imagine someone trying to force that chest on the quayside or on a barge on the river at night.’ He closed his eyes again. ‘I’m trying to imagine, Malachi, how it happened? Did your brother and Mortimer kill the boatmen and disappear into the darkness with the treasure? Or did the boatmen help? If that was the case, surely someone would have seen them, two or four men staggering through the darkness with a heavy chest? Yet, if they were attacked, all four men were well armed; surely they would have defended themselves? The crash of swords, the yells, the cries. Someone must have heard! And how would they get so close?’
    Athelstan rubbed his fingers around his lips, wiping away the crumbs.
    ‘Of course, it is possible a master bowman, perhaps two skilled archers, slipping through the darkness, brought down all four men with well-aimed shafts. But there again, the treasure hasn’t been found, nor the remains of any of the corpses. And if blood was shed...’ He opened his eyes. ‘The Oyster Wharf was inspected the following morning, wasn’t it?’
    Malachi nodded.
    ‘I went down there myself, Brother, not a sign. My brother was a fighting man, he had been entrusted with an important task. He would be wary. How could his attackers even get close?’
    ‘So you can tell me nothing about your brother?’
    ‘What I know,’ Malachi replied, crossing himself, ‘is what you know.’
    ‘Do you think your brother and Mortimer survived?’
    ‘And attacked me in your church? No.’ Malachi picked up a piece of cheese and broke it into two with his fingers. ‘I believe my brother and Mortimer are dead.’ He touched his chest. ‘Just a feeling here.’
    Athelstan studied the Benedictine carefully — Malachi seemed very agitated, as if trying to control his temper.
    ‘No one left that tavern today.’ Athelstan put his thoughts into words. ‘Yet who murdered the Misericord? Who would want you dead?’
    ‘There’s the Judas Man.’
    ‘Ah, yes.’ Athelstan brushed the rest of the crumbs off and went to refill the ale jug. ‘I’m afraid,’ he called from the buttery, ‘he’s disappeared and is becoming the scapegoat for every awful act.’
    ‘I know nothing of him,’ Malachi called back. ‘Why should he attack me?’
    ‘Tell me about Mortimer,’ Athelstan asked, coming back.
    ‘A Welshman, related to the great family. You know the kind, the youngest son of the youngest brother; all Mortimer owned was a weapon and a horse. A dark, swarthy-faced man with raven-black hair down to his shoulders. A skilled dagger man, good with a bow. Mortimer and Richard met during the wars in France and became the closest of comrades. I felt as if Richard had acquired another brother.’
    Athelstan sensed the hint of jealousy in Malachi’s voice.
    ‘I know what you are thinking: I’m jealous of Mortimer. Somehow he always made my brother laugh. Mortimer was close, secretive, he’d often disappear for days and nights, shifty-eyed but trustworthy enough. He had a sister, a quiet little mouse of a woman.’
    Malachi rose from the table.
    ‘It’s growing dark, Brother, I can say no more. It’s time for vespers, but I will not go alone into your church.’
    ‘Let’s pray together,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘For strength against the demon who prowls like a lion seeking whom he may devour.’



Chapter 9

    The two knights were preparing to charge, a surging, united passion of man and horse eager to ride their opponent down. The herald, in the centre of the lists — a long stretch of multicoloured canvas just over a yard high down the centre of Smithfield — raised his white baton, hard to distinguish against the light blue morning sky. All eyes watched him, fascinated by this blue-, red- and gold-liveried herald who would begin the tournament. At either end of the lists trumpeters waited to give clarion blasts on their silver trumpets. Above them, stiffened pennants and loose-tied banners spread out in the early morning breeze. Vividly coloured cloths displayed the arms and heraldic devices of the two opponents: a silver half-moon above red gules and golden scallop shells; and a light grey boar ready to charge