The Nightingale Gallery

Apocalypse, and the shoemaker? We're wasting our time.'
    Athelstan made him sit on the floor with his back to the wall and, crouching down beside him, told him quietly what he had learnt: how the wood carving being made for the coronation pageant might hold a clue to the killer's identity. Cranston, despite his befuddled wits, heard him out then bellowed in righteous indignation.
    'Why didn't you tell me before? It makes sense. It's possible. But why didn't you tell me?'
    Athelstan found nothing more amusing than Cranston portraying virtue outraged and let the coroner ramble on until he had exhausted his litany of complaint. Athelstan heaved the painting back on the wall. After that he went from chamber to chamber, from corridor to corridor, looking for other canvases which might fit the verse from the Apocalypse. Cranston staggered behind him, holding a wine cup in one hand and the jug in the other. They found nothing. Of course, certain chambers were locked: Sir Richard's and Lady Isabella's, for instance. With Cranston bouncing along the Nightingale Gallery, the whole house seemed to sing with noise. Sir Thomas's chamber, deserted except for a bed, table, and other sticks of furniture was, surprisingly, open. Cranston stared round. There was no painting here either. The walls were bare. Athelstan went over to the window and stared down at the chess table.
    'You know, Sir John, if we find nothing this afternoon then I agree, we should record verdicts of suicide and murder and leave this matter alone for we are making little progress.'
    He heard a loud crash behind him. Cranston had placed the wine cup and jug beside the bed, collapsed on to the mattress and was smiling beatifically at the ceiling, fast asleep. Athelstan sighed, went over, and with great difficulty arranged Sir John's huge body more comfortably on the bed. Then he sat beside him. He had not brought his writing tray or materials but mentally he went through each of the deaths he had investigated, trying to fix a pattern, with little success. Cranston snored gently like a child, muttering now and again and smacking his lips. Athelstan grinned as he heard the words 'Refreshment' and 'Some cups of sack!' Sir John burped noisily, rolled on one side and, if Athelstan had not been there, would have fallen completely off the bed. Athelstan let the coroner sleep. Why not? After all, there was only one painting which fitted the texts and that held nothing. His thoughts strayed to Benedicta. Was she missing him? Why had she talked so easily to that nobleman? Were all women like that? Had he done wrong in inviting her in the first place?
    He picked up the wine cup and sipped from it and then sat on the bed next to Sir John, staring down at the great wooden bed posters. He dozed and was about to fall asleep when suddenly he woke with a start. The carvings! Especially the one on the right… He got off the bed and went around. Whoever had constructed the bed post had created a vivid scene. The serpent carved there seemed to writhe, its tongue darting, whilst its intended victim, Eve, stood like the personification of innocence with one hand covering her groin, the other raised to hold back her long flowing hair. In between them was the drooping branch of an apple tree. Even in wood the fruit seemed full and lush. Athelstan stood for a moment in disbelief, then he moved over to the other bed post: there, in the centre, the artist had etched a life-like horse. The dark brown of the wood made the creature seem real, one leg raised, head arched, and on its back a frightening, ghostly figure with a hood. Peeping out from beneath it was the skeletal face of Death itself. Athelstan gasped with excitement and went round to rouse the coroner.
    'Sir John! Wake up!'
    The coroner moved, snored and smacked his lips.
    'Sir John!' Athelstan slapped him gently on the face. The coroner's eyes opened.
    'My dear Maude…"
    'I am not Maude!' Athelstan replied sharply. 'Sir John, I have discovered something.'
    'A cup of sack?'
    Athelstan refilled the goblet and held it to the coroner's lips. 'For God's sake, Sir John, wake up!'
    The coroner sat up, shaking the sleep from his eyes, and stared blearily round.
    'For God's sake, Friar, what has happened now?'
    Athelstan showed him. At first, his mind dulled with sleep and wine, Cranston stared blankly but the significance of the friar's discovery gradually dawned on him. Without more ado, the coroner began to finger the carving of the