The Nightingale Gallery

regent's orders!' He lifted the wine cup and drained it. 'But I do thank you for your hospitality, sir. I shall remember it.'
    'Oh,' Athelstan added, 'is it possible that I could speak to one of the laundresses?'
    The servant looked surprised. He blinked but agreed, and some time later ushered a scared girl into the room. She became even more frightened as Athelstan outlined his request and asked her to bring the napkin as soon as possible. When she did Athelstan poured the dregs of the wine over it, cleaned a dusty part of the room and put it beneath his cloak. The maid servant quickly left. Sir John looked bemused.
    'What I have done is vital, Sir John,' Athelstan assured him. 'It may well trap the murderers.'
    They left the deserted house, the old manservant locking the door behind them, and went down into a deserted Cheapside. Black rain clouds were scudding in over the Thames. It was dark and some of the merchants had lit the lantern-horns outside their doors, whilst Athelstan glimpsed the beacon light shining red and full in the steeple of St Mary Le Bow. They made their way down Friday Street, Old Fish Street and into the Vintry, and hired a wherry at Queenshithe Wharf to take them along the choppy river to the Savoy Palace. Viewed from the river bank John of Gaunt's palatial residence looked magnificent, and even more so tonight with the festivities going on. The windows were lit by the flames of thousands of beeswax candles and, as they approached the main entrance, they heard faint strains of music, chatter, and the sounds of merriment. A burly serjeant-of-arms stopped them, asked their business, and grudgingly let them through into the main courtyard where they were halted by a steward who took them up into the main hall.
    Athelstan was dumbfounded by the magnificent spectacle awaiting them: the hall was long, the hammer-beam roof high, whilst every piece of woodwork and stone was covered in the most luxurious velvet and samite hangings, gorgeous banners and hangings of every hue. Down the hall on each side were long trestle tables covered in the costliest silk. Every few feet were huge eight-branched candelabra, each with its own beeswax candles. Above them in the loft the musicians played, though their music had to compete with the noise of the revellers sitting at table.
    At the far end, on the dais, Athelstan glimpsed John of Gaunt. On the same table he saw the young king, Chief Justice Fortescue, and some of the leading nobility of the realm. At the table just beneath the dais, running parallel with it, they saw Sir Richard Springall, red-faced and deep in his cups. At his side was Lady Isabella who for that day had cast aside her mourning weeds and wore a pure gold dress with matching veil. Father Crispin and Master Buckingham were also visible, while at the other end of the table were Lady Maude and Benedicta, between them the young nobleman who had made his intentions so blatantly obvious earlier in the day. Lady Maude was looking down the hall, obviously looking out for her husband. Benedicta, cooler and more composed, was listening attentively to some story the nobleman was telling her, though now and again moving slightly away from him as if she had come to resent the young gallant's attentions. The steward was about to announce them but Athelstan put a hand on his arm.
    'No,' he muttered. 'Not now. The feast is in progress.' He looked down at the tablecloths splattered with grease and wine, the platters now cleared. The servants were bringing in bowls of fruit, junkets of cream, plates of thin pastries, sugar-filled doucettes, and jellies formed in exquisite shapes of castles, swans and horses. Soon the banquet would be over. He looked at Sir John.
    'There's no point in joining the festivities. It is best if we have no dealings with Sir Richard and other members of his household.'
    The coroner, gazing longingly at the jugs of claret, was about to protest.
    'Sir John,' Athelstan reminded him, 'we have important business to attend to.'
    Cranston sighed, nodded, and turned to the steward, asking him to take them to one of the duke's private chambers. The man looked askance but Cranston insisted.
    'Yes, you will, sir,' he repeated. 'You will take us to one of the duke's private chambers here in the palace. Then you will tell your master and Chief Justice Fortescue that we have important matters to relate, matters affecting the crown. You will ask that Sir Richard and his household also join us as