The Relic Murders

as well as our few paltry possessions stowed away in the gatehouse. Castor also stayed, and I promised him that I would return with some sweetmeats. The dog just looked mournfully at me as I locked him in our room before going down to join the rest. Kempe informed us the Rose and Crown was just opposite the Priory of St Helen's, within sight of Cripplegate.
    Benjamin, however, insisted on taking a detour and we stopped for a while at Master Oswald's cookshop. Benjamin threw the reins of his horse at me and went inside. It looked a cheerful, busy place, the ground floor of a three-storey house. The smells made my mouth water; I was tired of the dried meat and rather stale food at Malevel, so I went inside and bought a pie from a tray held by a boy. The crust was golden, carefully sculpted, and the meat was fresh and sweet. As I ate, a memory was jogged but I couldn't place it. I looked down towards the back of the shop, past the tables where customers sat on overturned barrels or hogsheads, to where Benjamin was busily talking to Oswald and Imelda. He was asking them questions, They replied quickly. After a while Benjamin shook their hands and came back to join me. 'Well, master?'
    'One thing I have established, Roger. On the night all those men were killed, our good cooks roasted some meat and set the table. They are certain that Jonathan did not order the soldiers to clean up after the evening meal, which is strange, isn't it? Because, on the night they were all massacred, someone cleaned up the kitchen and removed all traces of the food and drink?' 'You mean the assassins?'
    'Possibly.' Benjamin grimaced. 'But, there again, it may have been a mere coincidence. Imelda did say Jonathan was complaining about mice and the need to keep the kitchen clean.' 'Then you have an answer,' I replied. 'Of sorts,' Benjamin declared. 'But we'll see, we'll see.'
    We went out to join the other two. Kempe was waiting impatiently but Agrippa looked as if he was half asleep. When we had first arrived in the city, the market stalls were only just opening but now the crowds were milling about. I was glad to be out of Malevel Manor with its corpses, bloody mysteries and moonlit galleries. We had to dismount and walk our horses, and I fell behind watching a group of Lacrymosi. These belonged to a strange cult, men as well as women, who shaved the top part of their heads, painted their faces red and dressed from head to toe in brown serge cloth tied round the middle by a cord. They carried staves in one hand and Ave beads in the other: before Henry struck against Rome, they could often be seen in the great cities from Dover to Berwick. Their leader always bore a cross and they got their names because they were constantly crying -shrieking would be the more accurate description. They would throw their hands up in the air, mournfully exclaiming about their sins and those of others. This group of about sixteen helped the tears along by hitting each other with knotted ropes. An amusing set of noddle pates! Behind them a blind boy, his eyes covered in patches, beat on a drum whilst beside him two little girls, obviously the daughters of one of the Lacrymosi, held out begging bowls towards the crowds. I watched them pass. Benjamin called at me to keep up, and as I hurried to do so, I saw a shift in the crowd. Cerberus, Charon's dog-faced lieutenant, stood glaring at me. Apparently, Lord Charon had not forgotten me and, once again, I wondered if those deaths at Malevel Manor were his work.
    At last we reached the Rose and Crown, a pleasant hostelry which stood fronting an alleyway. We left the horses with a groom and went inside. Mine host took one look at Sir Thomas's ermine-lined jerkin and came running up, his face bright at the prospect of profit. 'Some wine, my lords? A dish of meat, your Excellencies?' 'Shut up!' Kempe retorted. 'I want to see the corpse. You have not moved it, have you?' The landlord's smile faded.
    'It's on the upper gallery,' the fellow whined. 'A soldier still stands on guard.'
    He led us up the rickety staircase; halfway down the gallery, an archer lounged against the wall, chewing a piece of sausage. He clambered to his feet, licking his fingers as he recognised Sir Thomas. Mine host, taking a bunch of keys from his belt, unlocked the door. The room inside was no more than a garret, containing a trestle bed, a rather shaky lavarium with a cracked bowl and jug, a bench under the windows, a small table and two stools.