Paul Doherty - The House of Shadows

‘Do you think I’ll go to heaven, Father?’

Athelstan let her go. ‘Well, if you don’t, Pernel, no one will.’

‘The ghost has been back at the squint hole.’

‘What?’ Athelstan said.

Pernel pointed down the church.

‘Go outside, Father. When I couldn’t get into church this morning I walked round to have a look. She must have carried a candle.’

Athelstan, intrigued, left by the sacristy door and went along the side of the church. He found the diamond-shaped squint hole, crouched down and peered through. He could see Pernel standing at the entrance to the rood screen, and his fingers touched the piece of wax on the edge of the squint hole. He peeled it off, stared across the cemetery and laughed quietly. He recalled the novice in her voluminous gown coming into the church last night, Pike and Watkin in the cemetery, the darkness, the heavy mist. Athelstan went back into the church.

‘Pernel, please do me a favour. Go and tell Watkin, Pike and Ranulf that I want to see them now.’

‘Why, do you want to hear their confessions, Father?’

‘Yes,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Just before I hang them!’

The old Flemish woman scurried off, and a little while later the three miscreants entered the church. Athelstan told Pernel to stand outside and guard the sacristy door whilst he took the three into the sanctuary. They stood hangdog before him.

‘Yes, you all look as if you are heading for the execution cart.’

Athelstan sat down on the altar steps and looked up at them.

‘You know you can be hanged for helping a felon escape sanctuary?’

‘But, Father, how could you. .’

‘Oh, very easily, Pike. I’ll tell you how it was done, then I’ll decide whether or not to inform the Judas Man. The Misericord has quick-silver wits, a nimble mind and a clever tongue. He knew all three of you before he ever took sanctuary here.’

The three stared at the paved floor as if they had never seen it before.

‘Ranulf, where are your ferrets?’

‘With God-Bless in the death house.’

‘That’s where you’ll be, you stupid man. As I was saying, the Misericord is a merry rogue. He’d often leave the sacristy to relieve himself, and he secretly chew you three into conversation. I suspect he had silver coins hidden all over his person. He paid one of you to go across the river and tell his sister Edith, sheltering in the Minoresses, about his predicament. You all know she visited here last night, and one thing about a nun’s robes is that you can hide an army beneath them. She brought a change of clothing, money, food, anything he might need to flee. She asked to speak with him alone and it would have been easy to hide a bundle in a darkened corner of the sanctuary. She left, I left, the posse outside settled down for the night. Somehow you three beauties managed to guard one part of the cemetery wall. You had arranged with the Misericord, in return for a pocketful of silver, to provide a signal when it was safe for him to slip out of the church.’ Athelstan pointed down to the squint hole. ‘And what better plan than to light a candle and place it at the squint hole, the sign that it was safe to leave? The Misericord was all ready, dressed in a wig, a dark cloak. Out of the sacristy he crept, across the cemetery and into the night.’

Watkin jumped in alarm as Bonaventure entered the church and sat next to his master, as if curious to discover what was happening.

‘I may have some of the details wrong,’ Athelstan whispered, ‘but I think the story is true. Yes? How much did he pay you?’

‘Ten marks,’ Ranulf muttered. ‘Three for each of us and one for the church.’

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘You can have one each and I’ll keep seven for the church. Come on.’

The three quickly handed over the coins. Athelstan handed one back.

‘Pike, give that to Pernel, and if I were you, I would keep out of the Judas Man’s way.’ He got to his feet. ‘It’s only a matter of time before his wits follow the same path as mine.’

Athelstan dismissed them and returned to his house. Malachi was fast asleep, head on his arm, so Athelstan left him, quietly going up to the bed loft, removing the warming pan and tidying things up. He heard shouting and went out to the cemetery, but it was only the Judas Man and his posse preparing to leave. Athelstan had returned and was banking the fire when Cranston swept through the door all abluster. Malachi started awake. Excusing himself, the Benedictine greeted Sir John but refused Athelstan’s offer of food and said he would return to the tavern. Once he had gone, Sir John told Athelstan everything he’d learned in the Lamb of God. Athelstan listened quietly and hid his prickle of unease. He feared the Regent and wondered why a man like Matthias of Evesham should be so interested.

‘It’s not just the treasure, Sir John, it’s something else.’

‘And what about the excitement here?’

Cranston sat at the table mopping his brow, helping himself to a bowl of oatmeal mixed with honey. He stopped eating and listened with surprise as Athelstan informed him about the Misericord’s disappearance.

‘I’ll tell that Judas Man to keep his hands-’

The coroner was interrupted by a furious pounding at the door. Athelstan answered it, and one of Master Rolles’ tap boys burst into the room, red-faced, hair clammy with sweat.

‘Sir John,’ he gasped, fighting for breath, ‘you’ve got to come. I’ve been across to Cheapside but couldn’t find you. Sir Laurence Broomhill has been horribly wounded, he lies dying at the Night in Jerusalem.’

Athelstan made the boy calm down, giving him a small cup of buttermilk. With a little bit of coaxing, the boy described how, late last night, the tavern had been roused by a hideous screaming. How Master Rolles had gone into the cellar and found Sir Laurence Broomhill, awash with blood, his leg held fast in a mantrap which Rolles had kept in the cellar.

‘Master Rolles sometimes uses them,’ the boy explained. ‘Places them in his garden against those who poach from the carp pond, or break into his stables or outhouses.’

Sir John nodded understandingly, though in truth he hated such devices, which were increasingly used by the powerful and wealthy to protect their gardens and orchards, and were so sharp and powerful they could sever a man’s leg.

‘Was it an accident?’ Athelstan asked.

The boy shrugged.

‘Master Rolles doesn’t know. He thinks Sir Laurence went down to the cellar for some wine; a jug was found nearby.’

‘Why didn’t they send for me immediately?’ Cranston asked.

‘Oh, Sir John,’ the boy blustered, ‘it was all dreadful, they had to free his leg, bind it and take him to his chamber. Master Stapleton the physician was sent for but there was nothing he could do. Sir Laurence now lies all sweaty and bloody. I saw him.’ The boy imitated the dying knight’s jerky movements.

‘Yes, yes,’ Cranston soothed, ‘I know what happens. Brother Athelstan,’ he pointed to the door, ‘another day, another hunt.’

They found the Night in Jerusalem eerily quiet. Rolles had kept the door shut, refusing to allow customers inside the stable yard. Ostlers and grooms lounged about, whispering amongst themselves. The passageways and tap room lay silent. Sir Maurice Clinton and the rest were already waiting in the solar. Cranston and Athelstan greeted them and were halfway up the stairs when they met Rolles.

‘You are too late, sir.’ Rolles pointed back at the chamber. ‘Broomhill’s dead. Stapleton the physician has just left — there was nothing we could do.’

The taverner looked strangely agitated. Athelstan regarded him as a man with a soul as hard as flint, which not even the most dire of circumstances could weaken; now his fleshy face was pale and unshaven, eyes red-rimmed.