Paul Doherty - The House of Crows

‘Come on, Sir John.’ Athelstan sprang to his feet. ‘Never mind the archives! We are going to Southwark!’

‘Oh, Brother, we can’t!’

‘Oh, Brother, we can!’ Athelstan replied.

‘Why?’ Cranston hurried behind him as Athelstan left the chapel, almost running down the steps to the vestibule. The soldiers on guard watched him curiously. At the bottom Cranston abruptly sat down and crossed his arms like a big baby.

‘I’ll stay here until you tell me,’ he shouted.

Athelstan hid his impatience and came back.

‘Sir John, I have just been through Harnett’s Book of Hours: I know where Perline is and what he’s been up to. Now, you can either sit and sulk until I come back-’ he tweaked Sir John’s bristling moustache — ‘or you can come and help me.’

Within the hour, Athelstan and Cranston disembarked in Southwark just near London Bridge. By now Cranston was all agog, and kept crowing with delight as Athelstan, in hushed whispers, described a possible solution to the mystery. They strode through the alleyways and runnels of the stews. Cranston didn’t know whether Athelstan was in a temper, or just eager to put his theories to the test. Half-way down one alleyway, Athelstan abruptly stopped before a house and knocked furiously on the door. A window opened, high above them, and Simplicatas poked her pretty blonde head out.

‘Oh, good afternoon, Father.’ She forced a smile. ‘I can’t come down,’ she apologised, giggling behind her hand. ‘I have to change my dress and-’

‘Simplicatas!’ Athelstan roared with a vigour which even surprised Cranston. ‘You will come down and let me into this house. And you’re not by yourself. You can tell that scapegrace husband of yours that I know he is hiding there.’ Athelstan glowered up at the young woman. ‘Now,’ he threatened, ‘are you going to open the door, or do I ask Sir John to remove it?’

The window closed hastily, there was a sound of running footsteps, the door opened, and a pale-faced Simplicatas invited them in. Athelstan brushed by her and walked down the passageway. The house was small and dingy, with wooden stairs stretching up into the darkness.

‘Perline Brasenose!’ Athelstan shouted. ‘I and others have had enough of your games to last a lifetime.’ He looked at Simplicatas. ‘And you, my good woman, must decide whether you are going to continue this mummery or go and fetch your scapegrace husband, whether he’s hiding in the garret or the cellar.’ Athelstan glowered at Cranston, who was standing behind Simplicatas. ‘Sir Jack Cranston,’ Athelstan continued, raising his voice so it rang through the house, ‘is a terrible man with the devil’s own temper. Perline, are you going to show yourself, or skulk like a coward for the rest of your days?’

A figure appeared in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

‘I am sorry, Father. I didn’t mean any harm,’ a voice pleaded.

‘People like you never do!’ Athelstan shouted back. ‘For heaven’s sake, come downstairs! By St Erconwald’s and all that is holy!’ Athelstan pointed a finger at Simplicatas. ‘You and your husband have made fools of my entire parish.’

Cranston opened his mouth to say that wouldn’t be hard, but his little friar had, for one of those rare occasions, really lost his temper.

‘You’d best come into the parlour,’ Simplicatas whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘I am sorry, Father, but Perline stole a Barbary ape.’

‘Never mind,’ Athelstan said softly. He glared over his shoulder at an unshaven Perline now squatting at the foot of the stairs. ‘Just come in and tell me what happened.’

They all trooped into the sweet-scented parlour. Athelstan’s anger began to cool. Simplicatas apparently was skilled in embroidery: some of her work, brightly coloured cloths, hung against the whitewashed walls. Fresh green rushes strewed the floor, and little pots of rosemary stood on the battered wooden table. Simplicatas waved them to the cushioned stools on either side of this. The friar glimpsed the small wooden cradle in the far corner, a sign that Simplicatas was invoking all the lore for, if a cradle was left standing in a parlour for a year, a bouncing child would fill it within six months.

‘It’s the baby, Father,’ she murmured, catching his glance.

‘What baby?’ Cranston asked, staring around. ‘Don’t say you’ve sold that, Perline!’

The young soldier, his thin, narrow face even more pale and drawn, sat like a sleep-walker.

‘No, we want a baby,’ Simplicatas explained in a rush. ‘Perline has fashioned the cradle. I have embroidered the cloths. We hope, Father, to have it baptised at St Erconwald’s. We were thinking of calling it Athelstan if it’s a boy — or John,’ she added swiftly.

‘And if it’s a girl, I suppose Maude?’ Athelstan asked archly.

Simplicatas sat down. She put her face in her hands and sobbed, though she left a gap between her fingers so she could study Athelstan and Cranston.

‘Well, if you’re expecting a child,’ Cranston bellowed, ‘all I can say is, bless your breeches and all that’s within them!’ He hit the table with his hand. ‘But all this nonsense!’

‘Tell him,’ Simpiicatas wailed.

Perline opened his mouth.

‘From the beginning,’ Athelstan added.

‘I enjoy being at the Tower,’ the young man began. ‘Good food, good wages, free kindling, my own pot, plate and pewter spoon. A change of livery twice a year.’ Perline smiled wryly. ‘And not an enemy in sight. But it’s boring,’ he added, ‘so I used to go down to the royal beastery.’ He glanced at Athelstan. ‘Father, something should be done about those animals. Since the old king died, no one gives a whit about them.’

‘I intend to deal with that,’ Cranston interrupted sharply.

‘Well, there are some Barbary apes,’ Perline continued hastily. ‘I’d never seen one before: it wasn’t like those little monkeys which sit and shit on pedlars’ shoulders. Father, these are grand beasts. Anyway, I began to take them food, I’d just sit there and watch them. Now there’s one, bigger than the rest, I became very friendly with him. He used to chatter through the cage but he always looked lonely. So, I says to myself, I’ll have to help Cranston.’

Simplicatas’s hands flew to her face whilst Perline’s jaw dropped.

‘What did you call him?’ the coroner asked quietly.

Athelstan bit his lower lip, and just hoped he would not burst out laughing.

‘What did you call him?’ Sir John barked.

‘No offence, Sir John, but I called him Cranston. You see, he was bigger and fatter than the rest and. .’

‘He was their leader, wasn’t he?’ Athelstan asked helpfully.

‘Oh yes, Father.’ Perline smiled gratefully. ‘He always took the best food and there are two or three females there whom he er. .’

‘Paid court to?’ Athelstan asked.

Perline’s gratitude was more than obvious, but Cranston’s face turned an even deeper red.

‘Go on,’ he growled. ‘The more I listen to you, Master Brasenose, the more interested I am becoming.’

‘Everything went well,’ Perline continued. ‘I used to take Cranston — ’

Athelstan now put his head down, shoulders shaking.

‘- anything I could find in the market; fruit, vegetables, whatever. Then the Commons met at Westminster. Some of the representatives came to visit the beastery and see round the Tower. I immediately noticed how Sir Francis Harnett from Shrewsbury was much taken by the Barbary apes, particularly Cranston.’

Sir John spluttered, but Perline blissfully continued. ‘He noticed how friendly he was. Harnett said he had seen pictures of such an ape and how he had often wished to travel to Southern Spain to buy one.’