Paul Doherty - The Devil's domain

‘I know what you are after,’ Athelstan said.

The friar had seen a mouse scuttle across the floor of the hearth.

‘But it’s only a small mouse, Bonaventure. A harvest one. He’s probably wandered in and will certainly wander out.’

Bonaventure purred deep in his throat.

‘Soft as a shadow,’ Athelstan went on. ‘Sleek and fast. What do you think of Thaddeus?’

Bonaventure, of course, had gone out to inspect both the goat and Godbless. He had brushed the beggar man’s leg with his body and sniffed at the goat. Athelstan, who had been present, knew that this lord of the alleyways regarded Thaddeus as beneath his attention.

Godbless had certainly made himself at home. Benedicta had kindly provided a straw-filled mattress, a bolster, two blankets, a dish and a pewter cup. Godbless now acted like a lord of the manor while Thaddeus was busy cropping the grass. Athelstan had taken him out a dish of stew from the pot Benedicta had brought together with some bread wrapped in a cloth and a jug of watered wine, a gift from Joscelyn at the Piebald Tavern.

Athelstan lifted his head and listened to the sounds of the night. Sometimes he would go out and wander the alleyways, stopping to talk to the beggars and night-walkers, the whores and drabs, the flotsam and jetsam of this decayed quarter of the city. Other times, when his mind was teeming, he would climb to the top of the church tower and stare up at the sky. Athelstan felt guilty at such indulgence but, the more he stared at the stars, the more he became aware of the power of God and the sheer beauty of this Creation. If only he could discover more. If he could only test the theories. Did the planets sing while they turned? Why did some stars gleam brighter than others? What held them in their place? They moved but, like the moon, kept their courses. What stopped them from falling to earth? And the meteors, particularly those bright ones which seared the heavens with their fiery tails, did they govern the affairs of men? Athelstan picked up his cup and sipped at it. He really must raise that matter with Prior Anselm. The Church condemned astrology but hadn’t Christ’s birth been heralded by a new star? And when the Saviour died hadn’t the skies been blotted with darkness? Or was Aquinas the great writer correct? Was Creation the reflection of God, nothing to do with the affairs of Man?

Athelstan stared down at the parchment. ‘From the sublime to the ridiculous,’ he observed. He looked at the heading, ‘Hawkmere Manor’, and the questions he had listed.

Item — Five Frenchmen were imprisoned in that solitary place waiting to be ransomed. Was one of them a traitor? Had he revealed to the English Crown the movements of the St Sulpice and the St Denis! If that was the case, why wasn’t one prisoner favoured more than the rest? It could be arranged. More comfortable quarters in the Tower. Or would that expose him? Show the truth and so make it impossible for him to return to France?

Item — How did Serriem die? He was definitely poisoned. But how, if he only ate and drank what the others did? Or had he been inveigled into eating something, a delicacy which, to such an imprisoned man, might prove irresistible? But surely that would put him on his guard? Moreover, in that atmosphere of suspicion, surely no prisoner would want to be seen favoured above the rest?

Item — Who was the murderer? One of his companions? But where would they get the poison from? And how would they administer it without provoking suspicion?

Item — Sir Walter Limbright was a bitter, resentful man who hated the French. He claimed there were no poisons in the manor. However, if Vulpina was to be believed, he had been one of her customers; the same could be said of Sir Maurice Maltravers and Master Aspinall. Was the good physician embroiled in the affairs of Hawkmere? Had he taken offence because of a possible liaison with the girl-faced Gresnay?

Item — What happened the night Serriem died? Who had locked the door? Had anyone checked on the prisoners? What was the state of the room when it was opened?

Item — Did the French know there was a traitor in their midst? Had all these men been condemned to die? Was the poisoner Gaunt? Had he instructed this traitor, if he was at Hawkmere Manor, to poison the rest? But wouldn’t that expose his agent? And what would happen to him? A simulated death, before being secretly pensioned off to some lonely manor on the Welsh marches?

Item — An unknown priest had been seen at Whitefriars. A possible customer of Vulpina? But who would that be?

Athelstan glanced up. I wonder what Sir John’s doing, he thought. He smiled to himself as he recalled the two poppets. Never had he seen two sturdy sons so resemble their father: balding heads, fat, red faces, little paunches and sturdy legs. The poppets spent most of their day telling each other off or chasing Gog and Magog around the house. Athelstan returned to the parchment.

‘There’s something wrong here, Bonaventure,’ he said. Something intangible he couldn’t grasp. He recalled Gaunt slouched in his chair. ‘That’s it!’ Athelstan stroked Bonaventure. ‘My Lord Regent is like a cat who has taken the best of the cream and intends to go back for more.’

What was he so pleased about? Gaunt had a lot to gain, Athelstan reflected. The Commons would be pleased that notorious French privateers were now in prison. He had the ransoms to look forward to while Maltravers was one of his henchmen so the Regent could bask in his reflected glory. And Vulpina? Despite the wine he had drunk, old Jack Cranston had really shaken that woman’s wickedness. She was nervous, eager to give tidbits of information so she could hide the rest. Athelstan put his face in his hands. There were links: Maltravers had taken the two French ships; Gaunt was now furthering Sir Maurice’s cause with the divine Lady Angelica. Sir Thomas Parr partly owned The Great Edward, the ship Sir Maurice had used in his fight against the French privateers. Sir Maurice had bought poisons. He also supplied Hawkmere Manor with food. Why should a knight banneret be engaged in such petty details? True, in a great lord’s household, even a retainer like Maltravers would have a wide range of tasks: some petty, others matters of life and death. But where was all this leading to?

Athelstan got to his feet and stretched. Bonaventure copied him and leapt down from the table. The cat padded over to the door. Athelstan opened it.

‘Good hunting!’ he said.

He was about to close the door again when a voice called, ‘Brother Athelstan!’

‘Who is it? Ah, Godbless, you gave me a start!’

The beggar man, Thaddeus trotting behind him, walked into the dim pool of light.

‘What’s the matter, Godbless? Can’t you sleep? Are you hungry?’

The beggar man looked up, his eyes heavy with sleep.

‘There be ghosts in God’s acre.’

‘Ghosts! Godbless, go back to bed! The only ghosts in that graveyard are Cecily the courtesan or Watkin and Pike. You have not met these, have you?’

Godbless shook his head.

‘There are no ghosts. Go back to bed. Lock your door.’

‘Brother, I be really a-feared and so be Thaddeus.’ Godbless looked longingly past Athelstan.

‘All right!’ The Dominican stepped back.

Godbless sped like an arrow through the door, Thaddeus scampering after him. The beggar man sat down in front of the hearth.

‘I always likes a fire,’ he sighed. ‘My wife used to light one.’

Athelstan, curious, put the latch on the door and drew the bolts. Thaddeus, he noticed with some amusement, was crouched next to Godbless.

‘Were you married, Godbless?’

‘Aye, Brother, came from Dorset. A yeoman farmer like the other mad buggers who took the King’s penny and went to war. When I came back my wife and child were dead, sick of the plague. The manor lord had knocked down the fences, turning plough land to pasture, grazing it with sheep. I hate sheep. Fond of goats but can’t stand sheep.’