Paul Doherty - The Devil's domain

‘You are in fine fettle, Brother. Was it the attack last night?’

‘No, not that. The business at Hawkmere will have to wait. It’s more St Erconwald’s, or some of its parishioners that concern me: a few strands are coming together and that arrow neatly ties them.’

After that the friar refused to be drawn. Instead he took his book of accounts and pretended to immerse himself in these. Sir John went off to get another pie, and probably also to renew his acquaintance with the Piebald Tavern.

Once the coroner had left, Athelstan checked on Philomel, his old war horse, and went into the church to prepare for the Mass for the Guild of Rat-Catchers the following morning.

By the time he came out, Sir John had returned, walking down the alleyway with his old friend, chief bailiff Henry Flaxwith, the ugly, squat Samson trotting behind them. Godbless, holding Thaddeus, trailed along looking rather tired. The attendant bailiffs were a brawny, stout group who carried mattocks and hoes, picks and shovels. Athelstan grasped Flaxwith’s hand.

‘I thank you for coming, Henry. I can’t give you refreshment yet. However, I’d like you to dig a ditch for me.’ He scanned the sky where fleecy white clouds floated. ‘It’s late afternoon,’ Athelstan said. And probably the best time. Once we are in the cemetery, I want one of your men to guard the lych gate. No one is to be allowed in until we finish. Now, Godbless, go into the house and refresh yourself. Keep Thaddeus away from Samson.’

The rest all marched into the cemetery, Flaxwith leaving one of his men to guard the lych gate. Athelstan led them across to the boundary wall.

‘This,’ Athelstan explained, ‘is a ditch dug by two of my parishioners, Watkin and Pike. At first I made no objection, as they said they only wished to check that the foundations of the walls were firm. They apparently dig it, fill it in later then continue the trench.’

Flaxwith scratched his balding head. ‘What’s wrong with that, Brother? It’s often done. It’s the only way to make sure the foundations of a wall are firm and secure, especially a place like this where the damp can seep in.’

‘That’s what they said. A small brook runs on the far side. Now and again it can flood and break its bank. However, I’ve become suspicious about their entire plan. Can you and your lads reopen the ditch? I’d like to see what you find.’

The bailiffs set to with gusto. The soil was soft, being freshly turned over and soaked by the previous night’s rain. Sir John and Athelstan walked back to the priest’s house where the coroner immediately became immersed in an animated conversation with Godbless about their warring days abroad and the depredations of the Free Companies in Southern France and Northern Italy.

Athelstan went up to his bed loft where he opened the divine office, crossed himself and began the psalms and readings for that day. Every so often he would stop and lift his head as if waiting for something. He wondered what would happen if nothing were found but then he heard the sound of running footsteps as Flaxwith burst into the house.

‘Brother Athelstan! Sir John! You’ve got to come and see this!’

They followed him out across the cemetery. The ditch was now opened. The two corpses, buried earlier that morning, were back up, lying on the side of the ditch. Athelstan caught Flaxwith by the sleeve.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I should have told you about them.’

‘Oh Brother, that’s what cemeteries are for and we saw the cross. Anyway, Sir Jack and Godbless told us what had happened. However, this is what we’ve found.’

He led Athelstan and the coroner over to a pile of soil-stained canvas sacks. Two of them had been opened; one glance and Athelstan knew he was correct.

‘Arrows! Freshly cut and barbed! I suppose it’s the same with the rest?’

Flaxwith nodded.

‘Lucifer’s bollocks!’ Sir John exclaimed. ‘Henry, you’d better get the lot out!’

‘Hide them over there.’ Athelstan pointed to some gorse bushes in the far corner of the cemetery.

‘You suspected this, didn’t you?’ Sir John asked.

‘When Godbless brought me that arrow, yes. I’ve also been highly suspicious about those ghosts he saw.’

‘Let me see. Let me see.’ The coroner rubbed his hands. ‘If old Jack’s brain is as sharp as it should be.’ He led Athelstan well out of earshot of the rest. ‘Down the alleyway, Brother, and out of Southwark, we reach London Bridge. Once you are across that you are into the city.’

‘Go on,’ Athelstan said.

‘Now. If the Great Community of the Realm, that bunch of snivelling, secret traitors, plot their rebellions and the peasant armies move on London, the city can be defended to the north, east and west by the old wall but the southern side is different. Whoever controls London Bridge will, in fact, control the city. If the rebels pour across they can lay siege to the Tower and cut it off from the rest of London. They’ll also be able to swing west to control both banks of the Thames as well as capture Gaunt’s palace at the Savoy. Once done, they can pour into the city with no one to stop them.’

‘True, Sir John. We have been through this many a time.’

‘Now the peasant army will be armed with hoe, mattock, spade and axe. Every peasant carries a bow and so they’ll need a constant, fresh supply of arrows. By the time they reach Southwark their supplies could well be depleted as they clash with local sheriffs’ posses, landlords, barons, the great seigneurs of the countryside.’

‘Once the Regent and the Corporation know that the rebel army is marching, they’ll seize all arms supplies and either destroy them or hide them,’ Athelstan said.

‘But the rebels come to St Erconwald’s.’ Sir John smiled thinly. ‘A few yards from London Bridge, that precious pair, Watkin and Pike, have dug a deep trench, claiming they are checking on the foundations of a wall. No one objects and they can come and go as they wish… And then what, Brother?’

‘At night the Great Community of the Realm bring their pack horses through the alleyways of Southwark, well away from prying eyes. All they’ve got to face are the likes of poor Bladdersniff who is so drunk he can hardly put one foot in front of another. They climb the wall, put a rope over the branch of the sycamore tree and lower themselves into the freshly dug trench. The sacks of arrows are hidden beneath a light layer of soil and off they go. Pike and Watkin will later come and fill the rest of the trench in and, heigh ho, the Great Community have almost finished the preparations for their march on London Bridge.’ Athelstan stamped his foot in exasperation. ‘May the Lord forgive me, Sir John, Godbless claimed he saw ghosts hanging in the air! What he saw were these messengers from the Great Community climbing the wall and going up and down into that benighted trench!’

Athelstan had heard a shout from the lych gate and hurried over. Crim the altar boy was arguing with the bailiff on guard.

‘What’s the matter, Brother?’ The little boy’s face was flushed and sweating. I only came to pick some flowers.’

‘Go and fetch your father,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Don’t tell him what you have seen, Crim. Just tell Watkin to collect Pike and bring him here. It’s very urgent. Go on now!’

Crim ran off. Sir John went back to tell the bailiffs to guard the arrows then joined Athelstan in the priest’s house.

‘I am very angry,’ Athelstan declared, sitting down at the table. ‘Gaunt has spies in Southwark; Watkin and Pike could dance at Tyburn!’ He banged his fist on the table. ‘The whole parish could be fined. Now listen, Sir John, this is a matter for me.’

‘According to the law, Brother…’