Paul Harding: Field of Blood

'Mistress Brokestreet never had the pleasure of meeting me,' came the sardonic reply.

'No, I'm sure she didn't. The great lawyer would make sure of that. I suppose in the condemned cell at Newgate, dressed like a friar with the cowl pulled over, you could have been anyone.'

'You went there dressed like that?' Sir John asked abruptly.

'Sir Jack, do you really expect me to answer that?'

'Yes, he did,' Athelstan said. 'You've seen the condemned cell at Newgate, my lord coroner, black as pitch. Our good lawyer would be disguised, the same is true of his voice. Not that Alice Brokestreet would care. All she could see was the hangman's noose waiting for her and, abruptly, salvation is at hand. Our good lawyer tells her what to do: she will accuse Mistress Vestler, say no more than that and she will be a free woman. I doubt if Brokestreet cared if her visitor was Satan from hell.' Athelstan sighed.

'So the game began. Mistress Vestler was accused and sentenced to the gallows.'

'But the Crown would then seize the Paradise Tree?' Hengan spoke softly like a schoolmaster cor­recting a pupil.

'Oh come, Master Hengan: you are Mistress Vestler's executor with the right to poke and pry into her affairs; in reality, search around, looking for the treasure. Heaven knows even, when the time was right, buy the Paradise Tree, like Bartholomew Menster wanted to. He probably raised the matter with you, didn't he? You must have learned about that and become very alarmed.'

'As a lawyer,' Hengan protested, 'I maintain the evidence still points to Mistress Vestler.'

'All the evidence,' Athelstan pointed out, 'came from her own household books, and that made me curious. As Mistress Vestler's lawyer and good friend, why didn't you seize them, hide or burn them? It might be illegal, but something you'd expect a good friend to do in such circumstances. As it was, Master Whittock seized them and was able to track down the tree-cutter and the chapman, not to mention Margot Haden's sister.'

Hengan's gaze had shifted back to the cart. He was watching it carefully, like a cat would a mousehole.

'Brokestreet was another victim.' Sir John spoke up. 'You sent the poisoned wine to her so she'd cause no further problems. In that tangled brain of yours you probably saw it as some reparation for Mistress Vestler's pains.'

'This is all well and good.' Hengan placed his chancery bag beside him, dabbing his face with the long cuff of his gown. 'But you are missing one important factor: Mistress Vestler buried the corpses.'

'You guessed that,' Athelstan interrupted. 'It's a question of logic as well as self-defence. I am sure you later walked out into Black Meadow to carefully study the ground. Who knows, one dark night you may even have taken mattock and hoe and dug it yourself, just to make sure?'

'Yes, yes,' Hengan replied. 'But why didn't she accuse me? Why didn't she just tell the truth on oath?'

Athelstan shook his head. 'Ever the lawyer, Master Hengan! What proof did she have? That she went out and found two corpses on a summer evening, so she buried them then hurried back to her tavern to burn Margot Haden's possessions? Oh, I am sure she can explain it, but now is neither the time nor the place. As for further proof …'

Athelstan glanced back towards the lych gate where he thought he saw a flash of colour, but all was quiet.

'You told me that Brokestreet killed a man with a firkin opener? The only other person who knew that was the vicar of hell. How did you know? Unless you made a very careful scrutiny of Mistress Brokestreet before you approached her? Secondly, after the trial, you quoted accurately, word for word, the quotation from the chronicle we found in the Tower. Yet you only saw it for a few seconds. Finally, I was fasci­nated by Mistress Vestler's actions on the morning following Bartholomew's and Margot's disappear­ance. She came down to Black Meadow and asked the Four Gospels a very specific question. Had they, the previous day, seen anyone they knew in the meadow? Now, those rogues.' He saw the change of expression on Hengan's face. 'Yes, they are rogues, were kept well away from the Paradise Tree. The only people they knew were Bartholomew, Margot, you and herself. We know where Kathryn Vestler was. We also know the fate of Bartholomew and Margot. In an oblique way Mistress Vestler was asking about you.'

'God knows,' Sir John said as he moved his war belt to sit more comfortably, 'why Mistress Vestler didn't really speak the truth but I have my own suspicions.' He thrust his face closer. 'I believe she loved you, lawyer, but you wouldn't understand that, would you? "What does it profit a man if," ' he quoted from the gospels, ' "he gains the whole world but loses his soul?" You lost your soul for that gold, you were quite prepared to kill because of it.'

Hengan pulled a wry face. 'I have heard the evi­dence. It's not as conclusive as a court would want.'

'Oh, we haven't begun yet,' Athelstan remarked. 'Not really. Sir John here will take his bailiffs and search your house. We'll find manuscripts showing your extraordinary interest in Gundulf's treasure. We may find other documents. Then we can des­patch royal couriers to Canterbury. Just where were you on each particular evening and day? Did you leave for the shrine on the twenty-third? If so, at which tavern did you stop? We will reach the conclusion that people saw you there but they can't remember you arriving in Canterbury for one or two days after you claim. Moreover, does your house contain poisons? Alice Brokestreet was poisoned. Perhaps the memory of the gaolers at Newgate can be pricked? Whatever.' Athelstan emphasised the points on his fingers. 'Mistress Vestler will not hang. You will never have the gold and you must face the most cruel interrogation.'

Hengan looked towards the lych gate where Master Flaxwith stood gesturing with his hand; around the bushes came other figures including Whittock, behind him a group of royal archers wearing the blue, red and gold livery. Hengan opened his chancery bag and took out a small arbalest. Sir John started forward but Hengan sprang to his feet.

'Brother Athelstan! Sir John!' the serjeant-at-law called out. 'Is all well? I understand you have the treasure?'

'What are you going to do?' Athelstan asked quietly.

'Oh, I had a madcap idea,' Hengan said smiling, 'that I would force Sir Jack to take the barrow down to the Thames and I'd escape with the gold. But this is life, not some troubadour song.'

'What are you going to do?' Athelstan repeated.

Hengan took a bolt from the large wallet he carried on his belt and slipped it into the groove on the arbalest.

'I confess all, Brother. To a certain extent I am sorry. Sorry for myself, for Kathryn, for all this sordid mess. I don't want to hang. I don't want to dance in the air. This is much quicker.'

And, before Athelstan could stop him, Hengan ran towards Whittock. Confusion and chaos broke out. At first Whittock didn't understand what was hap­pening until Hengan stopped and loosed the quarrel.

The crossbow bolt went awry, lost in the long grass. Hengan fumbled for another. Whittock shouted an order. Two of the bowmen hurried through the lych gate, bows bent, arrows pulled back. Hengan began to run, lifting the arbalest, a stupid, futile gesture. The two longbows twanged. One arrow caught Hengan full in the neck, the other in the chest. He flung his arms up against the sky and crashed to the ground where he rolled on his side, legs moving, then lay still. The two archers ran across and turned the corpse over.

'Dead, sir!' one of them called out.

Whittock hardly spared the fallen man a glance. He strode across the meadow and, without a by-your-leave, pulled back the canvas sheet and stared open-mouthed at the gold.

'Gundulf's treasure at last!' he breathed. 'Did you find it, Sir John?'