Field of Blood

'Someone took a flask of poisoned wine and a pastry to the gatehouse. Now, because Brokestreet was a prisoner of the Crown, her gaolers treat her tenderly. All they remember is a man cowled like a monk.' He smiled thinly. 'He actually had the impudence to say it was a gift from Master Odo Whittock. Of course, our good serjeant-of-law knows nothing of this. Now, in other circumstances the gaolers would have drunk or eaten it themselves but the Jug or flask was sealed. Both Brabazon and Whittock are well known for their long arms and vindictive tempers so the wine was safely delivered. Mistress Brokestreet must have died immediately; there was more arsenic in it than grape.'

'Does that mean her testimony will collapse?' Athelstan asked.

'No,' Sir John said. 'She made a solemn declaration before the chief justice and, if Master Whittock has a brain in his head, he will have taken a sworn affidavit.'

'It's more dangerous than that,' Hengan continued. 'Brabazon will ask who wanted Mistress Brokestreet dead? And they'll lay the blame at Kathryn's door.'

'But that's not right!' Athelstan expostulated. 'Mistress Vestler herself is a prisoner. How could she be held responsible?'

'Oh, Whittock will weave his webs. He'll say that Kathryn has an accomplice outside.'

'Aye, and it will get worse,' the coroner growled.

He succinctly informed Hengan what they had discovered regarding Mistress Vestler's smuggling activities. The lawyer groaned.

'You know nothing of this, sir?'

'Of course not!' Hengan snapped. 'Yet, be honest, Sir John, there's not a tavern in London which does not receive smuggled wine. Even the royal household is involved in it. It's almost a national pastime, yet I understand what you say. If Whittock discovers it, and I am sure he will, he'll allege that Mistress Vestler consorts with well-known outlaws and smugglers.'

'And she arranged for one of these to carry out Brokestreet's murder?'

'Precisely, Brother.'

Athelstan went to the door and opened it. The night air cooled his face as he looked out at where the parishioners were still dancing and singing.

'Why the interest?' he asked, turning round. 'I mean, Alice Brokestreet has made a declaration; the case against Kathryn is overwhelming. So why is Whittock involved? She can only hang once.'

'What I suspect,' Hengan replied, 'is the Crown now knows about Gundulf's treasure. Maybe the Regent himself is involved? There are thousands upon thousands of pounds at stake. They may even think Mistress Vestler has discovered its whereabouts.' Hengan pulled a face. 'That's serious enough. However, you must also remember Bartholomew Menster was a royal clerk. The Crown does not take lightly to its minions being ruthlessly murdered.'

'It will come down to this.' Sir John, despite the ale and wine he had drunk, remained calm and level-headed. 'It will come down to,' he repeated, 'the twenty-fifth of June this year, when Bartholomew was last seen.'

'He definitely worked in the Tower on the twenty-fifth, the morrow of the birth of John the Baptist,' Hengan said. 'He left his chamber late in the day and, as we know, said he was going to the Paradise Tree. He was never seen again. I've also established that Margot Haden was last seen in the tavern on that day. According to witnesses she went out and never came back.'

'What!' Athelstan exclaimed.

'Well.' Hengan raised his hand. 'We know Bartholomew visited the tavern and they both left.' 'And Mistress Vestler?' 'Oh, she was definitely there.' 'How do we know that?'

'From the servants …' Hengan rubbed his chin. 'I wish I had been there.'

'Where were you, Master Ralph?'

'Well, the Feast of St John the Baptist is a holy day. The day before, the twenty-fourth, I went on a pilgrimage to Canterbury, the regular pilgrimage by the Inns of Court.' He shrugged. 'I stayed at the Chequer Board tavern. I even had the pleasure of meeting Master Whittock there as well. We both prayed at the tomb of St Thomas a Becket. I came home on the feast of St Peter and St Paul, the twenty-ninth of June. Kathryn mentioned that Margot and Bartholomew had eloped, but I thought nothing of it.'

Athelstan took a stool to the top of the table and sat down, cupping his face in his hand.

'So, we have Bartholomew and Margot leaving the tavern late on the twenty-fifth of June. No one knew where they were going. Some months later their corpses are discovered in Black Meadow. I can see the line Master Whittock will follow. Bartholomew and the tavern wench went down to Black Meadow. Somebody met them there, gave them poisoned wine and buried their corpses.' Athelstan shook his head.

'Even the dimmest member of the jury will draw one conclusion: Kathryn Vestler killed them!'

'Hear ye! Hear ye! All ye who have business before the King's justices of Oyer and Terminer seated in the Guildhall of the King's own city of London, draw close and witness the King's justice being done!'

The herald standing before the bar of the court proclaimed the message twice again. In a blare of trumpets, the justices sat down on their cushioned seats beneath the great scarlet canopy. Athelstan, next to Sir John on the witness benches, closed his eyes, bowed his head and prayed. Brabazon looked in fine fettle, florid face beaming round the court. He was the King's justice and the other judges, who flanked him on either side, mere appendages to his own majesty. On the red and gold steps below, Master Whittock, dressed in a russet robe lined with lambswool, sat like the chief justice's hunting dog. The serjeant-at-law leaned slightly forward, keen eyes studying members of the jury as they took their seats and swore the oath. At the far end of the hall, men-at-arms in the royal livery held back the crowds. The news had spread throughout the city and many had flocked to the Guildhall to witness the unfolding drama.

The witnesses' and spectators' benches were full, so that Sir John had had to use all his authority to gain admission. Now he sat in his blue and gold doublet, cloak thrown across his green hose, legs slightly parted, tapping his high-heeled boots on the wooden platform. He kept glaring at the chief justice. Athelstan, who felt slightly tired after the previous day's revelry, looked down at Mistress Vestler. She had been brought up in chains and now stood at the bar flanked by two tipstaffs carrying their white wands of office. Behind her stood a line of archers, arbalests hooked to their war belts.

'May the good Lord and St Antony help her!' Athelstan prayed.

Mistress Vestler looked pale in mourning weeds, black gown and a veil of the same colour.

'You'd think she was dead already,' Sir John whispered. 'But she holds herself well. Pleas for mercy will find no echo here.'

Beside Mistress Vestler, Ralph Hengan sat and shuffled among certain papers. The small gate to the bar was open; two clerks carried forward a lectern which bore a book of the gospels. This was where the witnesses would stand, take the oath and give their testimony. Chief Justice Brabazon made a cutting movement with his hand. The two heralds stepped forward and gave a shrill blast on their silver-plated trumpets. The clerks seated at the foot of the steps rose, turned and bowed to Sir Henry. He nodded.

'The court is in session!' the chief clerk proclaimed. 'Let the charges be read!'

Confusion immediately followed. Whittock sprang to his feet and walked down to stand at the other side of the bar from Mistress Vestler.

'You are?' Sir Henry Brabazon asked.

'Odo Whittock, scrjcant-at-law. My lord, before the charges are read, I must inform the court that its principal witnesses Alice Brokestreet has been found poisoned.'

'In which case,' Hengan interrupted, 'the case should be dismissed.'

'Not so! Not so!' Whittock retorted. He held up a sheaf of parchments. 'Mistress Brokestreet had made a statement under oath; her testimony has been accepted by the court.'