Field of Blood

'He may have come here.'

'He took one of your cheap little medals depicting St Michael. He hired some poor whore in Southwark and got both himself and her killed. The medal was found on his corpse. However, we were talking about your sister: you gave that information to Whittock?'

First Gospel ran his tongue round his sharp, white teeth, reminding Athelstan of a hungry dog.

'He came down here.' One of the women spoke up. 'He asked if we had seen anything untoward.'

'But what you told him,' Sir John persisted, 'was not the truth.'

'No, my lord coroner, it wasn't,' First Gospel snarled, getting to his feet, standing legs apart.

He paused and looked across the field. Flaxwith had now sat down near the hedge, one arm round his beloved mastiff.

'The lawyer came down here. He asked questions. I could see he would stay until he got an answer. I told him the truth, or at least half of it. Kathryn did come down here on the morning of the twenty-sixth. She asked if I had seen anyone I knew in Black Meadow. I replied I hadn't.'

'You said it was half the truth?'

'Well, the night before, my girls were busy down behind the hedgerow. It was a balmy, soft night. I thought I would walk.' He shot a glance at Athelstan. 'I didn't tell Whittock this. I saw lantern-light, just a pinprick, so I crept up the hill.'

'And what did you see?'

'My beloved sister Kathryn. She was digging. Or rather she was finishing what she had dug. She was piling in the earth.'

'And weren't you curious?'

'Brother, I survive by keeping my nose out of other people's business. Yes, I wondered what she could be burying at the dead of night. I was tempted to search there myself.'

'You did, didn't you?' Athelstan asked. 'Don't tell lies!'

'Yes, Brother, I did, a few days later. I came across a stinking corpse so I pushed the earth back and left it alone.'

Athelstan looked at the horror-stricken coroner.

'So you see, if I wished to do my sister real damage, I could have taken the oath and told them that.'

'And you never approached your sister?'

'I've already answered that, Brother. Kathryn is kind. She showed me great charity. If I had my way I'd have dug the corpses up and slung them in the river. Anyway, I've smuggled a little wine and allowed my girls to pleasure some sailors. What are you going to do, my lord coroner, arrest me?'

'No, sir, I'm not.' Sir John turned away. 'Today is Friday. I shall return on Tuesday. And you must be gone.'

'There will be no trouble,' Athelstan added, as he undid his pouch and pulled out a piece of parchment. 'Provided you answer one question.' The friar felt a tingle of excitement as he approached the main reason for this meeting. 'When you were on oath, Master Whittock asked you about your sister's question on the morning of the twenty-sixth of June last?'

'Did I see anyone I knew here in Black Meadow?'

'Look at that list,' Athelstan said. 'You are lettered?'

'Of course, Brother.' The First Gospel grinned. 'Father always said schooling was the beginning of my downfall.'

'This is a list of names of all those who use the Paradise Tree. Which of them do you recognise?'

First Gospel studied the list carefully. Athelstan winked at Sir John. He had drawn up the names this morning in bald, round letters.

'This one,' First Gospel said, jabbing his finger.

'And, of course, this one and this one, but those two are dead.'

'Anyone else?' Athelstan asked. 'Anyone I have missed out?'

First Gospel shook his head and handed the piece of parchment back.

'Is there anything else, Brother?'

'No, sir, there isn't.' The friar turned. 'Angels might not come on time,' he declared, 'but, sometimes, God does work in wondrous ways. Master Trumpington, ladies, I will not trouble you again.'

Athelstan, followed by a bemused Sir John, walked back to the Paradise Tree.

They sat in the garden and were joined by Flaxwith. Cranston hurriedly brought the mastiff a large, cooked sausage from the kitchen. The dog seized it, grinning evilly at his benefactor.

'Just keep him away, Henry!'

A sullen tapster brought tankards of ale.

'Master Flaxwith,' Athelstan said. 'When you have finished your ale, I would be grateful if you would go for Master Ralph Hengan. You know where he lives?'

Flaxwith nodded.

'Bring him here. Tell him we'll meet him under the great oak tree in Black Meadow.' 'And if he's busy?'

'Oh, he'll come. Tell him we have found Gundulf's treasure.'

Flaxwith choked on his ale. Cranston nearly dropped his blackjack; even Samson stopped chewing the sausage.

'Brother, are you witless?'

'No, Sir John, I am not. The treasure is not very far from us. Master Flaxwith, I beg you to go.'

Flaxwith finished his ale and hurried off, Samson loping behind him.

'Where's the treasure, Brother?' Sir John whispered.

'Here in the garden.'

'Friar, don't play games. If we find the treasure, God knows we could turn Gaunt's mind to mercy'

'Oh, I'll do more than that, Sir John. Now, do you remember when we went to the Tower?' Athelstan asked. 'We do know Bartholomew read manuscripts we never saw. However, there was an entry in that chronicle about the treasure glowing like the sun. What was it now? "In ecclesia prope turrem"?'

'That's right. Which we translated as "in the chapel or church near the tower": the site of the Paradise Tree.'

'I don't think so.' Athelstan smiled. 'You see, Sir John, Gundulf was a bishop. He held the See of Rochester. I read a book at Blackfriars. His real interest wasn't theology but mathematics: he loved buildings and measurements. He was fascinated by anything which could calculate, weight or measure. Because he was William the Conqueror's favourite stone mason, Gundulf also amassed a treasure. Before his death he had it all smelted down, fashioned into one great block.'

'Yes, yes, we all know that,' Sir John interrupted.

'He was a churchman,' Athelstan continued. 'And, before he died, he used his status to hide the treasure away.'

'Where?' Sir John almost bawled. 'Why, Sir John, he had it smelted down and then covered with a brass face.'

'What?'

Athelstan pointed to the sundial. 'I think it's in there.'

Sir John stared open-mouthed at the sundial. The stone pillar which held it was covered in lichen and chipped. It reminded him of a long-stemmed chalice with the cup holding the sundial at the top. The coroner went across and tapped it with his finger.

'But it's only a sundial, Brother. Look, it has an arm.' He peered down. 'And it's divided into Roman numerals.'

Athelstan joined the coroner.

'When Gundulf talked of his treasure being in "ecclesia prope turrem"we thought he was referring to the Paradise Tree but he wasn't, Sir John. You see, since his day, the Tower has been extended and strengthened. However, when Gundulf built the great keep, that was his "turris".The church he was referring to …'

'Of course!' Sir John exclaimed. 'St Peter ad Vincula! The little chapel in the Tower grounds which stands next to the keep.'

'That,' Athelstan agreed, 'is what Gundulf was referring to. He had his treasure melted down, covered with a brass sundial and placed in the stone pillar outside the chapel of St Peter ad Vincula. The years passed. People found references to the treasure being hidden but they forgot that, in Gundulf's day, the word "tower" referred to the keep, not to the walls and fortifications we know now.'