He began to panic. Pains fired in his lower stomach, and he felt as if he was slipping away, as if the bath water was turning cold and rising to swallow him. He thrashed about, but in vain. His throat felt strangely dry, the chamber seemed to be moving, the tapestries on the wall rippling as though shaken by some unseen hand. He caught one scene, the arm of the Lady of the Lake coming up to grasp Excalibur. The water was turning black and swollen, like the water on the river so many years ago. He made one last effort to rise, only to slip back, his head hitting the side of the wooden tub. Sir Stephen Chandler, Knight of the Golden Falcon, landowner of Kent, knight of the shire, and former Crusader, slipped quietly to his death. .
Cranston was holding court in the outhouse. Athelstan had made himself comfortable on a stool. The leader of the knights, Sir Maurice Clinton, had joined them. He had come looking for the taverner and stayed out of curiosity. The Judas Man was at first reluctant to answer Cranston’s questions.
‘You can, sir. .’ Cranston took a swig from the miraculous wine skin and popped it back beneath his cloak. ‘You can, sir, either answer my questions here or at the Guildhall. You arrived at Master Rolles’ tavern yesterday and three murders occured.’
‘Two murders,’ the Judas Man answered. He pointed to Toadflax’s corpse. ‘I killed him in self-defence.’
‘Right.’ Cranston went across and sat down on a bale of straw. ‘Master Rolles, do the same for yourself and for him.’ He pointed at the Judas Man.
‘Is he always like this?’ Brother Malachi whispered to Athelstan.
‘Sir Jack has his own way,’ the Dominican murmured. ‘Like the Holy Spirit,’ he smiled, ‘he works secretly, his wonders to behold.’
‘I heard that, Brother.’
Cranston took off his beaver hat and threw it down between his feet. Loosening his sword belt, he made himself comfortable. Once the Judas Man was seated on the bale of straw, the questioning was resumed.
‘You were hired to capture the Misericord. By whom?’
‘I don’t know. Look.’ The Judas Man held up a hand. ‘Whilst working in Essex I received a letter along with a purse of silver. I was given the Misericord’s name and a slight description. I was told to be in London at this tavern by the eve of the Feast of St Wulfnoth.’
‘Why were you hired? To capture the Misericord or kill him?’
‘The Misericord is an outlaw — he is wanted dead or alive. I would have given him the chance to surrender.’
‘Why were you hired?’
There was a pause as Sir Maurice Clinton went over and secured the outhouse door, which was banging in the cold breeze.
‘I’ve told you,’ the Judas Man retorted. ‘The Misericord is a villain, he is wanted dead or alive. He has probably offended someone who is tired of dealing with sheriffs and coroners and wants to see him hanged at Smithfleld.’
‘So you came here. Oh, by the way,’ Cranston jabbed a finger, ‘I would be grateful if you would treat the office of coroner with more respect.’ He jabbed his finger again. ‘You lodged at this tavern?’
The Judas Man shrugged in agreement.
‘How did you know the Misericord was in the tap room?’
‘I received a message, left outside my chamber along with another purse of coins.’
‘Who brought it?’
‘I don’t know. I went downstairs — I met Sir Maurice and his comrades. I went into the tap room looking for a red-haired man with a misericord dangling around his neck. I thought I had found him. I questioned him. I gave him the chance to surrender. He attacked me, so I killed him.’
‘I can vouch for that.’ Master Rolles undid the top clasp of his boiled leather jerkin. ‘My bailiffs saw what happened.’
‘Did they now?’ Cranston took another slurp from his wine skin but didn’t offer it to the others, a sign of his growing annoyance. ‘Master Rolles, you will have to vouch for many things. These corpses were found in your tavern. Two beautiful women, one killed by a crossbow bolt, the other by a dagger. I understand they were found in the hay barn?’
‘Yes, it is just across the yard.’
‘What were they doing there? Come on,’ Cranston barked. ‘Who hired this Judas Man’s chamber, who brought the message to his chamber? Who told these two girls to leave the tavern and go to a hay barn in the dead of night?’
The taverner wiped his sweat-soaked palms on his woollen hose.
‘Sir John. .’
‘Don’t Sir John me. I am not Sir John or Sir Jack to you, but the Lord Coroner of London. In your eyes you must regard me as God Almighty on horseback. Answer my questions.’
‘We all have visitors at night,’ the taverner murmured. ‘About two weeks ago, on the Feast of St Hedwig, a customer brought me a message, told me I had a visitor outside-’
‘Of course,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘I am sure, Master Rolles, knowing what I do of you, you have many visitors at night: the cask of Bordeaux brought in without paying customs, the cloth from Bruges, farmers prepared to sell their meat without paying London tolls, fishermen who sell their catch without handing over any of their profits to the Guild.’
‘You can’t prove that,’ Rolles retorted.
‘Oh, one day I will! Sooner than you think, if you don’t answer my questions. This visitor. .’
‘I went out to the yard,’ Rolles confessed. ‘There were three of them, all cloaked and cowled. I told them my time cost money. A silver coin was tossed at my feet. I asked them what they wanted. One man stepped forward, he was hooded and visored. I couldn’t recognise his voice or make out any emblem or sign. He asked me when the Great Ratting would take place. I told him. He said he wished to hire a chamber for a thief-taker, known as the Judas Man. He gave me a description and said he would arrive here, as he did, the afternoon before the Great Ratting. I was to give him safe lodgings, food and drink.’ The taverner spread his hands. ‘Why should I refuse good custom? I was paid in advance and given every assurance that more would be paid. After all, the Judas Man is a law officer. He is hardly likely to steal away in the dead of night. He arrived, and that’s all I know.’
‘You don’t know who brought the message?’ Athelstan asked.
The taverner twisted round. ‘Brother Athelstan, isn’t it? I know all about you.’
‘Do you now?’ the Dominican replied. ‘Then you are a better man than I. The message?’
‘Do you know everyone who comes to your church?’ Rolles taunted. ‘People come in and out of my tavern, every sort and ilk on a night like the Great Ratting.’ He pulled a face. ‘I cannot say.’
Rolles turned back to the coroner.
‘I’ve answered your questions.’ He gestured at Sir Maurice. ‘I have meals to prepare.’
Cranston lifted his foot, and pressed so firmly down on the toe of the taverner’s boot that the man winced in pain.
‘Master Rolles,’ Cranston shook his head, ‘you are only halfway through your story. I knew those beautiful girls.’ He gestured at the corpses. ‘Two sisters, Beatrice and Clarice, hair like the sun, eyes as blue as the summer sky, impudent and mischievous; now they lie cold, two of the most accomplished courtesans in Southwark. What were they doing in your hay barn?’
‘They came for the Great Ratting. They were looking for custom. Ouch!’ The taverner yelped, as Cranston pressed his foot back down.
‘They didn’t have to look for custom,’ Cranston declared. ‘Custom went looking for them, men greedy for their soft flesh and expert ways. Why were they in your hay barn?’
‘The stranger,’ Rolles gasped. Cranston took his boot away. ‘The stranger who hired the Judas Man paid me very well, silver coins, this year’s batch, freshly minted at the Tower. He told me that, on the night of the Great Ratting, I was to hire two accomplished whores, Beatrice and Clarice. Of course I knew their names. I told them they would be my guests.’
‘And?’ Cranston asked.
‘The stranger said that when the Great Ratting was over the whores were to meet him in the hay barn. I was simply told to tell them that they would be lavishly paid. I did what he asked. I sent the usual message to their keeper, Mother Veritable.’ Rolles forced a smile. ‘I put the message to be collected in the Castle of Love; it’s a pocket on a tapestry in the solar, the usual way I tell Mother Veritable to send her girls for customers who have a need. Mother Veritable-’