Cranston whispered to his wife, then waddled off with Athelstan in tow, pushing through the crowd towards the royal enclosure. Knight bannerets of the king’s household stopped them but Cranston muttered a few words and they let him by. Athelstan, however, had to stand outside the protective ring of steel watching Cranston bow at the foot of the steps and fall to one knee. Athelstan looked behind him. The procession was still circling the arena. John of Gaunt came down the steps, laughing. He tapped Cranston on the shoulder and raised him up, whispering in his ear. The coroner replied. Behind Gaunt, Chief Justice Fortescue glowered like some angry hawk. John of Gaunt looked up abruptly and stared like a hungry cat at Athelstan, his eyes yellow, hard and unblinking. He nodded and muttered something over his shoulder to Fortescue, then to Cranston. The coroner bowed and backed away. Athelstan looked to his left to where the Springall household sat. Surprisingly, no one seemed interested in Sir John’s meeting with the regent.

Cranston himself said nothing until they had walked away from the royal enclosure.

‘Brother,’ he whispered, ‘we have the Regent’s permission to go down to the Springall house now, to examine and take anything we wish. The regent has said, even if it takes all day, we are not to appear at the royal palace or the Savoy until we have something more to tell him!’

Athelstan’s heart sank. On the one hand he wished to examine those paintings and resolve the mystery. But on the other, he wished to be with Benedicta. He looked up. Fitful clouds were beginning to obscure the sun. He glanced across to where the women sat. Cranston’s wife was making herself comfortable on the bench whilst the gallant who had been eyeing Benedicta had now moved closer and was talking quietly with her. He was teasing her but Benedicta did not seem to mind. She seemed absorbed in the young man’s conversation. Athelstan barely listened to Cranston’s muttering. He fought to control a sense of panic and reminded himself that he was a priest, a man ordained, sworn to God. Had he not taken a vow of celibacy? Although he might have a woman as a friend, he could not lust, he could not desire or covet any woman, whether she be free or not. Athelstan steeled himself. Benedicta was courteous to everyone, whether it be Hob’s wife, Ranulf the rat-catcher, or now a court gallant. Nevertheless, Athelstan felt a growing rage at his condition; a sense of jealous hurt that Benedicta could find someone else so attractive and entertaining, even though he dismissed the emotion itself as both childish and dangerous.

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9