‘Come, Maude! Come, wife, quickly! Fresh hose, a clean shirt, a cup of claret, a meat pie and a manchet loaf! I must be off! Come on!’

Lady Maude moved just as quickly, glaring at her husband. One minute he was embracing her, kissing her passionately, and now he was leaping around the bedroom like a young gallant, getting ready to get out. Nevertheless, she scurried around, putting on her dress and smock whilst muttering how, if other people had left her alone, she would have things ready anyway.

Sir John ignored her, dressing hastily; he now knew that Vechey had been murdered. Had to have been. The level of the river water would prove that. He would drag that bloody friar from his stars and they would go back to the Springall mansion and this time demand answers to their questions.

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

As soon as Athelstan skirted the church, he saw the coroner standing beside Philomel. The old destrier was saddled and ready to depart. Cranston grinned.

‘Good morning, Brother!’ he bellowed, loud enough for half the parish to hear. ‘Your horse is ready. Your saddlebags are packed.’ He held them up. ‘Quills, pens, writing tray, parchment, and I have ensured the inkhorn is well sealed, so if it spills don’t blame me.’

Athelstan, still feeling depressed after his visit to Hob’s wife, ignored the coroner and pushed by him into his small, two-roomed house. Cranston followed like an unwelcome draught, sweeping in, filling the room with his broad girth.

‘Really, Brother!’ he boomed, as he looked around. ‘You should live in a little more comfort. Do you have any wine?’

Athelstan gestured towards an earthenware jug and watched with delight as Cranston took a great gulp then, his face puce as a plum, went to the door to spit it out.

‘God’s teeth, man! More water than wine!’ he snapped.

‘St Dominic and my Order,’ Athelstan said tartly, ‘have in their wisdom decreed that wine at full strength is not for monks.’ He tapped Cranston’s great girth. ‘Perhaps not even for king’s coroners!’

Cranston drew himself up to his full height and squinted at Athelstan.

‘My orders, little friar, are that you are to accompany me into Cheapside to a tavern called the Bear and Ragged Staff. You have heard of it?’

Athelstan shook his head, his heart sinking. Cranston smirked.

‘We are going to sit there. I shall remain sober and tell you how Vechey was murdered. He did not commit suicide.’

‘And I shall tell you, my Lord Coroner, how Edmund Brampton, steward to Sir Thomas Springall, did not hang himself in the garret of that house in Cheapside!’

‘So you have been thinking, Friar?’

‘Coroner, I never stop.’

‘Well, come on then!’

‘Sir John, we could stay here and discuss our concerns.’