‘It’s over!’ Moleskin said. He clapped the friar on the shoulder. ‘Now come on, Brother, tell me what happened last night and where do you want to go?’
‘I’ll let the others tell you about all the excitement, Moleskin. I want you to take me along the Thames and find a Venetian ship.’
Moleskin led the friar down the green mildewed steps and into his stout wherry.
‘Why a Venetian? Are you going to flee Southwark?’
‘No, I want to ask the captain a few questions.’
Moleskin concentrated on manoeuvring his craft, for the river was busy with barges and fishing smacks. They reached the far side and Moleskin began to go slowly by the sterns of the moored ships: massive, fat-bellied cogs from the Baltic, merchantmen from the Low Countries and royal warships getting ready to put to sea. At last he found a Venetian galley which lay low and rakish in the water. Its raised, gilded red and gold stern was surrounded by bum-boats selling fruit, sweetbread and other items from the city markets. There was even a boat full of whores who stood shrieking up at the sailors, trying to entice them with their charms to get aboard. Moleskin, skilled in the ways of the river, managed to catch the eye of the officer responsible for maintaining order along the decks. The boatman jabbed a finger at Athelstan and, making a sign, asked to come on board.
The officer agreed. A rope ladder was lowered and Moleskin, his boat bobbing beneath him, helped the little friar up. Such attention provoked the jealousy of the others milling round the great Venetian war galley. There were shouts and imprecations, rotten fruit was thrown. Athelstan yelled at Moleskin to wait. The boatman took his craft away and sat watching the scene. Now and again a friend or acquaintance would pass in a hail of good-natured abuse and raillery. Moleskin undid the little chest in the stern of his craft, took out a linen cloth and gnawed on a piece of salted bacon, taking deep draughts from the water bottle which he had filled with ale. He sat wondering what the little friar wanted with a Venetian war galley, but there again he shrugged, for Athelstan was a strange priest. If he wasn’t looking after those rogues at St Erconwald’s, he was scurrying around after Sir John Horse-Cruncher, the great and high lord coroner of the city. Moleskin narrowed his eyes. He must remember that. He loved baiting the coroner, and next time Sir John hired him, Moleskin would charge him double because of his weight.
He finished his bacon, growing slightly impatient because the swell of the river was becoming more pronounced. Then he noticed movement on board the galley and glimpsed the black and white robes of his parish priest. Moleskin turned his craft and brought it in, using the oars to fend off rivals. At last he was beneath the rope ladder. Athelstan clambered down with a sigh of relief and took his seat in the stern.
‘What was all that about, Brother?’ Moleskin asked as he pulled away.
Athelstan smiled contentedly. ‘Do you know, Moleskin,’ he said, leaning back, ‘there are certain pleasures in life one feels truly good about.’
Moleskin pulled a face.
‘Oh, not that!’ Athelstan laughed. ‘I think I’ve just trapped a red-handed assassin! Moleskin, you are my champion among boat-men. Our next stop is the holy nuns at the convent of Syon!’
Moleskin bent over the oars. Nuns, assassins, Venetians, he thought. What on earth was this little Dominican involved in? It was all Sir Jack’s doing! Everyone along the waterfront said where Lord Horse-Cruncher went, trouble always followed.
They swept upriver and Moleskin brought his boat along the quayside steps.
‘Do you want me to wait, Brother?’
‘No. you’ll be pleased to know after this I am going to meet Sir John’
Athelstan offered some coins but Moleskin shook his head.
‘For you, Brother, it’s free. Just remember me and my boat at Mass. I mean, if you can bless a collection of rat-catchers, cats and ferrets…’ He looked hopefully up at the friar.
‘I think it’s a very good idea. Moleskin,’ Athelstan replied. ‘What we’ll do is wait for the feast of some sailor, or a Sunday when the gospel mentions Jesus going fishing with His apostles, then I’ll come down and bless you and your craft. Perhaps we can give it a name?
Moleskin’s smile widened.
‘What about St Erconwald?’
Moleskin’s smile faded.
‘Or,’ Athelstan added quickly, ‘ the Rose of Southwark?’
‘I like that, Brother. I knew a sweet girl called Rosamund. The only problem is so did half the boatmen along the Thames!’
‘Then we are agreed.’ Athelstan sketched a blessing in the air and walked up the steps.
A young novice ushered him into Lady Monica’s presence. The abbess rose, as stately as a queen, though her face was slightly flushed.
‘Ah, Brother Athelstan. Where’s Brother Norbert?’ Her eyes darted around. ‘And Sir Jack?’
‘They are not here, my lady. I have only come to collect the Lady Angelica.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ Lady Monica clasped her hands together, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘My good Brother, you don’t walk into a nunnery and demand that I hand over one of my girls!’
‘Lady Monica, I am a Dominican friar. Holy Mother Church and my Order have entrusted me with saying Mass, preaching the gospel and looking after Christ’s faithful. I am parish priest of St Erconwald’s in Southwark where, as God knows, I have more precious charges than I can handle. I am also secretarius to Sir John Cranston, lord coroner of this city, personal friend of the late and glorious Edward. He is one of my Lord of Gaunt’s most trusted counsellors and a personal friend of the young King. So, I believe I can look after a young maiden entrusted to my care!’
Lady Monica’s shoulders sagged. ‘I don’t really…’ she stammered and looked under lowering brows at Athelstan. ‘Sir Thomas Parr will…’
‘Sir Thomas Parr is a London merchant,’ Athelstan continued forcefully, ‘who has more wealth than he has sense. Now, my lady, do I have to go down to the King’s Justices at Westminster and get a writ? Collect soldiers from the Regent’s palace at the Savoy?’ Athelstan held his hand up. ‘I assure you, my lady, that the Lady Angelica must come with me to her father.’
‘Very well, if you put it like that.’ Lady Monica was now quite flustered. She picked up a small handbell and shook it vigorously. ‘Tell the Lady Angelica,’ she announced to the young novice who almost burst through the door, ‘to get herself ready to leave. She’s to wait in the guest house.’ She waited until the door closed. ‘Brother Athelstan, I would like you to sign that you have taken the Lady Angelica to her father and that you accept full responsibility.’
The abbess ushered Athelstan to a small writing-desk in the far corner of the room. Athelstan wrote out exactly what she wanted, signed it, waited until it dried and then handed it over. Then he rose and made to go towards the door.
‘Brother Athelstan.’ Lady Monica had retaken her seat. ‘Please sit.’ Her tone was almost wheedling.
Athelstan noticed Lady Monica’s face had become more flushed, her eyes glittering. He sat down.
‘How can I help you, my lady?’
The abbess sifted amongst the pieces of parchment on the desk.
‘It’s your Brother Norbert.’ She kept her head down. ‘I… I..’ She looked up, blinking quickly. ‘Brother, he spoke so eloquently of love. Since his departure, I have had strange dreams… fantasies…’
Athelstan quietly thanked God that Sir John wasn’t here. Lady Monica had now picked up a sheet of parchment, using it to fan her face.
‘I wondered if Brother Norbert would visit me, to continue his talks? To give me spiritual counsel?’
‘My lady abbess,’ he replied mournfully. ‘Brother Norbert is no longer with us.’
Lady Monica let the parchment drop. ‘Where has he gone?’
‘It’s a great secret,’ Athelstan confided, lowering his voice. ‘But he has gone to do God’s work in another place. So, I ask you to remember him in your prayers.’ Athelstan glanced away. The disappointment in Lady Monica’s face was so apparent. ‘However,’ he added quietly, ‘and I assure you of this, Brother Norbert thought as highly of you as you did of him. Indeed, until he received orders to go elsewhere, he could scarcely contain his eagerness to return here.’