‘We have glimpsed a black and white robe. Is Athelstan the Dominican here?’
‘Yes!’ Athelstan shouted back before anyone could stop him. ‘Yes, I am. What do you want with me?’
‘To talk.’
Athelstan turned to Cranston. ‘Why,’ he demanded fiercely, ‘am I here?’
‘Four days ago,’ Thibault answered, ‘we were attacked on our way to the Tower.’
‘Yes, I’d heard about that — the entire city did.’
‘Our assailants were despatched by the Upright Men, leaders of the so-called “Great Community of the Realm”.’
‘And?’
‘We heard,’ Cranston replied, gesturing at Thibault, ‘how some of the Upright Men were meeting at the Roundhoop. Minehost here, Simon Goodmayes, is known to be sympathetic to their cause.’
‘In other words,’ Athelstan replied abruptly, ‘Master Simon does not want his tavern burnt to the ground when the Day of Judgement arrives; that is what they call it, yes?’
‘True.’ Cranston smiled at the little friar so uncharacteristically angry. ‘Master Thibault has spies among the Upright Men; they alerted us to this meeting.’
‘We surrounded the Roundhoop,’ Thibault declared. ‘The tavern stands behind a square stone wall with a garden at the back. We now have it sealed. Believe me, Brother, escape is impossible.’
‘The Upright Men realized they’d been betrayed,’ Cranston declared. ‘They hanged two of the tavern servants and slaughtered Master Simon’s mastiffs. Everyone else has fled, faster than rabbits under the hawk. The Upright Men now have Master Simon and a few customers held to ransom.’
‘How many Upright Men are there?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Perhaps ten in all,’ Thibault replied. ‘We arrived and they acted swiftly. Doors were barred; two of the servants apparently tried to escape and were summarily hanged. The mastiffs turned nasty; they realized their master was in danger, so they were killed.’
‘And why are you here, sirs?’ Athelstan turned to the two Flemings.
‘Because, Brother,’ Pieter Oudernarde lowered the muffler from around his mouth, ‘we believe these same outlaws organized the attack on us four days ago. We are certain our possessions were stolen.’ The Fleming caught Thibault’s eye; he coughed and pulled a face. ‘We would also like to see justice done.’
‘And your property returned?’
‘Yes, Brother,’ Cornelius piped up, his reedy voice uncomfortable on the ear. ‘To see our property — certain items — returned.’
‘And yet I ask again,’ Athelstan insisted, ‘why am I here? What do you want me to do?’
‘The Upright Men want to negotiate,’ Cranston murmured, holding the friar’s gaze, warning him with his eyes that all was not what it appeared to be.
‘To negotiate? Why me?’
‘You are well known, Brother,’ Cranston again replied, gesturing at the others to remain silent.
‘Will he talk?’ a voice bellowed from the tavern.
‘What do they want?’
‘Safe passage, probably by river.’
‘And if not?’
‘They will kill the hostages and fight to the death!’ Cranston declared brusquely. ‘Look at the Roundhoop, Brother — built of stone like a castle tower. We cannot burn them out.’
Athelstan ignored the deep unease tugging at his soul. Cranston could say more but this was neither the time nor the place.
‘I will go in,’ Athelstan said wearily. ‘Let us hear what they have to say.’ A bunch of evergreen was brought from a nearby garden lashed to a pole. Athelstan threw this into the gateway.
‘Pax et Bonum,’ he called. ‘I will speak.’
‘Tu solus frater,’ a voice sang out in Latin. ‘You alone, Brother.’ Athelstan, fingering the wooden cross on the cord around his neck, stepped around the gateway. He walked slowly across the cobbles, quietly murmuring the prayers for the dead, trying not to think of himself but the two corpses dangling by their necks, young men hurled violently into eternity with neither prayer nor blessing. The great wooden doors of the tavern swung open though no one appeared.
‘Enter!’ a voice called. Athelstan paused.
‘Enter!’
‘Cut down the hanged men,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Cut them down now. Let me pray over them. God knows their souls may not have left their bodies. Judgement could still await.’
‘Enter!’ the voice screamed. Athelstan took a deep breath. He knelt down on the cobbles, head bowed, ignoring the repeated shouts to enter. Silence fell. A window opened and the two dangling corpses were cut from their ropes to tumble on to the ground. Ignoring the faces frozen in hideous death, Athelstan administered the last rites to both victims. He blessed their corpses, rose to his feet and walked up the steps into the circular tap room, a murky place of shifting shadows. All the windows were shuttered, the only light thrown by squat tallow candles and narrow lantern horns. A figure loomed out of the gloom, head covered by a pointed hood, a red mask hiding his face, his heavy, draping cloak hung loose to reveal a war belt with sword and dagger sheaths. Other shapes stepped into the pools of light, dressed all the same, sinister phantasms of the night, armed and menacing. Athelstan stared round. Minehost Simon lay badly wounded, along with two servants. A Friar of the Sack and a fat, painted whore, a bushy orange wig almost hiding her face, sat like terrified children on a bench against the wall. They gazed owl-eyed at Athelstan, except for the whore, who put her face in her hands and began to sob.
‘Well,’ the friar asked, ‘what now?’
‘We trust you, Athelstan. The earthworms say you are not one of us yet you are sympathetic.’ The voice of the masked figure confronting him scarcely rose above a whisper.
‘The earthworms?’ Athelstan retorted. ‘You mean my poor parishioners who, according to you, will spin Fortune’s wheel and change the power of Heaven.’ Athelstan shook his head. ‘Gaunt will burn this city before he allows that to happen.’
‘We shall burn it for him — an easy enough task.’
‘Gallows and gibbets are just as easily erected.’
The masked figure laughed softly.
‘Why did you hang those two poor unfortunates — aren’t they earthworms too?’
‘They tried to escape; that can only mean they were either spies or intent on raising the alarm. They had to be punished; a warning to the rest.’
Athelstan stared around the gloomy tap room. He glimpsed about six Upright Men — others, he reasoned, must be in the galleries above. He also noticed their war belts and quivers, the arbalests, maces and clubs and, in his secret dread, Athelstan sensed this would end in bloodshed.
‘So what must I do now?’ Athelstan tried to keep his voice calm.
‘We are near the river.’ The Upright Man went on to demand, ‘We want one of the royal war barges from the Tower. We-’ He abruptly paused. Athelstan heard a whooshing sound followed by a scream in the galleries above; something hot and fiery smashed into the shutters of the Roundhoop. The Upright Man drew his sword. Athelstan gestured at the hostages.
‘Run!’ he screamed. ‘Run!’ He hastened over and dragged the friar and the whore to their feet. She kept her face down, her voice squeaky, muttering curses in the patois of the London slums. Athelstan pushed them both towards the door. He glanced swiftly around; more fiery missiles smashed into the wooden shutters. Smoke billowed down the stairs. Athelstan hurried towards the door. An Upright Man emerged out of the murk, pulling the red mask from his bearded face. He gazed wild-eyed at the friar and raised his sword threateningly, moving sideways as Athelstan tried to avoid him. More missiles smashed into the walls. Thick smoke curled. The air was shattered by screams and yells. The Upright Man lowered his sword, an almost beseeching look in his eyes.