Bloodstone(39)

‘Cruel words.’

‘My Lord Abbot waxes fat and well. Those who live under the shadow of the abbey have little love for him, that’s why he goes out to All Hallows Barking.’

‘All Hallows?’

Muckworm glanced round; the tap room was empty except for two costermongers who’d just entered, drained their tankards and fallen asleep in the far corner.

‘The Great Community of the Realm, Sir John. They say its leaders meet at Barking. They call themselves, among other things, “All Hallows”.’

‘All Saints.’ Cranston translated the old English.

‘All Saints,’ Muckworm agreed. ‘They will lead the Community when the earthworms rise up.’

‘Sweet angel,’ Cranston whispered, ‘the fools will all die.’

‘True, Sir John, but they are all very much alive now. They threaten to rise with fire and sword on the Day of Reckoning, when the Angel of wrath pours out the vials of God’s anger and all the castles of hell release their hordes. They’re already drawing up lists of who is friend or foe . . .’

‘Protection,’ Cranston interrupted.

‘Agreed. Abbot Walter goes to All Hallows to meet the Upright Men so, when the revolt begins, St Fulcher’s will be spared, which is why the abbot gave the anchorite shelter. He couldn’t find anyone to hang the felons he catches. Nobody wants to be seen as Abbot Walter’s friend. Memories are long. Times are hard. Our Lord Abbot is fey-witted. When the great revolt begins, protection or not, St Fulcher’s will be sacked.’

‘This anchorite?’

‘You know him, my Lord – the painter, the Hangman of Rochester, the one whose wits were tumbled after he hanged that evil witch Alice Rednal.’

‘Oh yes, I remember her. I also recall him. So he’s there. What else?’

‘Prior Alexander has a great love for Sub-Prior Richer, who spends most of his time in the library and scriptorium though sometimes he does meet boatmen from foreign ships.’

‘Why?’

Muckworm became crestfallen. ‘Sir John, I do not know.’

‘How did you learn all this?’

‘Oh, very simple, Sir John.’ Muckworm grinned triumphantly. ‘I have a cousin who is a boatman. More importantly, another cousin is a lay brother at the abbey. He serves in the refectory at the prior’s table. He . . .’

‘And Eleanor Remiet?’

‘Nothing, except she looks after the abbot’s niece. Now, as regards the Wyvern Company,’ Muckworm chattered on, ‘the King’s own bully boys? Men of blood through and through. Oh, I know you fought in the King’s wars but they’re different.’

‘Did you discover much?’

‘All candles burn out, Sir John. I had little time except I did visit the tavern Mahant and Wenlock claimed to have visited on the eve of St Damasus.’ Muckworm raised his eyebrows. ‘They certainly did. They arrived just before the market horn blew and stayed there feasting at the long table and enjoying the favours of some of the ladies offered by the mistress of the maids. According to my sources, the next morning they broke their fast, went out amongst the stalls then returned late to their abbey.’ Muckworm noticed Cranston’s disappointment. ‘But I did search out one secret. Two of my comrades, I believe you are acquainted with them: Mulligrub and Scapskull.’

‘Both gentlemen have graced my judgement chamber, not to mention every stock and pillory post in London.’

‘Sir John, they have turned lawful. Do you remember how swift they are?’

‘Like rats down a hole.’

‘Well, they now serve many of the London taverns as messengers including “The Pride of Purgatory”. They said that Mahant and Wenlock were waiting for Geoffrey Portsoken.’

‘Don’t know him.’

‘Oh yes, you do, Sir John, in the bills posted at St Paul’s Cross and elsewhere, he is Vox Populi . . .’

‘Vox Populi, Vox Dei.’ Cranston smiled in astonishment. ‘He’s a ditch crawler, a hedge creeper, a man who slinks through London and the surrounding shires preaching rebellion and tradition. He calls himself the “Voice of the People and the Voice of God”. He was attainted, proclaimed ultegatum – beyond the law, a wolfshead.’ Cranston sipped from his own tankard.

‘What does he have in common with the Wyverns?’

‘He used to be one of them. Something happened and he was cut off from their company. Anyway, Sir John, Vox Populi is about to be strangled. He’s already appeared before the Justices in Eyre so he’ll dance at Smithfield.’

‘And now?’

‘Lodged in Newgate Hole where the blackness salutes the darkness.’ Muckworm drained his tankard and stared around. ‘Now, my Lord Coroner, other duties call?’