‘I know.’ Athelstan leaned across the table and grabbed Cranston’s gauntleted hand.
‘I heard what you said about the scorpion.’ Cranston chuckled, tossing his cloak and hat on to the empty stool beside him. ‘Brother, I owe you an explanation.’ Cranston paused to order a capon pastry, a pot of vegetables and a goblet of Bordeaux’s best. He waited until Mistress Rohesia served this, whiling the time away by carefully scrutinizing the rest of the customers. ‘You can never be too careful, especially in this vale of tears.’ He sniffed. ‘Life is becoming dangerous, Brother. The Lady Maude, the two poppets, my wolf hounds, not to mention steward Blaskett are all, thank God, in the best of health and safe. Lord knows, I’ve lit enough tapers before the Virgin at Saint Mary-le-Bow in thanks for this. However, once the weather breaks and spring begins to green everything, I’ll send them off to our small manor at Overton.’
‘Matters are so bad?’
‘No, but they will be.’ Cranston thanked Mistress Rohesia for the food and wine, blew her a kiss and lifted the goblet in toast to Athelstan, who declined yet again Mistress Rohesia’s litany of mouth-watering delicacies.
‘You should eat, Brother.’
‘Brother has eaten and drunk enough for the day.’
‘True, and you will feast tonight.’
‘What!’
‘Not for the moment.’ Cranston took a generous bite. Athelstan glanced away; he was fasting and the smell of hot, juicy chicken in a spice sauce might prove to be a temptation too much.
‘Now,’ Cranston dabbed his mouth with his napkin, ‘let me be brief for the hour will soon be upon us. First, you and I know this city bubbles like a bucket of oil over a fire. Secondly, the day will come when the oil and fire meet. The angels be my witness, London will burn. Thirdly, our king, the noble Richard, is only a child. True power lies with his dear uncle, our self-styled Regent John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster etc., etc.’ Cranston waved his hand. ‘Gaunt is also preparing for the evil day. He has brought across his agents in Flanders, powerful Ghent merchants – the city Gaunt was born in – Pieter Oudernarde and his father Guido.’ Cranston pulled a face. ‘The rest are just minions, household henchmen. On the ninth of January last I was told to meet them north of the old city wall near Saint John’s in Clerkenwell. The Upright Men launched an attack. Now,’ Cranston took a sip of his claret, ‘the Upright Men could have easily discovered something was afoot. Many of them are old soldiers; they disguised themselves in white sheets in order to blend in with the snow, an old trick used many times in France.’ Cranston paused. ‘Anyway, the attack was launched but beaten off – there’s the rub. At first, I thought they were trying to kill the Oudernardes – they weren’t. The Flemings had brought a prisoner, I’m sure it was a woman, cloaked, cowled and strictly guarded. The fiercest fighting took place around her and certain bundles on the sumpter ponies. The prisoner was kept safe but some of the baggage was plundered and taken.’
‘And the prisoner?’
‘Escorted down to the Tower. I and my men-at-arms parted company with them at the Lion gate. Rosselyn, captain of archers, together with Lascelles, Thibault’s henchman, were very strict on that. The prisoner, the sumpter ponies and their escort disappeared swiftly inside.’ Cranston pulled a face. ‘More than that I do not know. And you?’
Athelstan told him about his parish, the troubles faced by Spicer Warde and Athelstan’s own eerie meeting with the envoys from the Upright Men the previous evening.
‘I confronted Watkin and Pike,’ Athelstan declared. ‘Sir John, what I tell you now is what you already suspect. Both are members of the Great Community of the Realm. Pike certainly sits high on the councils of the Upright Men.’ Athelstan sighed. ‘They know all about the Roundhoop affair. They’d been instructed once that meeting was over to receive the Upright Men in Southwark and arrange safe passage back into the southern shires.’ Athelstan crossed himself. ‘Of course, all the Upright Men were killed.’
‘Because Gaunt and Thibault knew about the meeting.’
‘According to Pike, this information may well have come from the Community of the Realm’s cell-house, as they call it, the parish of Saint Erconwald’s. In other words, one of my parishioners, while acting as a fervent supporter of the Community of the Realm, could be one of Gaunt’s informants.’
‘And so we come to Agag and the Amalekites,’ Cranston murmured.
‘In the book of Samuel, Agag and his tribe were defeated by the Israelites. The prophet Samuel put them under the ban; he ordered King Saul to slaughter them all.’