The Devil's Domain

tear it to pieces. Sir John took another swig of wine but kept one eye on the goat, which seemed fascinated. He was sure that the animal licked its lips.
    ’Well, come on, Simon, what do you propose? None of your impertinence!’
    ’Of course not, Sir John. But Brother Athelstan is your secretarius...’
    Sir John’s huge face broke into a grin.
    ’Of course!’ He banged the table-top. ’Friars are supposed to love bloody animals, aren’t they? He has a cemetery, he can keep it there. There’s nothing in the will that says I can’t give it away as a gift.’ He narrowed his eyes. ’I could still give it to you.’
    ’Sir John, a wife and two children in a tenement in Pig’s Barrow Lane?’
    ’Then the friar will have to have it.’ He patted his stomach in delight.
    ’Remember, Sir John,’ Simon declared sonorously. ’Athelstan is a Dominican. It’s St Francis and his Order who have the reputation of caring for animals.’
    ’They are all the same to me,’ Sir John muttered. ’Right!’
    He eased himself out of his chair, put on his sword belt, sliding in the sword and dagger. As he threw the cloak round his shoulders he felt a nip on his thigh and glared down at the offending goat.
    ’You are bloody well named!’ he growled.
    ’Oh, Sir John, look, it likes you!’
    Judas was now nudging his new owner’s tree-like thigh.
    ’Get a piece of bloody rope!’ Sir John ordered. ’Tie it round the bastard’s neck! It’s off to Southwark to join the rest of the goats!’
    Simon, who had secretly promised himself to watch Sir John’s progress down Cheapside , hastened to obey. He fetched a piece of smooth hemp and expertly tied it round the goat’s neck. Sir John snatched the other end, glaring balefully at his scrivener, then paused at a clattering on the stairs. A young man, dressed in a leather doublet displaying the colours of John of Gaunt, burst into the room. Judging by his sword belt the visitor was a knight. The young man’s shirt was open at the neck and he wore a silver necklace with the ’S.S.’ emblem of the House of Lancaster.
    ’What do you want?’ Sir John snapped.
    ’I’m Sir Maurice Maltravers.’
    Sir John glimpsed the piece of parchment in his hand.
    ’Congratulations! You work for my Lord of Gaunt?’
    ’I’m in his household, Sir John.’
    ’God have mercy on you.’ Sir John pulled at the goat. ’Don’t look surprised, young man. All manner of things end up in a coroner’s court.’
    ’I have a message, Sir John. My Lord of Gaunt, he wishes to see you and Brother Athelstan on a matter of urgency at his palace at the Savoy .’
    Sir John studied the young man from head to toe.
    ’Maltravers?’
    ’Yes, Sir John.’
    Sir John chewed the comer of his lip.
    ’Oh, by the way, Simon.’ He licked his fingers. ’Get it for me.’
    The scrivener obeyed with alacrity. Sir John slipped the wineskin on to the hook of his belt, then tapped Sir Maurice on the chest.
    ’I knew your father. Yes,’ he breathed. ’Same colour hair, same strong face, though his eyes were larger and his nose was straight.’
    The young man coloured. He tightened his jaw.
    ’My nose was broken, Sir John, when I fought the French at sea.’
    Sir John brought his great paw down on the knight’s shoulder.
    ’By Mab’s tits!’ he roared. ’You are the Maltravers who took the St Sulpice and St Denis ! ’ He pushed the wineskin into the man’s hands. ’A brave feat, it will teach the bloody French to take to sea!’
    Sir Maurice didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased.
    ’Go on, have a drink!’ Sir John urged. He gripped the knight’s shoulder and stared across at Simon. ’You are in the presence of a hero, Simon! Just like his father. I was with him in France , you know? When the Black Prince went storming like the wind through Normandy . Like the dogs of war we were.’
    Simon sighed and raised his eyes heavenwards. If Sir John started on the history of his exploits in France , they’d be here until Vespers. Thankfully the goat began to edge towards the parchment on the table. Sir Maurice, catching Simon’s look, hastily pushed the wineskin back into Sir John’s hand.
    ’My lord coroner, I must hasten back.’
    ’Aye.’ Sir John sighed and stretched out a hand. ’I meant no offence, young man.’
    Sir Maurice stared into the ice-blue eyes and recalled what the gossip said about this great coroner with his red face and bristling white moustache and beard. A man of