The House of Crows

its sessions, either by making inquiries or listening to your conversations. All he had to do was enter the cloisters and stand by those latrines, probably hiding in a cubicle holding the crossbow and bolt which he had taken from its hiding place. After that it was easy. He knew Goldingham would come, either during the session or after. It was just a matter of waiting. Once the latrines were empty he struck: a crossbow bolt into Goldingham’s heart. The arbalest was hidden again and, in the confusion before anyone knew what had happened, Banyard was out of Westminster, hastening back towards his tavern.’
    Athelstan spread his hands. ‘We must also remember that, if anything went wrong, Banyard could easily explain his presence and wait for another opportunity either here or in Shrewsbury. Westminster, however, was an ideal place.’
    ‘No one would miss him,’ Cranston intervened. ‘After all, mine host here owns the tavern. Where he goes and what he does is his own business. The Gargoyle is simply a walk away and, because he lives near the abbey buildings, no one would ever remark on his presence.’ Cranston rose and stood over the taverner.‘Master Banyard.’
    The taverner lifted his face, pallid and sweat-covered. ‘Master Banyard, do you have anything to say?’ Cranston asked. ‘In answer to these accusations?’
    Banyard half smiled, as if savouring a joke.
    ‘The axe is behind the altar, Brother,’ he declared, ignoring Cranston. ‘You’ll find it there.’ He blinked and wetted his lips. ‘I’d like a pot of ale,’ he said quietly. ‘The best my tavern can provide.’ He laughed. ‘But that’s all over now, isn’t it?’ He sat up, breathing deeply. ‘I was born Walter Polam in the parish of St Dunstan’s, Oswestry, Shropshire. When I was fifteen these men killed my father, as they had murdered others. I left Shropshire and invested all I had in a tavern near Cripplegate. I thought I would forget the past.’
    He stared up at the ceiling. ‘I changed my name. I married, but Edith died of the sweating sickness, so I sold the house and bought the Gargoyle tavern. Have you ever looked at the sign, Brother? It depicts a knight with a twisted, leering face.’ He nodded, rocking himself backwards and forwards. ‘Oh, of course, I dreamed of vengeance. After Edith’s death these dreams began to plague me. I took a vow that I would return to Shropshire and seek vengeance on my father’s assassins!’ Banyard smirked at Malmesbury. ‘And then you arrived at the Gargoyle, a knight of the shire, a representative of the Commons. Others came with you.
    ‘I began to plan your deaths. I prayed that one day I would have all of you under my roof — and so it happened. That pompous steward of yours, Faversham, comes bustling along and, of course, I had rooms for you.’ He glanced at Athelstan. ‘Not all of them came, you know. There are at least another two in Shrewsbury with whom I have unfinished business. But,’ he shrugged, ‘what happened is as you described it. Bouchon, Swynford.’ Banyard jabbed his finger towards Malmesbury. ‘You I was leaving till last! I wanted to wait until you returned to Shropshire, so I could hang you from the same tree as you did my father—’
    ‘Banyard,’ Sir John broke in, ‘I arrest you for the horrible crime of murder.’
    ‘And what about these?’ the taverner sneered back. ‘Aren’t they assassins as well?’ He smiled. ‘I’d like to hang from the j same gibbet as they do.’
    ‘You cannot touch us!’ Malmesbury shouted back. ‘The regent has offered us pardons for all crimes committed.’
    He looked more fearful as Coverdale rose and unrolled a piece of parchment from his wallet. The captain of guards tapped each of the three knights on their shoulders.
    ‘Sir Edmund Malmesbury, Sir Humphrey Aylebore, Sir Thomas Elontius, I arrest you for murder.’
    ‘This is hypocrisy!’ Aylebore shouted, springing to his feet. ‘The regent promised pardons. By what authority do you do this?’
    Sir Miles lifted up the piece of parchment with Gaunt’s seal affixed to it.
    ‘All your names are written here, sir. The regent gave it to me this morning. I was not to execute it until after the king had visited his Commons.’
    ‘But the regent offered us a pardon,’ Malmesbury insisted, tears in his eyes.
    Sir Miles smiled. ‘Only His Grace the King can do that, sir.’
    He deftly plucked the daggers from each of the three men’s belts and,