The House of the Red Slayer

the taverner,’ he announced. ‘Murdered. I think the good aldeiman will need your help to assemble the corpse.’
    Then, hand on his long Welsh dagger, Sir John trudged back along the ice-packed runnels and alleyways. He turned into the Mercery and gasped as the icy wind tore away his breath. ‘Oh, for summer!’ he wailed to himself. ‘For weeds in clumps, for grass lovely and lush.’
    He slithered on the icy cobbles and leaned against the wooden frame of a house, grinning.
    ‘Athelstan should be here helping,’ he murmured. ‘If not with headless corpses, then at least by keeping me steady on the ice.‘
    He walked on up Cheapside. A dark shape slid from the shadows to meet him. Cranston half drew his dagger.
    ‘Sir John, for the love of Christ!‘
    Cranston peered closer at the raw-boned face of the one-legged beggar who always sold trinkets from his rickety stall on the corner of Milk Street.
    ‘Not in bed, Leif? Looking for a lady, are we?’
    ‘Sir John, I’ve been robbed!’
    ‘See the sheriff!‘
    ‘Sir John, I have no money and no food.’
    ‘Then stay in bed!‘
    Leif steadied himself against the wall. ‘I paid no rent so I lost my garret,’ he wailed.
    ‘Well, go and beg at St Bartholomew’s!‘ Cranston barked back, and trudged on. He heard Leif hopping behind him.
    ‘Sir John, help me.’
    ‘Bugger off, Leif.’
    ‘Thank you, Sir John,’ the beggar answered as coins tinkled to the ground. Leif knew enough about the fat coroner to understand Sir John hated to be seen giving charity.
    Cranston stopped before his own house and looked up at the candlelit windows. Leif nearly crashed into him and Cranston shrugged him off. What is the matter with Maude? he wondered. He had always considered marriage similar to dipping one’s hand into a bag of eels — it depended on luck what you drew out. Yet he had been so fortunate. He adored Maude from the mousey hair of her head to the soles of her tiny feet.
    As he mused a figure suddenly emerged from the alleyway which ran alongside Cranston’s house.
    ‘By the sod!‘ he exclaimed. ‘Doesn’t anyone in this benighted city sleep?’
    The fellow approached and Cranston recognised the livery of the Lord Mayor.
    ‘By the sod,’ he repeated, ‘more trouble!’
    The young pursuivant, teeth chattering, hoarsely delivered his message.
    ‘Sir John, the Lord Mayor and his sheriffs wish to see you now at the Guildhall.’
    ‘Go to hell!‘
    ‘Thank you, Sir John. The Lord Mayor said your reply would be something like that. Shall I wait for you?’ The young man clapped his hands together. ‘Sir John, I am cold.‘
    Still bellowing ‘By the sod!’ Cranston banged on the door of his house. A thin-faced maid opened it. Behind her stood Maude, now fully dressed, her sweet face tear-stained. Sir John grinned at her to hide his own disquiet.
    ‘Lady wife, I am off to the Guildhall — but not before I break fast.’ He dragged the young pursuivant in with him. ‘He’ll eat too. He looks as if he needs it.’
    Cranston spun on his heel, went back outside and reentered, dragging in Leif by the scruff of his neck. ‘This idle bugger will also be joining us. After which, find him a job. He will be spending Yuletide here.’ He tapped his broad girth. ‘For all of us, hot oatmeal and spiced cakes!’ The coroner sniffed the air. ‘And some of that white manchet, freshly baked.’ He looked slyly at his wife. ‘And claret, hot and spiced. Then tell the groom I need a horse!‘ He grinned broadly, but despite his bluster Cranston noticed how pale and ill his wife looked. He glanced away. Oh God! he thought. Am I to lose Maude? He tossed off his cloak and strode past his wife, touching her gently on the shoulder as he passed.

    Athelstan was distributing communion, placing the thin white wafers on the tongues of his parishioners. Crim held the silver plate under their chins to catch any crumbs which might fall. Most of the parish council had turned up, some wandering in when Mass was half over.
    The friar was about to return to the altar when he heard a tapping on the outside wall of the far aisle. Of course! He had forgotten the lepers, two unfortunates whom he’d allowed to shelter in the musty charnel house in the cemetery. Athelstan provided them with food and drink and a bowl of water infused with mulberry to wash in, but never once had he glimpsed their scabrous white faces, though from his clothes one was definitely a male. He wished he