Read Online The Field of Blood by Paul Doherty - Free Book Online Page A

taken any of his property with him.’
    ‘You are sure of that?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Yes and we thought it strange because, just after they disappeared, Mistress Vestler said she had kept Margot’s belongings long enough. Nothing much, just a gown, a cloak, some trifles. She was in a fair temper. She burned them on the midden-heap in the yard.’
    ‘Why did she do that?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Mistress Vestler said her tavern had enough clutter. Margot was not coming back and she wouldn’t get a price for any of the goods.’ The maid shrugged.
    ‘Did you notice anything else untoward?’ Athelstan asked. ‘About their disappearance?’
    A chorus of no’s greeted his question. Sir John got to his feet and pointed to the ale-master.
    ‘I’m appointing you as steward. You will answer to the Crown on what happens here.’
    The ale-master’s face paled. ‘And Mistress Vestler?’
    ‘I have no choice,’ Sir John replied. ‘I must arrest her for murder and commit her for trial before the King’s justices!’

Chapter 4
    This declaration was met by horrified silence.
    ‘It’s impossible!’ the ale-master whispered.
    ‘I must tell you,’ Sir John replied, ‘that we have been out to Black Meadow. Aye, and it’s well named. We have discovered the corpses of both Margot and Bartholomew.’
    One of the maids started to sob.
    ‘And worse yet,’ the coroner continued, ‘the skeletons of six others.’
    One of the potboys began to shake; he crept like a little child to sit with one of the maids who put her arms around him. Athelstan studied them carefully. These were not hard men and women but good people, simple in their loves and hates, their work and lives. The evil Sir John was describing was well beyond their experience. If Kathryn Vestler was guilty of such hideous crimes, her servants were certainly innocent. Athelstan rose and walked into the centre of the taproom.
    ‘In Christ’s name,’ he declared, ‘and I ask you now, as you will answer for the truth before Christ and His court of angels, do any of you know anything about these deaths?’
    The assembled company just looked at him.
    ‘Then I have my answer. So, I ask you this, solemnly, on the Eucharist, the body and blood of Christ.’ He paused. ‘Over the last two years, has anyone ever come here, making enquiries about people who stayed at the Paradise Tree?’
    The ale-master stepped forward and two of the chambermaids raised their hands.
    ‘Brother, in the last few months to my recollection, strangers have come asking, “Did so and so reside here? Did they hire a chamber? Did they eat and drink?”’
    ‘I have heard the same.’ One of the maids spoke up.
    ‘Who were these people?’ Sir John asked.
    ‘Oh strangers, chapmen, pedlars, tinkers, people coming in and out of the city.’
    ‘Aye and enquiries were made about Bartholomew and Margot,’ another offered.
    ‘There’s more.’ The potboy came forward, his little thin arms hanging by his side like sticks. ‘I have seen Mistress Vestler burn possessions.’
    Athelstan glanced at the coroner, who usually maintained his bonhomie, his fiery good humour, but his rubicund face had paled. He looked haggard, rather old.
    ‘Oh, Sir John,’ Athelstan sighed. ‘What do we have here?’
    ‘You’d best go about your duties,’ Sir John told the tavern workers. ‘Brother Athelstan, come with me.’
    They went out up the wooden staircase. The Paradise Tree was well named. The floorboards were polished and cleaned. The windows on the stairwells were full of glass, some even painted with emblems. Bronze brackets for candles were fastened into the wooden panelling. Flowers and pots of herbs were tastefully arranged along shelves and sills. The first gallery even had woollen rugs to deaden the sound; small pictures in gilt frames decorated its walls. At the far end a door stood half-open. Inside Kathryn Vestler was sitting on a chair, Hengan beside her on a stool. The tavern-mistress’s