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collops!’
    ’You can’t do that!’ Manyer the hangman declared. ’That’s theft. You could hang, Pike!’
    ’He’ll hang anyway.’ Watkin’s wife spoke up.
    ’The next matter we must discuss,’ Athelstan intervened quickly, ’is that the Guild of Rat-Catchers have asked to hold their Guild service here next week.’
    Ranulf now stood up, cradling the two ferrets in his arms.
    ’I have agreed to that,’ Athelstan continued. ’Rat-catchers from all over Southwark will attend. I will offer a Mass of thanksgiving, bless the cages, traps and ferrets...’
    ’And cats,’ Ranulf added, glancing enviously at the great, one-eyed Bonaventure sitting so patiently by Athelstan’s feet. The rat-catcher licked his lips. He would pay gold for Bonaventure, a great assassin of mice and vermin, a superb hunter. Ranulf secretly worshipped the ground Bonaventure trod on and, unbeknown to the priest, had tried to inveigle the cat away with dishes of cream and salted herring. Bonaventure had taken the temptation but promptly returned to his master.
    ’You are all welcome to attend.’
    Athelstan paused as the church door was thrown open and Sir John Cranston swaggered in, cloak over one arm, sword clanking against his leg. The coroner beamed round the parish council.
    ’With a number of notable exceptions,’ he smiled at Benedicta, ’I have seen fairer faces in the stocks at Newgate.’
    ’You keep a civil tongue in your head!’ Pike the ditcher’s wife sprang to her feet. ’Just because you’re coroner...!’
    ’Hush, woman, I’m only jesting. You are all my beloveds.’ He tucked his thumbs into his sword belt. ’Brother Athelstan, a I word?’
    The parish council rose. If the truth be known they were slightly fearful of Sir John and his powers. A man, despite his girth and bluff ways, who had the eyes of an eagle and the hunting instincts of one of Ranulf’s ferrets. Athelstan nodded at Benedicta.
    ’I suppose I’ll be going soon,’ he said. ’Make sure that Philomel’s safe in the stables and leave some milk out for Bonaventure.’
    The widow woman smiled and Athelstan’s heart skipped a beat. He was glad he had not left Southwark and that beautiful, darkhaired, soft-eyed woman was one reason. Athelstan had examined his conscience: he did not ’lust after her in his mind’s eye’, as Scripture said, he just loved being near her, particularly when she teased him.
    Once the church had emptied, Sir John closed the door. He pulled1 up one of the benches and sat opposite Athelstan. He flinched in distaste as Bonaventure, who seemed to adore the stout coroner,’ came to rub his body against his fat leg, arching his back in pleasure, tail high, eyes half-closed.
    ’I don’t like cats.’
    ’He likes you, Sir John.’ Athelstan got to his feet, put his hands in the small of his back and stretched. ’But I don’t like parish councils.’ He sighed. ’You’re here on official business?’
    ’You can read my mind, Brother. His Grace the Duke of Lancaster, John of Gaunt, Regent of the kingdom, uncle to the King, requires our presence at the Savoy , immediately.’
    ’Why?’
    ’I don’t know.’
    ’Ah well.’
    Athelstan went to the door and then started back as a tousled Godbless trotted into the church, the little goat skipping behind him.
    ’What on earth?’
    Godbless crouched down, putting one arm over the goat, which turned and nuzzled his unshaven cheek. Sir John quickly described what had happened.
    ’I can’t keep it!’ he wailed. ’The Lady Maude has a horror of goats.’
    Athelstan caught the pleading look in his eyes.
    ’What’s its name?’
    ’The four-legged goat’s Judas. The two-legged one’s Godbless.’
    ’Why Godbless?’
    ’Godbless is a pickpocket. He attends Mass just before the communion when the kiss of peace is exchanged. He grasps your hand, kisses you on your cheek and, as he whispers “God bless”, tries to lift your purse.’
    Athelstan crouched down beside