Day of Wrath by Iris Collier

more likely to me that they’d turn round and hit him over the head. Strangling someone as strong as Matthew wouldn’t be easy. Matthew was a tough man, and he’d go down fighting. Strangling implies premeditation. I think someone was lying in wait for him. Someone jumped out on him and seized him round the throat.’
    â€˜I’m inclined to agree with you, my Lord,’ said the Coroner, coming to life. ‘But why should anyone want to murder someone as harmless as your steward? If we rule out thieves then we are without a motive and that’s very undesirable. The Sheriff’ll get nowhere without establishing a motive.’
    â€˜It seems to me that you want to tidy this case up just too neatly,’ said Nicholas severely. ‘First, find the facts, then establish the motive. Not the other way round.’
    â€˜Oh yes, my Lord. Certainly, my Lord. I shouldn’t have spoken.’
    â€˜Well, forget it. And now I expect you could both do with some refreshment. Something to drink? And a slice of ham to go with it?’
    â€˜If it’s no trouble, my Lord.’
    â€˜No trouble at all, Coroner. You’ve had a long, hard morning’s work and there’s a brisk ride ahead of you. Now when can I bury poor Matthew? I can’t keep him in the chapel for ever?’
    â€˜As soon as you can make the arrangements,’ said Landstock. ‘We’ve finished with him. Now we’ve got to get on and find the thieves. Shouldn’t take us long. Someone, somewhere, always seems to see something suspicious and is willing to spill the beans. Particularly when there’s a reward offered.’

Chapter Four
    A pity the King wasn’t here to enjoy this meal, thought Nicholas, as Brother Cyril plunged his knife into the rich suet crust of the great pie, releasing a delicious aroma of rabbits and chickens stuffed with dried plums and raisins, cooked slowly in red wine. He would have enjoyed it enormously. Nicholas was hungry. It seemed a long time ago since he’d eaten his last proper meal at Court, and yet it was only yesterday. And now he was drinking the King’s health in a fine claret, polishing off the pie, and gleefully anticipating the arrival of the suckling pig.
    He loosened the fastenings of his doublet and turned to the monk who was sitting next to him.
    â€˜You keep a well-stocked cellar, Brother Jeremy. Do you personally sample all the casks before you buy?’
    â€˜If I did, my Lord, I wouldn’t be sitting here at this moment reasonably in command of my wits. No, I leave the sampling to Prior Thomas. He’s a better judge than me. I just place the order. Do you like this one?’
    â€˜It’s one of the best I’ve tasted. It complements the pig to perfection.’
    â€˜Then I’ll have a word with the Prior and see that you get a cask in time to celebrate the feast of Corpus Christi. Brother Benedict brought us over some casks of a new wine from the vineyards of Rivières. They are a present from his abbot.’
    Ah, Brother Benedict, thought Nicholas, as, through the steam from the pie and the smoke from the woodfire burning at one end of the great hall, he looked across to the other side of the table where a young monk of outstanding beauty was sitting next to the Prior. Prior Thomas had draped an arm affectionately round the young man’s shoulders, but Brother Benedict’s dark eyes were fixed on Jane Warrener, who had left the table and was busy tuning a lute in one of the alcoves at the far end of the hall. Suddenly, Nicholas felt indignant. No monk should look at a woman like that, he thought. The Prior would have to get rid of that young man before the King’s inspectors arrived.
    The arrival of the suckling pig put an end to such thoughts. Brother Giles had cooked it to perfection and Nicholas tackled his plateful of steaming meat with gusto. One of the steward’s underlings brought in jugs of a