that, Brother.’
Cranston took off his beaver hat and threw it down between his feet. Loosening his sword belt, he made himself comfortable. Once the Judas Man was seated on the bale of straw, the questioning was resumed.
‘You were hired to capture the Misericord. By whom?’
‘I don’t know. Look.’ The Judas Man held up a hand. ‘Whilst working in Essex I received a letter along with a purse of silver. I was given the Misericord’s name and a slight description. I was told to be in London at this tavern by the eve of the Feast of St Wulfnoth.’
‘Why were you hired? To capture the Misericord or kill him?’
‘The Misericord is an outlaw – he is wanted dead or alive. I would have given him the chance to surrender.’
‘Why were you hired?’
There was a pause as Sir Maurice Clinton went over and secured the outhouse door, which was banging in the cold breeze.
‘I’ve told you,’ the Judas Man retorted. ‘The Misericord is a villain, he is wanted dead or alive. He has probably offended someone who is tired of dealing with sheriffs and coroners and wants to see him hanged at Smithfleld.’
‘So you came here. Oh, by the way,’ Cranston jabbed a finger, ‘I would be grateful if you would treat the office of coroner with more respect.’ He jabbed his finger again. ‘You lodged at this tavern?’
The Judas Man shrugged in agreement.
‘How did you know the Misericord was in the tap room?’
‘I received a message, left outside my chamber along with another purse of coins.’
‘Who brought it?’
‘I don’t know. I went downstairs – I met Sir Maurice and his comrades. I went into the tap room looking for a red-haired man with a misericord dangling around his neck. I thought I had found him. I questioned him. I gave him the chance to surrender. He attacked me, so I killed him.’
‘I can vouch for that.’ Master Rolles undid the top clasp of his boiled leather jerkin. ‘My bailiffs saw what happened.’
‘Did they now?’ Cranston took another slurp from his wine skin but didn’t offer it to the others, a sign of his growing annoyance. ‘Master Rolles, you will have to vouch for many things. These corpses were found in your tavern. Two beautiful women, one killed by a crossbow bolt, the other by a dagger. I understand they were found in the hay barn?’
‘Yes, it is just across the yard.’
‘What were they doing there? Come on,’ Cranston barked. ‘Who hired this Judas Man’s chamber, who brought the message to his chamber? Who told these two girls to leave the tavern and go to a hay barn in the dead of night?’
The taverner wiped his sweat-soaked palms on his woollen hose.
‘Sir John . . .’
‘Don’t Sir John me. I am not Sir John or Sir Jack to you, but the Lord Coroner of London. In your eyes you must regard me as God Almighty on horseback. Answer my questions.’
‘We all have visitors at night,’ the taverner murmured. ‘About two weeks ago, on the Feast of St Hedwig, a customer brought me a message, told me I had a visitor outside—’
‘Of course,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘I am sure, Master Rolles, knowing what I do of you, you have many visitors at night: the cask of Bordeaux brought in without paying customs, the cloth from Bruges, farmers prepared to sell their meat without paying London tolls, fishermen who sell their catch without handing over any of their profits to the Guild.’
‘You can’t prove that,’ Rolles retorted.
‘Oh, one day I will! Sooner than you think, if you don’t answer my questions. This visitor . . .’
‘I went out to the yard,’ Rolles confessed. ‘There were three of them, all cloaked and cowled. I told them my time cost money. A silver coin was tossed at my feet. I asked them what they wanted. One man stepped forward, he was hooded and visored. I couldn’t recognise his voice or make out any emblem or sign. He asked me when the Great Ratting would take place. I told him. He said he wished to hire a chamber for
Cranston took off his beaver hat and threw it down between his feet. Loosening his sword belt, he made himself comfortable. Once the Judas Man was seated on the bale of straw, the questioning was resumed.
‘You were hired to capture the Misericord. By whom?’
‘I don’t know. Look.’ The Judas Man held up a hand. ‘Whilst working in Essex I received a letter along with a purse of silver. I was given the Misericord’s name and a slight description. I was told to be in London at this tavern by the eve of the Feast of St Wulfnoth.’
‘Why were you hired? To capture the Misericord or kill him?’
‘The Misericord is an outlaw – he is wanted dead or alive. I would have given him the chance to surrender.’
‘Why were you hired?’
There was a pause as Sir Maurice Clinton went over and secured the outhouse door, which was banging in the cold breeze.
‘I’ve told you,’ the Judas Man retorted. ‘The Misericord is a villain, he is wanted dead or alive. He has probably offended someone who is tired of dealing with sheriffs and coroners and wants to see him hanged at Smithfleld.’
‘So you came here. Oh, by the way,’ Cranston jabbed a finger, ‘I would be grateful if you would treat the office of coroner with more respect.’ He jabbed his finger again. ‘You lodged at this tavern?’
The Judas Man shrugged in agreement.
‘How did you know the Misericord was in the tap room?’
‘I received a message, left outside my chamber along with another purse of coins.’
‘Who brought it?’
‘I don’t know. I went downstairs – I met Sir Maurice and his comrades. I went into the tap room looking for a red-haired man with a misericord dangling around his neck. I thought I had found him. I questioned him. I gave him the chance to surrender. He attacked me, so I killed him.’
‘I can vouch for that.’ Master Rolles undid the top clasp of his boiled leather jerkin. ‘My bailiffs saw what happened.’
‘Did they now?’ Cranston took another slurp from his wine skin but didn’t offer it to the others, a sign of his growing annoyance. ‘Master Rolles, you will have to vouch for many things. These corpses were found in your tavern. Two beautiful women, one killed by a crossbow bolt, the other by a dagger. I understand they were found in the hay barn?’
‘Yes, it is just across the yard.’
‘What were they doing there? Come on,’ Cranston barked. ‘Who hired this Judas Man’s chamber, who brought the message to his chamber? Who told these two girls to leave the tavern and go to a hay barn in the dead of night?’
The taverner wiped his sweat-soaked palms on his woollen hose.
‘Sir John . . .’
‘Don’t Sir John me. I am not Sir John or Sir Jack to you, but the Lord Coroner of London. In your eyes you must regard me as God Almighty on horseback. Answer my questions.’
‘We all have visitors at night,’ the taverner murmured. ‘About two weeks ago, on the Feast of St Hedwig, a customer brought me a message, told me I had a visitor outside—’
‘Of course,’ Cranston interrupted. ‘I am sure, Master Rolles, knowing what I do of you, you have many visitors at night: the cask of Bordeaux brought in without paying customs, the cloth from Bruges, farmers prepared to sell their meat without paying London tolls, fishermen who sell their catch without handing over any of their profits to the Guild.’
‘You can’t prove that,’ Rolles retorted.
‘Oh, one day I will! Sooner than you think, if you don’t answer my questions. This visitor . . .’
‘I went out to the yard,’ Rolles confessed. ‘There were three of them, all cloaked and cowled. I told them my time cost money. A silver coin was tossed at my feet. I asked them what they wanted. One man stepped forward, he was hooded and visored. I couldn’t recognise his voice or make out any emblem or sign. He asked me when the Great Ratting would take place. I told him. He said he wished to hire a chamber for
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