The Straw Men Read Online Free PDF Page A

Lascelles always reminded Athelstan of a raven with his sallow-pitted skin, pointed face and a nose as sharp as a hook above thin, bloodless lips. A strange soul, Athelstan considered, Lascelles was Thibault’s dagger man and enjoyed the most unsavoury reputation. The Flemings were only known to Athelstan by common rumour. The red-faced Oudernardes, father and son, were Gaunt’s agents in Ghent – powerful merchants, they looked the part with their heavy-jowled features, luxuriant beards and moustaches. Both were dressed soberly although costly in beaver hats, ermine-lined mantles and cloaks of the purest wool. Lettenhove, their man at arms, was a hardbitten veteran, his narrow face and close-cropped head marked with old wounds and cuts. Cornelius, their secretary, was small and round as a dumpling with narrow, blackcurrant eyes which almost disappeared into the folds of his pasty white face. Cornelius’ hand shake was soft and limp, his voice lisping like a girl’s, yet Athelstan caught his shifty, haughty look; how Cornelius’ lips pursed in a smirk as he surveyed Athelstan from head to toe. He then turned away, nodding to himself as if he’d weighed the Dominican in the balance and found him wanting. Athelstan bit back his temper. Cranston coughed and clapped his hands.
    â€˜No movement?’ the coroner barked louder than he intended. ‘Rosselyn, what is happening here?’ The captain of archers on the other side of the entrance edged forward; he stooped and raced across the entrance to the tavern yard. He’d hardly reached the other side when an arrow whipped through the air to clatter further down the lane.
    â€˜In God’s name!’ Athelstan exclaimed.
    â€˜Peer round the gate, Brother,’ Cranston urged, ‘but stoop, be quick!’
    Athelstan did so. The cobbled stable yard glistened with bloody, melted slush. The outhouses on either side, the storerooms, smithy and stables looked deserted, though Athelstan heard the whinnying of horses in their stalls. He edged further and gasped. Two corpses hung by their necks from the bars of an upper window, its shutters flung back. The men just dangled there, hands tied behind their backs, booted feet swaying, necks twisted, heads slightly back, faces frozen in a horrid death. Closer to the main tavern door two huge mastiffs were sprawled in a pool of freezing blood; arrow shafts pierced their throats and flanks. One of the shutters in the grey-rounded wall moved. Athelstan drew back as another shaft sped through the air.
    â€˜Sir John, Master Thibault,’ Athelstan demanded, ‘what is going on? Why have I been brought here?’
    â€˜They have asked for you.’ Cranston took a swig from his wine skin.
    â€˜Who have? Sir John, please, what is happening?’ Though remembering Ranulf’s interruption of Mass, Athelstan began to suspect the worst. Cranston leaned against the wall, the others grouped around him. Athelstan sensed there was something very wrong. The coroner would not look him in the eye. He was about to speak when a shout echoed from the Roundhoop.
    â€˜We have glimpsed a black and white robe. Is Athelstan the Dominican here?’
    â€˜Yes!’ Athelstan shouted back before anyone could stop him. ‘Yes, I am. What do you want with me?’
    â€˜To talk.’
    Athelstan turned to Cranston. ‘Why,’ he demanded fiercely, ‘am I here?’
    â€˜Four days ago,’ Thibault answered, ‘we were attacked on our way to the Tower.’
    â€˜Yes, I’d heard about that – the entire city did.’
    â€˜Our assailants were despatched by the Upright Men, leaders of the so-called “Great Community of the Realm”.’
    â€˜And?’
    â€˜We heard,’ Cranston replied, gesturing at Thibault, ‘how some of the Upright Men were meeting at the Roundhoop. Minehost here, Simon Goodmayes, is known to be sympathetic to their