Free The House of Shadows by Paul Doherty

the flagship.’ Malachi fell silent.
    ‘But neither the barge nor the Lombard treasure ever reached the flagship,’ Sir Maurice explained.
    ‘Impossible,’ Athelstan said.
    Sir Maurice shook his head. ‘Believe me, both the river and the city were searched. Of the boatmen who brought the barge, or the two knights, not a trace was found, nor of the treasure they were transporting. They all vanished off the face of the earth.’
    ‘I remember this.’ Cranston refilled his wine cup. ‘I was in Calais at the time and returned to London just before Christmas. A thorough search was organised.’
    ‘And nothing was found?’ Athelstan queried.
    ‘Nothing.’ Malachi shook his head. ‘My brother and Edward Mortimer . . . well, it seemed as though they’d never existed. For twenty years I have searched. What is worse is that both were proclaimed as thieves. On the same night the Lombard treasure disappeared, Guinevere the Golden also vanished. Every year we come up to London, every year I make enquiries, but nothing.’
    Athelstan rose to his feet, seemingly fascinated by the tapestry mentioned by Rolles, which hung just within the doorway. Costly and heavy, the stitching was exquisite, its red, green and blue thread streaked with gold. The tapestry described the famous fable, the storming of the Castle of Love. Armed knights, displaying the device of a heart, were preparing to swarm into the castle, their catapults and trebuchets full of roses with which to shower the lady custodians, who were ready to defend themselves with baskets of brilliantly coloured flowers. Athelstan ran his hand down it and found the heavily concealed pocket in the bottom right-hand corner of the tapestry.
    ‘I have seen that device before,’ Sir John called out. ‘In the well-to-do taverns and hostelries of France, a place where favourite customers can, anonymously, leave a letter asking for the services of a courtesan.’ Sir John smacked his lips. ‘Or whatever their heart desires.’
    Athelstan dug his hand deep into the pocket. It was empty. He returned to the table.
    ‘Has any trace of the Lombard treasure ever been found?’
    Sir Maurice shook his head. ‘Everything disappeared. Our two comrades, the treasure, not to mention the whore Guinevere.’
    ‘No, that’s wrong.’ Malachi spoke up. ‘I discovered many years later that the barge had been found in the mud and slime further downriver.’
    ‘How did you discover that?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Two bargemen had been hired; both were married, both left widows, who petitioned the Exchequer for compensation. Of course the barons of the Exchequer replied that the men could still be alive, so the widows’ kinsmen organised a search. You see,’ Malachi spread his hands, ‘the fleet sailed three days after the robbery. We had to leave. So the search for the treasure and the others was left to the City authorities. Only many years later did I hear about the barge.’
    ‘That’s true,’ Sir Maurice murmured.
    Athelstan was about to continue his questioning when there was a knock on the door. Master Rolles entered carrying a tray of herbs, bowls of saffron, mace, nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon. Athelstan breathed in the refreshing smells.
    ‘I’ve brought these to sweeten the room,’ the taverner explained. ‘If you are finished, sirs . . .’
    He paused at a loud hammering and knocking from the gallery above, followed by shouts.
    ‘If you are finished,’ Rolles repeated, choosing to ignore the clamour, ‘I would like to prepare for the midday meal.’
    ‘Certainly, sir.’ Sir John rubbed his stomach. ‘And what are you offering, Master Rolles?’
    ‘Frumenty soup, sprinkled with venison and saffron, Tuscany broth with rabbit and almond milk, garnished with nutmeg and galingale, followed by pike stuffed with lampreys and eels. Pheasant . . .’
    Sir John groaned in pleasure.
    The taverner placed the tray on the table. As he did so, Sir Laurence Broomhill hurried in.
    ‘Sir