'And how shall I forgive you, oh great killer of the alleyways?' Athelstan asked. 'Slaughterer on the midden-heap! Scourge of rats! Come on now!'

Bonaventure leapt into the friar's lap. Athelstan sat there stroking him, half-listening to the tomcat's deep purr as he reflected on Eleanor's problems. The new parish blood book didn't go back far so he would have to depend on verbal testimony. However, if Pike the ditcher's wife was bent on mischief, she might already have jogged memories in the direction she wanted. On the one hand Athelstan felt angry at such meddling but, on the other, if the ditcher's wife was correct, he would not sanctify Eleanor's and Oswald's marriage. So where could he start? What could he do?

The church door opened with a crash. Athelstan thought it was Sir John Cranston but Luke Bladder-sniff the beadle, his bulbous red nose glowing like a piece of fiery charcoal, stumbled into the church.

'Murder!' he screamed. 'Oh horrors! Murder most terrible!'

'In God's name Bladdersniff, what's the matter?' 'Murder!' the beadle shrieked. 'Come, Brother!'

Athelstan followed him out on to the porch. The day was fine, the sun shone strong. He could see nothing except Bladdersniff's large handcart in the mouth of the alleyway. Pike and Watkin were guarding it as if it held the royal treasure. Then Athelstan went cold as he glimpsed a bare foot, a hand sticking out from beneath the dirty sheet.

'In God's name!' he breathed. 'How many?'

'Three, Brother.'

Athelstan knew what Bladdersniff would say next.

'I brought them here because they were found in the parish. I do not recognise them, they are the corpses of strangers. According to the law, such relicts must be displayed outside the parish church for a day and a night.'