'So, why are we here, Sir John?'

The coroner tapped his fleshy nose.

'Have you ever heard of approving?'

Athelstan nodded. 'It's a legal term?'

'Well, that's what the clever lawyers call it! Let me explain: Jack Cranston is put on trial for strangling Pike the ditcher.'

'That's possible,' Athelstan agreed. 'And, if you did, I'd probably help you.'

'No, listen. I'm found guilty. Now, I can throw myself on the King's mercy, be hanged by the purse, be exiled beyond the seas, imprisoned for life or, more usually, hanged by the neck. However, if I can successfully accuse, let us say, Watkin the dung-collector, of six other murders, I receive a pardon and old Watkin goes on trial. It's a rather clever and subtle method employed by the Crown's lawyers to resolve a whole series of crimes. Now, Watkin, being a man, could challenge me to a duel to prove his innocence. Or, I could challenge him.'

'Trial by combat?'

'That's right, my little monk.'

'Friar, Sir John, and what would happen if Watkin lost?'

'Oh, he'd hang.'

'And what would happen if you didn't accept the challenge?'

'Well, Watkin would go on trial. If found guilty, he'd hang and I'd go free.'

'And you think this will happen today with Alice Brokestreet? She will approve someone?'

'Just a rumour. As you know, Athelstan, I often speak to the bailiffs and gaolers of Newgate. Alice Brokestreet is as guilty as Herodias. You know, the one who killed St Peter?'

'No, Sir John, she killed John the Baptist.'

'Same thing! Anyway, Alice was once in the employ of Kathryn Vestler, a truly good woman, Brother. She has no children, she's a widow. Her husband, Stephen Vestler, was a squire at Poitiers. I've told you, haven't I, how we fought like swooping falcons?'

'Yes, yes, Sir John, you have.'

'Now Vestler is the owner of the Paradise Tree, a spacious hostelry in Petty Wales. You can see the Tower from its chambers. It has a lovely garden and a meadow at the back which stretches down to the river.'