Sir Henry's head turned like a guard dog ready to attack.

'Silence in court!' he thundered. Master Hengan put his hand on Mistress Vestler's shoulder.

'Hush,' he whispered. 'This is nothing but trickery!' 'Continue.'

'I was brought down to the taproom. Bartholomew…' Brokestreet's voice faded. And Margot were both slumped over the table. Mistress Vestler had administered a deadly potion.'

'No! No! No!' The accused woman jumped to her feet, eyes staring. She shook her hands. 'These are lies! This is not true!'

Sir Henry caught Sir John's eye and smiled thinly. His gaze shifted.

'Master Hengan, it is you, is it not?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'And this Mistress Vestler? Well, remove her from the court and compose her. But not too far: we may soon want words with her.'

Hengan, assisted by Sir John, helped the shaken, moaning woman to her feet, out of the makeshift gallery and down into the well of the court. Sir John returned to sit beside Athelstan.

'I am glad you are here. We may have need of your expertise,' Sir Henry cooed, as his pebble-black eyes moved to Athelstan. 'And your good secretarius. I saw you come, Sir Jack.'

Sir John leaned over to hide behind the man in front while he took a generous swig from the miraculous wineskin.

'If I wasn't so busy, Sir Jack,' Sir Henry called out without even glancing across, 'I'd ask for a drink from that myself!'

Before any eyebrows could be raised or questions asked, he gestured at Brokestreet to continue.

'The tavern was silent. The night was a black one, no moon, no stars.'

'Which month, Mistress Brokestreet?'

'I believe June, my lord: sudden storms had swept in.'