'That must lead to Black Meadow,' he observed.

'It certainly does.' Sir John joined him. 'And, if you go through the meadow, it will take you down to the Thames.'

He took the friar through the door and into the gardens. To the far right were some apple trees, heavy with ripening fruit. Above these soared the great turrets of the Tower.

'Old Vestler was a canny soldier,' Sir John said. 'He fought in France and secured many ransoms. He came back after the Treaty of Bretigny, sold everything he had and bought this tavern. Even in lean times the Paradise Tree always prospered.'

Athelstan sniffed the air; he caught a tang of wood smoke and burning meat. That's not from the kitchens, he thought, I wonder where?

'Brother, look at this!'

Athelstan went over to where Sir John stood staring down at a gleaming sundial. The face, of burnished bronze with Roman lettering, was fixed into a thick stone cupola which rested on a squat column of ancient stone about a yard and a half high.

'A curiosity,' Athelstan said, noticing how the arm of the sundial rested between two numbers. 'I wonder how accurately it measures the passing of the sun?'

'I don't know,' Sir John growled. 'You're the student of the heavens!'

'Was Stephen Vestler?'

'No, he just loved collecting curiosities.'

'Ah yes, I noticed the old weapons fastened to the tavern walls.'

'Stephen bought them from the Tower garrison, a reminder of his warlike days.'

Athelstan walked back through the taproom, along a stone-paved corridor. The walls, clean and lime-washed to repel flies, were decorated with old maces, halberds and shields. A snowy white cat crouched on the bottom step of the stairs leading to the rooms above. Athelstan grasped the newel post carved in the shape of the tree of forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. He tried not to rouse the cat as he listened to the sounds of weeping. Hengan had taken Mistress