'Most uncommon,' he murmured, 'for a friar to be out of his order even, and serving in such a lowly office!'

Cranston snorted rudely and would have intervened if Athelstan had not.

'Chief Justice Fortescue,' he answered, 'my business is my own. You summoned me here, I requested no audience.'

Cranston belched loudly in agreement.

'True! True!' Fortescue murmured. 'But this meeting was arranged by someone more powerful than I.' He smiled mirthlessly and picked up a knife he used for cutting parchment, balancing it delicately between his hands. 'We live in strange times, Brother. The old king is dead and for the first time in fifty years we have a new king, and he a child. These are dangerous times. Enemies within and enemies without!' He lowered his voice. 'Some people say that a strong man is needed to manage the realm.'

'Like your patron, His Grace John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster?' Cranston interrupted.

'Like His Grace the Duke of Lancaster,' Fortescue mimicked in reply. 'He is the regent, proclaimed so by the late king's will.'

'Regent!' Cranston snapped. 'Not king!'

'Some people say he should be.'

'Then some people,' Cranston barked, 'are varlets and traitors!'

Fortescue smiled as if he had tried to go down a path and realised it was blocked.

'Of course, of course, Sir John,' he murmured. 'We know each other well. But Gaunt is regent, he needs friends and allies. Other lords seek his head; the Commons mutter about conspiracies, expenditure, the need to make peace with France and Spain. They object to taxes which are necessary.'