The Christmas Wassail by Kate Sedley Page B

corner and motioned me to take a seat on the opposite side of the table to himself. I swung my long legs over the bench, cursing, as always, as I scraped my knees against the board, and requested Humility Dyson to bring me some ale.
    â€˜And he can pay,’ I added shortly, indicating my companion.
    The Irishman laughed. ‘Getting bold, aren’t you, Chapman?’ he asked. Nevertheless, he nodded at the bar keep, who prowled away in the direction of some kegs lined up along the further wall. Briant leant towards me, lowering his voice.
    â€˜Our friend hasn’t called out the forces of law and order against me, then?’ There was no point in pretending not to know who he meant, so I shook my head. Briant grinned. ‘I knew he wouldn’t. He’d be too afraid of what I’d say.’
    A pot boy came with my ale. I took a generous swallow. It was very good. I looked at my companion over the rim of the beaker. ‘You intended to kill him,’ I said, following his example and not mentioning Sir George by name.
    â€˜I did. And would have but for you interfering.’
    His face was suddenly grim and my heart missed a beat. Had Briant got me here to take his revenge? I shifted uncomfortably on the bench. ‘You’d be facing the noose if I hadn’t. The sheriff wouldn’t let you get away with killing a knight of the realm. His men would have braved Marsh Street for that. And if all I hear is true, your fellow countrymen wouldn’t have lifted a finger to save you. They don’t hold with murder.’
    â€˜For some things they do.’ His voice and face were even grimmer than before. ‘Moreover, they might have come after you for informing against me. You were the only witness.’ He stared me down for a moment or two, then drew a deep breath and seemed to relax. ‘However, you did prevent me and unless you change your mind and go to the authorities, we’ll hear no more of the matter. But I’ll wager the old bastard has instructed you not to.’
    I drank some more ale. ‘You’d win your wager. Sir George told me that if I did, he’d deny the whole incident and make me appear a fool.’ There was a pause while the hubbub of the tap room went on around us. ‘So why am I here?’
    Briant shrugged and glared at another man who would have joined us at the table. The newcomer hurriedly slunk away.
    â€˜I like you,’ the Irishman said unexpectedly, finishing his own drink and calling for another. ‘I want you to know why I tried to kill that piece of shit. I want you to know what sort of man he really is.’ I raised my eyebrows and, after his ale had been brought, he continued, ‘The first time we ever spoke, I was with my friend, Padraic Kinsale. Do you remember?’
    â€˜Yes. But when I commented on his absence at our second meeting, you refused to say what had become of him.’ My companion’s lips tightened into a narrow, ugly line and he fell silent. ‘So what happened?’ I prompted.
    After a moment or two, Briant said abruptly, ‘He was taken and hanged.’
    For some unaccountable reason, I was shocked. ‘When was this? I don’t remember anything of it.’ But then, I probably wouldn’t. I was absent from the city so long and so often, and no one would think the incident important enough to tell me of it on my return. A thought struck me. ‘Was Sir George Marvell concerned in the affair?’
    The Irishman drank his ale, emptying the pot in almost one go before slamming it down hard on the table. ‘He was,’ he said. ‘But he didn’t live in the town in those days. He had a house on the heights above Bristol.’
    â€˜In Clifton Manor,’ I agreed. ‘He still owns the place, but today it stands empty.’ There was another pause. ‘Go on.’
    Briant chewed a thumbnail that was already bitten down almost to the quick. ‘Know the