by E. M. Powell
Barling hurried out after him, his breaths deep. ‘Stanton, what is it?’
‘What is it?’ Now he shouted, he couldn’t help it. ‘You’ve used your eyes, man, same as I have!’ He’d never dared speak to Barling like this before and he didn’t care. ‘Seen what’s in there.’ He jabbed a finger at the horror inside. ‘And you ask me what is it?’ He gave the door jamb another punch, ready to land one on the clerk if he tried a lecture.
‘No.’ The clerk stayed calm. ‘You have viewed many corpses in my company. While this one is indeed amongst the most horrific, you have never reacted like this. I ask again: what is it?’
‘Agatha. I saved her life. Just yesterday. She was so frightened, when . . . when she thought she was going to die. I saved her for—’ He broke off to punch the door again, the pain helping to hold back his grief. ‘It’s my fault she was here.’
‘You can hardly berate yourself, Stanton,’ said Barling. ‘Would you be happier had you let her drown yesterday?’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Then what do you mean?’
‘I tried to persuade her not to go back to Lambert. But she wouldn’t be told. I could have tried harder, but I didn’t. I was so cold. Tired. Bothered that I’d failed to get out of this place.’ He hit the wood hard once more. ‘I failed her, Barling.’
‘I disagree. You did not fail Agatha. You saved her life. She was, I am sure, profoundly grateful. As for what happened next, she very much knew her own mind and she made a choice. A terrible choice, as it turns out, but her choice nevertheless.’
Stanton said nothing. To his surprise, Barling briefly patted his arm.
The clerk went on. ‘None of this is your fault, Stanton. Evil stalked that poor girl. It is too late for her now, but we have to stop it before it takes any more lives. And I fear it has already taken another.’
Stanton locked his hands behind his neck, tipped his head up to get air and to calm the angry race of his heart. ‘Lambert?’
‘Though the thought fills me with dread, I believe so,’ said Barling. ‘The book talks of a frozen swamp. I suspect he will be outside here somewhere.’
They quickly found him, despite the fog.
The huge gatekeeper lay face down and completely still in one of the half-frozen pools of stinking yellow-brown slush that surrounded the manure pile. Blood stained the entire lower half of his habit.
‘God have mercy,’ said Barling as they came near the corpse.
Then the befouled cloth abruptly moved and shifted.
‘Barling, I think he’s still alive!’ Stanton went to rush to the monk’s aid.
‘Stop.’ Barling grabbed his arm. ‘I do not think so.’
‘But he’s—’
‘Look.’ Barling’s voice dropped to a whisper as he pointed.
Stanton doubted his own eyes.
From under Lambert’s habit came the flick of a dark, scaled tail, just for a second, before it disappeared again.
‘Another fate in Tundale,’ said Barling. ‘And where we have discovered rats on that poor girl, this fate talks of a serpent.’
Stanton swore in disgust. ‘Then Lambert is dead.’
‘Most definitely,’ replied Barling. ‘We cannot go near his body until we have help to deal with the creature that lies with it. Summon that help, please. At once.’
Stanton ran for the gate bell, pulling down on it as hard as he could. A fat old monk. A young girl. What coward would slay them in such a depraved way? ‘Make haste! Brothers!’
A frightened call from the fog. ‘Lambert? Is that you?’
‘It’s Stanton, the King’s man. Come quickly!’ His hands clutched the rope as he kept ringing, ringing.
More voices came: cowled figures were running from the fog.
The younger men first. Elias, a couple of lay brothers. Then Philip, Maurice holding tight to his arm in the murk of the fog.
‘What’s happening, Stanton?’
Stanton tried, tried so hard, to find the right words. All that came out was a confused jumble that somehow managed to convey the horror of what he’d seen.
His words were taken up by others as men made for the guesthouse, called for more help, uttered new cries of terror at what they saw.
Stanton walked away, breathing deeply, trying to pull himself together. He had to calm himself. He had to go back to Barling and help the clerk deal with these latest appalling discoveries.
Then, in the fog, he heard another sound. Not loud. But definite.
The single clack and then a scraping of wood on stone. Hard to tell in the fog. But it sounded like it came from the nearby walls.
He turned, started moving towards it.
Then came a flurry of regular sounds. Like someone walking up wooden steps.
Not walking. Scrambling. And not steps. A ladder.
‘Hey!’ He broke into a run. ‘Hey!’ Now running faster.
Just in time to see a bearded figure reach the top of the wall and disappear over it.
Daniel.
Chapter Forty-Three
Stanton reached the ladder. His stomach rebelled afresh.
Blood smeared each of the rungs, the marks made by Daniel’s wide hands horribly clear. But he wouldn’t let his disgust slow him. He flung himself at the ladder and clawed his way up it, two rungs at a time.
He got to the top of the wall to see the lay brother clamber to his feet, having jumped from the wall into the deep snow.
‘Daniel, stop, you devil!’
The lay brother looked back up at him, his eyes wild as he shook his head. Then he took off through the knee-deep snow as fast as he was able, swinging his legs high and wide.
Stanton judged the height as best he could. And jumped.
Like Daniel, he landed in the snow, jarred but unhurt. He scrambled to his feet and set off after him.
The snow cloyed at his legs and boots. But he was gaining on him. Stanton was smaller, lighter than the bulky lay brother, the deep snow holding the other man back more. His breath rasped in his chest with effort.
Then Daniel stopped, bent to grab something that was half-buried in the snow.
Stanton was nearly on him. He tensed his arms and legs, ready for the fight.
He hardly saw the stout, heavy branch that Daniel threw right at his knees. It came through the air hard and fast, hitting them dead on. Pain burst through his kneecaps and his legs folded beneath him, sending him pitching forward into the snow.
Swearing hard, Stanton clawed his way upright.
Daniel had set off again, still at no great speed, but he’d widened the gap between them.
Stanton forced his legs to move, step by hobbling step, though each one was agony. The picture of Agatha’s ruined body flashed before him again. His anger gave him fresh speed – his pain was nothing compared to what she’d suffered. ‘You won’t get away, Daniel!’
The lay brother glanced back at his shout. And he went down.
Whether it was a tree root, clumsiness, Stanton didn’t know. All he knew was he had a chance to stop this vicious killer.
He surged forward, putting every ounce of strength he had into his charge.
Stanton hit him full force, body to torso, grabbing for his clothing.
‘Get off!’ Daniel’s hefty swipe knocked him to one side.
He rolled over and over in the snow as Daniel tried to run once more.
Stanton scrambled after him, almost bent double, and got hold of another handful of clothing. He yanked the brother to a stop. ‘You’re coming back with me.’
‘I said, get off!’ Daniel tried to kick out at him. ‘I’ve done nowt!’
Missed.
‘You’re a liar, Daniel.’
Missed another kick.
‘I saw your handprints on the ladder.’
‘Then go to hell, Stanton.’ The brother swung a vicious punch.
Stanton ducked.
Daniel went to go for another.
Then a voice came fro
m the fog. ‘You’ll have to stop me too.’
Elias, the library monk, stood there. He wielded the axe Stanton had thrown aside at the gatehouse.
And he looked like he knew exactly how to use it.
Barling stood with Stanton at the door of the Chapter House, where the monks had assembled. Daniel lay prostrate on the ground in the middle of the floor. This, thought Barling, was the discipline of the order in action before his very eyes.
Abbot Philip sat in his chair of office. He repeated the same questions at the lay brother, over and over. His fellow monks joined him with their own, a relentless, accusatory chorus raining down on the head of the quivering lay brother.
‘Tell me the truth, Daniel. You were right next to the gatehouse this morning, when the bodies were found.’
Daniel spoke but he didn’t dare to lift his head. ‘I didn’t touch Agatha, my lord abbot, I swear! Or Brother Lambert.’
Philip put a hand up.
The other monks went silent.
‘But, Daniel,’ said Philip, ‘there was blood on the gatehouse door. The outside of the door, and a locked door at that. The King’s man found your bloody handprints on the ladder. When we searched your clothing, we found you had a set of keys, also with smears of blood on them.’ His mouth turned down in distaste. ‘I can see from here that it is caked under your fingernails. What kind of a sinner are you, that you would persist in such lies?’
What, indeed? thought Barling. He folded his arms and waited for the answer, as he knew every ear in here did.
Daniel gave a long, low moan in response.
‘Daniel?’
‘I’m not lying, my lord abbot. I . . . I had a set of keys. I know I shouldn’t have, but Brother Lambert gave me a copy. He’d lose his own all the time, and he had to be sure he had a set.’
‘A very convenient response,’ said Philip, ‘when we have no way of checking this with the late Brother Lambert.’
Barling exchanged a brief nod with Stanton in agreement.
‘I didn’t know Lambert was dead, my lord. What I’m saying is true, my lord, it’s all true. The gatehouse was closed up this morning, so I used the key to get in.’ He moaned again. ‘And then I found her, found my Agatha. I went to help her, though I knew it was useless. I got her blood all over my hands.’
‘Your Agatha?’ Philip’s eyebrows shot up as a scandalised murmur rippled through the room.
‘Yes, my lord abbot. She was mine. We . . . We were lovers.’
As the murmur turned to open gasps, Barling gave a quick look at Stanton. The younger man’s face had darkened in anger. Barling prepared to order him out if he acted upon it. Emotions were running very high in here: he would not permit Stanton to worsen the situation through rash actions.
‘You are telling us now,’ said Philip, his voice tightening in disgust, ‘that you loved her. Yet you find her body slain in the most hideous manner and your response is to run away. Fight the King’s man hard when he tries to stop you. And you might have succeeded in getting away had it not been for the intervention of—’
‘I ran because I thought I was next!’ Daniel’s yell echoed in the room, bringing a shocked silence.
He went on, his words tripping over one another in his haste to get them out. ‘I found Agatha and I knew, knew that whoever had killed her was the same devil that had killed all the others. The King’s man talked about the punishment of lustful clergy being one of the fates. I feared I was dead if I stayed there. For all I knew, the killer still lurked in the gatehouse, watching me. So I locked the door to keep him in. And I ran. That is the truth, I swear it, I swear.’
Philip shook his head. ‘Daniel, only a few moments ago, you swore you had never touched Agatha. When that didn’t work, you admitted your sin of fornication, a sin that is very much touching her. You swear to that now. You also swear that you touched her dead body. Which is it, Daniel? How many more lies will Satan put on your wicked tongue?’
‘I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth.’
Philip dropped his hand and the chorus started again.
‘The truth, boy.’
‘Brother Silvanus despaired of your rudeness to him. He said so. You silenced him with a pitchfork.’
‘God sees the sin in your heart.’
‘Repent, Daniel. Confess your sins.’
‘And Brother William? Not only did you slay him, you took a sacred chalice!’
‘The lady Juliana. A defenceless, noble woman. Yet you put your evil hands upon her. Confess it, Daniel.’
On and on, until Philip raised a hand again for silence. ‘Daniel, your refusal to confess to the most serious sins saddens all our hearts. Yet there are many transgressions that we know of. Fornication. Running away. Lying. I order you to be taken to the cell beneath my hall, where you will be locked up until you confess and repent. You will receive a flogging tomorrow for the sins of the flesh. You will fast for six months for running away and for your lies. That is my judgement as father of this house. I will seek advice from our General Chapter about further punishments that they will wish to impose for these grave sins.’ Philip beckoned to a couple of other lay brothers who waited outside.
They moved forward to approach Daniel.
‘You may rise,’ said Philip.
The broad lay brother stood up, his face flushed and angry. ‘I never killed anybody.’ He jabbed a finger at the abbot. ‘Never.’
A deep gasp of outrage met his words.
He stepped forward again. ‘Never. Do you hear me?’ He wheeled round to shout at the whole room. ‘Do you?’
Several of the monks shrank back with prayers for help.
His fellow brothers stepped in and grabbed him. ‘That’s enough, Daniel.’
He tried to shake them off. ‘Let go of me.’
‘Take him to the cell,’ said the abbot. ‘I shall accompany you there.’ His gaze met Barling’s. ‘I would ask that you accompany us. You need to witness that the criminal is securely under lock and key.’
‘Certainly, my lord.’ As Barling stepped forward to follow the group that was dragging the shouting, protesting Daniel away, he saw Stanton’s fists tighten again.
He gave his assistant a warning shake of his head. For Stanton to start a fight in the Chapter House would be of no help at all.
‘I think you should stay back a little, Philip.’ Barling kept his voice low as they walked out into the cloister, although he doubted if the yelling, struggling Daniel would hear him even if he spoke in normal tones.
‘I am not afraid of him,’ replied Philip, though an anxious sheen of sweat on his face betrayed his words. ‘I am still his father.’
Barling eyed the fight that Daniel was putting up. ‘Nevertheless, he may do you harm. He is quite beside himself in his anger.’ The lay brother continued to shout about his innocence. Barling was unimpressed, much as he had been in the Chapter House when Daniel’s stories had changed in such quick succession.
‘It’s not the first time I have dealt with anger,’ said Philip, ‘though it is the first time I have had to imprison someone in the cell. Ernald had it built below the abbot’s hall. He used it quite frequently and to great effect. Perhaps I should have been doing the same.’
They came out of the cloister.
The hall was now a short distance away, much to Barling’s quiet relief. He was not Daniel’s father and would not welcome an assault from the burly lay brother.
‘I would not worry about the past, Philip,’ he said. ‘What is of concern is the immediate present and you are doing everything that is needed.’
Philip nodded and raised his voice. ‘Daniel.’
The lay brother looked around, breathing hard, as were the brothers who held him.
Philip went on. ‘You need to stop your fighting and accept your fate. If you struggle with the brothers on the stairwell, you could break your neck, or theirs. If you continue, I will have you chained up. Do you hear me?’ Philip’s sharp words seemed not so much to ca
lm Daniel as to induce a sense of defeat.
They entered a side door to the hall which Barling had not used before. It led to a short flight of stone stairs, and the brothers and their prisoner waited at the top, Barling to one side, while Philip took a lit lamp from the wall and used it to light his way down to unlock the door. The abbot held the lamp aloft so he could select the right key.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, the lamp casting a glow on the complete darkness within.
Darkness, but not emptiness.
Philip staggered back with a cry as Barling recoiled in horror.
A mutilated, white-cowled body, lying on the floor. Skulls arranged around it, their mouths agape and something dark and gleaming between each jaw.
They had found Brother Osmund.
Chapter Forty-Four
Stanton sat with Barling in the clerk’s room at the guesthouse. The clerk had just given him a description of the hellish tableau in which Osmund’s body had been arranged in the cell below the abbot’s hall.
‘God alive.’ Stanton shuddered. ‘It’s another from the book of Tundale, isn’t it?’
‘It is. The fourth murder in the telling of the book. The covetous, devoured by a beast. Now we have seven in total. Pray God this is the last, with Daniel now in captivity.’
Stanton snorted. ‘The captivity of the monks, though. Not the King.’
‘It is indeed highly unlikely that Daniel will ever face the King’s justice,’ said Barling. ‘He will be in the abbot’s prison once they have cleared away Brother Osmund’s body. And that is where he will stay.’ He sighed. ‘What he has done in there should give him cause to repent. Yet he still says it wasn’t him, despite everything.’
‘He fought me like the devil to get away,’ said Stanton. ‘I wouldn’t have got him back here, had it not been for the library monk and his axe.’
‘There are still many, many questions that he has to answer aside from all that was asked of him in the Chapter House. We have confirmed that Osmund is dead too, and Daniel was very belligerent with him also. He has learned about books with Elias, which is a breaking of the Rule, yet that has not been mentioned. We need to get the whole story out of him, Philip and I.’