The Devil's Priest

by Kate Ellis

  "Many ships go to Ireland, Father. When would he have arrived here?"

  "We were released two weeks since. I do not know if he intended to come straight to Liverpool or if he had other business to attend to before he left. He did not say. But I wanted to ask you, Father James, if you had met him or had word of him. His name is Father Edmund. He is a dark haired, well built, handsome fellow and of good nature."

  "I will certainly keep watch for him and tell him of your destination if I meet him. It may be that he is in Ireland already. Will you take a meal with me, Father Theobald? There is an inn on Juggler Street that is clean and respectable. You look in need of refreshment."

  "I thank you, Father, but I sail on the next tide. An Irish captain gladly allowed me passage on his ship in return for my prayers and the celebration of mass for his crew." Theobald stood to leave.

  It was then James remembered that the sad events of that day would be of interest to his visitor. "I have some unhappy news concerning one of your brothers,” he said solemnly. “Father Clement of Norton was a chantry priest in my church. He was buried today...murdered by footpads, I fear. A sad loss." He spoke with a conventional piety he did not feel.

  Father Theobald looked genuinely upset. "I am sorry to hear it, Father James. We live in violent times." He made the sign of the cross. "I shall pray for Father Clement's soul. He was a good man: a true man of God.”

  When Father Theobald had taken his leave, James knelt and prayed afresh for the soul of Father Clement. From what Theobald had said, Clement had changed since his days at Norton or maybe James had misjudged the man.

  Then he wondered whether he ought to have mentioned the other matter to Father Theobald. He would certainly have been in sympathy with their cause: his imprisonment would have assured that. But the man had been in a hurry. And it was better to keep such things secret. Who knew where the King's spies watched.

  *

  Agnes was still weak. Her legs shook a little, but she knew she had to find the strength from somewhere. She had seen him. He must be nearby.

  It was pitch dark and the household had retired to bed. The only sounds were the gentle lap of waves outside, the distant drunken carousing of sailors in the town and the shriek of an owl as it flew through the velvet sky. She knew that she would have to take care going out after curfew but she had to see him. She had to tell him of her suffering.

  She dressed in her plain grey gown. Her only other gown, the russet one, had been taken from her for the blood to be washed off and hadn't yet been returned. The grey would have to do. The shabby hooded cloak she drew about her had served her well in her days as a novice and on her journey from Godstow. Now it was torn and frayed, but it was all she had.

  There was a window near the kitchen that opened easily. If she was careful and didn't quite shut it, she could get back in that way too when the time came.

  The stairs creaked as she crept down. She stopped, listening for the sounds of disturbed sleepers. But all was silence. The window by the kitchen opened as easily as she remembered and Agnes, feeling a little stronger with the excitement of her mission, climbed out carefully.

  She flitted through the streets, sinking into the shadows to avoid the groups of drunken men outside the ale houses and the sharp-faced rogues who slid through the stinking thoroughfares. Beggars and vagrants, risking arrest or an unofficial drunken beating, begged alms from the night time revellers before shrinking back into the doorways and alleys to huddle in sleep. Hard faced whores, their hair dyed red and their faces painted, flirted in the narrow streets with potential customers. A leering man, stinking and staggering with drink, grabbed Agnes’s waist as she passed him but it was easy to shake him off. She muttered a quick prayer for safety...although she had lost the will to pray, being so deeply sunk in wickedness.

  Running past the High Cross, she saw her final goal. The castle rose forbiddingly before her. The place looked cold; merciless; a thing of repression. But she had no choice in the matter.

  Her lover had mentioned Captain Wharton many times. He had done the captain many services of a nature she did not care to think about.

  She stood staring at the great stone walls while she considered what to do next. A postern gate: he had spoken of a postern gate.

  "Who goes there? Show yourself," a deep rough voice barked, shattering the darkness.

  Agnes, heart pounding, stepped forward.

  The beggar with one hand who had followed her from the Old Hall, sank back into the shadows of Castle Street and watched silently.

  CHAPTER 5

  Agnes stepped forward and the soldier stared at her appraisingly. She looked down, uncomfortable, sensing the lust in his eyes.

  "What do you want?"

  She didn't answer.

  "I've not seen you before." He approached her slowly and reached out his hand. He held her chin while he studied her face. She could smell the ale on his breath. "You're not one of the usual girls. New to the town are you? Come here for a bit of trade amongst the garrison?" His hand slid down to her breast. Agnes flinched and stepped back. "Oh, we have a coy one here." The soldier leered, putting his arm round her waist and drawing her to him.

  Agnes tried to pull away but he held her fast. "I am no lady of the night,” she said with as much spirit as she could muster. "I seek Captain Wharton. Would you tell him I wish to speak with him on a private matter?"

  "And what do I get in return, eh?" He drew her closer. She could feel him hard against her as he pushed her against the castle wall.

  He pressed against her as he began to lift her skirts. She tried to push him off but he has a big man with ale-fuelled determination.

  "When I tell Captain Wharton, he will be most displeased at the treatment I have suffered."

  But the man's lust had deafened him. As Agnes felt his hand on her thigh, she managed to utter a scream. The sound made the man stop and he looked at her with fury. This wasn't what he had expected.

  He struck Agnes across the face with a stinging slap. "Shut up, whore. Just lift your skirt and let me have my way. I'll pay you well." He threw three coins to the ground. "You can get them after."

  He lunged at Agnes again. She threw herself to one side but he caught her arm and drew her to him again. He was enjoying the challenge. He pushed her against the wall again. Agnes closed her eyes. She hadn't sufficient strength to continue the fight.

  A kick to the backside made the man release Agnes as he swung round.

  "So you have a whore when you're meant to be guarding us, eh?"

  The speaker was considerably smaller than the guard but he spoke with authority. The soldier slouched to attention as Agnes, uncertain what to do, hung back, eyes downcast.

  "Go to the guardroom, man, and send Tilletson out. I'll attend to you later you bastard son of a bitch."

  The guard hesitated.

  "Go," the newcomer barked before turning to Agnes. "And you'd better make yourself scarce, my dear. The men can have whores all they like but not while they're on duty. Off you go, girl."

  Agnes raised her eyes to his. He was young, small, dark and wiry. His face was even featured, even womanish, and by the richness of his dress Agnes judged he was a gentleman. She experienced new hope.

  "I beg your pardon, sir, but I wish to speak with Captain Wharton."

  "Do you now? And what is it you wish to speak of?"

  "It is a private matter. I will tell only the Captain."

  "Owes you money does he?"

  "I am no whore, sir. I am Agnes Moore, cousin of Mistress Moore of Old Hall."

  He looked her up and down. The girl was young and pretty with swelling breasts but, by her dress, she was lying. This was no kinswoman of the wealthy Moores...more likely a serving girl. "Sure you are." He smiled sardonically. "And you've met Captain Wharton? You know him?"

  She hesitated. "No...er...I have never met the Captain."

  "You have not? Then what is it you would tell me?"

  Agnes sighed with reli
ef. "Oh, Captain, I have risked much to see you. It is about a mutual acquaintance of ours...a certain priest."

  She looked into his eyes. They still held a look of mild amusement. "I know who you mean. What about him?"

  "I have seen him passing my window but he does not contact me. If you know his whereabouts, sir...or if you would give a message..."

  He sighed. So this is what it was about. A lovesick girl rejected by her illicit lover. He suppressed a smile, sensing there was sport to be had. "Your name is Agnes, you say?" She nodded. "He spoke of you only yesterday. He said that if I saw you, I was to bring you to him."

  Agnes's face lit with joy. "Oh, sir, I thank you. You could not have brought me better tidings." She looked round. "But are you able to leave your garrison, sir?"

  "I am in charge, Agnes. There is nobody to challenge me." He took her hand and led her towards the overshadowing bulk of the castle gatehouse where a new guard now lurked self-consciously, watching them. They passed without challenge, the guard standing to attention.

  They met no one else as Agnes's guide led her through grey castle passageways lit by flaming torches, and out of a small wooden wicket gate into the moonlight again. He helped her down a set of steep steps, warning her to take care.

  "Where are we, sir? Where are we going?"

  "Do not fear, Agnes. It is but a tunnel cut in the rock. Have a care where you step."

  The tunnel through the red sandstone castle base was dank and chilly and the fetid air made Agnes shudder. She was glad when she saw the shimmer of moonlight at the far end as they approached the strand. The Captain explained that the tunnel was there in case of siege. She was glad of his confident presence in that place which reminded her of tales of purgatory and the nether cold reaches of hell. It was with relief that she walked out onto the shore. The tide was advancing and a flotilla of little boats bobbed nearby.

  "He waits in the boathouse. It is not far. I will take you there.” He took her arm, linking it in his as they walked along the sand beneath the castle rock. She could smell his clothing, leather and sweet herbs. The firmness of his grasp on her arm gave her no comfort but she made no effort to withdraw it. She must go with him: she had no choice.

  The night air was cold and she shivered. She wanted to get this over with; to be rid of her companion. He looked into her face appraisingly, a slight smile on his lips, then he leaned towards her and whispered in her ear. She could feel the heat of his breath on the side of her face. “Do not be afraid. Just think of the pleasure that awaits you."

  There was something about the officer's words and the way he said them, thick with innuendo, that made Agnes feel uneasy.

  *

  Captain Wharton had just won at a game of dice with one of his sergeants when the guard came into the chamber rubbing his backside.

  The captain stood up, menacing. He did not tolerate neglect of duty. "Manners, you stinking son of a whore, why aren't you at your post? I could have you whipped."

  "But Captain, Sir Edward told me to return to the guardroom and ..."

  "Sir Edward!" Wharton roared angrily. "Does that little snake think he can give orders here just because his father is constable of the castle. Does he seek to undermine my authority?" He flung the dice he held across the room in fury. "I shall speak to My Lord Molyneux and tell him how his younger son abuses his position. Did he give any reason for this...order?"

  The guard, seeing he was on a winning streak, was not going to tell of his encounter with Agnes. While Sir Edward was getting the blame, he would make the most of it. "No, sir, no reason. But there was a woman. Sir Edward was with a woman."

  Wharton's bulging eyes rolled to heaven. "Typical. He gives orders to my guards to impress some doxy with his importance. Is anyone guarding the gate or shall we be overrun with Spaniards and Frenchmen at any minute?"

  "Tilletson replaced me, sir."

  "Very well. Back to your post. Tell Tilletson to go to the postern gate. I expect a visitor who might come that way."

  Manners bowed slightly to the Captain and got out while the going was good. A pity about the doxy, but there were plenty more like her in the taverns and molly houses. Pleasure could always be had if you knew where to look.

  *

  Sir Edward strode towards the boathouse, watching Agnes as a snake watches a rabbit. The river air was cold and he wondered if he dare put his arm around her shoulder to keep her warm...make her more amenable.

  Agnes walked in silence, hardly noticing her surroundings and the moonlight on the rippling water. Her heart beat fast. He would be there waiting for her. She would see him; talk to him; tell him all she had suffered for him. She pulled her cloak closer about her. There was something in the way Captain Wharton looked at her that made her feel uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the way he walked as closely to her as possible and stared at her body, her breasts, rather than looking at her face.

  Agnes tripped on a rock protruding from the sand and clung to her companion’s hand to steady herself. He caught her in his arms and held her much longer than she considered necessary, his hand sliding down across her breast.

  “There is the boathouse over there. The brothers of Birkenhead Priory used it,” he said conversationally, though she sensed his mind was on lower things.

  She could make out the shape of a small wooden building against the sky. That part of the strand was deserted but further down towards the Tower, in the distance, Agnes saw points of light from flaming torches as fishermen landed their catch and sailors returned to their ships after a night in the tavern. It was a faraway world, oblivious to Agnes Moore.

  "He is hiding in the boathouse,” said her companion, clutching her arm more tightly. “Come."

  Holding his hand, she followed. The boathouse was in darkness with no sign of life. Edward pushed the door and it opened slowly. Agnes could see nothing in the darkness but she could smell the damp and the salty tang of seaweed.

  "Where is he?"

  Edward went in first then drew Agnes inside, shutting the door firmly behind them.

  "I lied. He isn't here."

  Agnes took a deep breath in panic. "Where is he? Take me to him. Please. You promised."

  "I made no promise that I would take you straight there. I have been your guide and now I claim my fee."

  She tried to push him away as he held her to him and kissed her, his hands fumbling inside her cloak. Before she knew it she was lying on the hard damp boards of the boathouse floor and he was on top of her, lifting her skirts. Agnes, unprepared and numb with fear, lay still. If this was the price to be paid, then so be it. Her soul was damned already. She had no will to fight as he went into her, and after what seemed like an eternity he sighed with satisfaction. It was over. Agnes lay still and breathless as he rolled off her.

  "Now take me to him," she whispered.

  His laugh was gently mocking. "I don’t know who you're talking about?"

  "What do you mean?" Her voice rose in panic. "Where is he? Tell me."

  "Whoever you seek, my dear Agnes, I do not know him...or where he is."

  "But you said... Did you just bring me here for...?"

  "I can't think of a better reason on a moonlit night." He put his arm across her. "We can relive our pleasure if you like."

  She pushed his arm away. "He said he knew you. He spoke of you."

  "He spoke of Edward Molyneux, did he?" He laughed. "All men speak of me. Some good...some bad."

  "But you are Captain Wharton."

  "I never said I was. You assumed it." He fondled her breast. "You should never assume, my dear Agnes."

  She turned away from him, her last hope gone. His hand moved to her hair but she brushed it away. He was repugnant to her: the very sight of him reminded her of her foolishness, her gullibility. She put her head in her hands. "I did not want... I should never have done..."

  "You only did what any doxy does when she is alone with a man aroused by her sweet looks. I've taken a great liking to you, Agnes. Com
e, I will take you back to the castle. Another walk in the night air might refresh our appetites and you will find my quarters most comfortable...better than the bare boards of a boathouse.”

  He put his hand round her breast and would have kissed her neck but she pushed him away with a violence that surprised her and stumbled blindly out of the blackness of the dank boathouse. She did not know if he was following and she did not care. She felt sick with disgust at herself: how she had let herself be used.