by Paul Doherty
Corbett stepped closer.
'You heard about that?' Ranulf interrupted.
'Yes, we all did. I believe the Lady Amelia has told you everything we know.'
Corbett ran his fingers through his hair. 'What actually did the Lady Amelia tell us, Sister?' The clerk stared up at the clear blue sky. 'Come on,' he urged gendy. 'You left the priory this morning on her orders, so tell me what you and Sister Amelia know about the corpses in the forest. It will save further questioning.'
The nun shrugged. 'About eighteen months ago,' she answered, 'the two corpses were found. They were put in canvas sacks and taken to the church in Godstowe for burial. The Sheriff and coroner came to the village and held the Inquisicio Post Mortem but they found nothing except that two travellers fitting the dead persons' descriptions had passed through the village earlier in the day.' Dame Catherine made a face. 'As I said, they were found naked, murdered, and no one came to claim their bodies.'
'Where were they travelling to?'
'We don't know.'
'Were two such visitors expected at Godstowe?'
'No. We have many visitors but most of them have the Prioress' permission to come and visit relatives. No such guests were expected. I…' Dame Catherine stopped and straightened her wimple. I am responsible for the preparations for such visitors. The Sheriff asked me the same question and I gave him the same answer as I have you.'
'What then?'
Dame Catherine licked her dry lips. 'The Sheriff concluded as we did, that the two unfortunates were travellers on the road and were ambushed by outlaws.' She stared into the green darkness of the forest.' We have such wolfshead round here.' She smiled falsely at Corbett. 'You are going to the place where their bodies were found?'
'Yes, the porter agreed to take us there,' Corbett lied.
'I'd better…' Dame Catherine stammered. 'I'd better return.'
'Dame Catherine?'
'Yes, Master Clerk?'
'Did you like the Lady Eleanor?'
'She was a royal whore!' The nun spat the words out 'Make of it what you want Clerk, she should not have been sent to Godstowe!'
'Yet the Lady Prioress agreed?'
'The Lady Prioress is a law unto herself,' Dame Catherine spitefully added. 'She has her own rules. She owes her position to her father's services to the Prince many years ago.'
'You dislike the Lady Prioress?' Ranulf asked curiously.
'The Lady Amelia can be strict,' Dame Catherine answered carefully. 'She banished pets and festivities from the priory. She is most strict on where we go and limits the number of our visitors. She has forbidden hunting or hawking, and then -'
'And then,' Corbett interrupted smoothly, 'she allowed the royal whore to come and stay in your midst?'
'Yes.'
'But did you like her?' Ranulf persisted. 'I mean, the Lady Eleanor?'
Dame Catherine pursed her lips. 'We left her alone. She was haughty, distant The only people she spoke to were the Lady Prioress and Dame Agatha.
Corbett nodded and clapped Ranulf on the shoulders. 'In which case, Sister, there is no further need for you to accompany us. You may tell Lady Amelia where we are going for our walk and that we will return shortly.'
They stood and watched the nun spin on her heel and waddle off with as much dignity as she could muster.
'Strange,' Corbett mused. 'I really do wonder where the Lady Prioress thought we were going.'
They continued their walk, rousing the surly porter from where he crouched at the edge of the track, chewing a piece of fresh grass.
'What did Dame Catherine want?' he demanded. 'You didn't tell her about the collar?'
'She came to wish us a safe journey,' Ranulf replied sarcastically. 'And, no, we did not tell her about the dog collar. Or,' he added mischievously, 'the gems you stole from it!'
They must have walked for about another ten minutes and could glimpse the blue wood-smoke rising above the trees from Godstowe village when suddenly the porter stopped, turned left, and led them along a narrow beaten trackway into the forest. Ranulf shivered. He always felt uncomfortable amongst this dark silent wood, the strange shadows, the bursts of sudden sunlight and constant chatter and rustle of unseen birds and animals.
'I'd prefer a darkened alleyway in Southwark,' he muttered
'Each to his own,' Corbett replied.
They followed the porter along the serpentine path, then suddenly they were through the trees and into a glade ringed by clumps of trees, silent except for the gurgle of a small brook as it splashed down some rocks which thrust up out of the ground like the finger of a buried giant.
'Be careful,' the porter murmured. He pointed to the near side of the small brook where the grass seemed darker, longer, and lush. 'Watch!' he insisted, and picking up a fallen bough, threw it into the midst of this dark greenness. Ranulf swallowed nervously as the bough hit the ground. There was a sucking noise, a small pool of water formed, and the branch sank without trace. 'A marsh,' the porter explained. 'There are a number in the forest.' He grinned with a display of broken teeth. 'Only fools would wander in here.'
'Where were the bodies found?'
'Well,' the fellow scratched his head, 'from what I gather, they had been rolled into the marsh but hadn't sunk. Two lovers from the village, looking for a quiet spot, found them and sent for help. We pulled them out.'
'How were they?'
'Well, that's the mystery,' the porter replied. I heard about their discovery and hurried down from the priory. I was there when the bailiffs arrived. The bodies were naked as they were born, not a scrap of clothing, jewellery or any possessions. Yet their faces…' The man shook his head. 'A mottled black and white, their throats cut from ear to ear.'
'And no one claimed the bodies?' 'No.'
'And you expected no such visitors to the priory?' 'No.'
'Then how did you find the dog?'
The porter moved restlessly from one foot to another. 'Well, I was truly puzzled, so two days later I came back. I know the forest well. I thought there might be something worth finding.' He pointed over to the ring of trees. 'There, under the bracken, I glimpsed the dog. At first I thought it was a dead rabbit. I went over to look and knew it was a lap dog.'
'You didn't kill it?' Ranulf snapped.
'God be my witness, sir, I didn't!' The porter licked his lips nervously. 'The corpses must have been in the marsh for days, even weeks. The dog must have run away and, being such a pampered animal, crawled back and pined to death for its mistress. I took the collar off, removed the stones, put the rest in the sack and took it to the gibbet The rest you know.' He glared again at Ranulf and looked down at his boots.
'Are there outlaws here?' Corbett asked.
The porter made a face. 'No, Master Clerk. That's what puzzled me and the other villagers. Oh, there's a few wild lads who do some poaching. But tell me,' he asked, defiantly repeating taproom gossip, 'what outlaw worth his brain would hide in a forest with a royal palace at one end and a priory full of powerful ladies at the other? Not to mention the village and the other farms. There are deeper woods than this for a wolfshead to hide in.'
Corbett stared round the eerie, silent glade. 'If only the leaves of these trees,' he murmured, 'could turn to tongues, what story would they tell?'
Ranulf just shivered.
'A place to rest,' Corbett muttered. 'But perhaps not a place to die.'
I don't know,' Ranulf replied, his face growing paler. 'I once knew a sailor, an old man from Gravesend. He said that on one of his voyages, he passed a floating island thronged with demonic blacksmiths who forged and hammered the evil souls of assassins!' Ranulf shook his head. 'I think this place is more suited for that than any island.' He stared at Corbett. I don't like it, Master. It stinks of death!'
'Then, Master Porter,' Corbett announced, 'it's best we leave.'
They walked back to the forest track where Corbett dismissed the porter. Then he and a calmer Ranulf sat on a log at the edge of the trees.
'What do we have here?' Corbett murmured as soon as the porter was out of earshot. 'Two travellers, ambushed and murdered in a forest glade – was it by outlaws?' He shook his head. 'The porter is right and Dame Catherine's explanation feckless. No outlaw would lurk so near a royal palace or so close to a powerful priory.'
Ranulf belched noisily. 'I'd agree with that,' he added apologetically. 'Nor would any outlaw strip the corpses so carefully: jewellery and silver maybe, perhaps the horses and their harnesses, but not to the extent the porter described. Nor,' he concluded, 'would any outlaw try to hide the bodies. He would take his ill-gotten gains and flee.'
Corbett nibbed his chin. 'And so the mystery deepens. Why kill them, Ranulf? Why not just demand their valuables and scamper off? It's almost as if,' he paused, 'the murderer wanted to disguise who his victims were. He takes their belongings, their horses, then tips their naked corpses into a marsh, except they don't sink properly.' He chewed his lip. 'There are other riddles. These two travellers were apparently strangers in the area, yet how did they know about this forest path leading to a glade with the water to refresh themselves? And who would be strong enough to overcome a young man as well as a, presumably, fairly robust young damsel?'
'What are you saying, Master?'
'Well, the only conclusion is that they were lured to their deaths. They were taken to that glade to be murdered. And yet,' Corbett laughed abruptly, 'did they just offer their throats to the murderer?' He turned. 'Do you make any sense of it, Ranulf?'
'No, Master, I don't. I have the same questions. Who were they? Where were they going? Not to the priory, they weren't expected there.' Ranulf blew out noisily. 'And, as you say, Master, how were they lured to their deaths and why so meekly give up their lives?'
Corbett rose and brushed the moss from his clothes. 'A riddle within a riddle,' he murmured. 'But I can tell you this, Ranulf, even though I haven't a shred of evidence, I believe the deaths of those two young people have something to do with the murder of Lady Eleanor Belmont.'
Ranulf sat staring down at the ground.
'Master?'
'Yes, Ranulf?'
'Both Dame Catherine and the porter mentioned these two corpses being found in the wood which ties between the priory and the palace. Could the murderer have been from either of these?'
Corbett shook his head. 'It would be hard to prove, Ranulf. As the porter said, the corpses might have been lying there for days, even weeks. If it was the priory, why should a nun murder two travellers? And our noble lords at the palace would certainly have done a more professional job.' Corbett narrowed his eyes and squinted up at the sky. I suggest we are talking about a murderer rather than murderers. One person acting hastily who dragged the bodies to the marsh and hurried away.' He made a face and tapped his man on the shoulder. 'But, my dear Ranulf, that too causes a problem. Could one person overcome two able-bodied people?'
Ranulf rose and stretched. 'There're tensions at the priory, Master.'
Corbett grimaced. 'Of course there are. The Lady Amelia is unpopular. She put an end to the nuns' little treats and tricks, whilst at the same time allowing a whore to take up residence there. Moreover, we know our master the King, Ranulf. One day, I am sure, he will ask Lady Amelia to account for her stewardship.'
'And where to now, Master?'
'Well, I think we have finished at the priory for the moment, and the good villagers of Godstowe know very tittle. Perhaps it's time we visited our noble Prince of Wales and the Lord Gaveston at Woodstock.'
Ranulf groaned and closed his eyes.
'Look on the bright side,' Corbett sang out, walking briskly away. 'Where there's a palace there are pretty girls!'
Ranulf glared at his master's retreating back.
'Aye,' he muttered. 'And where there's Gaveston, there's the Devil!'
Chapter 7
King Edward of England sat in his purple silken pavilion which stood at the centre of his great camp on the green meadows beneath the formidable mass of Nottingham Castle. He was listening to the sounds of his army gathering; brown-jerkinned archers; men-at-arms in conical helmets carrying long spears and quilted jackets; the shouted orders of his Serjeants and the neighing and whinnying of the proud-blooded warhorses.
The King, just past his sixtieth year, sat on one of the great pay chests, tapping the wood beneath him. He hoped his barons would bring the men he needed. He was intent on taking north the largest army he had ever gathered, to crush the Scottish rebels, hang their leader, the Red Comyn, trap the Scots in their glens and burn their villages. He would cover Scotland in a sea of flames, and teach those traitors a lesson they would never forget. He just wished his son were here…
Edward's heart, hardened against tears of self-pity, beat a little faster. Where had he gone wrong? He loved the boy, always had and always would. Perhaps it was his mother's death? Perhaps he had expected too much of him? Edward closed his eyes and remembered those golden summers now an eternity away. His son, stiver-haired, delighted to see his father, tottering across some green meadow, sent to embrace him by his dark-eyed, ohve-skinned mother, Eleanor. Oh, Christ! Edward closed his eyes tightly as memories came flooding back. Oh, good God, he prayed, why did such memories always turn so bitter-sweet in his soul?
I'd give everything I have,' he muttered aloud, 'for all that back.'
Edward's mood shifted quickly and he ground his teeth in rage. Gaveston would hinder that The warlock, the perverted son of a perverted mother! Edward had considered banishing him but behind him loomed the spectre of civil war, his son would resist and there were those amongst his barons, especially the younger ones, who would be only too willing to follow his son. If there was civil war, the Scots would spill across the Northern March, the Welsh would rebel, and Philip of France would have his ships off Dover within a week. But Edward knew the real reason for his not banishing Gaveston – he could refuse his son nothing. Those blue eyes, their shimmer of innocence, the memories of sweeter, softer days…
'Your Grace! Your Grace!'
Edward opened his eyes. John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, stood, legs apart, at the mouth of the tent, a flagon of beer in one hand, a half-eaten chicken breast in the other.
'You are too early, John.'
De Warenne saw the tears on the King's cheeks and looked away.
'What does it profit a king, John, if he conquer the whole world and suffer the loss of his beloved son?'
De Warenne stared blankly back and Edward grinned. Good old de Warenne, he thought, with his bluff red face and treacherous black heart. A good soldier but a bad general. His answer to everything was to mount and charge. He had even offered to kill Gaveston.
'What is it, John?'
'Nothing, except de Craon.'
Edward raised his eyes heavenwards.
'So Philip's envoy has searched me out,' he muttered.
'Snap out of your maudlin mood, Your Grace!' de Warenne rasped. 'Dry your eyes like a good girl and grasp your longest spoon, for the Devil has come to sup!'
'The Godstowe business?'
De Warenne nodded.
'It must be. The rumours are growing thick and fast as weeds and de Craon must be their sower. There is a whispering campaign Even in the city they are saying the Prince killed his mistress to please his lover. De Craon is snuffling about for the juicier morsels, then it's back to Paris and heigh ho for Rome and our Holy Father.'
'Shut up, de Warenne!'
Edward kicked the earth with the toe of his boot. Oh, he could just imagine Philip's display of outraged innocence and then the letter would come from the Pope. Edward knew how it would begin.
'Per venit ad aures nostras – It has reached our ears, most beloved Son in Christ…', followed by the usual sanctimonious phrases, then the allegations of sodomy, murder, the unsuitability of the Prince of Wales for an innocent French princess, the dissolution of the treaty, all culminating in bloody war. Hell's teeth! Edward thought What was that inquisitive bastard Corbett doin
g, sending him warnings about an assassin, another de Montfort on the loose in England? Edward smirked. He did not fear that Perhaps it was time he told Corbett so. No, it was the Godstowe business which really troubled him. The crown had to be defended. His son had been protected. What on earth was his own spy at Godstowe doing?
'If Your Grace wishes to go back to sleep…?'
'I'll have your bloody balls, de Warenne!' The King grinned.' Show the bastard in!'
A few seconds later de Craon bustled in, his face wreathed in an unctuous smile, bobbing and bowing while his snakelike eyes scrutinised the King. Edward thought the Frenchman looked slightly ridiculous in his soft sarcenet gown and tawny-coloured boots, but he kept his face impassive. De Craon had strange tastes. One of these days…
'Monsieur de Craon,' Edward deliberately dropped the 'Seigneur'. 'We are pleased to see you. Your journey was comfortable? We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.'
De Craon half bowed.
'Not half as eager, Your Grace, as I have been to see you! My master, King Philip, sends fraternal greetings. He is deeply distressed by your problems in Scotland. He offers to mediate and will do anything to assist.'
Like send a hundred ships full of men and munitions to help the bastards, Edward thought. He hooked a foot under a camp stool and dragged it over.
'Will you sit, Monsieur?'
De Craon noticed the stool's crooked leg.
'Your Majesty is too kind. I insist on standing. You deserve that respect.'
De Craon decided to keep a wary eye on Edward. He studied the cruel falcon face framed by the iron-grey hair, watching those slightly slanted eyes, one half-closed – a mannerism Edward had acquired as a young man. It indicated a violent temper. De Craon decided to be more circumspect
'Your Grace,' he began, 'my master sends greetings. He hopes all is well with his beloved sister Margaret?'
Edward thought of his whey-faced new bride, and grunted.
'The question of Gascony…'
'There is no question!' Edward snapped.