Prince of Darkness hc-5

by Paul Doherty

  'Lady Amelia?'

  The Lady Prioress sat with arms crossed, staring down at the floor. Corbett crouched down beside her.

  'Lady Amelia, tomorrow, in your chapter meeting after the morning Mass, tell your sisters that before Vespers I will speak to them and explain all that has happened.' He touched her gently under the chin and made her look up. 'My Lady, you must do that.'

  'Yes, of course,' she mumbled, her once proud face now crumpled in fatigue and worry. She smiled wanly at Corbett and, like a sleepwalker, rose and left him.

  Corbett sat down on the truckle bed, lay back, and though he did not intend to, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next morning he was roused early by the clanging of the priory bells. He felt cold, his arms and legs aching from the rough ride of the previous day. He went and roused a grumbling Ranulf and Maltote. Corbett then cleaned his boots, washed, changed his tunic and ravenously ate the bread and cheese brought up on a platter by an aged lay sister. He gave both Ranulf and Maltote careful instructions; he was going to inspect the burnt-out novice house. After a while they must follow him and be armed with dagger and sword.

  'Ranulf, you bring a crossbow. Try not to be seen by anyone. Keep yourself hidden. But should you see anyone, threaten to attack. You are to shoot twice: once as a warning; the second time, make sure you kill whoever it is.'

  Corbett repeated his instructions and, throwing his cloak about him, went downstairs. A thick sea mist had rolled in, obscuring most of the priory buildings. Corbett remembered the autumn sun during his previous visit and marvelled how quickly the weather had changed. Nevertheless, the mist helped his cause. He saw shadowy figures slip by him, their faces and footsteps muffled by the fog, as he made his way across to the blackened timber of the novice house. Corbett vaguely recalled the building as a pleasant two-storeyed affair: the fire must have caught the sun-dried timbers and turned it into this blackened mess. He picked his way carefully around the fire-scarred timbers of what was once the Kitchen. Here the blaze had started, Killing Dame Frances whilst the rest of the nuns, given some warning, had managed to jump out of the windows or find their way down the outside stairs.

  Corbett could imagine the scene. The fire raging, greedily licking into the timbers and beams, while the sisters, the serenity of their lives shattered by the roaring flames, fled for safety. Against the far wall were the remains of the hearth. The stone here was so badly scorched the brick had turned to a blackened powder. Corbett stood before the hearth and looked around. Crouching down he dug his fingers into the now cold coal dust, picking it up, sniffing at it carefully. He glimpsed the twisted, molten remains of the metal water bucket: one of the sisters, hearing Dame Frances' screams, had hurried down, opened the scullery door, and had seen her companion, nothing more than a human torch, the iron water bucket lying at her feet.

  'The poor woman,' Lady Amelia had told him, 'could do nothing to save Dame Frances, who was being consumed by a sheet of fire. The sister saw the bucket near Dame Frances' feet before she closed the door and ran to raise the alarm for help. Thank God,' Lady Amelia had murmured, 'otherwise more lives would have been lost!'

  Corbett now examined the blackened remains of the water bucket He already had a vague idea of how Dame Frances had been killed and, sniffing carefully at it caught the foulsome stench of burnt animal fat He threw the thing away, brushed his fingers and left the blackened ruin. Through the mist he could see the vague outlines of the priory church and followed its outline round to the ruined oak stump where Lady Eleanor had received her mysterious messages. He leaned against it, staring across at the priory wall, shuddering when he remembered how Gaveston's dogs had nearly tore him to pieces. He heard a sound behind him. The snapping of twigs as someone moved over the thick, soggy mass of fallen leaves.

  I wondered when you would come?' he called, not bothering to turn. 'I knew you would. Once the Lady Prioress made her announcement. It's always the way with assassins, they hate the light of day.'

  Corbett spun round quickly and stared at the cowled, shadowy figure before him.

  'Let me warn you,' he continued softly, 'my manservant is here somewhere in the mist He has a crossbow and his orders. So any knife you might have in your hand had better be put back in its sheath!'

  The figure moved forward and one white hand came up, clawing back both hood and wimple as Dame Agatha shook her lustrous blonde hair free. Corbett had rarely seen such beauty. The mass of silver hair framed a perfectly formed face, though the lips seemed thinner, the eyes above the high cheek bones cold and unsmiling.

  I knew it was you,' he said. 'It had to be. You killed the Lady Eleanor. You then slew the old one, Dame Martha, and finally Sister Frances. But who are you?' he whispered.

  'My true name is Agatha de Courcy, so I always told only half a lie!' She laughed, though her eyes never faltered in their steady gaze.

  'And what happened to the real nun who left Gascony?'

  'Oh, come, Master Corbett, don't be so coy! Let me see how much of the truth you really know.'

  Corbett's hand went beneath his cloak, touching the hilt of the dagger he had hidden there. The young woman moved closer and Corbett realised her hands were still concealed. He took a deep breath and prayed that Ranulf was somewhere watching this small drama being played out.

  'Let me see.' He leaned against the old oak tree. 'Eighteen months ago, Mistress Deveril, though she used another name, left Gascony and landed at Dover. She was an orphan of noble lineage with no immediate family. She was accompanied to England by a young page – his name does not concern us. Mistress Deveril took the road skirting London on to the old Roman highway bound for Oxford, Woodstock, and then Godstowe. You knew of her arrival and followed her discreetly. You joined them, probably after they left Godstowe village. You struck up an acquaintance, your offer to accompany them being gratefully accepted. I suspect you were disguised as a personable young man, a merry companion for the Gascons, after what must have been a long and gruelling journey. You were very clever, Agatha, your disguise was perfect Only the landlord glimpsed you. He, like others, mentioned some young gallant who passed through the village about the same time. But, of course, he can help us no further, being torn to death by Gaveston's dogs. I am correct, am I not?'

  The young woman pursed her lips and, for a few brief seconds, smiled sweetly, reminding Corbett of the pious, beautiful, young nun he once knew.

  'How did I know?' she asked. 'Who lands at Dover and takes the road to Oxford?'

  'Oh, I'll answer all that in due course. But for the rest? Well, you managed to persuade the young lady to leave the Godstowe road for a spot you had previously chosen. Perhaps take a noonday rest and sip some wine. She and her page boy probably dozed. Indeed,' Corbett stirred, staring behind the nun into the mist, 'they may have slept more deeply than they ever intended. The wine you proffered was probably drugged. Once asleep they were easy victims. You slit both their throats, stripped the corpses, changed your own robes and took Deveril's name as well as the letters of introduction. Your only mistake was mat the small lap dog Deveril carried was either overlooked or ran away. The woman's belongings you kept for yourself. The rest, including your own clothes, now lie at the bottom of some deep, evil-smelling swamp. The horses?' Corbett shrugged. 'Naturally, you kept one, that and a sumpter pony. The other two were turned loose. A nice gift for some peasant farmer who would keep his mouth firmly shut Then you come to Godstowe, armed with letters proclaiming you to be Deveril You take your vows, you are personable, you ingratiate yourself both with Lady Amelia and Lady Eleanor. And who would suspect you?'

  Agatha de Courcy nodded.

  'Very good!' she murmured. 'Very good indeed!'

  'The only person who did catch a glimmer of the truth was poor Dame Frances. You see, I found the collar of the lap dog and it still bore the Deveril's family motto: "Noli me tangere". Dame Frances, of course, remembered. She must have seen it on some of the murdered woman's belongings when you first entered the priory
but she probably could not place it immediately. And who would she tell? None other but the ever patient, attentive Dame Agatha -so Dame Frances too had to die. A staid nun, with a set routine and customs; you would remember from your few weeks in the novitiate how careful Dame Frances was to douse the fire with water. She always insisted on doing it herself and that made it easy for you. Only the night she died, the bucket she used was full of oil, not water.' Corbett secretly marvelled at the cool composure of his opponent. 'The fire exploded, spilling out on to the hearth, licking at the few drops on the floor, and in seconds Dame Frances was a blazing torch and your secret was safe.'

  Agatha joined her hands together, raising her fingers to her lips as if she was a teacher teasing a rather clever pupil.

  'Master Corbett, you've told me how I am supposed to have killed this woman, but not the reason why.'

  'Don't play games!' Corbett snapped. 'You know the reason. De Montfort was a rebel against the King, a Deveril was one of his generals. According to the records, after de Montfort's defeat, the Deveril line died out so the woman was probably the offspring of some illegitimate issue who fled to Gascony where she was raised to hate Edward of England.'

  'And the King would allow a Deveril back into the country?'

  'Only if she changed her name. As I have said, I suspect she was an orphan and, using a false name, wrote to Lady Amelia asking permission to join the Nuns of Syon and offering to pay the usual dowry fee. When her request was granted, she sought licence to enter England.' Corbett stared at Agatha. 'Oh, come, what name did she use?'

  Agatha gazed coolly back.

  'Let me try another tack,' Corbett continued. 'By what name were you called when you entered Godstowe Priory?'

  Agatha giggled as if Corbett had posed some riddle.

  I took the religious name of Agatha, really my own, but if you ask the Lady Prioress, she will tell you I entered these walls as Marie Savigny.'

  Corbett sighed.

  'So it was Marie Savigny you killed in the forest outside Godstowe?'

  Agatha chewed on her lip.

  'Let us say you are correct, Corbett. How would I know this Marie Savigny was secretly a member of the de Montfort coven, who wanted to come to England to plot mischief, perhaps even murder? And how would I learn when she would come and what route she would take?'

  'You know full well! The King himself told you. You're his assassin.'

  'If Deveril changed her name, why did she carry the motto of her family with her?' Corbett shrugged.

  'Few would recognise it as belonging to a noble family disgraced some forty years earlier. How many nuns at Godstowe, never mind barons at the King's court, would recognise the Deveril motto?'

  'But this Marie would speak fluent French.'

  'As do you,' Corbett replied. 'As well as others in this benighted place.'

  Agatha stepped closer, covering her head with her hood against the drops of rain which dripped from the overhanging branches of the oak tree.

  'Oh, Hugh,' she whispered, 'the King was right. You may be squeamish but always so logical.'

  'Perhaps I am not,' Corbett answered tartly. 'Marie Savigny or Deveril was murdered in the forest of Godstowe and you appeared in the priory at the same time. Perhaps I should have deduced something immediately from that coincidence. But, of course, Marie Savigny was awaited. She arrived and Godstowe expected no one else.' Corbett's voice trailed off.

  'Oh, come, Hugh,' she murmured. 'Don't blame yourself. The woman was a foreigner, travelling under a false name, with no clue as to her real identity. Who would suspect that a pious nun like myself could be guilty of such an act?' She tossed her head. 'And if they did, who would care? Marie planned treason, whilst I enjoy the King's protection.' She smiled. 'I never intended to stay long enough for anything to threaten me. So there's no real mystery!'

  Corbett raised his hand and touched the ruined oak behind him.

  'You are right. This is where the real mystery begins. You came here to watch the Lady Eleanor and make sure she did nothing foolish, such as escape or cause scandal at the English court. How alarmed you must have been to discover she was receiving secret messages from some mysterious adviser, who also promised he would arrange her escape from Godstowe! Now, on the Sunday she died, Lady Eleanor abruptly broke with custom, refusing to go to Compline, and someone as alert as you must have seen the secret preparations she had made.' Corbett's hand went back beneath his cloak to the dagger. 'So you went along the corridor to her room. The door was locked but the Lady Eleanor could trust Dame Agatha, who was ever solicitous for her happiness. She let you in, and the rest…' Corbett stared up, noting how the autumn sun was beginning to pierce the heavy mist 'Like the professional assassin you undoubtedly are, you broke her neck. Quite simple, I understand, for a skilled murderer. A matter of touch, of knowing where to hold and quickly turn,'

  The woman's hands suddenly appeared from beneath her cloak. Corbett steeled himself but Agatha only moved the wisps of blonde hair from her forehead. She cocked her head slightly to one side, staring at Corbett, a slight smile on her lips as if he was telling her some merry jest or interesting tale.

  'You are a clever clerk,' she replied with an air of mock innocence. 'You really are. But you forget – I was in the sacristy preparing for Compline.'

  'Oh, I am sure you were,' Corbett retorted brusquely.

  'And remember,' she quipped, 'Dames Martha and Elizabeth recalled seeing Lady Eleanor walking in the grounds below their window just before Compline.' Agatha's eyes rounded in wonderment 'So,' she murmured, 'how can a woman be dead and at the same time walking, waving her hands and talking?'

  'They saw someone. They thought they saw the Lady Eleanor cloaked and hooded, but of course it was you. After you bad slain the lady, you took one of her cloaks as well as the ring from her finger. Now suitably disguised, you went downstairs and into the grounds towards the priory church. Dame Martha indeed, as I suspect you were hoping she would, saw you and called out You turned, shouted something back and waved your hand. Both Dames Elizabeth and Martha were deaf, so whatever you said or how you said it would not cause any alarm. Moreover, being old and poor-sighted, they could not distinguish you from Lady Eleanor. After all, you and the dead woman bore a passing resemblance, being young, fair-haired, and of course you wore her cloak and ring.' Corbett smiled. 'Remember, people see what they think they should see.'

  'But what would have happened if someone had met me?'

  'But who would dare approach the aloof Lady Eleanor? The Lady Prioress was in church, the other nuns preparing for Compline, and it was only a short walk. Once you reached the sacristy door at the back of the church, you took off and hid both robe and ring and entered the sacristy as Dame Agatha, the dutiful nun. You have established, at least in the eyes of others who weren't watching precise times, that at the very moment you were in the church, the Lady Eleanor was still alive.

  'Of course, you made another mistake, didn't you? You were hoping that Dame Martha, like everyone else, saw what you wanted them to see: a woman wearing Lady Eleanor's cloak and ring must be Lady Eleanor. But the old nun was sharp. When you waved your hand, the huge sapphire ring flashed in the sunlight. Poor-sighted as they were, they caught the brilliant light of the jewel, but you had mistakenly put it on your left hand, whereas Lady Eleanor always wore the ring on the right. The old nun remembered this, hence her constant little riddle: "Sinistra non dextra" – "on the left, not the right". She could not understand it.'

  Agatha drew a little closer. Corbett noted she had lost some of her arrogance and was more watchful. She kept squarely in front of him, as if trying to block his view of what might be happening behind her.

  'Let us say,' she replied quietly, 'that it happened as you described. I admit a cloak would not be missed, but a precious ring? Remember, the Lady Prioress found the corpse at the bottom of the stairs!'

  'Of course you know that's a lie! The Lady Prioress, anxious about the whereabouts of the Lady Elean
or, left the refectory and went back to the darkened convent building. They found Lady Eleanor dead in her chamber and, concerned about the possible consequences, took her body to the foot of the stairs to make it look like an accident. It was dark, they were frightened, and would not notice the ring was missing. If anyone did, the logical explanation was that it had fallen off. Of course, they sent for you to help take the corpse back up to the chamber. That's when you thrust the ring back on to the dead woman's finger.' Corbett paused. 'Most subtle,' he added. 'You knew Lady Amelia would find the corpse and, for the good name of Godstowe, try to disguise Lady Eleanor's death as an accident You, an assassin, cleverly used innocent nuns such as Lady Amelia and Dame Martha to protect yourself. Whether they liked it or not, they became your accomplices; Lady Eleanor's death was made so confusing, no one would ever discover the truth.'

  Corbett, now concerned by the smiling malevolence which confronted him, pulled the dagger from its sheath.

  'That,' he continued, 'would have been the end of the matter, but Dame Martha had to chatter and threaten to talk to the Lady Prioress. Did you understand her riddle?'

  Agatha smiled.

  'You found killing her easy,' Corbett continued. 'Old Martha prepared a bath. She put up a screen and locked her chamber door. You, the ever caring sister, came along, probably with a bar of soap. The old nun gets out of the bath, leaving a trail of water on the floor as she unlocks the door. You give her the soap, chattering merrily as Dame Martha goes behind the screen back into the tub. She was an old lady, her death would have been quick. Perhaps you pulled her by the ankles, dragging her head beneath the water? Any sailor would ted you a swift inrush of water to the mouth and nose makes you speedily lose consciousness. You pick up the cake of soap and leave as quietly as you entered.'