by Paul Doherty
‘Yes, they have and, no, they know nothing,’ Ormiston replied.
‘Sir Oswald,’ Godfrey said, ‘as we came into the city we noticed the town gaol heavily guarded. Why is that?’
‘Last night,’ the sheriff replied, ‘another household was attacked – a spinster and her two sisters, seamstresses from the parish of St Thomas à Becket.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nearby was found a student, Eudo Lascalle, a Brabanter by birth. He was found deep in his cups lying in an alleyway, unarmed, unscathed, but covered from head to toe in someone else’s blood. He has been lodged in the town gaol because, ostensibly, he is another riotous clerk.’
‘And has he confessed?’
‘To nothing but drinking too deeply of new ale in the Cock and Hoop tavern.’
‘And the house?’
‘Boarded up and guarded. You see,’ the sheriff continued, ‘so far there are rumours, whispers in the city, but nothing else. If this story came out it would fester old grievances, particularly between the townspeople and the university.’ He shrugged. ‘There would be riots and neither the city nor the university authorities want that.’ Sir Oswald heaved himself up from the table. ‘We have done everything.’ His voice quavered. ‘Guards, officials, street patrols but, as I have said, they too are frightened out of their wits.’
‘And how did our lady abbess get involved?’ Alexander smiled dazzlingly at Dame Constance.
The abbess flushed slightly, like some young maid accepting a compliment.
‘I am a lonely woman and Sir Oswald and Master Nicholas often do me the honour of dining with me. At first, I thought the deaths were part of the bloody business of living but, as they continued, I remembered the legends and the university kindly allowed me to consult certain manuscripts kept in St Mary’s church. Only then did I suspect.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I wrote to the king and the archbishop.’ She spread her fingers. ‘The rest you know.’
‘This house, have the corpses been removed?’ Godfrey asked.
‘No,’ Sir Oswald replied. ‘The corpses were discovered by a journeyman trying to sell trinkets. Until tomorrow he, too, is cooling his heels in the town gaol. As usual, we will wait until nightfall to have the corpses removed.’
Godfrey rose to his feet. ‘In which case, let us see them now.’
The proctor shook his head. ‘I cannot go with you,’ he whispered. ‘So much blood, so many deaths.’
‘I’ll go,’ Sir Oswald said. He looked warningly at them. ‘I hope you have the stomach for it.’
They said their farewells to the abbess and went to collect their horses from the convent stables and rode back into the city. The murdered women had lived in an alleyway just behind a row of houses near Carfax. Two soldiers wearing the livery of the city stood on guard outside the door. They looked nervous and pale, but were pleased to see the sheriff and his companions. They immediately broke off their whispered conversation with the dark, gowned priest standing in the shadows.
‘Must we stay?’ one of the guards whined as the other gathered the reins of the horses.
Sir Oswald kicked aside the dirt and refuse of the alleyway.
‘For God’s sake!’ the sheriff snapped. ‘The dead can’t hurt you!’
‘No,’ the fellow retorted, ‘but those who hunt in the darkness can.’
‘Guard the horses!’ Sir Godfrey ordered curtly.
‘Father Andrew!’ Sir Oswald exclaimed. ‘You have heard the news?’
The priest stepped out of the shadows. He was of medium height, pleasant-faced, youngish, though his black hair was prematurely grey. Godfrey noticed his tired eyes but also the laughter lines around the firm mouth and chin.
‘Yes, yes, I have,’ the priest replied. He stared at Godfrey and Alexander and his eyes became watchful.
Sir Oswald introduced them.
‘You are most welcome,’ Father Andrew murmured. He sketched a blessing in the air. ‘As St Peter says “Be on your guard: Satan has come into this city and leaves his mark all around”.’
Sir Oswald grunted and, pushing by, drew his dagger and cut the wrapped seals on the lintel. He then took a key from his pouch, unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Godfrey and Alexander, Father Andrew following, entered the musty darkness. Alexander felt the hair on the nape of his neck curl and sensed a dreadful presence even before Sir Oswald struck a tinder, making an oil lamp splutter against the gloom. A pitch torch in its iron bracket also flared into life. Alexander looked round and nearly fainted. The room was simple – an earthen floor, a table, some shelves built against lime-washed walls, a small hearth, a cooking pot over the white ashes and a wire basket of bread which had been hauled up into the rafters away from foraging mice. Some jars, a clay dish, a pewter pot, knives and skewers hung above the hearth. All these simple things only enhanced Alexander’s terror, for the walls were splattered with blood, the table glistened with gore and on the floor the corpses of the women lay like hunks of meat, their heads thrown back, gaping wounds like second mouths in their throats and the bodices of their simple dresses caked with blood. One look at the bluish-white faces and Alexander could stand no more; catching his mouth in his hand, he followed the priest, equally shocked, back into the gloomy alleyway. In the room of death the sheriff turned to stare at Sir Godfrey. He, too, was pale and, although he had seen such horrors before, his lean face glistened with sweat and fear had enlarged his eyes. He leaned against the wall, not caring about it being blood-stained, and closed his eyes.
‘Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.’ He breathed the words of the mass, ‘Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.’
At last he opened his eyes and stared up at the rafters and the three pieces of hacked rope which still hung there. Then he looked at the victims’ feet, noticing how the ankles were still bound with cord. He grasped Sir Oswald by the shoulder.
‘Is that how you found them?’ he asked.
‘Yes, strung up like pullets. The rest is as you see.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Nothing, nothing taken, nothing disturbed. The upstairs chamber is like a thousand others.’ The sheriff jerked his head. ‘Only this abomination.’
‘And the neighbours heard nothing?’
‘Before God, Sir Godfrey, nothing at all!’
‘And the student Lascalle?’
‘He was found at the mouth of the alleyway sodden with drink.’
Sir Godfrey turned and went back outside, breathing in the evening air as if trying to cleanse his mind as well as his lungs of the sights he had seen. The sheriff came out, locking the door behind him.
‘You have seen enough?’
Alexander still leaned against the wall retching, Father Andrew gently patting him on the back.
‘Oh, Christ Jesus,’ the Scotsman breathed. ‘I pray never to see the like again. Sir Godfrey?’
The knight closed his eyes. ‘I have seen cities taken by storm,’ he said, ‘towns put to the torch after pillage and rape, but, before God, there is something evil in that room. So orderly, so neat, except for those three bodies and the blood-spattered walls.’
‘Did you examine the corpses, Sir Oswald?’
‘My physician, Gilbert Tanner, inspected them. There were no marks or bruises on their bodies, though their mouths were gagged before they died.’
‘God have mercy on us,’ Father Andrew whispered. ‘Sirs, I must return. Master Sheriff, if there is anything I can do. . .’
The priest walked back up the alleyway. The knight watched him go. ‘A good man, Sir Oswald?’
‘Yes, he is parish priest of St Peter’s, a church very near the castle. He has been here for five years and tends the poor. He, too, believes this is the work of darker forces.’
They walked up to where the soldiers had taken their horses, far enough away that it seemed as if they wanted to put as much distance as they could between themselves and that blood-soaked, two-storied house. They rem
ounted. Sir Oswald curtly reminded the soldiers of their duties, and they returned in gloomy silence to the convent. At the main gates the sheriff gathered the reins of his horse and warmly clasped first Sir Godfrey and then Alexander by the hand.
‘Tomorrow, sirs, I shall return. But enough has been done. I believe you are to meet the exorcist tonight. God keep you.’
Godfrey and Alexander shouted their farewells and rode into the darkened courtyard of the convent.
‘Something to eat?’ the knight queried as the groom led their horses away.
Alexander stopped, his ears straining into the darkness.
‘Can you hear it, Sir Godfrey?’ he asked, ignoring the question. ‘The nuns are at vespers.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Perhaps we can gain a glimpse of the fair Emily.’ He pulled his face straight. ‘I want to go to church tonight. If what we saw at that house is what we face then we need God’s protection.’
Sir Godfrey shrugged and followed him along the winding, cobbled path towards the convent church where a lay sister let them in. The nave was dark except for one torch spluttering feebly against the darkness. The lay sister led them past the shadowy columns to a bench before the rood screen. In the sanctuary beyond, the high altar was ablaze with lighted candles, the nuns in their choir stalls on either side sweetly chanting David’s psalms. Alexander searched the pews, his eyes hungry for a sight of Emily, and he smiled as he glimpsed her sitting beside the abbess, the sheen of her blonde hair covered with a light blue wimple. The girl looked up quickly, caught his glance and smiled, making Alexander’s heart leap with joy. Then he looked at the other dark cowled figures and his fear returned. He glanced sideways and saw Sir Godfrey’s eyes were closed and his lips moving. As he caught a verse chanted by the nuns, Alexander, too, closed his eyes.
‘From the evil one,’ he whispered, ‘and from the terror which stalks at mid-day, Lord deliver us!’
In the anchorite cell built into the wall of the convent church, the exorcist Dame Edith Mohun was also reflecting upon her arrival in Oxford. It had been strange, she thought, to leave her little, stone-walled cell, the sanctity of her London church and the daily routine of prayer, meagre meals, meditation and sleep. Edith knelt upon the beaten earth floor and confessed her own pride and cowardice. She had been safe there; she was always protected against those terrible visions, those horrific nightmares in which demons appeared to her with great heads, long necks, lean visages, sallow skin, savage eyes and flame-vomiting gullets. Now she would hear their voices again, dark and dreadful, as she once more looked upon the wickedness of man. Edith sensed the evil of the coming confrontation. Something hideously vile was awaiting her in the dark, fetid streets of Oxford, something she had met before – but this time it could be more real, more threatening. This would not be some poor boy or girl possessed by demons but a more terrifying reality, that dreadful alliance between man’s free will and the power of evil. What the abbess had told her had evoked Edith’s memories of the dark forests and lonely, haunted valleys of Wallachia and Moldavia, places unused to the cross or the real power of Christ. She had experienced real evil there and it had pursued her. But how could this evil be destroyed? By just three people – a knight, a clerk and a recluse who had lost her sight, her very eyelids being sewn together to block out the sun?
Edith crouched on the cold floor. What form would this evil take? Where did it hide? Edith had in her youth seen the popular carvings, the pictures in which Satan was depicted as some monstrous beast with hooked nose and curling serpent hair. But she knew differently. Satan was a beautiful young man with a silver tongue who would always appear to be most pleasing. She must not forget that; appearances were deceptive. Satan himself could quote the Scriptures and she would have to be on her guard. She touched the wooden cross at her throat and muttered her disbelief at what Dame Constance had told her. She knew all about the Strigoi, the living dead, but she could hardly believe that they were here in England, a country sanctified, covered in churches, where the cross had replaced the sacred oak, the Druids’ magic and the sacrificial ring of stones. Perhaps, she concluded, evil never disappeared but just sank beneath the surface, biding its time. Then she looked up as she heard the insistent knocking on the wooden door to her cell.
‘So it begins!’ she whispered. ‘So it begins!’
Chapter 3
Sir Godfrey and Alexander were finishing their evening meal of beef broth, cheese and bread when there was a knock on the door and the abbess swept in. Alexander and Godfrey rose to their feet.
‘I have a visitor,’ the abbess said. ‘Dame Edith Mohun!’
The grey-garbed woman came out of the darkness and moved quietly into the room. Alexander could only gape. The blind exorcist was of medium height. She was dressed in a simple grey robe, her snow-white hair hung free to her shoulders. A dark blue bandage covering her eyes emphasized her skin, creamy soft and smooth as a maid’s.
‘Must you stand and gape at me like yokels?’ the blind woman asked, smilingly. She turned. ‘Especially you, Sir Godfrey Evesden, the king’s champion and most intimate counsellor. I have heard of your bravery.’
The knight wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he stammered his own greeting back. Dame Edith walked closer as the abbess left the guest house, closing the door softly behind her. Dame Edith grasped the knight’s hand.
‘I was only teasing. I did not mean to embarrass you, sir.’ She turned towards Alexander. ‘Master McBain, Scotsman and king’s clerk, student from the halls of Cambridge, if I had a coin for every time you have been in love—’ Her smile widened. ‘I could feed the poor of London.’ She walked towards the clerk and extended her hands. Alexander knelt and kissed the soft, warm skin. The exorcist gently stroked his face. ‘You are brave,’ she whispered, ‘and you’ll need all your courage, both of you, in the dreadful evil we face here. But come, let me share your meal.’
She walked to the top of the table. Alexander hastily brought her a stool, watching her curiously; despite her lack of sight, the exorcist was unerring in her movements.
‘What are you staring at, Scotsman?’ she asked.
‘My lady,’ Alexander stammered. ‘You can see?’
The exorcist smiled. ‘In a way, yes, I can. If you picture something in your mind and refuse to accept the darkness, it’s wonderful what you can do.’ She gripped the goblet of wine Alexander pushed towards her. ‘Except read, read, read!’ she whispered. ‘I miss the world of books. When this is all over, will you read to me, Alexander?’
‘From what, my lady?’
‘Oh, the manuscripts you collect. The stories about your great heroes, Macbeth, Malcolm Canmore?’
‘Of course,’ Alexander replied. ‘I will read to you.’
Dame Edith nodded. ‘And do you know what we face here?’ she asked abruptly.
‘I do,’ Sir Godfrey answered hastily, ‘but the clerk knows little. Well, not as yet.’
Dame Edith turned back to Alexander. ‘The sheriff and proctor know but, although they are here and listen, they do not accept the evil that is in this city. They are like us all, they have faith only in what they can see, hear, touch, taste and smell. Many years ago,’ she continued softly, ‘as the lady abbess has told you, before this place of learning with its halls, schools, castles and proctors was built, a great evil crossed the seas and took up residence here. It was vanquished but not destroyed, driven away but not burnt out. Now an evil that is not destroyed is like smoke; it may be trapped but, when it discovers a crevice or crack, it will pour through.’ She paused. ‘Are you frightened, Alexander McBain, of what you can’t see?’
‘Lady, I never think of it.’
‘And what do you see?’ she insisted.
‘Perhaps only half of what I should,’ Alexander jokingly replied.
‘No, be serious,’ Dame Edith breathed. ‘What happens if there is more to our reality than what we see. We are like a fly, Alexander, which lands on a piece of bread and thinks that only what it can see a
nd taste exists. We are like that, Alexander. We are small creatures in God’s cosmos and we reach the arrogant conclusion that only what we see actually exists.’ The exorcist’s voice rose. ‘Now as Christians we know different. We believe our reality is only part of a greater one and that beyond the veil exist spiritual beings who, like us, are in a state of conflict. The Apostle himself says that we do not fight against flesh and blood but against all the forces of Hell.’
‘The Church also teaches,’ Alexander interrupted, ‘that Christ is always with us and that his strength will suffice.’
‘Oh, in the end it always will, but we must draw a distinction between the battle and the inevitable victory. Now we tend to think of all evil as man-made – the robber, the adulterer, the ravisher and the murderer – but there is another dimension and within that the evil we see forms a pact with the evil we can’t.’ Dame Edith patted Alexander’s hand gently. ‘I do not mean to preach, but what you saw in Oxford tonight gave you a glimpse of what I witnessed.’ Edith paused, her sightless eyes staring into the night, summoning up the shadows from her own past. ‘Once upon a time,’ she began, ‘I was young and comely.’
‘Domina, you still are!’
Edith smiled. ‘Flattery is the sweetest wine, Scotsman. I was a young girl,’ she continued, ‘the only child of a doting father, a widower. He was a humble knight who owned some lands that stretched down to the shoreline in Northumberland. I was caressed and I was spoilt, I was given a fine education at the local convent. One day, when I was fifteen, my father visited me. Stephen Mohun came with him.’ She laughed sweetly. ‘I would have taken him on the spot, for I loved him dearly and I would not be brooked.’ She turned her blind face towards Sir Godfrey. ‘Within a year I was out of the convent and Stephen Mohun’s wife. He was the youngest son of a great family. We lived with my father, who named Stephen his heir. Now, my Uncle Simon was a Hospitaller in a local commanderie.’ Dame Edith shook her head. ‘Golden days. We fed ourselves on meals of glory, the great feats of Charlemagne’s paladins and, when Pope John and others began to preach a crusade, we answered. My father raised loans on his land and we joined a Hospitaller expedition to aid the Franks in Greece.’ She shook her head. ‘The foolishness of youth. We became mercenaries, fighting alongside our small Hospitaller troop as it made its way into Wallachia to protect the Christian communities there. Do you know the country?’