by Paul Doherty
‘I eat only this,’ he said. ‘A Jewish physician from Salerno told me that rye bread not only turns your bowels to water but gives you strange dreams.’
‘We don’t need strange dreams,’ Sir Godfrey growled. ‘We are living in a nightmare. Those corpses, that silent, dreadful house and Dame Edith. What do you think of her, Alexander?’
‘I studied in the halls of Cambridge, Sir Godfrey. I was lectured in logic and the subjects of the quadrivium and trivium. I move in a world which depends on touch and taste but,’ the young clerk scratched his tousled head, ‘St Paul says we not only fight flesh and blood but legions of infernal beings, those lords of the air who wander through God’s creation, ever ready to destroy the work of Le Bon Seigneur.’
Sir Godfrey grumbled to himself.
‘Did you say something?’ Alexander leaned across.
‘I fight flesh and blood,’ the knight replied. ‘Last night we saw the work of flesh and blood.’
Alexander shook his head. ‘Sic et non, as the great Abelard would say. Yes and no, Sir Godfrey. What happens if the people who perpetrated those horrible murders either are possessed by demons or really believe they are something else?’
‘What do you mean?’ the knight asked brusquely.
‘Well, in Cambridge there was a man whom people dismissed as an idiot. He lived in the cellars of a tavern on the road out of Trumpington. He really believed he was the Angel Gabriel and nothing anyone could say would persuade him differently.’
‘And?’
Alexander grinned. ‘What happens if he really was?’
Sir Godfrey just popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and ignored Alexander’s wink. The young clerk drained his jug of ale.
‘Sir Godfrey, whoever the killers are, we are about to enter the Valley of Death but,’ Alexander couldn’t resist gentle banter, ‘we have your sword, my brains and the prayers of Dame Edith.’
‘I think we might need more than that.’
The knight and clerk looked round in surprise at the exorcist standing in the doorway. Both men rose in embarrassment. Alexander noted that Dame Edith was dressed as a lady; she had changed her grey gown for one of dark blue trimmed with silver piping and a veil and wimple of the same colour covered her head. Once more Alexander was struck by how, despite the blindfold across her eyes and the snow-white hair peeping from underneath the wimple, Dame Edith’s face was soft and comely as a young girl’s, her lips full and red.
‘God does not intend us to be miserable!’ she exclaimed, walking forward.
Alexander bit his lip and blushed, for the exorcist seemed to read his mind. He was also fascinated at how she could walk with such a firm step and stately poise. She sat down at the head of the table with as much grace as one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. Her hand went out.
‘You have eaten well?’ She took a small loaf and broke it in her hand.
‘The freshest bread and cheese, domina,’ Sir Godfrey replied. ‘And ale, richly brewed; what more could a man ask?’
The exorcist laughed merrily. ‘Aye, what more, Sir Godfrey? You should fortify yourselves. The devil can use an empty stomach and a weak spirit to his best advantage. You have said your prayers?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yes, domina.’
‘And you have planned what to do?’
Both men looked at each other in concern.
‘If you are to enter a maze,’ the exorcist said, ‘it’s best if you feel for the wall. What do you know already?’
Alexander pushed his trencher away. ‘You want some ale, domina?’
‘A little, a small cup.’
Alexander rose and went into the buttery. He came back, filled the cup to the brim and put it gently into the exorcist’s slender fingers.
‘Your hands are warm.’ The exorcist smiled. ‘The blood runs hot in your veins, Alexander McBain, and that’s good. But my question?’
‘What we know is very little,’ Sir Godfrey replied, watching the exorcist intently. He could almost swear she could see every movement they made.
‘And yet?’ she asked sharply.
‘And yet, domina, there are a few loose threads. First, those students who disappeared from Stapleton Hall in the Turl. We should go there. Secondly, this strange business at the Trinitarian friary, that too should be visited.’
The exorcist nodded.
‘After all,’ Sir Godfrey continued, ‘the friary is built on the site where the Strigoi’s tower once stood and there is the matter of the sudden and mysterious death of Abbot Samson. We should also visit the Mortimer family.’ Sir Godfrey looked at Alexander. ‘Where is their manor?’
‘Between here and Woodstock.’
‘And, finally,’ Sir Godfrey concluded, ‘we should interrogate that student imprisoned in the town gaol. He may have something useful to tell us.’
‘Then,’ Domina Edith said, wiping her fingers on the napkin, ‘we should begin immediately.’
The men looked at each other in surprise.
‘I am coming with you,’ the exorcist added defiantly. ‘I may be blind—’ She chuckled merrily. ‘But it will be good to be out in the world again and listen to the affairs of men.’ Her face grew solemn. ‘I may be of some assistance.’ She stood and gently touched Alexander’s ears. ‘You can listen with them and you can listen with the soul.’ She held up her hand in mock imitation of a vow. ‘You have my word, if I am a hindrance I will stay here, but I would love to come.’
Alexander glanced at Sir Godfrey, who just shrugged and spread his hands.
‘Of course, domina,’ the knight replied as Alexander pulled a face at him. ‘But you must put yourself in no danger.’
‘Danger?’ The exorcist put her head back and laughed. ‘Sir knight, I have lived in danger all my life!’
The conversation ceased at a loud knocking on the door. The abbess entered, leading a rather dishevelled soldier; his boots were caked in mud and there were flecks of dirt on his shabby tabard. The fellow bowed at all three of them, but Alexander could see he was fascinated by the exorcist. The abbess, standing behind him, scowled, her face showing her disdain for the man, who smelt of horse sweat and kept wiping a runny nose on the back of his hand.
‘He’s from the sheriff,’ she announced.
‘Well, man?’
‘Sir Oswald,’ the messenger closed his eyes, ‘Sir Oswald sends his, sends his . . .’
‘Compliments,’ Sir Godfrey suggested testily.
‘No, sir, his greetings. He desires your presence in the castle immediately.’
‘Why?’ Alexander asked.
The fellow opened his eyes. ‘God knows, master, but they did bring a body in this morning. All blood and gore seeping through a sheet. It was still dripping when Sir Oswald ordered it to be taken down to one of the cellars.’
‘Another death,’ the exorcist murmured. ‘Perhaps we should start at the castle.’
The messenger was dismissed and Godfrey and Alexander collected their sword belts and cloaks. The exorcist remained to exchange pleasantries with the abbess, who was anxious to learn what Dame Edith might require.
‘Only a horse,’ the exorcist said, as both men came back down the stairs. ‘Something gentle but strong. A sweet-natured palfrey.’
The abbess agreed and led them to the stables. As they passed the rain-soaked gardens they heard a young girl singing. Alexander stopped.
‘That’s a French song, isn’t it? “La Belle Dame sans Merci”, “The Lady without Pity”.’
And, without being invited, Alexander walked through a gap in the privet hedge that shielded the singer. His face softened as he glimpsed the Lady Emily standing next to a small fountain, a brilliantly white dove resting on her gloved hand. She was stroking its breast gently, singing to it, completely absorbed in what she was doing.
Sir Godfrey joined him. Both men stood in speechless admiration, for the early morning sun caught the young woman’s unbraided hair and created a golden aureole around it. In her lon
g dress of murrey, bound at the waist by a silver cord, she reminded Alexander of a fairy princess he had glimpsed in a Book of Legends in a wooden-panelled library at Cambridge.
‘A vision!’ he murmured.
The girl kept singing. Godfrey could only stare, wondering why his heart skipped a beat, his pulse and blood raced and his stomach tingled with excitement.
By the rood! he thought, I have only met her twice and I stand like some lovelorn squire!
The two women also joined them. The dove fluttered. Emily stopped singing as she realized she had an audience. She placed the bird gently on the ground and coyly looked at them from under her eyelashes.
‘Good morning, sirs,’ she murmured.
Alexander took a step forward, his boots crunching on the gravel path. The dove fluttered its wings and rose, soaring into the air to circle above the girl. Alexander sketched the most courteous of bows.
‘Mistress, I apologize, but that song, I have never heard it sung so beautifully.’
‘My mother taught it to me.’
Alexander looked up at the circling bird. ‘Is that a pet?’
‘Of sorts.’
Alexander watched the bird circle, a flurry of white against the early morning sky.
‘Then, mistress, it is the most fortunate of doves!’
‘Why, sir?’ Lady Emily’s eyelashes fluttered as she glanced straight at him.
Godfrey felt a pang of envy, for the girl was struggling to hide her laughter.
‘Mistress, to be held by you!’
Now the girl blushed. Dame Constance noisily cleared her throat but the exorcist laughed, as if echoing the young girl’s merriment.
‘You have met Dame Edith?’ Sir Godfrey found his voice, louder than he intended.
Dame Constance bustled in and made the introductions. Emily swept forward to exchange the kiss of peace, her red lips gently brushing the cheeks of the exorcist.
‘You are beautiful,’ Dame Edith whispered, stepping away. ‘And a fine singer.’ She looked in Alexander’s direction. ‘Do you really know that song?’ she queried.
Alexander, eager to seize every second, thrust one leg forward, head back, arms on his hips, taking up the pose of a professional jongleur.
‘If the lady Emily will accompany me. How does the first verse go?
‘La nuit devient trop tard.’
Alexander’s rich tenor voice broke into song, Emily joining him on the third line. They sang a duet as sweet as any Sir Godfrey had heard. By the time they had finished, even Dame Constance’s severe face was lit by a smile. The exorcist clapped her hands, but Sir Godfrey could only stare, torn between envy at Alexander’s easy gallantry and the sheer vivacity of the girl.
‘This will not do! This will not do!’ Dame Constance declared in mock severity. ‘Master McBain, the sheriff awaits you.’
Alexander caught Emily’s hand, raised it to his lips and pressed his mouth against her long, cool fingers. Revelling in their smooth silkiness, he allowed his lips to linger while he glanced cheekily at the girl from under his eyebrows. For her part Emily acted the perfect coquette, reluctantly withdrawing her hand when etiquette and Dame Constance’s grim look demanded it.
‘Mistress,’ Alexander murmured, ‘you should sing again.’
‘A perfect accompaniment,’ Emily softly replied.
Alexander stepped back and once again bowed but, instead of turning, walked backwards as if he found it impossible to tear his eyes away. Emily collapsed in giggles. Dame Constance strode on, while the exorcist gripped Alexander’s hand.
‘Come, sir,’ she whispered. ‘You have the abbess’s tolerance, even acceptance. Do not push matters further.’
Sir Godfrey, however, did not move and waited until his companions had gone back beyond the privet hedge that cordoned off this small pleasance. He then walked forward. He tried to smile but found it false so kept his face straight. Emily looked at him strangely; she saw the passion in his face and fire in his eyes and realized this man did not believe in dalliance. She folded her hands across her stomach.
‘Sir Godfrey, you tarry?’
The knight put his hand out and Emily placed her fingers gently within his. The knight then brought her hand up to his lips, brushed it gently and let it fall away.
‘Lady, in all things I am your servant.’
Emily blushed, but this time not from coyness but at the passion in Sir Godfrey’s face. She opened her mouth to speak but Sir Godfrey turned on his heel and strode away to join the rest at the stables. The servants had led out a small grey palfrey and Alexander was gently assisting the exorcist into the saddle. She turned her face towards Sir Godfrey.
‘I know what you are thinking, Sir Godfrey,’ she called out briskly. ‘I may be blind, but I am not helpless. I can ride a horse as well as a babe suckles its mother’s tits.’ She tapped the wooden hilt of the long dagger she usually carried under her cloak, which was now lashed in its sheath to the saddle horn. ‘And, if it comes to battle, I can deal as good a blow as I get.’ The exorcist grinned. ‘But make sure you don’t come too close. Sometimes it’s hard to tell friend from foe.’
Alexander bellowed with laughter at her short speech as he and the knight mounted.
‘Sir Godfrey!’ the abbess called, ‘the clerk tells me you wish to seek out the Mortimer family?’
‘Yes. I believe they have a manor between the city and Woodstock?’
The abbess shook her head. ‘No Mortimers live there now. I am sorry, I should have told you before; their only descendant is Sir Oswald Beauchamp, the sheriff. I thought you knew that?’
Sir Godfrey shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he muttered, ‘but I won’t forget it.’
They rode together out of the convent buildings, Alexander leading the exorcist’s horse by the bridle. They had to pull aside as the town bailiffs trundled by with a cart carrying the body of a suicide to Eastgate to be buried in the city ditch. Then they made their way up the High Street towards the castle. After the yesterday’s rain, the thoroughfare was muddy and the rain had swollen the sewer in the centre of the street to overflowing. Nevertheless, the prospect of a better day, as well as the chimes of the bells of different churches and the cries of the apprentices, had brought the crowds out. Benedictine monks in their black habits, Carmelites in white, friars in black and grey and throngs of students – some in gaudy attire, others ragged, yellow-faced, with bitter faces and hands constantly resting on their daggers – shouldered their way through the streets. Servants trotted by, carrying books to the schools. A priest, preceded by a silver cross, mumbled prayers for the repose of the soul of the corpse bobbing up and down in a cart behind him. Now and again Alexander spied the different professors: the doctors in their mantles of crimson cloth, the fur-lined hoods of the theologians and the brilliant white caps of the Masters of Arts.
There was a purposeful air in most of the crowd as they hurried in and out of the many halls that lined the High Street or pushed into the cookshops to break their fast, attracted by the savoury beef and onion smells that hung heavy in the morning air. Peasants in their wooden clogs and brown and green hoods jostled wealthy burgesses in wool-lined cloaks. Busy serving girls hurried along the stalls with their baskets, quietly mouthing the things they had to buy. Alexander watched them all, noting particularly the hostility when town and gown met. Here a group of students forced a trader out of their path, almost pushing him into the stinking sewer. A burgess half drew his sword as he heard salacious whispers directed at his young daughter, whose pretty face peeped out from a damask-covered hood. All the time students talked in loud raucous voices as they prepared for a day’s learning in the schools and Alexander caught snatches of their songs. City beadles and university officials kept an eye on the busy throng. All were armed with staves but, as one moved, Alexander glimpsed the pommel of a sword beneath his cloak. Sir Godfrey, too, had noticed this; he leaned back in his saddle.
‘There’s a tension here,’ he declared. ‘It
reminds me of a barnyard full of fighting cocks.’
‘There’s always tension,’ Alexander sourly observed. ‘The students hate the citizens, the citizens hate the students. It was the same in Cambridge.’
No, Sir Godfrey thought, looking around, this is different. He wondered if the mysterious murders had intensified the curdling dislike between the university and the town. They cleared the High Street and went past St Martin’s and on to St Peter’s church. Here they stopped and stared curiously: the church, set in its own grounds a few paces from the High Street, was now boarded up, its windows shuttered, the main entrance door firmly padlocked, though the small hall beside the church was busy enough. Sir Godfrey looked at the ragged men and women who thronged outside its doorway chattering to the priest they had met the previous evening. He had set up a small stall at the entrance to the hall and was serving the poor or, indeed, any caller, bowls of hot pottage and small loaves of bread. Father Andrew saw them and grinned. He handed the ladle to a tousle-haired young man and came forward to greet them.
‘Good morrow, sirs.’ The priest stared around Alexander at the exorcist, sitting absorbed in her own thoughts.
‘Father Andrew.’ Alexander clasped the man’s hands and stared at his saintly face. ‘May I present Dame Edith Mohun.’
‘The exorcist?’
‘Yes,’ Alexander replied. ‘You have heard of her?’
The priest approached, took the exorcist’s hand and kissed it gently.
‘I was born in Whitby in the north but served as a curate at St Dunstan’s-in-the-Fields. Your reputation was known even then.’
‘Reputation for what?’ Dame Edith tartly asked. ‘Hiding away from everyone?’
Father Andrew laughed and stepped back. ‘For your prayers and good works.’