An Ancient Evil (Canterbury Tales Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  The clerk nodded.

  ‘Sir Godfrey?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘And you, Sheriff Beauchamp, Proctor Ormiston?’

  Both men agreed.

  ‘And when you pray,’ Dame Edith exclaimed, ‘you call upon Christ to come to you or invoke the favour of your patron saint, yes?’

  The men nodded their heads in agreement.

  ‘The Strigoi are no different,’ she declared. ‘They believe that, if they call, the forces of Hell will answer.’ She got to her feet, pushing the bench aside. ‘Let us go to the friary. You’ll see!’ she rasped. ‘Before the week is out, you will see the powers of their Dark Lord.’

  Words between the pilgrims

  The knight paused in his story-telling and looked around the taproom. He particularly watched the monk, whose eyes never left him. Then he turned towards his golden-haired son, the squire, who stood in the doorway with the yeoman beside him. ‘Are you well, Robert?’ the knight asked.

  ‘Aye, sir. But memory can be a sharp prick and the soul never forgets.’

  The knight smiled and gestured his son and the yeoman to sit down, pushing the wine jug towards their empty cups.

  ‘Let’s finish the tale, sir knight!’ the wife of Bath, half-way down the table, leaned forward, her face beaming in a gap-toothed smile. ‘Sir knight, you play with us, you tell us about this beautiful Lady Emily and in your tale today, the one about Arcite and Palamon, the lady is also called Emily.’

  The knight raised his eyebrows. ‘So?’

  The wife of Bath wagged a finger at him.

  ‘In your tale about ancient Thebes all your names are Greek – Arcite, Palamon and so forth. Why, in both tales, the one you tell now and the one you told today, are your heroines called Emily?’

  The knight smiled faintly but the wife of Bath was not easy to discourage.

  ‘Tell me the name of your wife,’ she demanded.

  ‘I’ve been married twice,’ the knight replied. ‘Once to a lady called Katerina.’

  ‘And the second time?’

  The knight shrugged. ‘Let me finish my tale.’

  PART IV

  Chapter 1

  They found the Trinitarian friary in uproar. The sub-prior, a young man called Roger, met them in the small guest house. He was full of panic, constantly muttering, ‘What can I do? What can I do?’

  ‘You can keep your courage,’ Sir Godfrey grated. ‘Now, tell me what happened?’

  ‘The bell sounded for matins this morning,’ the sub-prior replied. ‘We assembled in the choir to sing divine office. Only then did I notice Prior Edmund was missing. I thought he was ill, but the lay brothers I sent to look for him came back to report that his room was empty and the door half-open. So I ordered a search. You’d best come with me.’

  He led them across the grounds and into the musty council chamber. Dame Edith, however, stopped just outside the door. She moved her head from side to side. McBain could see how her hands trembled, so he took her arm.

  ‘Dame Edith, you are well?’

  ‘Such evil,’ she murmured. ‘It has gone, but the stink remains, the stench of corruption. The perfume of wickedness hangs heavy in the air.’

  ‘What’s she chattering about?’ the sub-prior asked anxiously.

  ‘She’s not chattering!’ McBain snarled. ‘For God’s sake, haven’t you heard the legends about this place?’

  The sub-prior mumbled an apology. ‘I thought they were stories for children. We have heard of the secret passageways and chambers but, until this morning . . .’

  His voice trailed off as he gestured towards the end of the hall where the secret door was still open. Half-way down the hall he stopped to light some candles, then he led them down the steps to the secret chamber. At the bottom Sir Godfrey drew his sword, for even he felt the hostility of that stark, empty chamber. The sub-prior’s hesitancy increased and McBain had an overwhelming desire to run back up the steps away from this dreadful room. Dame Edith, however, recovered her poise.

  ‘The evil has gone,’ she murmured. ‘Sir Godfrey, there is a coffin, yes? Lead me across to it.’

  They went across to the lead-lined oaken casket in the middle of the floor. On either side broken chains hung and the samite on which the corpse had lain was lying rumpled on the floor.

  ‘Describe it to me,’ Dame Edith commanded.

  Sir Godfrey did so, breaking off at intervals to stare into the corners of the room, fearful that some malignant presence lurked there waiting to attack him.

  ‘Nothing’s corrupted?’ Dame Edith asked.

  ‘Nothing, my lady.’

  ‘It proves what I said,’ she cried. ‘The person buried here was one of the undead, a Strigoi lord. Now he has been released. We will have to hunt him down.’

  The sub-prior, Roger, listened round-eyed.

  ‘Who is she?’ he asked, mystified.

  ‘Never you mind,’ Sir Godfrey snapped. He produced a small scroll from his wallet. ‘Do you recognize the seal?’

  The sub-prior examined the warrant in the light of the flickering candle.

  ‘Why, yes, it is the king’s seal.’

  ‘And what does the letter say?’

  ‘What the bearer of this letter orders to be done is to be done immediately and without question.’

  ‘Good!’ Sir Godfrey continued. ‘You have read it. You understand it, you have seen the seal on it. Now, this is my order. I want the library on the top storey cleared of all possessions, moveables, manuscripts, books.’

  ‘And then what?’ the sub-prior whimpered.

  ‘This chamber cleansed by fire and the entire building razed to the ground. Once this is done, the bricks and the timber are to be soaked in oil and purged by fire. What rubble is left is to be thrown into a deep pit.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  Sir Godfrey grabbed the monk by the front of his habit.

  ‘I mean,’ the sub-prior pleaded, ‘I need the permission of my superiors.’

  ‘And I act on the authority of the king,’ Sir Godfrey whispered hoarsely. ‘And, if you don’t do it, I’ll come back, arrest you for high treason and burn the whole bloody place to the ground! If your stupid prior had been honest and co-operative in the first place, this tragedy might not have happened! Now, promise me that by tomorrow evening the work will have been done!’

  ‘It must be done,’ Dame Edith insisted.

  The sub-prior nodded. The knight released his grip.

  ‘Now, let’s get out of this hell-hole,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you wish to see Prior Edmund’s body?’

  ‘He is dead?’ McBain asked.

  ‘Of course, his throat has been slit.’

  ‘Then he is in God’s hands, not ours. So, what can we do?’

  Outside in the grounds Brother Lanfranc, the archivist, was waiting for them.

  ‘Sir knight, the evil has gone?’

  ‘Yes and now this place must be razed.’

  The old man’s rheumy eyes crinkled and he cackled with laughter.

  ‘I always said it should be. But my books and manuscripts will be safe?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The rheumy eyes lit with pleasure. He looked contemptuously at the young sub-prior. ‘Then I will show you something kept in my possession, a journal.’

  Roger made to protest but Sir Godfrey told him to be silent and go about his business. They followed the ancient one up a steep flight of stairs and into the long library, very similar to the one they had visited at St Mary’s church. Lanfranc lit the candles under their protective metal caps and, wheezing and muttering, opened a huge, iron-bound coffer secured by five locks. He rummaged among the contents and brought out a thin, calf-bound ledger which he invited McBain to inspect. The clerk studied it curiously – first the title page, then the different entries – turning the pages over quickly.

  ‘What is it?’ Dame Edith asked impatiently.

  ‘It’s a secret journal,’ Alexand
er explained. ‘The secrets of this house were passed from abbot to abbot. They had a duty every so often to inspect the crypt and ensure all was well.’ He tapped the title page. ‘They were admonished not to tamper with the coffin and, on their oath of obedience to God, enter each visitation in this ledger.’ He smiled wryly. ‘But I suspect that though some abbots faithfully followed this instruction others were overcome by curiosity. Years ago one of them actually opened the coffin. Nothing happened, so different successors followed suit.’

  ‘But it would have an effect,’ Dame Edith insisted.

  ‘And it did,’ Alexander replied. ‘Do you remember those incidents mentioned in the manuscripts at the university library?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sir Godfrey said. ‘How certain people in the city who had an evil reputation later came back from the dead.’

  ‘Well,’ Alexander continued, turning to one page, ‘we now have the reason. Remember, I described an incident in the summer of 1297? In that same year, according to this journal, the abbot visited the secret room. I suspect he broke his oath and peeped into the coffin.’

  ‘So,’ Sir Godfrey declared, ‘every time that coffin was interfered with, some evil escaped to wreak its effect in the city?’

  ‘Of course,’ Dame Edith interrupted. ‘If you put this journal next to the chronicle you would see a correlation. Every time an abbot broke his oath and tampered with that coffin, the evil influence of the Strigoi made its presence felt.’ Dame Edith sat down on a stool. ‘We must not forget,’ she continued, ‘that evil is no different from anything else. As the Blessed Aquinas says, following Plato, what is natural only mirrors the supernatural. If you open an oven, heat escapes; unstop a jar of perfume or a flask of wine and the fragrance rises in the air. Every time that coffin was opened some of its evil seeped out to make its presence felt. Now the cause of that evil has escaped and may God help us all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sir Godfrey asked.

  ‘This Strigoi lord,’ Dame Edith explained, ‘will use the coven that rescued him to gather others around him, in this kingdom and across the seas.’

  ‘So all must be destroyed?’

  Dame Edith licked her dry lips. She sensed that the confrontation with this evil was not far off.

  ‘We must destroy either the Strigoi lord or his followers; he would be powerless without a coven to sustain and nourish him. But it must be done, and done quickly!’ She snaked her hand out and caught McBain’s wrist. ‘Look at the last entries. What do you find?’

  Alexander turned the yellowing pages.

  ‘Oh, sweet Lord!’ he breathed, ‘over the last year the deceased Abbot Samson went at least a dozen times into that crypt.’

  ‘I thought so,’ Lanfranc chortled. ‘I thought so. I knew he was up to mischief, he kept asking for the journal. On one occasion I objected but he over-ruled me.’

  ‘What was he after?’ Alexander asked.

  ‘He was pig-headed,’ Lanfranc hissed bitterly. ‘This house has never prospered. He thought the crypt contained the key to secret wealth, which he could use to drain the fens and bogs. But I tell you this, sir knight, forget that runny-nosed sub-prior. I leave this friary tomorrow. I am journeying to the mother house in France. I will go down on my knees and beg my superiors in Christ to burn this place to the ground.’

  McBain went back to the journal. ‘There’s one final entry,’ he said, ‘not written in the abbot’s hand.’

  ‘Ah, that would be that fool Prior Edmund.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sir Godfrey asked.

  ‘It just says that in the dead of night Abbot Samson and another went into the crypt. Abbot Samson never left alive.’

  ‘Typical!’ Lanfranc jeered. ‘Samson lacked the wisdom to consult with me or anyone else. Edmund thought he would clear his conscience by making the entry.’

  ‘How did Samson die?’ Alexander asked.

  ‘Fear, fright, poison,’ Dame Edith answered. ‘But the fool is dead, God rest him!’

  ‘But the other isn’t,’ Sir Godfrey added. ‘I wonder who this Strigoi was?’

  ‘May I keep this?’ Alexander asked, tapping the journal with his fingers.

  Lanfranc nodded. ‘Of course, it won’t be needed again, will it?’

  They collected their horses from the stables and rode back to the convent of St Anne’s. Just as they entered the main gate, Dame Edith pulled in her reins and gestured at both men to draw close.

  ‘No more running about,’ she whispered. ‘There could be other attacks, other murders. But, terrible as they are, they are just moonbeams, mere shadows of the substance we seek. You, master clerk, have all the evidence you need. You know now what we face, so use that brain of yours! Discover who this “other” is, who joined Abbot Samson in that crypt, and we’ll find the Strigoi lord.’

  Alexander smiled, dismounted and returned to the guest house. Once he had washed and eaten he collected the journal, with all the other notes and memoranda he had written since arriving at Oxford, and went to sit in one of the study carrels of the convent’s scriptorium. At first he was restless, finding it difficult to concentrate. He was horrified by what he had seen at the priory yet he was also distracted by Emily’s fair face and the hurt he had seen in the knight’s eyes. He sighed, drew a piece of parchment over, carefully wrote out what he wanted and, using his charm, asked one of the lay sisters to take it to the lady Emily. Alexander then returned to his labours but found it difficult to make any sense of what they had learnt. He remembered Robert Cotterill and, leaving his quill and manuscripts, went across to the infirmary, where he found the boy playing marbles in the centre of the floor. Alexander crouched and watched him and, when invited, joined in.

  ‘You are good at this aren’t you?’ the boy said. ‘You are good at everything. You can read and write and you can use a sword. You are even better than that knight who never speaks.’

  Alexander smiled. ‘I used to be very good at skittles,’ he said. ‘Have you ever played that, Robert?’

  The boy stuck his thumb in his mouth and shook his head.

  ‘You have ten polished pins of wood,’ Alexander explained. He took hold of the marbles. ‘And you set them up like this and then try to knock them down with a ball. If you are really clever, really good, you can do it with one throw.’

  ‘I’d like that game,’ the boy said.

  ‘And I’ll buy you it,’ Alexander promised. ‘But, look, Robert, I need your help, though it may cause you pain. Can you tell me what happened? What you heard or saw the night your sister and parents died?’

  He saw fear and pain cloud the young boy’s eyes. He would have liked to have given Robert a hug and tell him to forget his question. But, surely, Alexander thought, the boy knew something.

  ‘Please, Robert, try,’ he pleaded. ‘If you do that, I can bring a very evil man to justice.’

  The boy crouched down on his heels and closed his eyes.

  ‘I was playing a game,’ he intoned. ‘I was playing in my secret chamber. Mother was cross with Father so I thought I would stay there. I was happy watching the candle-flame flicker. I heard a knock on the door. Mummy laughed as someone came in.’

  ‘Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Yes, I thought about that. I heard a man saying “ditch”.’

  ‘Ditch?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Mother went into the kitchen, there was a clatter of pots, then she came back. I thought the visitor was a neighbour so I dozed for a while. When I woke up—’ The boy’s lower lip began to quiver. ‘When I woke up I knew something terrible had happened. I stayed still. I heard someone move outside, then they were gone.’ The boy crept closer and Alexander put his arm around him.

  ‘Shush!’ he said, patting him gently. ‘Are you sure there is nothing else?’

  ‘No,’ the boy mumbled.

  Alexander comforted him for a while, slipped a piece of marchpane into his hand and went back to the scriptorium. He took a
piece of parchment, smoothing it out, holding the four corners down with metal weights, and began to list all that he knew. The strange deaths, men and women dying with no sign of forced entry, no commotion or alarm, yet the corpses left drained of blood. The opening of the crypt by Abbot Samson and the attack on Prior Edmund. The death of the Hospitaller in the forest. The disappearance of the relic. The phrase ‘Le chevalier outré mer’ above the dead Hospitaller’s bed in the castle. The death of Laetitia, the tavern maid. The metal discs found on her and the dead Hospitaller. The old legend about the devil returning to ‘the rock near the new keep’. Little Robert Cotterill’s description and the use of that strange word ‘ditch’. Finally, who was the person who had accompanied Abbot Samson, the ‘other’ – Prior Edmund had used the Latin word ‘alius’ – of the journal? Alexander half dozed for a while, different thoughts teeming in his mind, then he shook himself awake. Prior Edmund would have had a classical education. Why did he use the word ‘alius’? Shouldn’t he have used ‘alter’, meaning ‘the other of two’? Why did ‘alius’ seem significant? Where had he read it? Alexander suddenly went cold as he remembered. ‘Christus alius’, ‘another Christ’!

  ‘Oh, my God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Of course! Oh, my God!’

  He ran back towards the infirmary. Robert was still playing marbles with one of the lay sisters, laughing and clapping his hands at her lack of skill.

  ‘Robert! Are you sure that the visitor to your house said “ditch”? Or did he say “benedicite”?’

  Robert stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded. Alexander gripped him by the arms.

  ‘Robert, did he say “benedicite”? You must answer me!’

  The thumb popped out.

  ‘Yes, he did. “Benedicite”.’ The little boy stammered over the syllables.

  Alexander glared at the surprised lay sister.

  ‘Go!’ he ordered. ‘Tell Sir Godfrey, Dame Edith and Dame Constance I must see them! Tell the lady abbess a messenger must be sent immediately to the sheriff and to Proctor Ormiston. I will meet them all in the guest house. Go on!’ he urged. He turned back to the boy. ‘Robert! You stay here!’ He pointed to where the infirmarian was working, further down the dormitory. ‘Never leave her side!’