Hugh Corbett 13 - Corpse Candle

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Mea culpa! Mea culpa!’ He struck his breast. ‘Through my fault! Through my fault!’

  He would have to make atonement, repent his ambition and greed. If only he could turn back time. He let the whip fall to the floor. He felt as if he was choked and cloaked by sin. All around him clustered its hideous consequences: the scrawny corpse of that cat hanging from the rood screen; the macabre deaths of his brothers; the fire arrows searing the night air; the whispering and the chatter. The Concilium had ceased to act. They were more like frightened rabbits cowering in their cells, terrified of shadows, loneliness and the long stretch of the night. Prior Cuthbert couldn’t stop trembling. He clambered to his feet, his knee brushing against the whip. He slipped on his sandals and put on his robe. A loud knocking on his chamber door made him start.

  ‘I am busy!’ he called out.

  ‘And so am I, Father Prior!’

  Prior Cuthbert moaned in despair: that sharp-eyed clerk with his spate of questions!

  ‘I am busy.’ Even Prior Cuthbert realised how his voice was faltering.

  ‘Father, I need to speak to you urgently.’

  Prior Cuthbert kicked the whip under a bench and, going across, unbarred and unlocked the door. Corbett and Ranulf stood on the threshold like avenging angels. One look at Sir Hugh’s face and Cuthbert knew that he would finally have to tell the truth.

  ‘I think it’s best if we came in.’

  Prior Cuthbert stood aside. He closed the door behind them.

  ‘Satan’s Teeth!’ Ranulf clapped his hands together. ‘This chamber’s cold.’

  Corbett had already walked across and stood staring down at where Prior Cuthbert had been kneeling.

  ‘Blood on the flagstones,’ he murmured.

  Corbett crouched down, his gauntleted hands skimming the floor. He caught sight of the whip under the bench, pulled it out and held it up.

  ‘I am not a monk, Prior Cuthbert,’ he said quietly, ‘but I am a King’s clerk searching for the truth.’

  The Prior sat down in a chair, head bowed, hands clasped as if in prayer.

  ‘Why should the Prior of St Martin’s whip himself so hard,’ Corbett demanded, ‘that the blood seeps through his robe?’

  He stared round at the well-furnished chamber with its carved chairs and coffers, desk, benches, and shelves bearing books.

  ‘And why should he kneel almost naked,’ he pointed to the unstrapped sandal, ‘and punish himself in a freezing chamber?’

  Prior Cuthbert closed his eyes and muttered.

  ‘Miserere mei Domine et exaudi vocem meam.’

  ‘Christ will have mercy on you and hear your voice,’ Corbett translated. ‘If you tell the truth.’ He got to his feet. ‘You were the Abbot’s loyal prior, weren’t you? You had dreams of building a great guesthouse and having Sigbert’s remains as a precious relic. What started off as a dream became a burning ambition. Under Abbot Stephen’s rule, St Martin’s had grown in fame and royal patronage. Yet Abbot Stephen was insistent: Bloody Meadow was not to be touched. So you and the rest of the Concilium plotted, turning a blind eye to each other’s activities. Did Aelfric take you into his confidence? Did he tell you the truth about Taverner and Archdeacon Wallasby?’

  Prior Cuthbert sat, head bowed.

  ‘Perhaps he hinted at it? You turned a blind eye, didn’t you? As you did to Brother Dunstan’s infatuation with the tavern wench, Blanche. You are sharp-eyed, Cuthbert, and as Prior you are responsible for the discipline of this abbey, but of course you needed your treasurer’s allegiance. Like the priest in the parable of the Good Samaritan, you passed by on the other side and turned a blind eye.’

  Corbett came and crouched before him. The Prior’s eyes were tightly shut.

  ‘Look at me!’ Corbett urged.

  Ranulf stood fascinated. When they had first met Cuthbert, he had been very much the haughty prelate, the ruler of this abbey. Now he sat a broken man, on the verge of tears.

  ‘You saw something else, didn’t you?’ Corbett declared. ‘You weren’t really concerned with the plottings of Aelfric. You were hunting bigger quarry. You saw what you thought was a secret and hideous sin. You reproached your Father Abbot with it, hinting that if you had your way and were allowed to build a guesthouse, that sin would remain a secret between you. So, Father Prior, what did you see?’

  Prior Cuthbert sat, shoulders shaking. When he opened his eyes tears coursed down his cheeks.

  ‘It was Gildas,’ he sobbed. ‘It was really his fault. The man couldn’t sleep and often returned to his workshop. I’d go down there at night and we’d sit and discuss the new guesthouse. One night, late in autumn, as I was coming back, I found the Judas gate off the latch so I went out into the open meadow. The sky was cloud free, the stars seemed to hang low, the meadow was moon-washed; an eerie place. By the burial mound, not hiding behind it but almost, stood two figures. At first I was going to call out but then one moved – his cowl and hood were pushed back and I recognised Father Abbot. The other was also dressed as a monk. I glimpsed cowl and robe but it was impossible to distinguish his features or see who it was. I hid in the shadows of the gate. I saw Father Abbot embrace the other person.’

  ‘How?’ Corbett asked.

  Prior Cuthbert demonstrated with his hands.

  ‘He put one hand up behind the person’s head, and the other round his waist. They embraced and kissed.’

  ‘Full on the lips?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘Was the other person male or female?’

  ‘I cannot say.’

  ‘So, it could have been a woman disguised in the robe of a monk? Come, Father Prior,’ Corbett urged. ‘Up and down the the kingdom, scenes such as this take place in monasteries and abbeys. It is not unknown for a monk to bring his leman into the monastery disguised as one of the brothers. For all you can tell, that is what happened here.’

  The Prior refused to hold his gaze.

  ‘Brother Dunstan had his paramour Blanche from the Lantern-in-the-Woods,’ Ranulf jibed. ‘Could it have been her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you wait and see?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘I intended to but Father Abbot and this mysterious figure disappeared behind the tumulus. I didn’t dare walk across the meadow, as they would have heard me coming and the other person would have fled. I didn’t want to be accused of spying. I decided to wait for them to emerge again but Gildas came looking for me. I didn’t want him to see what I had so I went back through the Judas gate. I closed the gate more abruptly than I should, and it must have startled Father Abbot. I didn’t mention it to anyone else.’ The Prior beat his fists against his side. ‘I couldn’t get that image out of my mind. I was growing more and more frustrated with Abbot Stephen, so one morning I visited him in his chamber, and once again raised the question of the guesthouse, and the possibility of the abbey acquiring Sigbert’s holy remains. Abbot Stephen lost his temper and banged his fist on the desk. I was roused to fury and I told him what I had seen.’ Prior Cuthbert paused. ‘God forgive me, Sir Hugh, I wish I hadn’t. I really do. I expected him to deny it. He just sat, stricken, staring at me as I accused him of a hideous sin. I said that unless he agreed to my demands, I would accuse him of such before the full Chapter.’

  ‘And Abbot Stephen didn’t deny it?’

  ‘No, he sat like a man pole-axed.’

  ‘Did you repeat the blackmail?’

  Prior Cuthbert nodded. ‘I was overwhelmed by my anger. I forgot my vows and charity. All I could see was this stubborn old man refusing a reasonable request whilst hiding his own secret sin.’

  ‘And you shared this information with no one?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What made you think the sin was unnatural?’

  ‘I assumed it since the figure was dressed as a monk. Father Abbot didn’t deny it.’

  ‘And on the second occasion?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘He was more composed, serene.
He quoted from the scriptures, “Your sin will find you out”. He said he would consider my request.’

  ‘But the other person could have been a woman? It might have been Blanche. After all, in his youth Abbot Stephen was known as a virile, young knight.’

  ‘True, true.’

  ‘Could it have been Perditus?’

  ‘No, why do you say that?’

  ‘Well, he was the Abbot’s manservant. He shared the same quarters.’

  ‘No, I am sure it wasn’t he. I went back to talk to Gildas but I was in a hurry to get away, as I thought I might find out who it was by watching the door to the Abbot’s lodgings. When I went across, I saw the lights shining from Perditus’s chamber. I went up, making some excuse. He was in his chamber reading a psalter by candlelight. I asked where the Abbot was and he replied that he had gone for a walk so I went back and hid again in the shadows. I must have been there some time before Abbot Stephen returned alone.’ Prior Cuthbert put his face in his hands. ‘I don’t know who it was but someone was there whom Abbot Stephen embraced and kissed. It must have been unnatural.’

  ‘It might have been the osculum pacis?’ Corbett queried. ‘The kiss of peace?’

  ‘In the dead of night, out in a lonely meadow?’ Prior Cuthbert gestured with his hands. ‘If you had seen Abbot Stephen’s face the day I accused him, you’d know I spoke the truth.’

  The Prior put his face in his hands and began to sob uncontrollably.

  PARVA SAEPE SCINTILLA CONTEMPTA

  MAGNUM EXCITAVIT INCENDIUM

  OFTEN THE TINIEST OF NEGLECTED

  SPARKS HAS WHIPPED UP AN INFERNAL BLAZE

  QUINTUS CURTIUS

  Chapter 12

  Corbett sat in the Abbot’s chamber. Ranulf had returned to the guesthouse. Outside the day was drawing on and darkness was falling. They had left Prior Cuthbert to his grief. The man had become so distraught it would have been cruel to question him further. Corbett could make little sense of the Prior’s confession. Who had been with the Abbot on that moonlit night out in Bloody Meadow? The clerk sat and meditated, his eyes growing heavy as he turned over and over in his mind the different possibilities. Brother Luke’s enigmatic account of Sir Reginald; Prior Cuthbert grieving over his own malice; Abbot Stephen, a priest with a reputation for holiness yet so secretive. Corbett closed his eyes and slept. He started awake as the bells of the abbey marked the time for Divine Office.

  Corbett got up and opened the shutters. Would the assassin strike again, he wondered? Or would he be more cautious since his attack on Brother Richard had been repelled?

  ‘If only,’ Corbett murmured to himself, ‘if only I could resolve Abbot Stephen’s death: that’s the loose thread.’

  He was about to return to his chair when he heard a pounding on the stairs and muffled groans and cries. Corbett hastened to the door and flung it open. Perditus stood gasping. If Corbett hadn’t caught him, he would have collapsed into his arms. The lay brother’s face was bruised, and cuts bloodied his hands and face.

  ‘In God’s name!’ Corbett exclaimed.

  He half dragged the man over to a chair and sat him down. Perditus was trembling. Corbett quickly felt his head and patted his arms, looking for serious wounds.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  Perditus just sat, mouth open, now and again wincing, hands going up to the bruises on his face.

  ‘Are you wounded?’ Corbett asked.

  The lay brother refused to answer. He was ashen-faced, and a trickle of blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. Corbett hastily filled a goblet of wine, walked across and held it to Perditus’s lips. He heard footsteps outside and Ranulf entered. Corbett held up a hand to fend off his henchman’s questions.

  ‘What’s the matter, Perditus?’

  Corbett crouched by the lay brother, studying him carefully. The bruise just under the eye was now coming out, and there was a similar one on his left jaw. He had cuts on his cheeks, hands and wrists. Corbett felt his chest and back.

  ‘I’m all right.’ Perditus gulped at the wine. ‘I had been out to Bloody Meadow, and I was just nearing the Judas gate on my way back when I heard a sound as I went past some bushes. I whirled round to find myself under attack. I couldn’t see who it was: he was masked, cowled and hooded. He was about to strike me on the back of the head with a club. I moved to the left and he caught me on the chin then smacked me again here, on the cheek. I grappled with him, but he had a dagger in his right hand, and one side of the blade was very sharp. I tried to get a good grip but it was difficult as the blade turned.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘At one time he caught me here on the cheek with it. It cut like a razor. I pushed him away. I thought he’d attack again but he turned and fled.’

  ‘Shall I go after him?’ Ranulf moved to the door.

  ‘No,’ Corbett declared. ‘The attacker will be gone.’ He urged Perditus to drink more wine. ‘And you had no sight of him?’

  ‘His cowl was securely tied and never fell back in the struggle. A leather mask covered his face. I only glimpsed his eyes and heard his grunts.’

  ‘Was he strong?’ Ranulf asked.

  Perditus drained his cup. ‘Well, he was fairly muscular and wiry but I would say he was an older man. He wasn’t like you.’ Perditus pointed at Ranulf. ‘I could hold my own against him. I was aware of his strength slipping. His belly was soft, with a slight paunch. He must have realised that if the struggle continued, he would have the worst of it, so he fled.’

  ‘Do you think he was waiting for you?’

  ‘I remember that as I was walking past the gate, the bushes were swaying in the wind. The ground underfoot was slippery, icy, that’s how I heard him. I heard the ice crack and turned just in time.’

  ‘Did he speak?’

  ‘No, apart from gasps and groans, he said nothing.’ Perditus looked woebegone and scratched his close-cropped hair. ‘I had the impression he was waiting there for anyone.’

  Corbett moved away and closed the door.

  ‘That would make sense,’ he declared, coming back. ‘The night is dark and cold. You had your cowl up?’

  Perditus agreed.

  ‘And, of course, you would be walking slightly hunched against the cold. He might have mistaken you for one of the older brothers, realised his mistake and fled?’

  Corbett was about to continue when a bell began to clang noisily. Perditus sprang to his feet, so quickly he became unsteady. Ranulf caught him and urged him to sit down again. Corbett walked to the door and threw it open.

  ‘That’s the tocsin!’ Perditus gasped. ‘The alarm! Something has happened in the abbey! I must . . .’ He tried to rise.

  ‘No, you go to your chamber.’ Corbett grasped him by the arm. ‘I mean that, Brother, lie down on your bed. I’ll tell Aelfric to come and see to you. You have no other wound or bruise?’

  Perditus winced and held his left side.

  ‘The attacker hit me here but . . .’

  He was distracted by the tocsin, its tolling echoed across the abbey. Corbett escorted Perditus along the passageway to his own chamber, which was smaller and starker than the Abbot’s. Corbett made him sit on the side of his bed and told him to stay there. Ranulf lit candles from an oil lamp. Corbett picked up some of the books lying on the floor and placed them on the table. The tocsin continued to toll.

  ‘Stay there!’ Corbett ordered.

  Followed by Ranulf, the clerk hastened from the chamber and down the stairs. Once they were outside, the source of the crisis was obvious. The cold night air brought the smell of burning and, glancing up, Corbett saw the glow against the night sky from the far end of the abbey.

  ‘A fire,’ he declared. ‘I wager a shilling to a pound, Ranulf, it’s not an accident.’

  The whole abbey was now roused. Monks, breaking off from their different duties, hastened across the abbey grounds. Corbett and Ranulf followed. The smell of burning grew stronger and thick tendrils of smoke curled around them. They came round the abbey chu
rch, across the cemetery and through a line of trees. Corbett and Ranulf paused. One of the abbey’s main storehouses, a timber and plaster building on a red-bricked base, was ablaze from end to end. Flames leapt out of the windows, the plaster was cracking and buckling. Even as they looked, a part of the roof caved in with a crash and the flames roared up to the sky. Prior Cuthbert hadn’t arrived but Richard the almoner was busy organising the community to fetch slopping buckets of water from a nearby well. Some of the monks who’d been working there already had blackened faces and hands, their robes stained with dust and ash.

  ‘It’s impossible.’ The almoner came over, mopping his face with a wet rag. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Hugh?’

  Corbett stared at the building. Although ablaze from end to end, at least it stood alone with little danger of the fire spreading.

  ‘I would advise, Brother, to let it burn: the real danger is when it collapses.’

  The almoner agreed. He hurried off, calling out to the monks to stop their fruitless efforts with the water. Burning plaster and wood were now falling away from the building and the heat, wafted by the night breeze, became searing. Corbett stood with the monks, watching the fire totally destroy the building.

  ‘What was in there?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘Wine, corn, flour, some vellum, charcoal and oil.’ Brother Richard listed the stores.

  ‘But none of the brothers?’

  ‘No, no, it’s a very dark building inside. In autumn and winter the doors are secured late in the afternoon.’

  ‘It could have been an accident.’ Aelfric had now joined them.

  Corbett shook his head. ‘I doubt it,’ he replied. ‘The fire took hold quickly, yes? There was no reason for candlelight or a fire within?’