Read Online Prince of Darkness by Paul C. Doherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul C. Doherty
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ceiling. He wondered how Maeve was doing. Would she look after herself? Could she manage the reeve and bailiff? Tomorrow the manor court would meet: John the Heywood was petitioning for leave to marry his daughter to a man from the next village. William Attwood wanted to send his son to school. Hik the warrener had broken the ordinance about using the manor mill and had ground his own com at home. Robert Arundel had stolen a yard of land from his neighbour. Could Maeve deal with all these problems? Outside it fell dark. Corbett's eyes grew heavy. He heard the yip-yip of a hunting fox, together with the sounds of Ranulf preparing for bed.
'Ranulf!' he murmured.
'Yes, Master?'
'Somehow, please return the silver figurines to the Lady Prioress!' 'Yes, Master.'
The next morning Corbett rose early, woken by the tolling of the priory bell. He washed, cleansing his face and hands in a deep brass bowl placed in the wooden lavarium, dressed and roused Ranulf for early morning Mass. The air was heavy with mist as Corbett made his way towards a small farm within the priory grounds. He heard the gulping noise of greedy sows; a peasant called to his sons across the dawn-dark grass to put away their mattocks and hoes and prepare for Mass. One of the nuns, her face pale as cheese and heavy with sleep, was talking to one of the lay sisters who was yoked with clanking buckets, returning from milking the cows. Another lay sister, her gown rucked up, sleeves pushed high above her elbows displaying lean, brown, muscular arms, was walking slowly up from the well, a brimming bucket in either hand; beside her a barefooted, dusty girl drove a flock of hissing geese back into their pens.
Corbett walked right round, through the now open Galilee Gate and on the dry, dusty track which wound past the priory. He took a deep breath, enjoying the sweet-scented smells. In the woods across the track, dew still dripped from the branches; cuckoos, wood pigeons and thrushes sang their morning chorus in the deep green darkness. The priory bell tolled again, calling him back from the part of the day he loved most. The clerk drew deep breaths, sucking in the fresh morning air. A beautiful morning which brought memories of Leighton Manor and other older images flooding back into his mind. He closed his eyes, revelling in the peace as he braced himself against the troubles of the day: he must remember that the calm serenity of Godstowe hid murky, murderous secrets which threatened the crown itself.
Corbett opened his eyes, fingered the stubble on his chin, and promising himself he would shave as soon as possible, went back to collect a sleepy-eyed Ranulf.
If the priory was luxurious, the church would have done justice to any great earl or nobleman. The walls were covered by a brilliantly coloured painting of Christ harrowing Hell, freeing souls from the grip of black-faced demons who looked all the more horrible for their scarlet bodies covered in dark blotches of fur. The church was divided by a heavy wooden chancel screen, every inch of it covered with the most intricate carvings of angels, saints, and scenes from the Old and New Testaments. As they went through it into the sanctuary, the Lady Prioress swept majestically as a bishop towards her stall, indicating the bench where they should sit. Corbett bowed, muttering at Ranulf to hush his mumbled observations about the arrogance of some women.
The clerk sat and looked around: on either side of the chancery were the nuns' stalls, each with their own carved oak recess with bench and prie dieu. Beyond these the altar rail and the marble white purity of the sanctuary: the great ivory-coloured altar now covered in costly clothes, with pure beeswax candles fixed in heavy silver holders standing on either side. The sunlight pouring through the small rose window made the precious cups and chalices placed there glitter and shimmer with an almost blinding light. Corbett heard a sound and turned, looking round the
'Ranulf!' he murmured.
'Yes, Master?'
'Somehow, please return the silver figurines to the Lady Prioress!' 'Yes, Master.'
The next morning Corbett rose early, woken by the tolling of the priory bell. He washed, cleansing his face and hands in a deep brass bowl placed in the wooden lavarium, dressed and roused Ranulf for early morning Mass. The air was heavy with mist as Corbett made his way towards a small farm within the priory grounds. He heard the gulping noise of greedy sows; a peasant called to his sons across the dawn-dark grass to put away their mattocks and hoes and prepare for Mass. One of the nuns, her face pale as cheese and heavy with sleep, was talking to one of the lay sisters who was yoked with clanking buckets, returning from milking the cows. Another lay sister, her gown rucked up, sleeves pushed high above her elbows displaying lean, brown, muscular arms, was walking slowly up from the well, a brimming bucket in either hand; beside her a barefooted, dusty girl drove a flock of hissing geese back into their pens.
Corbett walked right round, through the now open Galilee Gate and on the dry, dusty track which wound past the priory. He took a deep breath, enjoying the sweet-scented smells. In the woods across the track, dew still dripped from the branches; cuckoos, wood pigeons and thrushes sang their morning chorus in the deep green darkness. The priory bell tolled again, calling him back from the part of the day he loved most. The clerk drew deep breaths, sucking in the fresh morning air. A beautiful morning which brought memories of Leighton Manor and other older images flooding back into his mind. He closed his eyes, revelling in the peace as he braced himself against the troubles of the day: he must remember that the calm serenity of Godstowe hid murky, murderous secrets which threatened the crown itself.
Corbett opened his eyes, fingered the stubble on his chin, and promising himself he would shave as soon as possible, went back to collect a sleepy-eyed Ranulf.
If the priory was luxurious, the church would have done justice to any great earl or nobleman. The walls were covered by a brilliantly coloured painting of Christ harrowing Hell, freeing souls from the grip of black-faced demons who looked all the more horrible for their scarlet bodies covered in dark blotches of fur. The church was divided by a heavy wooden chancel screen, every inch of it covered with the most intricate carvings of angels, saints, and scenes from the Old and New Testaments. As they went through it into the sanctuary, the Lady Prioress swept majestically as a bishop towards her stall, indicating the bench where they should sit. Corbett bowed, muttering at Ranulf to hush his mumbled observations about the arrogance of some women.
The clerk sat and looked around: on either side of the chancery were the nuns' stalls, each with their own carved oak recess with bench and prie dieu. Beyond these the altar rail and the marble white purity of the sanctuary: the great ivory-coloured altar now covered in costly clothes, with pure beeswax candles fixed in heavy silver holders standing on either side. The sunlight pouring through the small rose window made the precious cups and chalices placed there glitter and shimmer with an almost blinding light. Corbett heard a sound and turned, looking round the
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