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Authors: Paul C. Doherty
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Westminster.
'What does it profit a man, Hugh,' his aged mentor had cackled, 'if a clerk pleases his King but loses his soul?'
Corbett smiled and shifted on the bench. So far his King would hardly be pleased with him. The clerk's sharp, suspicious mind probed at what lay underneath Father Reynard's sermon. Did the Franciscan believe Lady Eleanor had been struck down by God? If so, was Reynard the type of man whp passionately believed that Divine Justice should be given a helping hand? He thought of the friar's strong hands and wrists. If Lady Eleanor had been murdered, her neck expertly broken and the body dumped at the bottom of those stairs, a man like Father Reynard was well suited to be her assassin.
'What do you know about the friar, Ranulf?' Corbett asked.
His manservant, half-dozing now, shook himself, stood up and stretched.
'Not much,' he whispered, aware how his words would echo in the cavernous sanctuary. 'But have you seen the way he walks, Master? Shoulders back, head up. I believe our Franciscan has seen some military service. And his little finger – I glimpsed it when he was leaning on the pulpit – it's been hacked off, there's only a stump. And there are purple welts on his wrists.' Ranulf smiled, basking in his master's approval. 'Father Reynard undoubtedly wielded a sword. I would wager he was as good with that as he is with his tongue. It's a long time since I heard a sermon like that.'
'Your eyes are sharp, Ranulf. Listen, saddle our horses and seek out Dame Agatha. Tell her I'll meet her and you at the Galilee Gate. We are going down to the village of Woodstock.'
Ranulf threw one last hungry glance round the richness of the sanctuary and swaggered off.
Corbett stared at the light pouring through the multi-coloured windows. What do we have here? he wondered… A priory full of every luxury and home to a once powerful courtesan, now discarded by the Prince of Wales. The woman perished in mysterious circumstances. She had not fallen downstairs but died elsewhere and her body been put there. Rumour had it that she had a malady of the breast
Corbett reflected on what he had seen when he had examined the corpse. True, it was only a cursory examination, but he had seen no tumour or abscess or any other sign of malignancy. He knew little about medicine but Maeve had informed him that such an illness was usually fatal and made its effect felt in the drying of the skin as its victim turned from any nourishment, yet Eleanor had been a well-formed and proportioned woman. Moreover, she had been imprisoned in Godstowe for the last two years. Again, Maeve had assured him how a malady of the breast usually killed its victim within a few months, yet Lady Eleanor had been able to eat, drink, and go for walks. There had been no reports or suggestions that she had been seriously ill or near death's door.
Corbett rubbed his face wearily. So how had she died? Not from suicide. The body would have been more severely marked, and surely a woman like Lady Eleanor would have chosen some swifter road to oblivion.
Corbett looked up, staring hard at the great wooden crucifix which hung above the altar. So it had to be murder. If so, by whom? Lady Eleanor had been last seen walking in the grounds of the priory before Compline. All the sisters, including the Lady Prioress, her two deputies and Sister Agatha, had been in church. No one had left half-way through the service or made an excuse to return to the convent building before the sisters went over to the refectory. Of course, the Lady Prioress might be lying but Dame Elizabeth had remarked that she had heard no one come up the stairs, certainly not whilst Compline was being sung. Nevertheless, even if the old lady was deaf, Corbett concluded, the assassin or assassins must be someone outside the priory.
He gnawed is lip. And who would want her dead? The King would be only too willing to be rid of an embarrassment whilst involved in delicate negotiations over his son's
'What does it profit a man, Hugh,' his aged mentor had cackled, 'if a clerk pleases his King but loses his soul?'
Corbett smiled and shifted on the bench. So far his King would hardly be pleased with him. The clerk's sharp, suspicious mind probed at what lay underneath Father Reynard's sermon. Did the Franciscan believe Lady Eleanor had been struck down by God? If so, was Reynard the type of man whp passionately believed that Divine Justice should be given a helping hand? He thought of the friar's strong hands and wrists. If Lady Eleanor had been murdered, her neck expertly broken and the body dumped at the bottom of those stairs, a man like Father Reynard was well suited to be her assassin.
'What do you know about the friar, Ranulf?' Corbett asked.
His manservant, half-dozing now, shook himself, stood up and stretched.
'Not much,' he whispered, aware how his words would echo in the cavernous sanctuary. 'But have you seen the way he walks, Master? Shoulders back, head up. I believe our Franciscan has seen some military service. And his little finger – I glimpsed it when he was leaning on the pulpit – it's been hacked off, there's only a stump. And there are purple welts on his wrists.' Ranulf smiled, basking in his master's approval. 'Father Reynard undoubtedly wielded a sword. I would wager he was as good with that as he is with his tongue. It's a long time since I heard a sermon like that.'
'Your eyes are sharp, Ranulf. Listen, saddle our horses and seek out Dame Agatha. Tell her I'll meet her and you at the Galilee Gate. We are going down to the village of Woodstock.'
Ranulf threw one last hungry glance round the richness of the sanctuary and swaggered off.
Corbett stared at the light pouring through the multi-coloured windows. What do we have here? he wondered… A priory full of every luxury and home to a once powerful courtesan, now discarded by the Prince of Wales. The woman perished in mysterious circumstances. She had not fallen downstairs but died elsewhere and her body been put there. Rumour had it that she had a malady of the breast
Corbett reflected on what he had seen when he had examined the corpse. True, it was only a cursory examination, but he had seen no tumour or abscess or any other sign of malignancy. He knew little about medicine but Maeve had informed him that such an illness was usually fatal and made its effect felt in the drying of the skin as its victim turned from any nourishment, yet Eleanor had been a well-formed and proportioned woman. Moreover, she had been imprisoned in Godstowe for the last two years. Again, Maeve had assured him how a malady of the breast usually killed its victim within a few months, yet Lady Eleanor had been able to eat, drink, and go for walks. There had been no reports or suggestions that she had been seriously ill or near death's door.
Corbett rubbed his face wearily. So how had she died? Not from suicide. The body would have been more severely marked, and surely a woman like Lady Eleanor would have chosen some swifter road to oblivion.
Corbett looked up, staring hard at the great wooden crucifix which hung above the altar. So it had to be murder. If so, by whom? Lady Eleanor had been last seen walking in the grounds of the priory before Compline. All the sisters, including the Lady Prioress, her two deputies and Sister Agatha, had been in church. No one had left half-way through the service or made an excuse to return to the convent building before the sisters went over to the refectory. Of course, the Lady Prioress might be lying but Dame Elizabeth had remarked that she had heard no one come up the stairs, certainly not whilst Compline was being sung. Nevertheless, even if the old lady was deaf, Corbett concluded, the assassin or assassins must be someone outside the priory.
He gnawed is lip. And who would want her dead? The King would be only too willing to be rid of an embarrassment whilst involved in delicate negotiations over his son's
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