Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer (30 page)

‘Yes, you are a murderess,’ he replied. ‘You have the blood of many people on your hands: Lord Henry, Pancius Cantrone, Robert Verlian, as well as the whore Françoise Sourtillon.’

‘And pray, clerk, how did I murder these? And why should I?’

‘You don’t deny it,’ Corbett noted. ‘And you know of Verlian’s death.’

‘Gossip spreads quickly in Ashdown.’

‘Aye, it does. Let me go to the beginning.’ Corbett pointed at the tomb. ‘Your patron saint Hawisia is the cause of all these deaths, isn’t she? I learned how this shrine had been closed for a while.’ He gazed round the pink-washed walls. ‘Refurbished, wasn’t it?’

‘Stop your questions, clerk, and come to the point!’

‘Lord Henry came here,’ Corbett continued. ‘While you were away collecting your rents, acting lady of the manor. He brought that Italian physician Cantrone with him. Lord Henry was a cynic, constantly ridiculing you about your shrine and its sacred relic so he opened the glass case to examine the hair more carefully, or rather Cantrone did it for him. The glass case is fixed by clasps. A man skilled as Cantrone could loosen these and take the hair out. He examined its texture. He wanted to please his lord and prove that this was no relic. I don’t know what really happened but the hair decayed. Perhaps some contagion in the air? They put the hair back but it began to wither and rot. You returned and realised what had happened. The relic had been violated. Lord Henry returned to the priory. Did he come back to bait you? Rejoice in what he had done?’

‘Do you have proof of this?’ she asked. ‘Such blasphemy, such sacrilege would cause both uproar and outcry.’

‘I don’t think so, my lady. You had come back to St Hawisia’s. By your own admission you go away as rarely as possible. You hear your brother had been here, locking himself in the church. You recall his baiting, his cynical attacks upon your relic. The first thing you do is go and check. At first you see nothing disturbed, nothing out of place. But a day, maybe two days later, you notice the hair decaying. The shrine is closed and Lord Henry is immediately invited here. You are furious but you want to keep the matter secret. After all, the relic is a source of revenue as well as status. I can imagine Lord Henry’s malicious glee. How did you threaten him, eh? What happened during that furious, hushed row between brother and sister? Lord Henry must have realised the danger he had placed himself in. After all, if the relic was destroyed, you could claim it was due to sacrilege, a blasphemous act. Holy Mother Church does not like such actions. If the scandal reached Canterbury, Lord Henry could face excommunication. Now, for a powerful lord, one who hopes to lead an embassy to France on behalf of his King . . .’ Corbett paused and let his words hang in the air.

Further down the church he could see Ranulf sitting with his back to a pillar. Baldock sat beside him, whispering in his ear, and Corbett realised that Ranulf had found a new friend. He could tell by Baldock’s face that the groom was doing his best to console his new-found patron. Corbett glanced round. Lady Madeleine now had her hands folded as if in prayer. As she looked at him, her face smooth, eyes wide, he caught a glimpse of the beauty she must have been as a young woman but he also saw the glint of obsession, the gleam of a fanatic in her eyes.

‘Lord Henry must have sobered up,’ Corbett went on. ‘What he’d done as a jibe against his pious sister had gone terribly wrong. So he offers reparation, something which can please you both. The shrine will be sealed off for refurbishment; the walls repainted and gilded at his expense. This will hide the damage to the relic while he tries to look for a replacement.’

‘And I accepted this, clerk?’

‘You had no choice. No relic, no pilgrims, no royal status.’ Corbett paused. ‘I wondered how you could be drawn into Sir William’s petty meddling with Gaveston and the Prince of Wales. You did it for one reason. Not because of any childhood friendship. No, help the Prince now and, when he became King, St Hawisia’s would become one of the most famous shrines in all of England. You couldn’t lose that.’ Corbett tapped the oaken sarcophagus. ‘Anyway, the shrine is sealed off. Workmen are not brought in till Lord Henry has fulfilled his side of the bargain. Unknown to you he goes to Rye. He buys the beautiful golden hair of a whore. He pays her off and bundles her aboard a ship to France. Her golden locks, her glory, are brought here, probably by Cantrone, a skilled physician. The hair is dressed in certain potions and unguents which will keep it fresh and supple. If decay occurs again it can always be replaced. The hair is brought secretly to the shrine. You open the glass case and replace the relic. The rest of the shrine is repainted and refurbished and, once again, opened to receive the prayers of the good nuns and the pious faithful. Now that should have been the end of the matter!’

Corbett sat down beside her.

‘With any other man it would have been the end. Lord Henry had fulfilled his side of the bargain, but he had some control over you. He must have reminded you about that. How, if matters between you ever became bitter, he could deny his sacrilege but, perhaps, let it be known the true origins of your famous relic. Did he then tell you where it came from? Did he hint? Did he think that it was amusing and mock you with his revelation?’

‘As you said, sir clerk.’ Lady Madeleine turned her face. ‘Lord Henry feared neither God nor man.’

‘Unfortunately for both of you,’ Corbett continued, ‘someone found out what had been done: a brothel mistress from Rye. She had a special affection for the young whore Cecilia whose hair had been sacrificed. She made careful enquiries. She discovered that Cecilia had been sent abroad, so Françoise comes to Ashdown. Now, I doubt if Lord Henry would have told her why he plucked Cecilia’s golden tresses. However, Françoise Sourtillon was a woman of the world, wasn’t she? I suspect she came here to St Hawisia’s and visited the relic. One among many pilgrims. Françoise knew Cecilia’s hair, she had combed it often enough, she realised the truth behind your relic. Did she confront you? Or would the great prioress refuse to see her?

‘So, François writes you a letter. At first glance an innocent-looking missive but you would read between the lines. Did she threaten you with blackmail or public ignominy? You, of course, sent a sweet, innocent note back. Why shouldn’t Françoise come up and discuss these matters? Perhaps she could stay at the Devil-in-the-Woods tavern? Françoise, full of anger, would accept this. She wanted reparation. She wanted justice.’

‘And I left my priory and rode out and killed her?’ Lady Madeleine taunted.

‘I think it’s possible. You have your own house, kitchens and stable. There is a side gate leading from there into the forest. You answer to no one. You can issue an order that you are not to be disturbed and go riding. Dressed in a cloak and cowl who would suspect this was the prioress? You have fixed the date and time when Françoise should meet you. I checked with the taverner. Françoise stayed there one night, then the next morning she left the tavern. She walked along that lonely trackway to be at the prearranged meeting place at the appointed hour. It would be some lonely spot, not far from the tavern, a dell or a clearing? Perhaps you even offered to meet Françoise on the trackway?’

‘To send such a letter would be dangerous.’

‘Would it? Unsigned? Unsealed? Especially if you told Françoise to bring it for identification.’

‘She could have told someone else.’

‘Why should she, if blackmail was intended?’

Lady Madeleine glanced away.

‘Meanwhile,’ Corbett continued, ‘you had left the priory by a secret route. Your bow and quiver of arrows were already hidden away. You’d be there in good time. You did the same as you did to me, threw a pebble on the track. Françoise stopped and looked up, the arrow shaft took her in the throat. You make sure the way is clear and you hurry across. You roll the body down the bank, take her purse and saddle panniers, strip the corpse then bury it. You were calm enough to go through her personal possessions. I suspect Françoise brought a strand of Cecilia’s hair.’ Corbett opened his wallet and took out the two cloth clasps. ‘That lock you took away but dropped these in your hurry. Disguised, you creep back along the trackway, mount your horse, throw Sourtillon’s possessions into a marsh and return to St Hawisia’s.’

‘An interesting tale, clerk.’

‘God knows what happened next,’ Corbett went on evenly. ‘Did your brother, who visited the brothel in Rye, discover Françoise was missing? Did he threaten you? Or did he continue his secret taunts about your sacred relic? Enough was enough: Lord Henry was the cause of all your trouble. You heard about the hunt. You went to that dell, where you had played as a child, the afternoon before the hunt took place. You put a bow and quiver in the hollow of an oak tree. The next morning, cloaked and cowled, you left the priory. This time you’d silence your brother’s taunts about the relic and possible jibes about Gaveston for good. You could settle, once and for all, your longstanding grievances with this hated man.’

Lady Madeleine put her head down.

‘A fine, sunny morning,’ Corbett remarked. ‘Lord Henry would prove a good target, this time not to the neck but an arrow straight in his heart. Even as he fell to the ground, you’d be hurrying back to your horse, bow and quiver hidden away, and return to St Hawisia’s.’

‘But why should I kill my brother?’ Lady Madeleine lifted her head. ‘If, as you say, the Italian physician Cantrone already knew?’

‘He was a stranger. A foreigner. What proof could he offer? Who would believe him or the whore Cecilia now Françoise and Lord Henry were dead?’ Corbett paused. ‘In a few months,’ he continued, ‘what could Cantrone say? But, you were committed to the hunt and Cantrone was an easy victim. So why let him go? He’d dared to threaten you, not realising how vulnerable he made himself. However, Lady Madeleine, when you kill, you not only trample lives but become immersed in other plots, other schemes. Cantrone didn’t give a whit about the relic. He and Lord Henry were involved in other stratagems, very dangerous to himself. Cantrone simply wanted to flee. His patron was dead and the French wanted to get their hands on him. He needed gold and silver, didn’t he? You didn’t send for him. He came to the priory demanding to see you. He mentioned the relic and insisted that you buy his silence. Some gold and silver for his journey, he would be gone and that would be the end of it. Cantrone really meant that but you didn’t trust him.’

‘But I was here when he left!’

‘No, Lady Madeleine, you are cunning. You probably paid him then remembered little Sister Fidelis. She would be your excuse, the reason for his visit. You gave out some story that you’d sent for him. Cantrone would accept that. He’d be a little puzzled but,’ Corbett shrugged, ‘what was that to him? Or that you offered food? Ashdown Manor was in uproar following Lord Henry’s death. Servants and retainers were departing. Cantrone would be hungry. You order him to be taken to the refectory, given something to eat. In the meantime you once again left the priory as you did with me. Ashdown, particularly for a stranger, is a death trap. There’s only one road out to the manor. I, Cantrone, Françoise Sourtillon, must take that trackway or become lost in the trees.

‘By the time Cantrone had reached it you were waiting. Again an arrow to the throat. His wallet and purse are taken. A slender, light man, you’d put Cantrone’s corpse across the saddle of his horse, take it deep into the woods and hide it in a marsh.’

Corbett stood up and glanced down the church where he noted that Ranulf was still sitting at the foot of the pillar.

‘Finally, madam, we come to a death, a murder that need not have occurred! The death of Robert Verlian!’

‘His death,’ Corbett continued, ‘was the quickest and easiest to plan, or rather that of the person you really wanted to kill. You went to the priest’s house, knocked on the door and hurried into the shadows of the trees only a few yards away. You believed Brother Cosmas was there. You’d noticed the light in the window. The friar would answer the knock; you would loose an arrow and that would be it. What you didn’t know was that Brother Cosmas was absent, gone to see his friend Odo.’ Corbett sat down beside the prioress. ‘You know the hermit was the Owlman?’

‘What!’

For the first time since Corbett had begun questioning her, Lady Madeleine showed genuine surprise.

‘Oh yes, he hated your brother as much as you do. An ancient sin, one curled up like a poisonous snake. The fruit of your brother’s lusts and lack of care for anyone else.’

‘Why should I kill a Franciscan?’ she asked sharply.

‘Let us go back to the death of Françoise Sourtillon,’ Corbett replied. ‘You’d killed her, buried her corpse and you thought that was the end of the matter. True, the grave was shallow. One day the body might be unearthed but the corpse would be simply regarded as a casualty of some outlaw attack, or even the infamous Owlman. My suspicions were first provoked by your generosity. Lady Madeleine, you may be consecrated to Christ but, to be honest, you manifest little of His teaching. You are locked in your own private heaven where the male and the brutish things of life are kept carefully at the gate. Yet you immediately offer to bury a stranger’s corpse. Why?’