Paul Doherty - The Mysterium

‘We were never lovers,’ Brother Cuthbert retorted, staring full at Corbett. ‘You have the truth. I have taken an oath. I am a celibate priest. I met Adelicia and we fell deeply in love. God knows what might have happened, though God knows what actually did. You’re correct, Master Clerk. Evesham shattered our lives. I truly believed it was God’s punishment on me.’

‘I argued against that,’ declared Adelicia. ‘I said it wasn’t possible. On reflection,’ she smiled thinly, colouring with embarrassment, ‘I know what you are thinking, clerk: just another priest with his leman, his mistress. We were never that. Nevertheless we loved each other as passionately as any man does his wife, or wife her husband.’

‘So,’ Corbett continued, ‘Brother Cuthbert, you left St Botulph’s and became a reclose at Syon Abbey. Adelicia, of course, after Boniface’s disappearance, decided that she had no choice but to follow. I would say before God that you’ve lived chaste lives, but as the years passed, I am sure that you often met under the cover of night, deep in those woods. Perhaps you’d take a flagon of wine, goblets. In cold weather a muffler with hot coals. You’d sit and talk about what was and what might have been, true?’

Cuthbert nodded.

‘And then,’ Corbett declared, ‘Evesham arrived at Syon Abbey; Satan re-entered your lives. The man who had wrecked everything was now your closest neighbour. Your midnight trysts occurred more often. On the night Evesham was murdered, you, Brother Cuthbert, left the death chapel and went to meet the only woman you have ever loved.’

Cuthbert put his face in his hands and began to sob quietly. Adelicia leaned over and caressed him on the shoulder, just a light touch yet it told Corbett everything.

‘What did happen?’ Ranulf asked sharply.

‘I left the chapel.’ Cuthbert lifted his tear-stained face. ‘I took a small wineskin, two cups. Adelicia was to bring some coals to warm our fingers. I wore a heavy cloak and cowl, mittens on my hands. There’s a log in the forest where we used to sit and stare up. We could study the night sky. You’re right, clerk, we used to talk about the past, about God’s will, about this and that, everything under the moon. On the night in question when I came back I found Ogadon fast asleep. I could tell by the way he was lying that he’d been fed some meat laced with a sleeping potion. I crossed the chapel and went down the steps. Evesham’s door was open; his body lay sprawled over his desk, blood everywhere. I never touched anything; I simply closed the door. I did not wish to alarm Adelicia, so I didn’t tell her what had happened until later.’

‘How did you lower the bar on the inside?’

‘Oh, simple enough. There’s a grille high in the wood. Those rods in the passageway? I simply threaded one through and pushed the bar down; the rest was as you found it. How did you know?’

‘Logic,’ Corbett replied. ‘How could anyone get past a guard dog, never disturb you, persuade Evesham to open his door, murder him then bar the door from the inside and leave without being noticed? Oh yes, it’s a puzzle that fascinated me, but there again, before you become locked in a mystery you look for the obvious way out, and that was the only solution. But you see,’ Corbett moved in the chair, ‘what I must consider is another possibility. On that night, Brother Cuthbert, did you invite Mistress Adelicia down to the cellars beneath that chapel and both of you murder a man who, by your own admission, had shattered your lives?’

‘Never!’

Corbett glanced sharply at Adelicia.

‘Never!’ she repeated, yet she refused to hold his gaze.

‘Tell me, Brother,’ Corbett toyed with the manuscripts lying before him, ‘on your oath now. Did Evesham ever confess anything to you that might explain his own death or the events of twenty years ago?’

‘On that, Sir Hugh, I have told the truth. I hardly spoke to him; he rarely spoke to me. I could not stand the man’s stink, his stare, his touch. If I had my way I would have driven him from the abbey.’

‘And Adelicia, did you at any time approach Evesham and question him?’

‘No.’ This time her tone was more precise. ‘I would never approach such a man. Sir Hugh, we did not murder him.’

‘You say that.’ Ranulf spoke up. ‘Brother Cuthbert, your fingers are pained with the rheums, yet you secured that door sure enough.’

‘Oh, it was painful,’ declared Cuthbert. ‘But I was so startled to find Evesham dead, all I wanted to do was close that door, seal it off and present it as a mystery. Of course I realised people might think that I had murdered him, but there was no proof, no evidence, and don’t forget, clerk,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘up here I know I am innocent. I did not carry out what I would have loved to have done.’

‘Surely,’ Adelicia declared, ‘if we, or one of us, murdered Evesham, are we not therefore responsible for the other dreadful deaths? Engleat, the two riffler leaders executed in a London tavern, the disgusting murders of Mistress Clarice and her steward Richard Fink? Oh yes, clerk, we’ve heard the rumours! The good brothers of the abbey are full of the chatter from the city. They may live the lives of monks, but they take a deep interest in the affairs of the world.’

‘To be blunt, mistress,’ Corbett smiled, ‘I watched you come into this room. You are not old, you’re strong, it’s possible you could have committed those murders or assisted someone else to do them. I will ask both of you again: is there anything you can tell me, on oath, that would help my investigation?’

They replied that there was not.

‘And you, Mistress Adelicia. This midnight conversation with a stranger claiming to be your brother, Boniface. He questioned you about a certain Beatrice; do you know who she was?’

‘No.’

‘Did your brother ever mention a woman called Beatrice?’

‘Never.’

Corbett sat back in his chair. ‘In which case, I thank you. You may return to the abbey, where, if I need to, I will visit you again. One final question.’ He picked up a piece of parchment. ‘Boniface Ippegrave wrote a riddle at the back of the Book of the Gospels in St Botulph’s: “I stand in the centre guiltless and point to the four corners”; you gave that to Mistress Adelicia?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do either of you know what he meant?’

Both chorused: ‘No.’

Too swift, too glib, Corbett thought, but he lifted his hand. ‘You may go. I wish you a safe journey.’

‘How did you. .’? asked Ranulf as the door closed behind them.

‘Logic, Ranulf.’ Corbett chewed the corner of his lip. ‘It’s the only feasible answer. If two people really love each other and live in such close proximity, they will meet, and only death will stop that. I suspect they see each other quite regularly — oh, nothing wrong, like two children sitting whispering in the dark.’ He paused. ‘They’ve not told me the full truth. Oh no, Brother Cuthbert is far too curt. He watches me intently. He dreads a certain question, but for the life of me I don’t know what. Well,’ he called, ‘Chanson, bring in Parson John and Master Fleschner.’

The two men entered the room, swore the oath and took their seats. Parson John had shaved his face, though the bruises and marks still looked angry and there were dark rings around his eyes. Both men looked calmer, more composed than the day before, though the priest remained agitated, moving on the seat, playing with the folds of his robe. Master Fleschner on the other hand seemed half asleep. Corbett wondered if he had taken a deep-bowled goblet of wine to help him through the questioning.