Paul Doherty - The Magician

With a flick of his wrist, Ranulf dismissed them both and waited until they had left. He doused the candle and left the keep, striding across the yard to the death house. He was surprised to find Lady Constance and her maid waiting outside, deep in conversation with Corbett.

‘My Lady has been making her confession.’ Corbett smiled. ‘She now realises that on the night Monsieur Crotoy died, she distracted you.’

‘My Lady is never a distraction,’ Ranulf bowed, ‘and the fault was entirely mine.’ His heart leapt at Constance’s beaming smile.

‘I think we were talking about a token, weren’t we?’ she murmured.

Ranulf blushed.

‘I felt guilty,’ Lady Constance continued, ‘then I recalled something. Early on the day he died, my maid and I visited Monsieur Crotoy. He seemed most friendly. I wanted to ask him about the fashions in Paris. We’d heard stories about new clothes and head-dresses. Monsieur Crotoy was most helpful and charming. He took us up into his chamber, where we shared wine and a dish of marchpane. When we visited him, the outer door was locked.’

‘I wondered about that,’ Corbett said. ‘How Louis could have heard anyone knocking on the door.’

‘Oh, it’s quite simple, Sir Hugh. The passageway between the doors creates an echo; you can hear any noise. I know. When I was young I used to hide there from my mother. Did you also notice, Sir Hugh, in the outer door there is a narrow grille, a small trapdoor. You pull back the flap and look through to see who is waiting. Now when Monsieur Crotoy let us in, I teased him about the doors being locked. He replied that if he had his way he would have bolts on the outside door as well. I asked him what he was fearful about, didn’t I?’ She turned to the maid, who agreed. ‘Did he not trust my father? Or did he think all English men wore tails? Monsieur Crotoy said something strange; he reassured me that he trusted my father completely, while he also talked warmly of his friendship with you, Sir Hugh. He added that, since the death of Monsieur Destaples, he feared his own kind rather than any other and had vowed he would let none of them into his chamber. He was quite insistent on that and repeated the remark at least twice. I felt sorry for him. When we left, he followed us down and locked the outside door behind us.’ She shrugged. ‘I thought you should know that.’ She sketched a bow at Corbett, winked at Ranulf, tapped him gently on the shoulder and walked away. Corbett, frowning, watched her go.

‘Now, isn’t it strange, Ranulf – why should that viper de Craon claim he visited Louis? Louis was very careful! He wouldn’t show de Craon the courtesies extended to Lady Constance. So why does that Frenchman lie? He claims to have visited Louis; I don’t think he did.’

They returned to the death house, where the corpses lay covered in canvas sheets. Corbett crossed himself and was about to leave when he noticed the garments stripped from both young women lying in a heap on the floor. He went across and sifted through these. Phillipa’s had grown threadbare, the colours running, due to the exposure in the forest; the only personal item found was a small set of Ave beads, eleven in all, which could be worn round the wrist. Alusia’s were drenched in mud. Corbett put on his gauntlets and shook out each item, and exclaimed in surprise at what fell from the thick serge gown. He picked it up. It was a piece of wood, around which strips of wire had been wound to form a handle. He could slip three of his fingers into the gap. He stared curiously at it.

‘Ranulf. What is this?’

‘Where did it come from?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Alusia’s gown is thick, it was caught in the thread.’ Corbett pointed to the sharp end of the wire.

Ranulf took it out to the doorway, turning it over in his hands. ‘It’s a crude brush,’ he declared, ‘the type used to remove mud and dirt from linen. Once it has been weakened by the water you scrape it off. My mother had one. She carried it on a cord from her belt. Alusia must have been wearing it on the day she was killed.’

Corbett felt a tingle of excitement in his stomach. ‘I wonder,’ he whispered. ‘Ranulf, go and ask someone where Alusia worked. Would she wash clothes?’

As Ranulf hurried off, Corbett went back into the death house and stood between the corpses; eyes closed, he prayed that what he had discovered would be of use.

‘Sir Hugh!’

Corbett opened his eyes. Ranulf had returned.

‘Alusia worked in the buttery. She never washed clothes.’

‘Mistress Feyner,’ Corbett whispered, ‘she is the laundrywoman, Ranulf.’ He crossed himself and led Ranulf out of the death house. ‘Go and fetch her,’ he declared. ‘Bring her to my room but don’t alarm her.’

Corbett was seated in the chair in front of the fire when Ranulf ushered Mistress Feyner into the chamber. He rose to greet her, grasping those strong hands and guiding her to the high-backed chair opposite. Mistress Feyner had been crying until she was red-eyed, yet she was watchful, tense.

‘Mistress Feyner, you are a widow. Your husband was a carpenter.’

‘He was, and a very good one,’ she declared.

‘He was also a crossbowman,’ Corbett continued, ‘serving the King’s armies.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Do you still have his arbalest? His quiver of quarrels, perhaps two or three of those?’

Mistress Feyner remained silent. She glanced across at Ranulf.

‘I don’t want to talk while he is here.’ She pointed at Ranulf. ‘I don’t like his eyes.’

Corbett glanced at Ranulf, pulled a face and indicated he should stand outside. Once he had gone, Corbett leaned closer.

‘Mistress Feyner, Phillipa was your only daughter. A man can never understand a mother’s love. You knew what was happening, didn’t you? How your daughter was clever at the church school, quick with her numbers, able to read the words, but the other girls didn’t like that, did they? Matters grew from bad to worse, especially when Phillipa began to talk about the mysterious Goliard, the landless knight who lived in the forest. In truth there was no Goliard. Phillipa was a dreamer, much taken with Martin, the man-at-arms. Mistress Feyner, did you know . . .’ He paused, wondering whether to tell this mother what Ranulf had hurriedly informed him of while she had waited outside.

‘What?’ Mistress Feyner stretched a hand out to the fire but held Corbett’s gaze. ‘What are you going to say, King’s man? That she flirted with Martin and made the others even more jealous. So what?’

‘You know what I’m going to say,’ Corbett replied. ‘Those girls drove Phillipa out into the forest; their constant bullying, their cruel mockery forced your daughter away. They turned her wits. Only the good Lord truly knows what happened out there in the green darkness. Phillipa took her own life. You sensed that, didn’t you? You, the loving mother, knew she would never return.’

The woman tried to reply, but her lower lip quivered. Despite her roughened skin, her face had turned pale.

‘Even when she had gone,’ Corbett continued evenly, ‘the whispering didn’t stop, the mockery. Did you hear the words “good riddance” muttered? You were distraught, beside yourself with grief. You hid it well as your sorrowing turned to anger. You are a castle woman, Mistress Feyner, I suspect you have been one all your life. Sometimes when the armies march, the women go with them. Your husband must have instructed you on the use of a crossbow; how to place the bolt in the groove and wind back the winch, how to prime it well and have it ready. Crossbows come in all sizes. I’ve seen one which can be carried in one hand, but the bolts are always deadly. You are strong after years of bending over the vats and scrubbing; you have good muscular arms and wrists. An arbalest would be easy for you to use, especially so close.’