Paul Doherty - The Magician

‘Would the King know?’ Corbett asked. ‘Is that why he chose Corfe?’

‘Possibly,’ Father Matthew conceded. ‘Perhaps he thought such a meeting might provoke the interest of Friar Roger’s hidden disciples. The truth is, Sir Hugh, there’s only one, and you are looking at him. When I met you,’ he sighed, ‘I did wonder. You are sharp of eye, keen of wit.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want my house ransacked, I don’t want my books burnt, I don’t want to be dragged before some archdeacon’s court or local justice. Sir Hugh, I have done no harm, I have done no ill.’

‘I’m not going to pass sentence, Father Matthew, but I asked you a question. The secrets?’

‘If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. You’d say I was lying. Friar Roger’s secrets are described in his manuscripts. He talked of things, Sir Hugh, of men he had met in France, of mysterious documents, of marvellous machines beyond our comprehension.’

‘The Secretus Secretorum ?’

‘Ah, that.’ Father Matthew closed his eyes and breathed in. ‘Friar Roger was very careful,’ he began. ‘Many people regarded him as a magician.’

‘Was that true?’

The priest opened his eyes. ‘Yes and no, Sir Hugh. Friar Roger was a member of a secret circle of scholars. In his letter On the Marvellous Power of Art and Nature he attacks magic as trickery.’

‘So what was he frightened of?’

‘That things which could be regarded as magic are really the creation of the human mind, of a newly found wisdom. Friar Roger often talked about the great scholar Peter de Marincourt, with whom he worked in Paris. Peter taught him great secrets, for example, how a glass could be built so that the most distant objects appear near at hand, and vice versa. Sir Hugh, how can you explain such a thing to an ignorant bishop or inquisitor? Friar Roger became frightened. He was also deeply resentful at the way he was imprisoned and silenced, so he wrote the Secretus Secretorum , his handbook of secrets. It’s a mixture of the sources of his knowledge and future predictions, as well as how certain experiments can be conducted. He wrote it in a secret cipher, and before you ask, Sir Hugh, there is no translation. On his deathbed Friar Roger whispered to me that the key to that book was his own mind and that when he died that key would disappear. Now, Sir Hugh, you may drag me to London, have me tortured, threatened, I would say no different. The Secretus Secretorum ,’ Father Matthew raised his voice so it echoed round that sombre church, ‘is Friar Roger’s treasury of secrets. It is also his revenge on those who rejected him. He could have said so much but no one wants to die screaming, lashed to a pole with the flames roaring around you.’

Corbett moved on his stool. He had interrogated many men, some consummate liars, and on such occasions he rejected logic and reason and trusted his own feelings. He instinctively felt that Father Matthew was telling the truth.

‘So that book will never be translated?’

‘Never!’ Father Matthew agreed. ‘And the more it is copied, the more it is added to so the more difficult it will become.’

‘And Friar Roger’s wealth?’ Ranulf asked. ‘He talked about spending two thousand pounds. Did he discover the Philosopher’s Stone? Unravel the secrets of alchemy?’

Father Matthew threw his head back and laughed.

‘He had hidden wealth,’ he replied, and sat chuckling to himself.

‘Hidden wealth?’ Ranulf insisted.

The priest gestured with his hand. ‘Go back to Corfe Castle, Red-hair, and gaze upon its battlements. Men lived on that spot before the Romans ever came. It’s been a royal residence, a place of power. Tell me, what do people do in times of danger? How do they protect their wealth?’

‘They bury it.’

‘That’s one thing Friar Roger learnt from Peter de Marincourt. How to find hidden wealth. Speak to the country people, Sir Hugh, men of Dorset and Somerset. They will tell you how, with a mere stick, they can divine underground streams or wells. According to Friar Roger, Peter de Marincourt discovered a way of finding hidden treasure. Don’t doubt me, Sir Hugh; even without such knowledge, tell me, how often is treasure trove found in London, gold, coins, silver from some forgotten age? That was the source of Friar Roger’s wealth. He wasn’t greedy for money; he just saw it as a means to an end.’

‘Do you know that method?’ Ranulf asked.

Father Matthew shook his head.

‘I suspect it is one of the secrets he locked away in the Secretus Secretorum , which,’ he spread his hands, ‘to me, like you, is an impenetrable wall.’

‘Yet you were Friar Roger’s favourite pupil; he described you as a great scholar.’

‘He also loved me dearly as a brother. He said the time was not ripe for such knowledge, that if he revealed his most secret thoughts it would only place me in deadly danger.’ Father Matthew slumped in the chair, weaving his fingers together. ‘What more can I say?’

Corbett stared up at that sombre nave. A slight mist had crawled under the door and through the gaps in the shutters, so it looked like a hall of ghosts. The altar at the far end was bare and gaunt, dominated by a stark crucifix.

‘Are you happy here?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Sir Hugh, I am. I come from these parts. I think I do something useful. I truly care for these people.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I have a little wealth hidden away, I have my books. It is an ideal place for a scholar to remain hidden and pursue his studies.’

‘I shall tell you what I will do.’ Corbett got up, scraping back his stool. ‘In the spring I shall invite you to London and present you to the Bishop of London; he is a friend of mine, he will be only too happy to ordain you a priest and issue letters from his chancery. As for your friendship with Friar Roger,’ Corbett rehung his cloak about him, ‘why not leave that as one secret hidden amongst so many?’

‘I have your word?’ Father Matthew asked, the relief apparent in his face.

‘You have my word, Father.’

‘Then I shall tell you something.’ The priest pushed himself up. ‘You’ve a kind heart, clerk, and a good voice. When I was in the castle I became agitated. I met someone who, I thought, might recognise me.’

‘One of the Frenchmen? De Craon?’

‘No, the one who struts like a cheerful sparrow. Monsieur Pierre Sanson. But, Deo Gratias , it has been many years since he last spoke to me. About twelve years ago,’ the priest continued, ‘Pierre Sanson was part of a French delegation which came to Oxford. They stayed at the King’s palace at Woodstock. You may recall the occasion? The marriage of the King’s daughter Margaret to the Duke of Brabant? Naturally, scholars visit each other. Sanson claimed he was deeply interested in Friar Roger’s work and came to ask him about his secrets. My master was old and frail. He never was sweet-tempered,’ he added quickly, ‘and gave Sanson short shrift. When the Frenchman asked him about his secrets, Friar Roger replied that he would conceal them in a document and make copies of it, and if the world could unearth these secrets then it was welcome to them.’ Father Matthew blessed himself quickly. ‘What I am saying, Sir Hugh, is that from the very start the French knew the Secretus Secretorum could never be deciphered.’

Corbett extended his hand and the priest grasped it warmly.

‘I’ll see you in the spring, Father. I’ll send an escort to accompany you.’

Corbett and Ranulf made their farewells and returned quickly to Corfe. They tried not to look at the row of corpses clustered together like flies hanging from the battlements but thundered across the drawbridge and up into the inner bailey, where Sir Edmund’s retainers were still busy removing all sign of the recent conflict. Corbett was lost in his thoughts, ruthlessly determined on his course of action. When Sir Edmund came to greet them, Corbett enquired about de Craon, only to find that the Frenchman was sulking in his chamber. He took the Constable out of earshot, even from Ranulf, and whispered urgently to him. Sir Edmund made to object, but Corbett insisted and the Constable agreed. Ranulf was keen to seek out the Lady Constance, but his plea died on his lips at Corbett’s dark look.