Paul Doherty - Corpse Candle

The painting was very subtle. Many of its features were hidden by the dark shadows of the transept but Corbett, using the candle, was able to study every detail. He smiled quietly to himself. At first glance it appeared that Cain and Abel were in a desert, sacrificing on a rocky outcrop: in the far distance lay Paradise. The artist, probably at the Abbot’s behest, had depicted this as a place of lush greenness, with trees, plants and elegant buildings. Corbett, however, recognised the abbey of St Martin’s-in-the-Marsh surrounded by its pastures and meadowlands, copses and streams. He could even make out Bloody Meadow with its tumulus surmounted by a cross. Corbett, grasping the candle, sat down at the foot of the pillar and tried to see the painting as a whole. Cain and Abel had been painted as two young men and in the background stood a woman. Was that Eve their mother? She was definitely in mourning, clothed in black from head to toe, hands raised supplicatingly to her face. Next to her stood two young men, dressed in full armour as if guarding her. Were these more sons Corbett thought. Or angels or demons?

Corbett rose, took the candle, placed it on its iron spigot and continued his journey. He paused for a while at Abbot Stephen’s tomb and murmured a quick prayer. The other side of the church was also decorated with paintings. These were mostly many years old though one was freshly done. It showed the temptations of Christ by Satan, when he was taken up a high mountain and shown all the glory and pomp of the world. Corbett wasn’t sure whether the figure was meant to signify Christ or Man in general. Beneath the mountain the artist had painted cities and castles with soaring towers and powerful walls. Sumpter ponies, laden with wealth, entered their gateways. Away to the right stood a place of peace. Once again Corbett recognised the abbey of St Martin’s-in-the-Marsh. Is that why Abbot Stephen had become a monk, Corbett wondered? Fleeing from the glories of the world? Corbett went and sat on a bench and stretched out his legs. Ranulf and Chanson had been despatched to the tavern, the ‘Lantern-in-the-Woods’. Such a place was always a source of gossip. Perhaps they could learn something there about the abbey and its community. Corbett felt his mind all a-jumble from his meeting with the Concilium. At first Prior Cuthbert had been reluctant to talk but, urged on by Aelfric and the rest, had confessed to certain irregularities in the life of the community. Who had broken into the tumulus? Was it Abbot Stephen? Prior Cuthbert? Or even Taverner? And what of this codicil? Lady Margaret Harcourt was not going to be pleased by that! Corbett was more bemused by Gildas’s story about the woman he had glimpsed at night walking through the abbey grounds. She had been disguised as a monk, hence the robe and cowl, but who was she? Some wench from the nearby villages? Or Lady Margaret Harcourt? Corbett had decided that, whilst his companions were gone, he would traverse this so-called House of God. He’d try to grasp its soul as well as to acquaint himself with all its galleries and passages, postern gates and doorways. Especially now when the abbey was fairly deserted. Prior Cuthbert had called a meeting of the Chapter, a gathering of the entire community, to warn and advise them. Corbett felt his eyes grow heavy. Ranulf always asked him whether he thought such mysteries, such investigations, were just puzzles like the conundrums posed in the Schools of Oxford?

‘You mean like a mathematician?’ Corbett had replied. ‘Or a master of logic trying to resolve some problem?’

Corbett breathed in deeply. No, it was not like that. True, he had never met Abbot Stephen. Prior Cuthbert and his community were strangers. This was the first time he had visited St Martin’s-in-the-Marsh. Nevertheless, Corbett felt as if he was now part of the abbey and it part of him. He recalled the answer he had given Ranulf.

‘I am not now in the Schools of Oxford,’ he’d replied. ‘The analogy is not suitable, appropriate or logical. My great fear, Ranulf, and that of the Lady Maeve, is that one of these days, in the middle of some bloody intrigue, I’ll receive my death blow. No, Ranulf, we are not scholars or masters of logic. More like knights in a tournament — yet this is not some friendly joust on a May Day field. Oh, we are armed with sword and shield but our eyes are blindfolded. We stand in a chamber full of shadows and, before we can escape, we must trap and kill the sons and daughters of Cain.’

Corbett smiled now at the dramatic way he had spoken but it was true. St Martin’s-in-the-Marsh was a darkened chamber. God knows what assassins it housed? Corbett opened his eyes and stared down the transept. Even a place like this, the House of God and Gate of Heaven, was no sanctuary against the flying arrow or the sudden, vicious thrust of knife or sword. Corbett listened carefully; but heard nothing, except the wind battering at a loose door above the squeak and scurry of mice. He sighed, got to his feet and went out into the grounds.

Corbett continued his search through herb gardens and courtyards, down porticoes, across small cloister garths, around the infirmary and refectory. He passed the Chapter House, its doors closed, its windows full of light. Corbett heard the murmur of voices. All the time he kept a hand on his dagger, listening for any untoward sound. The abbey lay silent. The sky was grey and lowering. The wind, sharp and bitter, carried small flurries of snow. Corbett wondered if tomorrow all would be carpeted in white. It would make things difficult for the murderer, he reflected, but also for us. At last Corbett was satisfied. He had, in his own mind, a plan of the abbey. He also realised what a powerful and wealthy place it was. He could understand why Prior Cuthbert was so eager to build a new guesthouse. He walked down towards the curtain wall and paused at the Judas gate just as the bell tolled, the sign that the Chapter meeting was over. Corbett opened the gate and went through. Bloody Meadow stretched out like a great circle, oak trees on either side curving down to Falcon’s Brook. A mist was seeping in and, through the trees, Corbett glimpsed the labourers in the fields: he heard the wheels of a cart, the crack of a whip and the harsh braying of oxen as they heaved at the plough. Corbett drew his dagger and knelt down. The frozen grass was hard. He cut deep, picked up the small sod and crumbled the ice-hard soil between his fingers.

‘Still the farmer’s son,’ Corbett murmured to himself. He recognised how rich the earth was. In summer the grass would be green, long and lush. It was good meadow land or, if put to the plough, the crops would sprout thick and high. No wonder Abbot Stephen had been reluctant to build on it. Corbett brushed the soil from his fingers and got to his feet. In the centre of the meadow the tumulus rose like a great finger beckoning him forwards. Corbett walked across and inspected it carefully. Abbot Stephen was correct: the tumulus or funeral barrow was man-made and had been carefully laid out in proper proportions. He patted its surface and tried to climb it but the grass was thick with frost and slippery so he contented himself with walking around. The light was fading. At last he found what the sub-prior had seen: just at eye level, someone had cut into the tumulus. Corbett removed the loose earth. The hole beneath was about six inches across. Corbett looked round for the loosened soil but realised that whoever had dug must have gathered it up and taken it away. He felt inside: the man-made burrow was long. Corbett withdrew his hand.

‘Of course!’ he whispered. Whoever had done this had come out late in the evening and hacked away a piece which could later be used to conceal his handiwork. The intruder had burrowed down and used a long pole or spear shaft to probe, to discover what lay deep within. A coffin — a sarcophagus? Corbett placed the sod back in its place. Had it been Prior Cuthbert, he wondered? Abbot Stephen? Or even Master Taverner, who must have been attracted by the mystery of this place?