Paul Doherty - Corpse Candle

‘It’s cold,’ Ranulf groaned. ‘I didn’t know how cold it was until after the attack.’

He and Chanson ripped off their gauntlets and held their fingers out to the flames.

‘Don’t warm them too long,’ Corbett warned. ‘You’ll have chilblains. What’s this about an attack?’

Corbett poured goblets of wine. As they drank, Ranulf quickly told him what had happened at the Lantern-in-the-Woods.

‘You did well,’ Corbett declared. ‘The outlaws deserved their deaths. Let me see the seal!’

Ranulf handed it over. Corbett scrutinised it carefully in the light of a candle.

‘And what happened here, Master?’

Corbett told him what he had seen, his meetings with Brother Dunstan and the Archdeacon. Ranulf whistled under his breath.

‘Nothing is what it appears to be, eh, Master?’

‘It never is,’ Corbett replied, still examining the seal.

‘What is so interesting about it?’

‘As you said,’ Corbett tossed the seal back to him, ‘why should an outlaw be carrying that? It was not taken from a letter or a charter. The seal is not broken. It was specially made and given to someone to use as a sign. You have your suspicions?’

Ranulf quickly told him about Blanche the tavern wench, the costly necklace, bracelet and rings. Corbett heard him out. He sat half listening to the bells tolling for vespers.

‘Do you ever read the divine office, Ranulf? The verse about Satan like a raging lion, hunting, seeking whom he may devour. Our assassin’s like that. He’s observed the foibles and weaknesses of others. I half suspect that Brother Dunstan could be his next victim.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s immoral,’ Corbett declared. ‘Chanson, go and fetch him. Tell him to come alone. I wish to have words.’

‘Do you really think he could be the next victim?’ Ranulf asked as the groom clattered down the stairs.

‘Ranulf, I believe the assassin intends to kill every member of that Concilium. I don’t know why, but I suspect that one of the roots of these present troubles is that damnable guesthouse and Bloody Meadow: the Concilium hid their feelings well but, I suspect, Prior Cuthbert and the rest championed that cause as fiercely as any lawyer before King’s Bench.’

‘You talked of one root?’

‘Ah!’ Corbett got up and stretched. ‘I’m getting hungry.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Not just for food but the truth. There is another deeper root, I don’t yet know what. Abbot Stephen may be the key.’

Chanson returned, with Brother Dunstan following dolefully behind.

‘Close the door,’ Corbett ordered. He gestured to a stool. ‘Sit down.’

‘Why do you wish to question me?’ Brother Dunstan’s hands were trembling so much he hid them up his sleeves.

Corbett took a stool and sat opposite.

‘You know why I do. When I met you down at Falcon Brook, Brother, you were like a man lost in your sins. What caused it? Guilt? Remorse?’

‘We all sin,’ Brother Dunstan tried to assert himself.

‘Yes, we do but some more secretly than others. I don’t want to torture you, Brother, so I’ll come swiftly to the point. You are treasurer of this great abbey. You and the brothers send carts to buy provender and sell your produce in the markets. You travel hither and thither. How many times have you been attacked by outlaws?’

‘Such men would never attack Holy Mother Church.’ Brother Dunstan coloured at Ranulf’s bellow of laughter.

‘That’s a lie,’ Corbett replied. ‘Such men couldn’t give a fig about the Church. You do what many abbeys and monasteries, even manor lords, do. You meet these outlaws, or their leaders, and you provide them with money and supplies. In return they give assurances that you can go untroubled about your business and they’ll make sure that everybody else who lurks in the woods obeys. It’s a convenient way of living. The outlaws really don’t want to take on a powerful abbot who might ask the local sheriff to hunt them down. Moreover some, but not all, of their coven are superstitious. They don’t want to be excommunicated, cursed and exiled from heaven by bell, book and candle. You, of course, and your abbey don’t want any trouble. You are the treasurer and, when these men come looking for food and drink, you pay them off and both parties are happy. The law might not like it but, there again, on a lonely forest path the law can do little to protect some unfortunate monk on an errand for his Father Abbot. Am I correct?’

‘It is a commonplace practice,’ Brother Dunstan replied. ‘Everyone does it.’

‘Of course they do and, as long as the outlaws don’t become troublesome, greedy or break their word, Abbot Stephen would look the other way. He might not like it but. .’ Corbett waved a hand. ‘Now you, Brother Dunstan,’ he continued, ‘travel for the abbey and often visit the Lantern-in-the-Woods.’

The treasurer put his face in his hands.

‘Blanche is pretty, isn’t she? Long legs, generous lips, a sweet bosom and, if Ranulf is correct, saucy eyes and a pert mouth. You were much taken with her. Of course, she was flattered that a man of the Church should be interested. She was even more impressed when you took coins from your coffers to buy her bracelets and a silver chain with a gold cross, not to mention the rings and the cloth to make her a fine dress. Now, what began as mere dalliance,’ Corbett felt sorry for the monk who was now sobbing quietly, ‘became an obsession. Ranulf has travelled to the Lantern-in-the-Woods, and the outlaws also go there. Oh, by the way, some of them are dead — killed,’ Corbett added warningly. ‘I suggest that for the next few months any traveller from St Martin’s has an armed escort.’

Brother Dunstan took his hands away. ‘Dead?’

‘Well, at least four of them.’ Corbett turned to Ranulf and clicked his fingers. ‘Now, in one of the wallets of the dead outlaws we found this abbey seal. It’s unbroken, and is clearly specially made. You gave it to one of the outlaws? Perhaps their leader, Scaribrick? You must have bribed him. Sometimes you found it difficult to leave the abbey — after all, a monk out of his house is like a fish out of water — but you had a hunger for Blanche. You gave her the robe of a monk with a canopied cowl, and you actually brought her into the abbey, didn’t you? One of the outlaws was your go-between and when he showed the seal to Blanche, it was the sign to meet you near one of the postern gates. Now, in the warm days of spring and summer, a tumble in the long grass is perhaps safe enough but our Blanche is haughty. She would object to such rough bedding. On one or two occasions she came disguised to that postern door and made her way to your chamber. No doubt you objected, telling her how dangerous it was.’

Corbett leaned forward and prised Brother Dunstan’s fingers away from his face. The monk’s eyes were red-rimmed with crying.

‘For God’s sake,’ Corbett reassured him, ‘I am not going to denounce you before the full chapter. You won’t be the first man to break his vows. The world, the flesh and the devil, eh? It’s often the flesh which lays the most cunning traps.’

The treasurer rubbed the tears away from his cheeks.

‘It was as you say,’ Brother Dunstan declared. ‘The dalliance began two years ago. I was a clerk before I became a monk. I thought I could live a chaste life but — Blanche, she was so provocative! At night I used to dream about her hair, her lips, her breasts, her legs. At first she allowed some intimacy — a kiss or a cuddle — but she acted very much the lady. She wanted this and she wanted that. So I used money from the Abbey coffers. Sometimes we met in the cellars of her father’s tavern but that was too dangerous. Blanche is a hussy, saucy-eyed and sharp-tongued. She wanted to see my chamber and lie in a proper bed, she said. I tried to refuse but. . One night she came disguised, as you say, and told me she had met a monk on her way. From her description I recognised Gildas. I begged her not to do it again but she refused to obey and only stopped when I bought her some Castilian soap. I confessed my sins to one of the old monks. He gave me absolution but said I should also confess to Father Abbot. I did, in a half-hearted way.’