Paul Doherty - Corpse Candle

‘I understand that your henchmen were attacked by outlaws in the forest today. Has anything else occurred during your investigation?’

Corbett winked quickly at Brother Dunstan.

‘No, Father Prior, just one mystery after another.’

‘Such as?’

‘Not now.’ Corbett sipped from his wine. ‘But you are pleased the outlaws are dead?’

‘Four less to feed,’ Prior Cuthbert murmured. ‘Even as a monk, Sir Hugh, sometimes you have to sit down and sup with the devil. Your henchman Ranulf-atte-Newgate,’ the monk gestured with his head, ‘is truly a man of war.’

‘He’d make a good Hospitaller or Templar,’ Corbett agreed. ‘The outlaws were stupid. I would not challenge a man like Ranulf-atte-Newgate.’ He glanced sideways and grinned. ‘Sometimes he even frightens me.’

‘Are you frightened now?’ Brother Dunstan asked from where he sat on Corbett’s left.

‘I’m always fearful, Brother.’ He paused. ‘Did your Father Abbot fear demons? What persuaded him to become an exorcist and take such an interest in demonology. After all, he was a member of this community, and grew old alongside you.’

‘Stephen was always a scholar,’ Brother Dunstan replied. ‘Theology and philosophy were the fields he furrowed.’ He gestured with his spoon. ‘You know how it is? Some scholars become interested in the cult of the Virgin or the finer points of philosophy. Stephen chose to specialise in demonology, the power of the night.’

‘And in all things Roman?’ Corbett added.

‘Ah!’ Brother Dunstan popped a piece of bread into his mouth and chewed it slowly. ‘That’s because of our library; it holds many precious manuscripts. Abbot Stephen used to sit here and regale us with stories of the ancients and the doings of the mad emperors. His great ambition was to visit the Scottish march and inspect the great wall the Romans built. He discussed the classics and the ancient empire of Rome with anyone who would listen. I remember, early in the summer, he and his manservant Perditus in heated discussion over a manuscript on the Roman army. Who was the author? Veg. .?’

‘Vegetius,’ Corbett declared. ‘He wrote a famous tract De Re Militari : a treatise well loved by our King. Oh, by the way,’ Corbett looked round, ‘where is Brother Francis the librarian?’

‘He asked to be excused,’ Prior Cuthbert explained. ‘He’s in the library working, quite excited about something.’

Corbett put down his horn spoon.

‘Is anything wrong, Sir Hugh?’

‘Is he by himself?’

‘Of course.’

‘He shouldn’t be.’ Corbett recalled that dark figure in the passageway, those death-bearing arrows thudding into the darkness.

‘He’ll be safe,’ Brother Dunstan declared.

Corbett half rose to his feet.

‘Chanson! Find Perditus! Go to the library!’

‘It’s not necessary,’ Brother Dunstan stuttered.

Corbett sat down. All conversation at the high table died.

‘He should not be alone,’ Corbett urged. He snapped his fingers at Chanson who was staring lovingly at his soup. ‘Don’t worry, Chanson, Ranulf won’t eat it.’

The groom scurried off into the kitchens for Perditus. Corbett continued eating, half listening to Prior Cuthbert’s protestations. A short while passed and Perditus came hurrying back.

‘Prior Cuthbert, you’d best come!’

‘What is it?’ Corbett glanced at the lay brother.

‘We can see lights in the library but the doors and windows are locked. Brother Francis does not reply.’

‘Oh, sweet Lord!’ Prior Cuthbert whispered. He threw his napkin down. ‘Francis would never leave candles glowing in the library.’

The meal ended in confusion. Corbett followed Chanson and Perditus, with Ranulf hastening behind. They reached the library door. Ranulf told them to stand aside and banged with the pommel of his sword. Brother Richard, who had been peering through a window, hurried over, white-faced.

‘I am not sure,’ he said, ‘as the glass is rather thick but I think Francis is lying on the floor. I glimpsed his leg and sandalled foot from behind the table.’

Corbett ordered Perditus to find a heavy log.

‘No, use that bench!’ Prior Cuthbert pointed to one just inside the porchway.

The door was of thick, solid oak. Corbett told them to hammer on the other side of the lock, loosening the leather hinges. At last the door gave way with a crash and they stumbled in. Corbett ordered them to stay back. The library was a rich, splendid chamber, a place of study. Now all this was shattered. Brother Francis lay in a widening pool of his own blood, slightly turned to one side, a long arrow shaft buried deep in his chest. Corbett felt his neck; there was no blood pulse whilst his skin was a clammy cold.

‘Stay back!’ Corbett shouted.

He went across to the writing table, picked up the pieces of vellum and read Abbot Stephen’s name and the phrase ‘the Roman way’. He studied the two books lying there, small, thin volumes. He closed them and hastily put them inside his jerkin.

‘You can come forward,’ he called.

The monks clustered round Brother Francis’s body amidst exclamations of grief echoing Prior Cuthbert’s low moan of despair. Brother Dunstan the treasurer was the first to recover his wits. He sent Perditus for the holy oils and quickly administered the sacrament of Extreme Unction, whispering the hallowed words into the dead man’s ear. Other members of the community arrived but Prior Cuthbert ordered them to stay outside.

‘Take the body to the death house!’ Corbett declared. ‘This time, Brother Aelfric, put a guard on the door. Let’s see if the killer tries to claim this corpse.’

‘How was it done?’ Ranulf demanded. ‘Sir Hugh, I’ve checked the door — it was locked and bolted and the windows were all closed.’

Corbett glanced back to where the corpse had been found. He went and checked but Ranulf was right, the windows were closed and the outside shutter of the nearest arrow slit looked secure.

‘Prior Cuthbert, excuse me.’

He gestured at Ranulf and Chanson to follow him outside. Corbett found the shutter covering the arrow slit: it was clasped securely against the ragstone wall. Chanson went back to fetch a lantern. Corbett inspected the shutter carefully. He loosened its clasps, and as he did so, it rattled and he heard exclamations from inside the library.

‘I see how it was done,’ Ranulf declared, peering through. ‘The librarian was studying inside. The assassin distracted him by rattling the shutter. Brother Francis would come to check. He’d be standing in the light, providing even a novice bowman with a good target. The shaft was loosed. Brother Francis collapsed. The shutter was re-clasped and the assassin came to hunt us down in the cellars.’

‘But surely Brother Francis had been warned not to be alone?’

‘Yes, he was, Chanson, that’s what intrigues me.’ Corbett patted the books beneath his doublet. ‘He was definitely excited, immersed in his studies. So much so that he neglected food and drink and didn’t join the rest of the community in the refectory. Now, why should a monk, in the depths of winter, study so late? Was he looking for something? Some evidence regarding these murders?’

‘Sir Hugh, what can be done?’ Prior Cuthbert came through the darkness towards them.

‘I’ve told you already,’ Corbett urged. ‘Members of the Concilium must not, where possible, be by themselves for long periods of time.’

‘But we have our own chambers, and our duties to perform!’

‘Then be prudent,’ Corbett urged. ‘Warn them about being ambushed. Oh, and by the way, I’d have all bows and arrows in the cellars collected up, put in one place and secured.’