Paul Doherty - Corpse Candle

‘The boots must have been removed,’ Corbett declared.

The hauberk was cut and mangled on one side. Corbett lifted this up to expose a smashed rib beneath. He carefully checked for signs of other wounds. Corbett got to his feet and looked down at the pathetic remains. The skull hung sideways, the jaw slightly open.

‘That’s not the body of King Sigbert!’ Brother Aelfric declared. ‘The skeleton is too well preserved.’ He stared down at the tattered, rotting remains of the livery. ‘Those are the Harcourt arms. Who is it?’ He glanced at Corbett.

‘Sir Reginald,’ Corbett replied. He crouched down and tapped the mud-caked coverlet. ‘This was probably his cloak, the boots have been removed and, apart from the chainmail and this surcoat, the rest has rotted away. I can detect no other wound except these smashed ribs.’

Once again he pushed back the chainmail.

‘It was probably a sword wound. A powerful thrust which penetrated his ribs and went up into his heart. He must have died instantly. Whoever killed him, quickly removed all insignia: the clasp of the cloak, rings — perhaps the boots had recognisable studs or buttons which might have identified the corpse?’

‘Then why not remove the surcoat?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Because it was stained with blood and caught in the mesh of the chainmail. As I said, whoever killed Sir Reginald had to act swiftly.’

Corbett got to his feet, peered into the makeshift grave and used the hoe to make sure there was nothing else.

‘But the stories?’ Prior Cuthbert protested. ‘Sir Reginald was seen leaving his house. Lady Margaret and Sir Stephen spent months searching for him!’

‘All a lie,’ Corbett replied, ‘though I am not too sure who was responsible. What really happened was that one summer’s evening, many years ago, Sir Reginald came down to Bloody Meadow to meet his assassin. He was killed and his corpse swiftly buried in the tumulus. His murderer moved quickly and expertly. He probably removed the top soil, dug out this make-shift grave, stripped the corpse as quickly as he could and slipped it in.’

‘Who?’ Prior Cuthbert asked.

‘I have yet to discover that. But look, Prior Cuthbert.’ Corbett wiped the mud from his gauntlets. ‘The remains of Sir Reginald Harcourt deserve decent burial.’

‘Oh, yes, yes.’

‘Other pressing matters await me,’ Corbett explained. ‘Have the remains put in your death house.’

‘And the mound?’

Prior Cuthbert’s face was white with cold, his eyes watered and his nose had turned a bright red.

‘You’ve been very helpful. The mound has now been disturbed. You and your brothers might as well finish the task and search for Sigbert’s corpse.’

Corbett strode away, with Ranulf and Chanson following. Once they were through the Judas Gate, Corbett ordered Chanson to prepare the horses.

‘Did you expect that?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Yes, I did and soon I’ll explain why.’

‘And the murderer?’

Ranulf peered at his master.

‘Sir Reginald was murdered by more than one person. It would have taken two or three people, to dig a hole like that and cover it quickly.’

Corbett didn’t wait for further questions but strode on. Chanson had their horses saddled by the main gate. A lay brother swung this open. They went through but, instead of going onto the main trackway, Corbett rode quickly round the walls. He was relieved to find the Watcher squatting outside his bothy.

‘He must have drunk deep and late,’ Corbett explained. ‘Otherwise he might have heard all the excitement and fled.’

The Watcher by the Gates got to his feet as Corbett approached.

‘Good morrow, Sir Hugh.’ He stared at the mud stains on the clerk’s cloak. ‘You’ve been travelling far?’

‘No, Master Salyiem. I’ve been digging! The burial mound in Bloody Meadow contained Sir Reginald Harcourt’s corpse, his murdered remains.’

The Watcher stared fearfully and stepped back. If Ranulf hadn’t urged his horse up alongside him, he would have fled.

‘But Sir Reginald. .’ The hermit’s words died on his lips as he gazed up at this severe-faced clerk.

‘Come, man,’ Corbett stretched out his hand. ‘I could arrest you and drag you at the tail of my horse. .!’

The hermit closed his eyes and quickly crossed himself.

‘Get up behind me!’

The Watcher had no choice but to agree. Forcing himself up behind Corbett, he put his arms round the clerk’s waist. Corbett could sense his fear from the quick, short gasps, and his trembling arms.

‘Where are we going?’ he whispered throatily.

‘You know where we are going.’

Corbett urged his horse into a canter back along the walls and onto the trackway. They reached Harcourt Manor a short while later. Only once did they pause, at the place in the forest where they had been ambushed. Apart from the scuffed earth and a few broken arrows, all signs of that bloody conflict had disappeared. The manor itself was quiet. Grooms came out to take their horses. Pendler the steward hurried up, huffing and puffing.

‘I wish to see the Lady Margaret now,’ Corbett demanded, helping the hermit to lower himself out of the saddle.

Pendler looked quickly at the Watcher by the Gates who nodded, his face as white as the snow which still covered the bushes on either side of the main entrance.

Corbett himself dismounted and went quickly up the steps. Ranulf and Chanson, with the Watcher between them, followed. Corbett was about to knock when the door abruptly swung open. Lady Margaret, dressed in a dark-blue robe, her white wimple covered by a furred cowl, greeted them.

‘Why, Sir Hugh, I was about to go for a walk.’ She grasped a cane in her hand, tapping it on the floor. ‘What do you want?’

‘I have news about your husband Sir Reginald. I can say it no other way, my lady. He did not leave for an Eastern port. His remains have been discovered in the burial mound at Bloody Meadow.’

Lady Margaret swayed. Corbett hastened to steady her. She lowered her head, gasping as if she found it difficult to breathe and, when she glanced up, Corbett was shocked at the sudden change. Her face seemed to have narrowed, the skin tight on the high cheekbones, her eyes haunted and fearful. Pendler came hurrying up the steps.

‘Madam, what is the matter?’

Lady Margaret, grasping Corbett’s arm, just lifted the cane, gesturing at him to go away.

‘You’d best come in.’

She took a deep breath, pushed away Corbett’s arm and led them into the parlour. Corbett sat where he had on his last visit. Lady Margaret, still grasping the cane, sat opposite. The three others came in behind and Corbett waved them to the window seat.

‘Do you wish some wine, my lady?

‘No. Tell me of Sir Reginald. You say you’ve discovered his remains? How did he die?’

‘Why, Madam, he was murdered.’

‘By whom?’

‘Madam, we both know that.’

Lady Margaret didn’t move. She sat gripping her stick, staring at the weak fire, where the flames spluttered around the slightly damp logs.

‘You heard what I said, Madam?’

‘I heard what you said, clerk. You’d best say your piece.’

‘You loved Sir Stephen Daubigny, didn’t you?’

Lady Margaret started, as beads of sweat laced her forehead under the wimple.

‘Loved!’ she murmured harshly.

‘You know you did,’ Corbett continued matter of factly. ‘You were betrothed to Sir Reginald but your heart was Daubigny’s, as his was yours.’

‘He had a lover, Heloise Argenteuil.’