Paul Doherty - The Demon Archer

‘You’ve come to venerate our relic, Sir Hugh?’ Her voice was soft.

Corbett glanced up. ‘Why should I do that, Lady Madeleine? Why should I venerate the hair of a whore from the town of Rye?’

Lady Madeleine gripped the tomb more tightly and swayed slightly. Corbett grasped her elbow and took her over to the small stone plinth which ran along the wall.

‘Why do you say that, Sir Hugh?’ Lady Madeleine’s face had paled, her eyes were watchful. ‘What nonsense is this?’

‘Lady Madeleine Fitzalan,’ Corbett replied. ‘Daughter of a noble family, half-sister to Lord Henry and Sir William. A woman who was raised in the noble tradition, an accomplished horse-rider, huntress and archer. In your golden days, before life turned sour, you played in Ashdown Forest. You and your brothers came to know these woods better than any of the forest people, particularly Savernake Dell and the hollow oaks.’

Lady Madeleine had her head down, hands resting in her lap.

‘But life changes,’ Corbett continued. ‘As the heart grows older it comes on colder sights. The harshness of age begins to freeze the joy of youth. You grew to hate your brother Henry. And why not? Perhaps you had good cause. A lord who feared neither God nor man. However, the Fitzalans used their influence to make you prioress at St Hawisia’s: this became your castle, your fortress against the world of men. A community of women, devoted to the memory of a woman who had been killed by her own family.’ Corbett paused.

‘Are you going to say I killed my brother?’ Lady Madeleine asked coolly. She lifted her face. Corbett could see she had regained her wits.

‘Yes, you are a murderess,’ he replied. ‘You have the blood of many people on your hands: Lord Henry, Pancius Cantrone, Robert Verlian, as well as the whore Francoise Sourtillon.’

‘And pray, clerk, how did I murder these? And why should I?’

‘You don’t deny it,’ Corbett noted. ‘And you know of Verlian’s death.’

‘Gossip spreads quickly in Ashdown.’

‘Aye, it does. Let me go to the beginning.’ Corbett pointed at the tomb. ‘Your patron saint Hawisia is the cause of all these deaths, isn’t she? I learned how this shrine had been closed for a while.’ He gazed round the pink-washed walls. ‘Refurbished, wasn’t it?’

‘Stop your questions, clerk, and come to the point!’

‘Lord Henry came here,’ Corbett continued. ‘While you were away collecting your rents, acting lady of the manor. He brought that Italian physician Cantrone with him. Lord Henry was a cynic, constantly ridiculing you about your shrine and its sacred relic so he opened the glass case to examine the hair more carefully, or rather Cantrone did it for him. The glass case is fixed by clasps. A man skilled as Cantrone could loosen these and take the hair out. He examined its texture. He wanted to please his lord and prove that this was no relic. I don’t know what really happened but the hair decayed. Perhaps some contagion in the air? They put the hair back but it began to wither and rot. You returned and realised what had happened. The relic had been violated. Lord Henry returned to the priory. Did he come back to bait you? Rejoice in what he had done?’

‘Do you have proof of this?’ she asked. ‘Such blasphemy, such sacrilege would cause both uproar and outcry.’

‘I don’t think so, my lady. You had come back to St Hawisia’s. By your own admission you go away as rarely as possible. You hear your brother had been here, locking himself in the church. You recall his baiting, his cynical attacks upon your relic. The first thing you do is go and check. At first you see nothing disturbed, nothing out of place. But a day, maybe two days later, you notice the hair decaying. The shrine is closed and Lord Henry is immediately invited here. You are furious but you want to keep the matter secret. After all, the relic is a source of revenue as well as status. I can imagine Lord Henry’s malicious glee. How did you threaten him, eh? What happened during that furious, hushed row between brother and sister? Lord Henry must have realised the danger he had placed himself in. After all, if the relic was destroyed, you could claim it was due to sacrilege, a blasphemous act. Holy Mother Church does not like such actions. If the scandal reached Canterbury, Lord Henry could face excommunication. Now, for a powerful lord, one who hopes to lead an embassy to France on behalf of his King. .’ Corbett paused and let his words hang in the air.

Further down the church he could see Ranulf sitting with his back to a pillar. Baldock sat beside him, whispering in his ear, and Corbett realised that Ranulf had found a new friend. He could tell by Baldock’s face that the groom was doing his best to console his new-found patron. Corbett glanced round. Lady Madeleine now had her hands folded as if in prayer. As she looked at him, her face smooth, eyes wide, he caught a glimpse of the beauty she must have been as a young woman but he also saw the glint of obsession, the gleam of a fanatic in her eyes.

‘Lord Henry must have sobered up,’ Corbett went on. ‘What he’d done as a jibe against his pious sister had gone terribly wrong. So he offers reparation, something which can please you both. The shrine will be sealed off for refurbishment; the walls repainted and gilded at his expense. This will hide the damage to the relic while he tries to look for a replacement.’

‘And I accepted this, clerk?’

‘You had no choice. No relic, no pilgrims, no royal status.’ Corbett paused. ‘I wondered how you could be drawn into Sir William’s petty meddling with Gaveston and the Prince of Wales. You did it for one reason. Not because of any childhood friendship. No, help the Prince now and, when he became King, St Hawisia’s would become one of the most famous shrines in all of England. You couldn’t lose that.’ Corbett tapped the oaken sarcophagus. ‘Anyway, the shrine is sealed off. Workmen are not brought in till Lord Henry has fulfilled his side of the bargain. Unknown to you he goes to Rye. He buys the beautiful golden hair of a whore. He pays her off and bundles her aboard a ship to France. Her golden locks, her glory, are brought here, probably by Cantrone, a skilled physician. The hair is dressed in certain potions and unguents which will keep it fresh and supple. If decay occurs again it can always be replaced. The hair is brought secretly to the shrine. You open the glass case and replace the relic. The rest of the shrine is repainted and refurbished and, once again, opened to receive the prayers of the good nuns and the pious faithful. Now that should have been the end of the matter!’

Corbett sat down beside her.

‘With any other man it would have been the end. Lord Henry had fulfilled his side of the bargain, but he had some control over you. He must have reminded you about that. How, if matters between you ever became bitter, he could deny his sacrilege but, perhaps, let it be known the true origins of your famous relic. Did he then tell you where it came from? Did he hint? Did he think that it was amusing and mock you with his revelation?’

‘As you said, sir clerk.’ Lady Madeleine turned her face. ‘Lord Henry feared neither God nor man.’

‘Unfortunately for both of you,’ Corbett continued, ‘someone found out what had been done: a brothel mistress from Rye. She had a special affection for the young whore Cecilia whose hair had been sacrificed. She made careful enquiries. She discovered that Cecilia had been sent abroad, so Francoise comes to Ashdown. Now, I doubt if Lord Henry would have told her why he plucked Cecilia’s golden tresses. However, Francoise Sourtillon was a woman of the world, wasn’t she? I suspect she came here to St Hawisia’s and visited the relic. One among many pilgrims. Francoise knew Cecilia’s hair, she had combed it often enough, she realised the truth behind your relic. Did she confront you? Or would the great prioress refuse to see her?