Paul Doherty - The Demon Archer

‘So, Francois writes you a letter. At first glance an innocent-looking missive but you would read between the lines. Did she threaten you with blackmail or public ignominy? You, of course, sent a sweet, innocent note back. Why shouldn’t Francoise come up and discuss these matters? Perhaps she could stay at the Devil-in-the-Woods tavern? Francoise, full of anger, would accept this. She wanted reparation. She wanted justice.’

‘And I left my priory and rode out and killed her?’ Lady Madeleine taunted.

‘I think it’s possible. You have your own house, kitchens and stable. There is a side gate leading from there into the forest. You answer to no one. You can issue an order that you are not to be disturbed and go riding. Dressed in a cloak and cowl who would suspect this was the prioress? You have fixed the date and time when Francoise should meet you. I checked with the taverner. Francoise stayed there one night, then the next morning she left the tavern. She walked along that lonely trackway to be at the prearranged meeting place at the appointed hour. It would be some lonely spot, not far from the tavern, a dell or a clearing? Perhaps you even offered to meet Francoise on the trackway?’

‘To send such a letter would be dangerous.’

‘Would it? Unsigned? Unsealed? Especially if you told Francoise to bring it for identification.’

‘She could have told someone else.’

‘Why should she, if blackmail was intended?’

Lady Madeleine glanced away.

‘Meanwhile,’ Corbett continued, ‘you had left the priory by a secret route. Your bow and quiver of arrows were already hidden away. You’d be there in good time. You did the same as you did to me, threw a pebble on the track. Francoise stopped and looked up, the arrow shaft took her in the throat. You make sure the way is clear and you hurry across. You roll the body down the bank, take her purse and saddle panniers, strip the corpse then bury it. You were calm enough to go through her personal possessions. I suspect Francoise brought a strand of Cecilia’s hair.’ Corbett opened his wallet and took out the two cloth clasps. ‘That lock you took away but dropped these in your hurry. Disguised, you creep back along the trackway, mount your horse, throw Sourtillon’s possessions into a marsh and return to St Hawisia’s.’

‘An interesting tale, clerk.’

‘God knows what happened next,’ Corbett went on evenly. ‘Did your brother, who visited the brothel in Rye, discover Francoise was missing? Did he threaten you? Or did he continue his secret taunts about your sacred relic? Enough was enough: Lord Henry was the cause of all your trouble. You heard about the hunt. You went to that dell, where you had played as a child, the afternoon before the hunt took place. You put a bow and quiver in the hollow of an oak tree. The next morning, cloaked and cowled, you left the priory. This time you’d silence your brother’s taunts about the relic and possible jibes about Gaveston for good. You could settle, once and for all, your longstanding grievances with this hated man.’

Lady Madeleine put her head down.

‘A fine, sunny morning,’ Corbett remarked. ‘Lord Henry would prove a good target, this time not to the neck but an arrow straight in his heart. Even as he fell to the ground, you’d be hurrying back to your horse, bow and quiver hidden away, and return to St Hawisia’s.’

‘But why should I kill my brother?’ Lady Madeleine lifted her head. ‘If, as you say, the Italian physician Cantrone already knew?’

‘He was a stranger. A foreigner. What proof could he offer? Who would believe him or the whore Cecilia now Francoise and Lord Henry were dead?’ Corbett paused. ‘In a few months,’ he continued, ‘what could Cantrone say? But, you were committed to the hunt and Cantrone was an easy victim. So why let him go? He’d dared to threaten you, not realising how vulnerable he made himself. However, Lady Madeleine, when you kill, you not only trample lives but become immersed in other plots, other schemes. Cantrone didn’t give a whit about the relic. He and Lord Henry were involved in other stratagems, very dangerous to himself. Cantrone simply wanted to flee. His patron was dead and the French wanted to get their hands on him. He needed gold and silver, didn’t he? You didn’t send for him. He came to the priory demanding to see you. He mentioned the relic and insisted that you buy his silence. Some gold and silver for his journey, he would be gone and that would be the end of it. Cantrone really meant that but you didn’t trust him.’

‘But I was here when he left!’

‘No, Lady Madeleine, you are cunning. You probably paid him then remembered little Sister Fidelis. She would be your excuse, the reason for his visit. You gave out some story that you’d sent for him. Cantrone would accept that. He’d be a little puzzled but,’ Corbett shrugged, ‘what was that to him? Or that you offered food? Ashdown Manor was in uproar following Lord Henry’s death. Servants and retainers were departing. Cantrone would be hungry. You order him to be taken to the refectory, given something to eat. In the meantime you once again left the priory as you did with me. Ashdown, particularly for a stranger, is a death trap. There’s only one road out to the manor. I, Cantrone, Francoise Sourtillon, must take that trackway or become lost in the trees.

‘By the time Cantrone had reached it you were waiting. Again an arrow to the throat. His wallet and purse are taken. A slender, light man, you’d put Cantrone’s corpse across the saddle of his horse, take it deep into the woods and hide it in a marsh.’

Corbett stood up and glanced down the church where he noted that Ranulf was still sitting at the foot of the pillar.

‘Finally, madam, we come to a death, a murder that need not have occurred! The death of Robert Verlian!’

‘His death,’ Corbett continued, ‘was the quickest and easiest to plan, or rather that of the person you really wanted to kill. You went to the priest’s house, knocked on the door and hurried into the shadows of the trees only a few yards away. You believed Brother Cosmas was there. You’d noticed the light in the window. The friar would answer the knock; you would loose an arrow and that would be it. What you didn’t know was that Brother Cosmas was absent, gone to see his friend Odo.’ Corbett sat down beside the prioress. ‘You know the hermit was the Owlman?’

‘What!’

For the first time since Corbett had begun questioning her, Lady Madeleine showed genuine surprise.

‘Oh yes, he hated your brother as much as you do. An ancient sin, one curled up like a poisonous snake. The fruit of your brother’s lusts and lack of care for anyone else.’

‘Why should I kill a Franciscan?’ she asked sharply.

‘Let us go back to the death of Francoise Sourtillon,’ Corbett replied. ‘You’d killed her, buried her corpse and you thought that was the end of the matter. True, the grave was shallow. One day the body might be unearthed but the corpse would be simply regarded as a casualty of some outlaw attack, or even the infamous Owlman. My suspicions were first provoked by your generosity. Lady Madeleine, you may be consecrated to Christ but, to be honest, you manifest little of His teaching. You are locked in your own private heaven where the male and the brutish things of life are kept carefully at the gate. Yet you immediately offer to bury a stranger’s corpse. Why?’

‘An act of compassion. It is one of the Corporal Works of Mercy.’

‘You don’t understand the meaning of the word!’ Corbett snapped. ‘You buried her corpse to get it out of the way, hidden in the soil as quickly as possible. If it had been any other corpse, you would have sent it to St Oswald’s-in-the-Trees for interment in the common plot. I did wonder why the great Lady Madeleine manifested such speedy and merciful measures? You kept well away from the corpse but you made careful enquiries. Perhaps this is where God’s hand makes itself felt; for you became very suspicious why the corpse of your victim was left at your priory gate. Was someone pointing the finger of suspicion? Had your attack on poor Francoise been seen? Was this a reminder? Now, and this is a series of coincidences, on any other day you might have thought it was your brother. One of his subtle tricks to prick your memory. But, that particular morning, it couldn’t have been. He was preparing for his great hunt in which he was later killed.’