Paul Doherty - The Devil's Hunt

‘But why does he claim to live at Sparrow Hall?’ Ranulf asked.

Corbett rocked backwards and forwards on his stool.

‘Yes, that does puzzle me. Why mention Sparrow Hall at all? Why not the church of St Michael’s, or St Mary’s or even the Bocardo gaol?’

‘There’s the curse?’ Ranulf offered. ‘Maybe the Bellman knows of this? He not only wishes to taunt the King but also the memory of Sir Henry Braose who founded Sparrow Hall.’

‘I would accept that,’ Corbett replied. ‘There is a bravado behind these proclamations, as well as a subtle wit. The Bellman might truly be from elsewhere but he hopes the King will lash out and punish Sparrow Hall. Yet-’ he scratched his head ‘- we do suspect the Bellman is at Sparrow Hall, what with Copsale dying mysteriously in his bed; Ascham in his library; Passerel poisoned in St Michael’s church and Langton’s death last night.’

‘Yes,’ Ranulf added. ‘Langton’s murder seems to prove the assassin lurks in Sparrow Hall.’

‘Let’s move on,’ Corbett replied. ‘We have the Bellman posting his proclamations. He does so in the dead of night. Now, who could flit like a bat through the streets?’

‘At Sparrow Hall?’ Ranulf replied. ‘All the Masters, including Norreys, are strong-bodied men. Lady Mathilda, however, has no reason to hate the Hall her brother founded. I can’t see her hobbling through the streets of Oxford at night, her arms full of proclamations.’

‘There’s Master Moth!’ Corbett replied.

‘He’s witless,’ Ranulf replied. ‘A deaf mute, who can neither read nor write. I noticed that in the library last night. He picked up a book and was looking at it upside down.’ He grinned. ‘Can you imagine him, Master, going through the streets of Oxford in the pitch dark, posting the Bellman’s proclamations upside down?’

‘Of course,’ Corbett added, ‘there’s also our scholars, led by the redoubtable David Ap Thomas. You challenged him last night?’

‘No, Master, I frightened him. But I did notice something: Ap Thomas was wearing his boots, as were his companions, and all had wet streaks of grass clinging to their footwear and clothing. Moreover, Ap Thomas wore a charm or amulet round his neck, as did some of his companions: circles of metal with a cross in the centre, surmounted by a cheap piece of glass in the shape of an eye.’

‘A wheel cross,’ Corbett explained. ‘I saw them in Wales. They are worn by those who believe in the old religion, who hark back to the glorious days of the Druids.’

‘Who?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Pagan priests,’ Corbett explained. ‘The Roman historian, Tacitus, mentions them when writing of Anglesey: they worshipped gods who lived in oak trees by hanging sacrificial victims from the branches.’

‘Like the heads of our beggars?’

‘Possibly,’ Corbett replied. ‘There’s Godric’s wild ravings about fires and garishly dressed people practising rites in the woods. But is that our Bellman?’ Corbett shrugged. ‘Let us keep to our hypothesis. Who is the Bellman and how does he act?’ He drew a deep breath. ‘We know Ascham was close to the truth. He was searching for something in that library but he betrayed himself to the Bellman. Ergo -’ Corbett tapped the quill against his cheek. ‘Ascham was an old and venerable man. He was not used to going to the schools or wandering around Oxford so he must have voiced his suspicions to someone at Sparrow Hall.’ Corbett rose, walked over and looked out of the window. ‘I think we can rest assured,’ he declared, ‘that the Bellman lives in Sparrow Hall or the hostelry across the lane.’

‘But what was Ascham looking for?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Again that proves the conclusion we have reached,’ Corbett replied. ‘Apparently Ascham had a book out on the table but this was later returned to the shelves: an easy enough task for someone at the Hall. However, let’s move on. Ascham was shot by a crossbow bolt, fired by an assassin who persuaded him to open the library window. The Bellman then tossed in his contemptuous note. Ascham, knowing he was dying, grasps it and begins to write what appears to be Passerel’s name in his own blood. Now, why should he do that?’

‘I know.’ Ranulf sprang to his feet, clapping his hands with excitement. ‘Master, how do we know Ascham wrote those letters? How do we know that the assassin didn’t climb through the window, take Ascham’s finger, dip it into his own blood and scrawl those letters to incriminate Passerel?’

Corbett returned to sit at the table. He wafted at the flies which were hovering above the stains in the wood grain.

‘I hadn’t thought of that, Ranulf,’ he declared. ‘It’s possible; but let’s continue. Passerel is depicted as Ascham’s murderer and he, in turn, flees the college only to be later murdered at St Michael’s. But why was Passerel killed?’ he asked. ‘Why not leave him as he was depicted, the possible murderer? Unless, of course,’ Corbett concluded; ‘Passerel might reflect on what his good friend Ascham had told him.’ He paused and glanced up. ‘Do you know something, Ranulf? When we return to Sparrow Hall I must do two things. Firstly, I want to look through Passerel’s and Ascham’s possessions, particularly their papers.’ Corbett began to write.

‘And secondly?’ Ranulf asked hopefully.

‘I want to ask our good physician, Master Aylric Churchley, if he keeps poisons? Copsale was probably poisoned and we know Passerel and Langton certainly were. Now such potions are expensive to buy; moreover, some apothecary or leech would certainly recall anyone asking to buy them…’

‘But would Churchley have some?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Yes, and I suspect the poisons used were from his stock. Anyway, to conclude-’ Corbett sighed. ‘We know the Bellman is at Sparrow Hall or the hostelry. We are not too sure about his motives, except for his deep hatred for the King and the Hall itself. We know the Bellman is a skilled clerk, able to move round Oxford in the dead of night. A ruthless murderer who has already killed four men in order to conceal his identity…’

‘Master?’

Corbett glanced at Ranulf.

‘If, as you say, the Bellman hates the King and Sparrow Hall, then that places me, and certainly you, in grave danger. Can you imagine what would happen if Sir Hugh Corbett, the King’s principal clerk, friend and companion, was found poisoned or with his throat cut in some Oxford alleyway, with a proclamation from the Bellman pinned to his corpse?’

Corbett didn’t flinch but Ranulf saw the colour fade from his face.

‘I am sorry, Master, but if we are going to put up hypotheses then I am going to study mine very carefully. If Sir Hugh Corbett is hurt or killed, the King’s wrath would know no bounds. That sullen bastard at the castle would soon find the King shaking him by the collar whilst the Royal Justices would be in Sparrow Hall as quick as an arrow, expelling the community, sealing its rooms and confiscating possessions.’

Corbett smiled thinly. ‘You put a very high price on my head, Ranulf.’

‘No, Master. I am a rogue, a street fighter, and, whoever he is, the Bellman is no different: he will reach the same conclusion as I have, if he hasn’t already.’

‘Then we should be careful.’

‘Aye, Master, we should. No more food or wine in Sparrow Hall. No wandering the streets of Oxford at night.’

‘That is going to be hard!’

Corbett returned to his writing, listing quickly the conclusions he had reached, his pen skimming over the smooth vellum he had taken from his chancery bag. He put the quill down.

‘And now to our final problem,’ he declared. ‘Every so often, the headless corpse of a beggar is found in the fields outside Oxford, the head tied by its hair to the branches of some nearby tree. We know that beggars are chosen as victims because they are lonely and vulnerable. In a sense, no one will miss them. However-’ Corbett ticked the points off on his finger. ‘Firstly, why aren’t the corpses found within the city walls? Secondly, according to Bullock there’s been very little sign of violence around where the severed corpses were found. Thirdly, why are they always found near some trackway? And finally, why are they never found along the same road but at different places around the outskirts of the city?’