Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

She lowered her head. “No, no,” she whispered.

“Can you hear what Gervase is saying?” said Ralph. “Your chalice was the property of Guy FitzCorbucion. That links this priory very clearly with his murder.”

“No, my lord!” she protested, rising to her feet with her eyes blazing. “You are wrong!”

“Tell us why,” said Gervase quietly.

“I am unjustly accused here!”

“Defend yourself, my lady prioress. We will listen.”

She glanced at the door then wrung her hands for a few moments before returning to her seat. When she had composed herself again, she looked from one to the other.

“I did not go to Barking Abbey with Sister Tecla,” she said. “I returned with her, as you saw, but I travelled alone with my escort. The purpose of my visit was to collect her.”

Gervase was perplexed. “How long had she been there?” “Some weeks.”

“For what reason?”

Mindred bit her lip. “Spiritual recuperation.” “What is that in layman’s terms?” said Ralph.

“Sister Tecla had been unwell,” explained the other. “It began as a physical illness but it took on serious emotional and spiritual connotations. She sank rapidly. She began to lose her faith. I was too inexperienced to handle something of this magnitude and sought help from our motherhouse. Abbess Aelfgiva interceded personally. Sister Tecla was sent to Barking Abbey for the care and sustenance that only they could offer. When she was sufficiently recovered, I travelled there myself to bring her home.”

“With that chalice in your pouch?” said Gervase. “Yes,” she confessed.

“Why?”

“It had immense significance for Sister Tecla,” she said softly, “though I still do not fully appreciate why. She brought it here as part of her dowry. It was a most welcome gift. She begged me to let her clean and polish it each day so that she could handle it. Abbess Aelfgiva wrote to tell me that Sister Tecla had pined for that chalice and that her mind would be more fitted to return here if I took it to Barking Abbey with me.” A smile of almost maternal fondness played around her lips. “When I gave it to her, she was like a child with a doll. It was touching.”

“What of those men who ambushed you?” said Ralph. “They were trying to steal it.”

“To take back to Blackwater Hall?”

“I do not know, my lord,” she said. “I give you my word that I had no idea that it had been stolen from there. Sister Tecla assured me it had been in her family for many years.”

“A Norman chalice in a Saxon household?”

“Strange things sometimes appear in strange places,” she said. “You asked me why Oslac the Priest has a sword in his house. It is indeed an unusual item for him to have but it is not as sinister as you imply.”

“Where did he get the weapon?” said Gervase. “I gave it to him.”

“You?”

“It belonged to my husband,” she said, straightening her back and tilting her chin. “Before the Conquest, he owned half of this town. That sword was used in battle.” She lapsed back into a more modest posture. “Father Oslac was kind and helpful to me. Without him, I would never have been able to found this priory. That sword was a gift of thanks. It was one of my husband’s proudest possessions but it had no place in a convent. Father Oslac deserved it. He is a priest but he still has something of a warrior spirit.”

Gervase felt abashed. Theories that had seemed quite sound when he and Ralph had discussed them earlier now began to fall apart, and he was reminded with an uncomfortable lurch that their case rested on the word of Tovild the Haunted. What if they had got the wrong solution to the riddle? Or the right solution and the wrong magpie? The prioress had been evasive but with good reason. The nun who she was accompanying back to Maldon had been through some kind of personal crisis and needed to be kept away from any form of disturbance. Prioress Mindred and Sister Tecla were miles away from the

town when the murder was committed but the chalice did in some way connect them to it. Gervase pinned everything on that detail.

“Before she took the veil,” he said, “did Sister Tecla live in Maldon?”

“No, she came from Woodham. Not far south of here.” “Did she have any connection with Blackwater Hall?” “I do not believe so.”

“Think hard, please.”

“She never mentioned it to me.”

“Yet that chalice came from the hall,” said Gervase. “How do you suppose it got into Sister Tecla’s hands?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did she deliberately mislead you?”

“I intend to question her about that.” “Could she have stolen it herself?”

“No!” denied the prioress. “Sister Tecla has suffered much but she

is not capable of theft. If she said that the chalice was hers, she must have believed that it was. She is young and very fragile. Her mind has been disturbed. You must make allowances.”

“We cannot excuse theft,” said Ralph. “Especially when such a valuable item is involved. I think we had better take a look at this chalice once more, if you please?”

“That is no possible, my lord.” “Why not?”

“Until yesterday, I did not know it had belonged to Blackwater Hall. We used it in good faith to celebrate Mass. There has been no deception on my part because I was myself deceived. I swear that, on the grave of the holy St. Oswald!”

“How did you learn that the cup might be stolen?”

“From my lord, the sheriff,” she explained. “He paid us a courtesy visit yesterday evening and happened to mention that a chalice was missing from the manor house. I did not at first link it with ours- why should I? — but the very possibility kept me awake last night. This is a religious house and we will not harbour stolen goods.”

“So where is the chalice now?” asked Gervase. “On its way to Blackwater Hall.”

“You sent it back?”

“Naturally,” she said, and a note of vindication came into her voice. “You were unjust in your suspicions of us. We are holy sisters who serve God to the best of our poor abilities. We are prone to human frailty but we are not criminals, and we resent being regarded as such.” She rose to her feet with dignity to signal their departure. “I bid you good day, sirs. Look elsewhere for your thief and your murderer. You will find none here.”

Oslac the Priest tethered his horse in the courtyard and ascended the steps at Blackwater Hall. He knocked on the door and was admitted by a servant. Hamo FitzCorbucion was summoned from his chamber. He was puzzled to see the priest and even more mystified when the visitor handed him an object, which was wrapped in fine linen.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“Something that you will be pleased to see, my lord.” “The head of that boy, Wistan?”

“No,” said Oslac. “It is a missing heirloom, I believe.” “The chalice!”

Hamo tore off the linen and held up the object with delight. He scrutinised it carefully to make sure that it had not been damaged in any way. The chalice was clearly very dear to him. It had belonged to his wife who had herself inherited it from her own mother before passing it on to her eldest child. Thrilled to have it back, Hamo was also anxious to punish the thief who took it away in the first place.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“It was left on the doorstep of the church, my lord.” “By whom?”

“I have no idea,” said Oslac. “But I heard that a cup of this description was missing from Blackwater Hall and so I brought it to you immediately.”

“You did well. I am very grateful.” “It is a beautiful chalice.”

“My wife bequeathed it to Guy.”

“Who will inherit it now?” wondered the priest.