Paul Doherty - Prince of Darkness

'Aye, a fine lady even though she was a whore.'

The priest gazed about, his eyes narrowing when he saw Dame Frances standing with Ranulf at the top of the path.

'A place of evil,' he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, 'make no mistake of that, Clerk. Satan walks and devours souls whose bodies will bum in his belly for all eternity.'

'And the Lady Eleanor?'

'A poor blighted toy of princes. Now she is dead, Christ have mercy on her soul!'

'How do you think she died?'

'By her own hand, of course!'

The friar wiped his own and continued speaking.

'The dark forces present here may have unsettled her mind.' He gestured towards the far convent wall and a polished plinth of stone which rose five feet from the ground.' Look at that, Clerk – the sign of Priapus. They say in ancient times it was a shrine, an altar to some ancient, bloody-mouthed god.'

Corbett followed his gaze. The stone was polished smooth and glinted in the sunlight. He smiled to himself. There was no mistaking its shape and he wondered how the nuns could allow such a pagan object within their grounds. He looked back at the friar.

'You still haven't told me, Father, what you were doing in the death house?'

'Praying, man. I was praying for Christ to have mercy on the souls of those two unfortunate women. As I will pray for you.' He looked darkly at the clerk. 'Believe me, before you have finished here, you may have need of my prayers!'

Corbett rejoined Ranulf and Dame Agatha.

'So you met Father Reynard?' she said. 'A good man though rather extreme. I suppose he ranted about our plinth?'

Corbett nodded.

'The sisters regard it as nothing more than a piece of harmless magic but, like all men, Father Reynard thinks women are feckless creatures, easily swayed by a piece of rock.'

'Where's Dame Frances gone?' Corbett asked more abruptly than he intended.

The young nun smiled mischievously.

'She said she had better things to do than dance from one foot to another waiting for clerks.' She became more serious. 'The Sub-prioress means no harm. She has invited you to stay and has gone to prepare a guest chamber. You will stay, won't you?'

Corbett looked at Ranulf.

'Talking of dancing from one foot to another, Ranulf, if you go back round the convent building, over near the stables, you will find the necessary house.'

His servant flushed with embarrassment.

'I thought you had never been to Godstowe before, Master?'

I hadn't but, as we entered, I noticed a groom hurrying in that direction and, a short while later, emerge with a look of relief on his face. So go! After that, see to our baggage.'

He waited until Ranulf was out of earshot

'Dame Agatha,' he said, 'I do not wish to stand on my authority but I would like to question the other nun, Dame Elizabeth.' He pointed back to the death house. I have just seen the corpse of her friend.'

'Of course.' Dame Agatha smiled. I am sure the Lady Prioress would agree.'

She led him back round past the Prioress' lodgings to the front of the main convent budding, up the broad steps and into the hall – a large, forbidding place dominated by the great wooden staircase with dark-shadowed recesses on either side.

'The Lady Eleanor died here,' Dame Agatha murmured, pointing to a spot at the foot of the stairs.

'How was she found?' Corbett asked. 'I mean, the position of her body?'

I don't really know. The Lady Prioress discovered her and sent Dame Catherine to get me from the refectory. When I arrived Lady Eleanor's corpse had been arranged more decently.'

'What did you think when you first saw it?'

I thought she had fainted.'

Corbett noticed the young nun look away, raising her white, lace-edged cuff to her eyes. The clerk placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

I am sorry,' he murmured. 'If I could only help…'

Dame Agatha turned, her eyes like two dark butterflies swooping up to meet his. She murmured her thanks and, raising the hem of her gown, led Corbett upstairs, allowing him full view of her seductive, swaying hips and elegant, trim ankles. She turned left at the top of the stairs, entering a long sombre gallery, and stopped at a huge metal-studded door on the right.

'Dame Elizabeth!' she called, knocking urgently. 'You have a visitor, a Master Corbett.'

'Come in, come in.'

The voice was strident and harsh. Dame Agatha pushed open the door and Corbett walked into a spacious but gloomy chamber, lit only by the weak sunlight filtering through the mullion glass window on the far side which overlooked the priory grounds. Corbett could hear the faint sounds of the community; labourers returning from the fields and gardens, the neigh of horses from the stables and the chatter of nuns as they took advantage of the sunlight before Plain-song.

The room was luxuriously furnished and, though the weather was still warm, charcoal braziers full of spluttering coals had been wheeled in. Around the walls stood cupboards openly displaying silver and gold filigreed goblets and plates. Corbett thanked God that Ranulf wasn't here: his servant's fingers would have positively itched at being close to so much wealth. A press for clothes stood in one corner, its cunningly devised doors half-open to reveal gowns, cloaks, and other garments, indicating Dame Elizabeth was a woman dedicated as much to this world as she was to the next In the other corner stood a bed, a huge four-poster, its fur-edged curtains pulled back to show a carved headrest large white bolsters and a tawny and silver bedspread. Corbett had heard of the luxury of some religious houses but never witnessed it first hand. So intent was he upon assessing the wealth of the room that the clerk failed to see the diminutive figure sitting in a coffer seat next to one of the braziers.

'Sir, who are you?' The small, white, podgy face under its brown head-dress was both angry and alarmed.

Corbett walked across and stared down at Dame Elizabeth. She glared back, her tiny eyes like two black currants in a plate of dough, her face tight and sour as if she perpetually smelt something offensive. Corbett smiled, and in a dazzling show of courtesy gave a bow which would have been the envy of the most professional courtier.

'Madam,' he began softly, 'the chamber, your august self… unless I'd known differently, I would have thought myself in the presence of the Queen.'

Dame Elizabeth positively beamed with pleasure, putting down her piece of embroidery and gesturing Corbett to sit on a small quilted footstool beside her. In the face of such flattery, Dame Elizabeth was as pliable as a piece of soft clay in Corbett's hands. The clerk sketched the barest details of his life, lying that a distant relative always spoke so highly of Godstowe and was considering applying to the Prioress for admission. Dame Elizabeth, in truth an old and garrulous woman, drank this in like a thirsty man would the purest water. They conversed about the past, Corbett's nimble wits leading the conversation in the direction he wanted.

Naturally, Dame Elizabeth was interested above all in her health, with a litany of her aches and pains as long as a psalm, so they discussed the different elixirs: how the blood of a horse mixed with weasel hair was a sure cure for the rheum, and that elk's hoof, if obtainable, could cure the most severe agues. At last Corbett steered the conversation on to the fate of the Lady Eleanor. Dame Elizabeth pursed her lips as if she was the fount of all knowledge and gradually divulged her self-important view.

'Oh, yes,' she exclaimed. 'The Lady Eleanor had been so ill with an inflammation of the chest that the Lord Edward had sent her special powders.'

'Rumour has it,' Corbett interrupted, 'these powders were poisons.'