Paul Doherty - Prince of Darkness

'The tavern wench also believes the landlord of The Bull is a poacher.'

'So?'

Ranulf grinned.

'She says he met someone from the convent on the night that Lady Eleanor died, and that Father Reynard did go to Godstowe but then disappeared until the next morning.'

Corbett leaned back against the bolster and stared up at the ceiling.

'One person we haven't questioned,' he said, 'is our drunken porter. Perhaps he could shed further light on our mystery?' He looked across at Ranulf. 'Do you wish to carouse late tonight?'

Ranulf nodded, put the wine cup down, took his cloak and went downstairs. He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Corbett begin to play gently on the lute he always carried, a sign his master was content, reflecting on his own secret thoughts and not keeping a wary eye on him. Ranulf, too, was content. The tavern wench seemed a promising young lady and he was making a tidy pile of silver out of selling his exotic cures to the villagers and visitors to The Bull.

Outside it had turned dark and rather cold as Ranulf trotted along, following the curtain wall to the porter's lodge near the gate. He tapped gently on the door which was pulled open by Red Nose. Ranulf peeped over his shoulder. Inside the two guards of the Prince's retinue sat at a table, much the worse for drink. Ranulf saw the dice and smiled.

'Good evening, sirs!' he cried. 'I am bored and cannot sleep.' He jingled the coins in his purse. 'I'd pay for a cup of wine and I have dice, though I would love to know the finer points of the game!'

Both the porter and the guards welcomed him like a long-lost brother. Ranulf slumped on to the bench and pushed across a silver piece.

'My donation for the wine.' He smiled. 'And here are my dice. I bought them in London but my master…'

His voice trailed off as his hosts rushed to reassure him. So Ranulf's 'education' began. He acted the fool, losing at first to whet their appetites, but in an hour emptied his three victims' purses. The guards were so drunk they hardly realised they had been outcheated and slunk off to their pallet beds. The porter, however, had a harder head and Ranulf did not like the suspicious look in his bleary eyes.

'Look, man,' he said, 'I'll divide with you on this. It's only fair. I had beginner's luck!'

The porter stretched out his hand.

'Not now! A little information about the Lady Eleanor's death first.'

The porter drew back his hand and rubbed his mouth with the back of his wrist Ranulf refilled their cups. Outside a wind had sprung up, gently moaning through the trees, carrying the distant shrieks of the night creatures from the dark forest beyond the walls. The thatched roof of the lodge creaked as if mourning over the dreadful secrets of the priory. Ranulf let his own eyes droop. He sighed, rose, and began to scoop his winnings into a small leather purse.

'Wait!' The porter staggered drunkenly to his feet. 'I will tell you my secret. You must come with me!'

Ranulf agreed and, with the inebriated porter on one hand and a lantern horn in the other, went out into the darkness. The door slammed behind them like a thunder clap. Ranulf looked up and groaned. It was obvious a storm was coming in. The clouds were beginning to gather, hiding the hunter's moon, and Ranulf shivered as he heard an owl hoot and the ominous chatter of other night birds. The wind blew in a low hum, making the trees shift and rustle eerily as if there were shadows waiting in the darkness. Ranulf pulled his cloak tighter, stopped, and looked back at Godstowe Priory, a huge pile of masonry dark against the sky. No lights burned now. He let the fresh air clear the wine fumes from his head and, dropping all pretence, began to question the porter on what he had hinted earlier. The fellow fenced for a while but Ranulf persisted. Eventually the porter broke away from him.

'I'm going to tell you,' he slurred drunkenly.

Ranulf allowed the fellow to walk ahead of him, round the priory to the Galilee Gate. For a while the man stood muttering and cursing as he clanked his heavy ring of keys, but at last he found the right one and they stepped on to the moonlit track which ran down like a strip of silver through the overhanging trees. They walked along until suddenly the porter turned, following a track into the thick, dark wood. A lonely place, though the porter caused some light comedy with his staggering and drunken curses, stopping every so often to wave Ranulf on, urging him to hold the lantern horn higher. They must have walked for at least three miles and eventually came out of the wood and on to a pathway which led to a crossroads.

Ranulf lifted the lantern horn and his blood ran cold as he glimpsed a gibbet standing there. On it a body, half- decayed, still turned and twisted in its iron jacket. The porter gestured him over.

'You want to know my secrets?' he slurred.

'Yes,' Ranulf hissed.

'Then swear you will keep them.'

Ranulf raised his right hand.

'No,' the porter growled. 'Here!'

He took Ranulf's hand, led him over to the gibbet and pushed his hand between the iron bars until the tips of his fingers touched the decaying flesh of the hanged man, just above where his heart had been. Ranulf felt his stomach lurch as all the wine he had drunk threatened to spew out The porter, staggering beside him, made the iron gibbet creak and groan until it appeared that all three were partners in a deadly dance. Ranulf was sworn to secrecy, but there was worse to come. The porter pulled out his knife, slashed the corpse, and then gave Ranulf's arm a small nick on the wrist He then forced Ranulf's hand close to that of the corpse. Ranulf felt the wet scaliness against his skin as if some dreadful snake was slithering along his arm. Oblivious to the words he spoke, cursing Corbett and near fainting with terror, he swore he would never divulge the secret in this life or the next Once the macabre masque was over, Ranulf stepped back. His usual good humour had vanished and his hand dropped to the dagger pushed in his belt. The porter stood swaying drunkenly before him.

'Listen, man!' Ranulf snapped. 'I have sworn the oath -now what is it you wish to tell me? What is so dreadful and so secret about the Lady Eleanor's death?'

'I didn't say Lady Eleanor!' he chanted. 'I didn't say Lady Eleanor! I said my secret. You promised to take the oath and divide your winnings with me for a secret!'

He stood still, his drunken face sagging as Ranulf's dagger pricked him under the chin. 'Now, now,' he slurred. 'The secret, you bastard!'

The porter fell to his knees and began to scrabble at the soft soil next to the wooden scaffold pole. Rocks and loose dirt were pulled away and eventually he dragged out a tattered leather bag.

'That's my secret!'

Ranulf knelt beside him, cut open the neck of the bag and shook out the contents into the small pool of lantern light. Nothing much. A collection of thin yellowing bones and a small leather collar.

'What is this?' Ranulf muttered.

'Well, you've heard about the murder?' the porter replied. 'The young man and woman whose naked bodies were found in the marsh? A week afterwards, I was out poaching very near the place and I found the body of a small lap dog. The poor creature had died, probably from neglect, or else pined away for its mistress. Only a lady would have a lap dog. There was no one in the village who would own such a pet and the Lady Prioress is quite strict with her community on that, so I knew it must belong to the young woman who had been murdered.'

The fellow grinned, his yellow stumps of teeth shining garishly in the poor light He pointed to the tattered piece of leather.

'That's the only thing which gave any clue about her.'

'Why didn't you hand it to the Sheriff or the Justices?'

'Because there was a gold clasp on it,' the fellow muttered. I sold it to a tinker. So I thought I'd better bury the poor thing.' He glimpsed the look of anger in Ranulf's eyes. 'Take the collar!' he urged. 'There's a motto inscribed inside. Examine it carefully. Now, that's my secret,' he whined. 'I know nothing about Lady Eleanor. I was drunk as a bishop the night she died. The Lady Prioress had to sober me up to send me to Woodstock. God knows how I got there. I gave the message to some chamberlain and staggered back.'