Paul Doherty: Prince of Darkness

'Her corpse lies in the death house,' she replied quietly. 'The mortuary near the church. Dame Frances, Sister Agatha, take our guest across.'

Behind Corbett, Ranulf sighed with relief. He had acted just in time and two of the silver figurines were now carefully hidden beneath his jerkin. He trailed behind his master as Corbett, nodding politely to the Lady Prioress, followed Dame Frances and Sister Agatha out of the chamber. They walked out into the blinding sunlight, Ranulf kicking the hard turf, Frances and Agatha moving softly and silently as shadows.

The nuns led the two men round beautiful, sandstone buildings, across the grass, up to the church, and behind that to the small, red-brick death house which stood near the wall at the end of a dusty path.

Now and again Corbett stopped to ask Dame Frances some questions about Godstowe. She would politely mumble a reply and try to move on but the clerk stood his ground, idly making conversation as he gazed around. Priory servants scurried past and nearby some lay sisters were busy hoeing the garden beds, purifying the dark soil round the rose bushes and the neat, square herb plots.

Corbett breathed in deeply, relaxing in the warmth of the sunshine, half-listening to the wood pigeons cooing in the forest. Behind him, under the eaves of the church, the swallows chattered musically against the walls. Dame Frances, however, proved to be equally contained and stood her ground, quite prepared to answer anything he asked. All the time she watched the silent Dame Agatha. Corbett caught a warning look in the old woman's eyes, indicating the young nun should say nothing or offer any information beyond what politeness demanded. Corbett looked up once more at the blue sky and took two steps closer to Dame Frances.

'That was a pack of lies, wasn't it?' he asked abruptly. 'Back there. Something's wrong. What is it, woman?' He ignored Dame Agatha's gasp, quietly enjoying Dame Frances' flustered air at such an abrupt challenge. 'I am the King's Justiciar in these matters. Lady Eleanor did not fall, did she?'

Dame Frances stepped back, her face sour as a dried fig, eyelids fluttering as she gathered her wits.

'Perhaps you are right, sir,' she muttered. I believe the Lady Eleanor may have committed suicide. The Prioress is trying to hide that Something was preying on Lady Eleanor's mind, but Lady Amelia will not accept it was suicide. She might be held responsible. Moreover,' she muttered, 'the Lady Eleanor… you know what could happen if suicide was proved?'

Corbett just gazed stonily back.

Dame Frances' voice rose. 'The Lady Eleanor would be denied burial in hallowed ground. Do you want that, Clerk? Her body tossed in some shallow grave at the crossroads with a stake driven through her heart so her poor soul will never rest? That's what church law decrees!'

Corbett pointed down the path.

'And that is the death house?'

'Yes,' she snapped. 'Do what you have to do.'

Corbett told Ranulf to stay and went down and opened the unlocked door. Inside it was cool, moist, reeking of the soil and something more corrupt. The clerk closed the door behind him. He felt the menace of death pressing against his own spirit. He jumped as a bat, startled by the noise, spread its dark wings above the rafters and screeched in annoyance. One small window high in the wall afforded some light. Curiously enough two candles had been lit, slender beeswax ones, and placed at the head of the two plain elm-wood coffins, each resting on its own trestles. Corbett went over to the nearest, lifted the gauze veil and stepped back at the sight of the wrinkled old face which stared up at him. The eyes were half-open, the lips parted, showing a red-black mouth. In the flickering candlelight it looked as if the old woman lying there was on the point of rising. Corbett remembered the Prioress telling him about the old nun who had died early that morning. He took a deep breath, replaced the veil and moved across to the other coffin

As was customary, the lid had not yet been put in place; this would be done just before the funeral service. The veil had already been drawn back and Corbett caught his breath at the ice-cold beauty of the young woman lying there. She had Maeve's silvery-gold hair and flawless features. Corbett reflected that, as Lady Eleanor had been dead for six days, the priory must have spared no expense in hiring the best embalmers to preserve her body for burial. He said a short prayer to the Madonna, hoping the dead woman's shade would accept he meant no blasphemy. He pulled the veil further down, picked up the candle and examined the dead woman's throat At the base of the throat on each side, was a small yellow bruise. Corbett then removed the veil completely and almost screamed with terror as a voice suddenly boomed out

'Man, what are you doing?'

Corbett turned. At the foot of the coffin, a friar, who had been kneeling there all of the time, was now standing, his hands clenched tightly on the rim of Lady Eleanor's coffin. The friar's face, a mask of anger, looked ghastly in the flickering light His head was tonsured, his eyes deep-set under furrowed brows. His mouth and chin were fixed in a determined expression. He glared at Corbett

I asked, man, what you were doing?'

Corbett's hand went to the knife as the priest came round me coffin.

'Leave your dagger alone!' he rasped. 'Or I'll give you a rap across the head you'll never forget'

Corbett kept his hand on the knife hilt

I am on the King's business here. My name is Hugh Corbett.'

I couldn't give a devil's fart who you are and why you are here!' The friar pointed down to the corpse. 'A whore she may have been, and her sins as scarlet as those of the Great Whore of Babylon, but you'll treat her with respect.'

The friar paused as Corbett drew his knife. Behind them the door was flung open and a breathless Ranulf burst into the room.

'Rest easy, Ranulf!' Corbett shouted as the friar spun round. 'Father and I have business here.'

His man reluctantly closed the door.

'Father,' Corbett continued quietly, I mean no disrespect. I am here on official business to examine the corpse. Who are you?'

The friar drew a deep breath,

'Father Reynard, parson of the local church, and by episcopal authority, Chaplain to this benighted place.' He nodded, his eyes never leaving Corbett I suppose you had better finish.'

Corbett returned to the head of the coffin and lifted the veil, pulling it down again, paying special notice to the bruises on either side of the woman's neck. He noticed the marks on the finger of the right hand where a ring had been pulled off. He went to the bottom of the casket, lifted the veil there and pushed back the dark gown in which the corpse had been dressed, noticing the yellowing bruise on the right leg mid-way up the calf. Behind Corbett the friar breathed heavily. The clerk, as tactfully as possible, examined the rest of the body and, for the first time, despite the oils and unguents of the embalmers, caught a whiff of corruption. The clerk softly said the Requiem and moved back to the corpse of the old nun He stood looking down, the friar still watching, before carefully replacing the veil and walking wordlessly to the door. Behind him the friar snuffed the candles and followed him out. Despite the golden sunshine, Corbett felt a cold shiver run down his spine at what he had seen.

'Aye, it's the Valley of Death,' Father Reynard intoned, watching him intently.

Corbett stared at him. Reynard did not look so fierce now. Of medium height, he gave an impression of strength, as if drawn from oak and the dark rich soil. A man of the Commons, blunt and honest in speech and action His face was ascetic, though Corbett noted the humour lines which offset the fanaticism in the brooding eyes.

'You knew the Lady Eleanor?' Corbett asked.