Paul Doherty: Angel of Death

'Master Corbett, I cannot say it's a pleasure to see you again.'

'Sir Philip,' Corbett replied cheerily. 'I am here on the king's business.' On any other occasion Plumpton would have groaned out loud for he had begun to hate this inquisitive, hard-faced, cat-eyed clerk who would not leave the dead alone and kept coming back to ask questions.

'What is it?' Plumpton snapped.

'On behalf of the king, I would like you and the other four celebrants of the mass officiating when de Montfort died, to join me in the sanctuary.'

'What is this?' Plumpton stepped back, his eyes narrowed in amazement. 'Why don't you leave this terrible business alone?'

'Why not ask the king?' Corbett said. 'You will have the opportunity if you refuse.' Plumpton sighed, and spun on his heel and stomped out.

Corbett stood looking round the sacristy, at the cupboards, the huge leather iron-bound chests, all padlocked, some of them with three, even four clasps; the barrels full of candles of various hues denoting their purity; boxes of sanctuary lights, tapers, casks of incense, nothing of real interest. He walked to where Plumpton had left a huge cupboard unlocked and pulled the door open. Inside were all the vestments the priests used in their services, each arranged in colours denoting the different liturgical seasons of the year. On the far left he saw the chasubles which had been used at that fatal mass and, going deeper into the cupboard, examined each of them minutely. One of them caught his attention and he studied the stain on it. Then, breathing quickly with excitement, Corbett closed the door as he heard footsteps in the passageway outside. Plumpton, accompanied by the other canons, stormed into the room. They were all angry at being called away from their different duties to dance attendance yet again on a common clerk. He could read their minds and knew the rancour they must feel for him. Only Blaskett and de Luce seemed calm.

Corbett waited for a while before speaking.

'Sir Philip, if you would, please.' He stepped aside and Plumpton brushed past him, the others following up the sanctuary steps, until they all stood before the altar. Corbett, who had picked up a plain pewter cup he had seen lying in the sacristy, asked the canons to arrange themselves as they were at the fateful mass, whilst he took the place of de Montfort. Once they had done so, Corbett made them go through the rite of communion. The cup was passed down, first to those on his right, de Eveden and Ettrick, the latter sent it back across the altar to Blaskett, who passed it to de Luce, Plumpton and so back to Corbett. One thing the clerk did notice, Ranulf was right: shielded by the rest, either de Eveden or Plumpton could have administered poison without the others noticing, though there was still the risk of alerting de Montfort. Moreover, if Plumpton or de Eveden was the poisoner, each would have noticed the other. Did the two conspire together? Corbett dismissed the thought as too fanciful, for the two men disliked each other intensely. There was no comradeship there, no feeling of conspiracy. Corbett was about to thank and dismiss them when suddenly a voice called out behind him.

'And the Angel of the Lord came down into the sanctuary and cleansed it with his sword!' Corbett turned and looked towards the anchor house. There in the slit he could see the bright eyes of the hermit glaring out at him. Corbett went down the stairs.

'What is it you want, man of God? Who is God's angel?'

'Why,' the anchorite's voice rang out clear as a bell, 'it is you, God's emissary sent to bring justice, and if not God's at least the king's.'

'Then, if you can see things so clearly,' Corbett said wryly, on the point of spinning on his heel and walking back to join the rest, 'could you not see who actually killed de Montfort?'

'I can see what you have been doing,' the voice replied. 'I have been working on the conundrum facing you.' 'And what is the solution?'

'Quite simple. You are wondering how the others could drink from the chalice after de Montfort, yet they live but he died. Am I not correct?'

Corbett nodded, watching the eyes intently.

'But they have not told you. Ask them.'

'Ask them what?'

'Ask them how many times de Montfort drank from the cup. Remind them of their Canon Law. Before a chalice is given as a symbol of peace, the celebrant always drinks a second time. The first time he drinks at the communion, the second time as the symbol of the kiss of peace. Why not ask them?'

Corbett twisted round and looked up at the canons. They had no need to answer, it was written in all of their faces.

'Sir priests,' he called out. 'It would be best if you waited for me. Perhaps in the sacristy.'

This time they went as dutifully and meekly as lambs.

Corbett moved closer to the anchorite's gap.

'Tell me, man of God, what did you see? Is there anything else I should know? What happened when de Montfort collapsed?'

All he received in reply was a quiet chuckle.

'Tell me,' Corbett insisted.

'I saw nothing,' the anchorite replied slowly. 'When de Montfort fell, so did I, on my knees here in my cell, to pray God would have mercy on his sinful soul. That is all the help I can give. Except one thing. Take care, Master Clerk. These canons wish you dead.'

Corbett, feeling angry and secretly alarmed, mumbled his thanks to the anchorite and strode back into the sacristy. The canons stood there like boys caught in some mischief. None of them would meet his eye.

'So,' Corbett began, 'we have a little mystery here.' He felt beneath his cloak, drew out his sword and held it up by the cross-hilt. 'I swear,' he said, 'unless you tell me the truth, now, about what you saw, felt or heard on that altar when de Montfort died, I swear by Christ's cross, I will see you all in the Tower by sunset!' He glared at each of them, sheathed his sword and leant against the corner of the table, arms folded. Plumpton came forward, licking his lips nervously.

'The anchorite spoke the truth,' he began. 'He must have seen it. One thing an anchorite always demands is a clear view of the altar, in order to see the cross as well as reverence the elevated host and chalice. De Montfort did drink twice from the chalice. You will find that in Canon Law he must.' He looked towards Ettrick. 'De Montfort in fact forgot. It was Sir David here who came across and reminded him.'

'Is that right, Ettrick?' Corbett snapped. The Scotsman nodded.

'I saw the chalice come back. De Montfort was about to turn to take it down the sanctuary steps. I went across and whispered in his ear. To an onlooker it would appear I was helping him in the rite. He raised the chalice, drank from it, the rest you know.'

'Do I?' Corbett said sharply. 'Is there anything else I should know?' No one answered. 'Is there anything else I should know?' he repeated. There was silence.

Corbett looked at Plumpton.

'Well, Sir Philip, there are a few more questions I would like to ask but, before I do that, I would like to remind you, Sir John,' he turned to the librarian, 'that you were the last person to hold the chalice before de Montfort drank from it.'

Sir John's face was a mask of tragedy. 'But that is not fair,' he spluttered. 'That is not fair. Your words are barbs.'

'Once I have solved the mystery,' Corbett replied, 'then these questions will stop. But, Sir Philip, you said de Montfort, like you all, kept the precious plate with which he used to celebrate mass here in the sacristy.'

Plumpton nodded.

'I would like to see it.'

Sir Philip took a bunch of keys from his belt and went to a chest in the far corner. It was made of leather and wood, bound by strips of iron and secured by four locks. Each needed a separate key. Once all the locks had been unclasped, Plumpton pulled back the lid and Corbett had to stifle his cry of astonishment at the gorgeous plate stored there, a treasure hoard even the king would have envied. Jewelled monstrances, golden patens, silver dishes, at least a dozen precious cups. Some were in pouches of red Spanish leather, others in boxes, but most just lay where they had been carelessly tossed. The inside of the trunk was lined with thick samite.