Paul Doherty: Angel of Death

Corbett climbed back to his chamber and poured himself a generous cupful of wine. He sat on the edge of his bed holding the goblet between his hands, now and again taking deep draughts as he tried to control the trembling in his body and calm his churning stomach. He felt he might disgrace himself and vomit due to a mixture of fear and relief at his unexpected deliverance from death. The darkness drew in and Corbett, now fearful of the night, lit the candles. He refilled the goblet and collected his thoughts; the assassin had been sent by someone, undoubtedly one of the priests of St Paul's. Corbett realized he must be close to the solution of the mystery, or else the assassin would never have been sent. Once again he wondered what he had learnt but had so far misunderstood. He looked down at the goblet and swirled the wine around absent-mindedly. Suddenly, like an arrow speeding out of the darkness, Corbett knew what he had missed. He became so excited he refilled his cup, took five or six deep draughts and swirled the lees of the drink around the cup before replenishing it again. He now remembered what he had seen on the high altar the day de Montfort had died and, at the same time, remembered the stain on the cope in the cupboard in the sacristy. He would have liked to have returned to St Paul's but realized that the people he wanted to question had probably left. Moreover, the rapid gulps of wine were making their presence felt. He was tired, sleepy, so he extinguished the candle, bolted the door and sat in the darkness trying to calm the excited beating of his heart.

In St Paul's Sir Philip Plumpton was likewise excited. It had first begun while singing vespers in the choir. He had intoned the responsorial verses along with the other canons, letting his mind drift back to the events earlier in the day. He gazed up into the sanctuary, recalling how he had laid out the chalice, patens, monstrances, cruets and candles for Corbett. He remembered every item and how the altar had looked after de Montfort's death. – That was his job and Sir Philip was proud of how carefully he had replicated matters for that sanctimonious clerk. Even minor details like the cruets. Sir Philip stopped his mindless chanting. No, he had forgotten something. He gasped in surprise. 'No,' he murmured to himself. 'It had been the same as on the morning de Montfort had died but it shouldn't have been. Oh, no!'

Sir Philip's excitement was such that he dropped the book from which he was chanting the responses and, gazing around apologetically, stooped down to pick it up. He continued the divine service but with his mind on the murderer's flawed plan. Had Corbett realized it? And if he told the clerk what would happen?

During the meal in the refectory of the chapter-house Sir Philip's excitement grew so much that he could hardly eat. He was nervous, agitated, refusing food but drinking deeply, so he drew the curious glances of his colleagues though he would not be drawn. He could hardly wait to gabble through compline, not bothering, as was his wont, to stay in the cathedral to pray and reflect on the day's events. Sir Philip was not a bad man but one always in a hurry and that night more than most. Alone in the chamber, still obsessed with his discovery, he heard a knock on the door.

'Come in,' he called and turned back to his desk, pen in hand as he prepared to write his thoughts down on a piece of parchment. If Sir Philip had turned, perhaps he would have lived. However, so immersed was he in his own thoughts that he let the visitor into his chamber – allowing Death to wrap the cord round his neck, pull it dght and, after a few gasping, throttling seconds, Sir Philip's life was extinguished as quickly and as effortlessly as the murderer licked his fingers and doused the candles in the chamber.

Corbett was up early the next morning, the fears, anxieties and tremblings of the previous evening quite gone. The wine had soothed his nerves and Corbett was intent on resolving the mystery of de Montfort's death once and for all. It had hung around his neck like a whetstone and he was angry at how his blindness had kept him caught like some criminal in the stocks. He roused Ranulf and questioned the sleepy servant on what he had done the previous evening, satisfying himself that the ward's watch had been notified of the assassin's death and the body taken away. Corbett then roughly instructed Ranulf to follow him to St Paul's and, ignoring his servant's grumbles and muttered protests about the base ingratitude of certain masters, especially high-ranking clerks from the Chancery, bundled him out of the door. Ranulf protested meekly at the lack of breakfast so they stopped at a baker's stall and bought a fresh, hot loaf, which Corbett thrust into Ranulf's hands, telling him to eat as they walked along.

The morning mist was beginning to lift and a faint sun was already making its presence felt when they entered the deserted courtyard of St Paul's. They found the cathedral locked, but the chapter-house was in uproar.

The Scotsman, Ettrick, solemnly informed them of what had happened. The canons had risen at dawn to sing divine office and heard the terrible news that Sir Philip Plumpton had been brutally murdered, the wire of the garrotte still round his throat. Corbett closed his eyes and murmured a quiet requiem for the fat, rather silly priest's soul, now going to meet its maker. Corbett allowed the Scotsman to take him up to the dead priest's chamber on the second storey of the chapter-house. Corbett gave Plumpton's poor corpse a cursory examination: the priest's eyes were still wide open, little attempt having been made to remove the horror and shock of death. Corbett crossed himself and, turning, asked Ettrick if he could question certain servants. He brushed aside the Scotsman's protests, insisting such an interrogation was essential and should be done immediately. The clerk secretly hoped he was not talking to the murderer but, even if he was, this might only hasten matters and perhaps help flush the assassin out into the open.

The servants named were brought to him and ruthlessly questioned; Corbett took them back to the days after de Montfort's death. Who had approached them? Who had assigned their duties? When he had satisfied himself, Corbett told them to leave the cathedral and not to return for at least four days. He gave the two servants in question three silver coins, to buy their silence and arrange their swift departure from the cathedral precincts. After which, Corbett, with Ranulf in tow, quietly left St Paul's for a nearby tavern. Corbett, armed with sword, dagger and a mail shirt hidden beneath his tunic, was confident that de Montfort's murderer would not try an assassination attempt so soon after the failure of the first. Provided he stayed with the crowd and away from solitary places, Corbett felt safe. In the tavern he surprised Ranulf with his generosity, ordering the best ale and food the place could serve. Once his servant had eaten Corbett asked him to find a young friend, an acquaintance and bring him to the tavern as soon as possible. The servant looked at his strange master and was about to protest, but one look at Corbett's stern face and hard eyes convinced him it would be useless.

The clerk had to wait for at least two hours before

Ranulf returned. The young man he brought was personable enough for Corbett's uses. The fellow introduced himself as Richard Tallis but Corbett, brushing aside his friendly greetings, entrusted him with a message: he was to go to the Cathedral of St Paul's and seek out a certain priest Corbett named and ask if that priest would be kind enough, before vespers, to hear the confession of someone who believed he had committed a terrible sin and wanted to confess it to him alone. Tallis looked surprised and Corbett thought he was about to protest but, after two gold coins had exchanged hands, Richard promised he would do his utmost and, unless Corbett heard to the contrary, everything would happen as arranged.