Paul Doherty: Satan in St Mary

Corbett sat at one table and ordered wine and food from one of the tapsters. He ate his meal slowly while he took in his surroundings. Somehow he was aware that he was recognized, almost expected, and that what he was seeing was a tableau, something staged for his own benefit. After a while Corbett beckoned the huge bald-headed man over to his table. The man saw his gesture but studiously ignored him for a time and then, after biting his nail and spitting into the fire, moved across to him.

"Sir?" The voice was rather high for such a big man.

"My name is Hugh Corbett, clerk in the King's Bench. I am here on the King's business. I have a warrant which proves this and I would like to speak to Mistress Alice atte Bowe. "

His words like stones thrown into a pool spread ripples, circles of silence around the tavern. The conversation dropped to a low hum, the dice rolled, heads did not turn but he was aware of ears straining to hear him. The large man simply looked at him with his small pebble-black eyes and then, beckoning to Corbett, turned and walked to the far end of the tavern. Corbett followed him into a second room at the back which served as a kitchen. A small whitewashed place with a long table covered in pewter and earthenware pots. At the far end was a fire with a roast on a spit and, above it, a row of iron flesh hooks.

The place was clean and smelt of the crushed herbs and spices which were packed in pots on shelves around the room. At the far end of the table, almost unnoticed, was the small, slim figure of a woman studying a piece of parchment. At Corbett's entrance, she looked up and slipped the parchment beneath the table. Corbett had never seen such beauty, a Flemish white-laced head-dress framed a small olive face, large dark eyes, perfectly chiselled nose and lips which would have tempted the holiest hermit. A lock of black hair had escaped from under her head-dress to lie on a perfect cheek. She was small, petite, but the green gown and gold waist belt emphasized, not hid her beautiful body with its swelling breasts and slim waist. Corbett could only stare as the giant introduced him. The woman gazed at him with eyes full of laughter and a smile which showed her perfect teeth as well as her pleasure at meeting him.

"So, Master Corbett, what can we do for you?" The voice was low and surprisingly deep. Corbett thought she was laughing at him and could only stand and shuffle his feet like some country bumpkin. The woman turned to the giant still standing threateningly close to Corbett. "Peter, " she said. "You can go. I do not think that Master Corbett is here to arrest me. I think I am perfectly safe though I suspect that Master Corbett may not feel so secure!"

Her gentle mockery jolted Corbett into some form of self-assurance. "Madam, " he said, "I am here to ask you a few questions. I am here on the King's commission!" He looked at the mocking laughter in her eyes and his voice trailed off into silence.

Alice beckoned to a place near her on one of the benches which ran the length of the huge table. He sat, aware that Peter the giant was being silently dismissed back into the front room of the tavern. Corbett looked at the fine-grained table top. He felt shy and tongue-tied, wanting to gaze again into those wide dark eyes. He was drawn to this woman like a deer, hunted and thirsty, is drawn to a clear babbling spring of water. He heard the retreating giant's footsteps and looked up. Her eyes were not dark, he realized but a deep blue, surrounded by laughter lines.

"Mistress Alice, " he blurted out. "What do you know about the death of Lawrence Duket?"

Alice stared at him, lips pursed deep in thought. "What should I know, Master Clerk?" she replied. "I can guess you know that I knew both Duket and Crepyn. But I had nothing to do with the deaths of either man. "

Corbett could feel the cool, calm superiority of the woman and decided to reassert himself in a mood of official brusqueness. After all, who was this woman but a tavern-keeper? "Mistress Bowe, " he snapped, "common report has it that you were Crepyn's mistress and that the fatal quarrel between him and Duket was caused by you. "

Mistress Bowe simply stared at Corbett, then broke into peals of laughter which burst out like pearls cascading from a chest. "Master Corbett, I was Crepyn's friend but not his mistress and Duket certainly did not like me or any woman. "

Her words jolted Corbett back to reality. He remembered similar words on the lips of Jean Duket. Alice, studiously watching him, seemed to sense his mood and the danger of this inquisitive man breaking free of the spell she had so cleverly spun. She placed one lace-framed hand on Corbett's wrist and only then did he notice that both her hands were covered in soft, fine, black silk gloves. She noticed his curiosity and laughed. "Master Corbett, do not be surprised. I am a lady and these gloves protect my hands. A lady's hands should be as soft and smooth as shot-silk. Should they not?"

Corbett nodded. "Nevertheless Madam, " he replied without thinking, "like the truth they should be seen. " He could feel her hand on his as if it was a hot, glowing coal searing into his flesh. Suddenly, he felt afraid, like a swimmer out of his depth who wanted to give way to a strong current and be carried wherever it wished.

He abruptly removed her hand. "Madam, do you know anything about the deaths of either man?"

She bent her head and smoothed the polished top of the table with her gloved hands. "Of course I did, " she replied in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "Both men supped and drank here many times. I was friendly with both, lover to neither. "

"Why did you say Duket was never attracted to women?" Corbett continued.

She shrugged. "He was like that, " she replied. "He never complimented me, unlike other men, and I never saw him with a woman. "

"Was he a sodomite?" Corbett asked.

"No, Master Corbett. I think not. Why, are you?" The pert question angered him and he felt the blood surge from his heart and the heat enter his cheeks and eyes.

"Madam, " he snapped. "You forget yourself!"

"Sir, " she replied, her eyes now bright and brittle with temper. "You come into my house and suggest that I am a whore, the mistress of one man and the possible cause of the death of two. It is you, sir, who forget yourself!"

Corbett rose, the bench falling behind him with a crash. "Madam, " he bowed and turned to go but she too rose, her eyes now pleading, a soft hand on his arm.

"Master Clerk, " she said softly. "I am sorry!"

Corbett turned to pick up the fallen bench, he stumbled, hit his back on the table and almost fell. He turned, face flushed, and noticed she was now stifling the laughter. He grinned, shuffled his feet, picked up the bench and sat down again. The giant, Peter, reappeared, drawn by the crash of the bench and the raised voices, but Alice dismissed him with a wave of her gloved hand and, touching Corbett lightly on the shoulder, moved to another part of the kitchen and brought back two brimming goblets of wine. "The best Bordeaux, " she said. "Please. Drink. I'm sorry I offended you. "

Corbett toasted her with his cup and drank slowly. The wine was good, its sweetness filling his mouth and throat while he listened to her speak. She described her marriage, widowhood, the management of the tavern and the nature of her relationship with the two dead men. "I knew both men, " she repeated, "but only because they came here. "

"Jean Duket called you a whore and Crepyn's mistress, " Corbett replied. "Why?"

She grinned. "Jean was a stupid, malicious woman with a tongue like the clapper of a bell. She can say what she likes but her words are the fruit of anger and envy. "

"Do you know why Crepyn and Duket argued?" Corbett enquired.

"No, I do not. "

"Or why Duket should commit suicide?"