Paul Doherty: Satan in St Mary

Bellet had certainly written but not spiritual aphorisms or moral axioms. There were pages of closely written Norman French or dog Latin which refuted the existence of Christ, alongside spells and incantations, as well as drawings of a man with a goat's head sitting on an altar dripping with blood under which there was an inverted cross. Another drawing showed a church full of people with the empty vacuous faces of sheep, all turned attentively towards a figure in priest's garb but with the fierce head and slavering jaws of a wolf.

The last drawing, which Corbett judged as most recent, was completely different. It showed a tower, square-shaped and on its turreted top was an archer, bow in hand, the arrow was in the air, directed along a road or pathway, on which there was a man seated on a horse with a crown on his head. The drawing was crude, almost child-like, yet it had a vigour and realism of its own. Underneath were the words Hac Die libertas nostra de arcibus veniat. Corbett translated it aloud. "On that day our freedom comes from the bows". He studied the drawing and the words. He remembered the riddle of the dead squire, Savel, about a bow which cannot be bent being more dangerous than one that could for it included all weapons.

The image of the freshly turned graves in the nearby cemetery became clear in his mind and, almost shouting out loud, he turned and scrambled down the ladder, the bible still in his hand which he thrust into the hands of the astonished Ranulf.

"Quick, " he urged. "Take this to the Chancellor! Tell him to study the drawings at the back, particularly the last one. Tell him to stop the King coming in from Woodstock and order a search in all the fresh graves here at Saint Mary Le Bow!" Corbett made Ranulf repeat the message until he had it perfect by rote and dismissed him.

Corbett calmed himself and, after looking around the house, left, making his way across the muddy yard to the church. The main door was unlocked and he cautiously opened it and went in. He stood just inside, breathing deeply, while listening with all his being for strange or threatening sounds, trying to feel the atmosphere and determine if there was danger. Satisfied that there was none, but still shaken by the attack he had just survived, Corbett walked up the nave of the church and sat in the Blessed Chair. He looked down into the shadows of the entrance, realizing that this must have been about the same time of day that Duket had fled to the church. Once again he probed at the question of how the assassins had got into the church, murdered Duket and then escaped without notice.

He sat, continuing to look down the nave, when suddenly the solution to the problem just seemed to present itself. It was so simple, so obvious he just started to laugh, the echoes pealing around the deserted church. Of course, it was so apparent, so clear, its very simplicity showed the cunning and brilliance behind it. He remembered the voice of his old 'Dominus', Father Benedict, telling him that there was a solution to every problem. "It's just a matter of perspective, my dear boy, " he used to boom out. "Just a matter of perspective. " Well he had the right perspective, now it was a matter of finding who the real murderers were. The shadowy figures behind the Pentangle.

Corbett got up, walked down the church and went outside into the early spring sunlight. He felt pleased and, almost without noticing, found himself making his way to see Alice. The tavern was deserted so he quietly walked across the main room and pulled open the door to the kitchen. Alice, her back to him, was talking to Peter the Giant, his great bulk towering above her as she softly explained something to him. Corbett called her name and she spun round. The blood drained from her shocked face but then she gave an exclamation of joy and ran towards him, flinging her arms around his neck, hugging and kissing him. She grabbed his heavy brooch-clasped cloak and unfastened it while she told him to sit and sent Peter for food and drink.

"You are pleased to see me?" Corbett asked dryly.

Alice kissed him again full on the lips. "Of course!" she pouted. "Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

He told her a tale of being involved in the King's business, of the obstacles he faced and the little progress he was making. He did not tell her of the attacks on him or how he had moved to the security of the Tower. He did not wish to alarm her, for the fewer people who knew what was going on the better. Moreover, there was something about The Mitre, about the morose giant, Peter, he did not like, a feeling of unease, something he could not express and it troubled him.

Corbett asked Alice what she had been doing but she simply shrugged. "Nothing really, " she replied. "I manage the inn, or I try to. The King is due to enter the city very soon and we must prepare for the celebrations. There are pirates in the channel raiding our ships. " She smiled at him. "Nothing out of the ordinary, unlike you clerks with your important secret business!"

They sat and teased each other. Corbett ached with a need to gather her in his arms and take her upstairs, anywhere they could be alone, but he knew she would refuse and the presence of the surly Peter dampened his ardour. Instead Corbett made her promise that she would wait for him on the following evening, made his fond farewells and left the tavern, his thick cloak slung over his arm for the weather had turned warm and, if attacked, he would be more free to defend himself and use it as a shield.

When he arrived back in the Tower, he found Ranulf waiting for him, sprawled on his narrow cot. "Yes, " he answered Corbett wearily. "I went to Westminster and managed to see Burnell, though that fat pompous Hubert, " he added bitterly, "tried to stop me. So, I just stayed outside the Chancellor's chamber shouting your name and that of the King. It worked. Burnell sent for me. He looked at the bible and the drawings you told me to point out, especially the last one. " Ranulf paused to sniff and wipe his nose on the sleeve of his jerkin before continuing: "The Chancellor took one look at the last picture and jumped to his feet, yelling for clerks and messengers and demanding that the stables prepare the fleetest horses. He glared at me and I thought I was for the hangman but then he dismissed me with this simple message for you. 'Tell Corbett that I want names. ' That's all. " Ranulf concluded. Corbett nodded, kicked his boots off and lay on his own cot to ease the bruised aching of his body. Names! The Chancellor wanted names. Corbett could tell why Duket was murdered and how, but who? Apart from the apostate priest, and he was dead, he had no names.

Corbett shivered and pulled his cloak firmly over him, the metal brooch clasp hit him on the mouth and he sat up to arrange the cloak better. He looked closer at the brooch, drawing at the threads caught there until they lay in the palm of his hand. So tiny, so light, and so insignificant. Yet Corbett felt the sword pierce his soul and could almost taste the rank metal at the back of his throat. A series of images formed in his mind, clearing the doubts and troubles which had festered there, as when boils or buboes burst, the agony was intense. He felt a pain in his chest as if a mailed fist was clenching his heart while the blood pounded and roared in his ears like breaking surf. He lay down on his cot, his fists now tightly clenched while he tried to restore order to the chaos crashing about him. Ranulf came up to him, anxious and concerned. "Was there anything wrong? Could he fetch some wine?" Corbett drove him off with a mouthful of foul abuse and Ranulf, seeing Corbett's white face and wild staring eyes, simply slunk from the room like a beaten dog. Neville came in an hour or so later but Corbett just stared and waved him away. Ranulf did not sleep there that night, as he preferred the relative safety and security of the guardroom to the company of his apparently demented master.