Paul Doherty - Murder Most Holy

‘Norbert.’

‘Yes, we’ll use him.’

The prior agreed and they went back into the main monastery buildings where Anselm sent a servitor with instructions for Norbert to meet them in the library. They found the scriptorium and the library fairly deserted and those few monks working there quietly left at the prior’s request. Brother Norbert, breathless from running, soon joined them. Athelstan took the young lay brother by the arm to the spot where Brother Callixtus had lain and looked up at the shelves towering above them.

‘Norbert, after our business in the chapel is finished, I wish you to begin removing all the books from the three top shelves.’ He pointed to the place. ‘Only these books. I want them moved, if necessary one at a time, to the guest house without anyone seeing you. Do you understand?’

The young lay brother nodded. Athelstan rubbed his hands.

‘Good!’ He looked at his companions. ‘I am sure Brother Norbert can keep a still tongue in his head. Now, come. The others in the chapel must be fretting with impatience.’

Athelstan was right. The rest of the Inner Chapter were sitting in the stalls of the sanctuary grumbling quietly amongst themselves whilst, behind the high altar, a sweating, red-faced lay brother was prising loose the flagstones over the burial vault. Norbert joined in whilst Father Prior made desultory conversation until a sweat-soaked lay brother called out: ‘Father Prior, all is ready!’

Athelstan, Cranston and the rest went round the high altar Roger’s coffin had been moved to the side; the red carpet was rolled up and the flagstones lifted as well as the supporting oak beams beneath so the vault now lay open. Brother Norbert and his companions now took a pair of ladders and gingerly went down into the vault. Father Prior passed a lighted candle.

Cranston looked down and shivered. He could glimpse coffins and realised that the vault was a vast mausoleum. Ropes snaked down.

‘We have found Bruno’s coffin!’ Norbert’s voice sounded hollow, ghostly, as if speaking from an abyss.

They heard a sliding noise, a slight crash and muffled oaths. Norbert and a lay brother re-emerged, throwing up the rope before they climbed back into the sanctuary.

‘Brother Bruno’s coffin now lies directly beneath us.’ Norbert gasped. ‘But we need help. It is very heavy!’

At the prior’s command everyone, Cranston and Athelstan included, began to pull at the ropes. It proved an onerous task for the pinewood coffin weighed like lead.

‘Of course,’ Father Prior gasped, ‘to lower a coffin is easy.’ He smiled thinly. ‘But who’d think we would ever have to raise one?’

All of them pulled at the ropes but the task proved too much and Father Prior reluctantly conceded more help was needed. They paused for a while, letting the ropes down again, and Norbert was despatched to seek further assistance.

‘We might as well.’ Father Prior shrugged. ‘The rest of the community will get to know anyway.’

Norbert returned. Father Prior told the new helpers to keep a still tongue in their heads. This time others went down the ladder into the vault and eventually the great pinewood coffin was raised out of the vault and placed on one side of the sanctuary. Father Prior thanked everyone and dismissed the lay brothers, except for Brother Norbert. Athelstan’s arms and shoulders now ached whilst Cranston’s face was red as a plum, his face and neck soaked in sweat.

‘I could murder a cup of sack,’ he muttered. ‘Hell’s teeth, Athelstan! Brother Bruno seemed more reluctant to leave the grave than to go into it!’

‘There’s a reason for that, Sir John.’

Athelstan, not waiting for Father Prior, went across to the coffin and, having borrowed Cranston’s long stabbing dagger, began to prise the lid loose. A putrid smell of decay began to seep through the sanctuary even as the rest began to grumble at what he did. Father Prior opened his mouth to object but Athelstan defiantly continued, aided and helped by Cranston, who wrapped his cloak round his neck to cover his mouth and nose against the growing stench of decomposition. The chorus of disapproval grew so Cranston, pulling the cloak down, bellowed at them angrily: ‘If you can’t stand the stench, light some bloody incense!’

The prior agreed. Thuribles, charcoal and incense were brought. The charcoal was lit and incense scattered around the red hot coals. At last the coffin lid was loose. Athelstan shoved it away, even as he turned to gag at the dreadful smell which seeped through the incense-filled sanctuary like dirt in clear water.

‘Oh, my God!’ Cranston murmured.

Athelstan, pinching his nostrils, went back and looked over the lid of the coffin.

‘I have seen some terrible sights,’ Cranston declared, ‘but in God’s name. .’

The decomposing body of Brother Bruno lay in a thin gauze sheet but, face down on top, was the gas-filled, rapidly decaying corpse of Brother Alcuin. Despite the stench and the apparent marks of decomposition, Athelstan stretched out his hand and touched the murdered man gently on the back of his head.

‘Oh, sweet Jesus, Mary’s son, have pity on you and may God forgive you all your sins!’

Athelstan stared down at this man he had once known, prayed with, eaten and drunk with, now brutally murdered, his corpse stuffed into a coffin like some filthy rag. He gently half-pushed the body over, trying not to look at the staring eyes and blue-black face, the protuberant swollen tongue. He pulled down the collar of the dead friar’s gown and saw the thin, purplish line of a garrotte.

‘For God’s sake, Father Prior!’ Cranston called out.

Anselm, white-faced, his eyes staring in horror, just stood rooted to the spot. The others, unable to look, had gone back round the altar, except for Brother Norbert.

‘You seem a sturdy fellow,’ Cranston continued. ‘Quick, get a burial sheet and coffin. Go on, man!’

Norbert scurried off and Cranston reasserted himself. He took Athelstan by the arm.

‘Come on, Brother,’ he said gently. ‘Come away. Father Prior needs your help.’

Athelstan tore his eyes from the disfigured corpse and walked over to Anselm.

‘Father Prior,’ he whispered, and grasped Anselm’s hand which felt like ice. ‘Father, come with us.’ He gripped the man by the shoulder and gave him a vigorous shake. ‘There’s nothing we can do here.’

Father Prior allowed himself to be led away like some frightened child. Once he reached the choir stalls, he looked strangely at his companions as the full horror of what he had seen caught up with him. Covering his mouth with his hand, the prior walked quickly down the nave to retch and vomit outside the main door of the church.

Athelstan stood watching the rest: Henry of Winchester sat with his head in his hands; Brothers Niall and Peter, their faces white, crouched whispering to each other; whilst the two Inquisitors sat like men of straw, staring vacantly across the sanctuary. Athelstan forced himself to relax, breathing in deeply, trying to calm his stomach, to curb the urge to scream and yell at the blasphemy he had just seen.

Norbert and others returned with a canvas sheet and a new coffin. Athelstan thanked God for Sir John’s authority as coroner. Brother Norbert wrapped Alcuin’s body in a leather shroud and, cutting some of the rope, sealed the corpse in by binding it tightly and lowering it into the new coffin. Brother Norbert then piled more incense on the burning charcoal until it looked as if some sort of fire raged behind the altar as clouds of fragrant perfume rose to conceal the pervasive stench of corruption.

Athelstan stood, looking down the nave towards the main door where Father Prior huddled, trying to compose himself. Cranston and Norbert left for a while. Athelstan heard them go out of the sacristy door then the coroner returned, Norbert behind him, carrying a tray bearing a large jug of wine and eight cups.