Nightshade (17 page)
Authors: P. C. Doherty
âFriends,' he called out, âwhat business do you have with me? I'm the King's man.'
âWe know that, Sir Hugh, we simply want something from you.'
âThen ask, friends. Why not pull back your hoods, lower your visors, speak like Christian folk. Why do you threaten the King's man on the King's highway? That is treason, punished immediately by death.'
âWe mean you no harm, Sir Hugh. We ask you this: the Sanguis Christi, do you have it on you?'
âDo you think I would wander these lanes with a precious relic belonging to the King in my pouch?' Corbett spread his hands. âSearch me! I have no such item, and before you ask, nor do I have it at Mistleham Manor. You've heard the news. Lord Scrope
is dead, his treasure coffer raided; the Sanguis Christi is missing. I do have a letter from the King expressing his anger at what has happened.'
is dead, his treasure coffer raided; the Sanguis Christi is missing. I do have a letter from the King expressing his anger at what has happened.'
The archer on Corbett's right lowered his bow, as did the one in the centre, but the one on his left still kept aim.
âFriends,' Corbett walked forward, âyou've asked me a question, so I'll ask you one. What is the Sanguis Christi to you, why do you demand it of me?'
He received no reply. The archer to his left still had his bow drawn, arrow notched, the barbed point directed at Corbett's chest. The man in the centre spoke swiftly, some patois Corbett had never heard before. The bow was lowered. The man in the centre was about to walk forward when Corbett heard shouts and yells behind him, and a crossbow bolt came whirring over his head, smacking into a tree. He whirled round. Ranulf and Chanson were hastening towards him, the Clerk of the Green Wax already fitting another bolt into the arbalest. When Corbett glanced back, all three assailants had disappeared. He took off his gloves and wiped the sweat from his face, then stared down at the trackway, trying to control his breathing. His stomach was pitching and he felt as if he wanted to vomit, but by the time Ranulf and Chanson reached him, he'd regained some composure.
âMaster.' Ranulf grasped him by the shoulder and spun him round, then drew him close, his green eyes like those of a cat, cold and hard. âDo not do that again!' he whispered. âFor the love of God, master, have I not told you, you are a King's man! Walking along a lonely country trackway! We are surrounded by enemies on every side and you wander as witless as a pigeon!'
âRanulf is right,' Chanson piped up. âEspecially out here in
the country, master, where all sorts of beasts and dreadful creatures lurk.'
the country, master, where all sorts of beasts and dreadful creatures lurk.'
âShut up!' Ranulf snarled.
Corbett was glad of Chanson's interruption. He winked at the Clerk of the Stables, took away Ranulf's hand and clasped it between his own.
âRanulf, I apologise. I become lost, brooding in my own thoughts. I wandered away. Even before those outlaws stepped out from the thicket, I realised I had done a stupid and dangerous thing.'
âBut they weren't just outlaws, were they?' Ranulf asked.
âNo, they weren't,' Corbett agreed. âThey wanted the Sanguis Christi. God knows who they were. It has opened the possibility that there might be more than one Sagittarius!' He grinned. âNow my two stalwart companions have come to the rescue, what danger can afflict us?'
Corbett kept up the brave front, but as soon as he was back in Mistleham Manor, he excused himself, went up to his chamber and sat on the edge of the bed. Then he moved to a stool in front of the fire, pulling off his gauntlets and his boots, warming his hands and feet, closing his eyes and quietly reciting a prayer of thanks. Ranulf came up with a platter of food and drink. Corbett sipped at the bowl of hot pottage from the kitchens, where they were preparing the funeral feast.
âMaster, I leave you to your thoughts.'
âTo look after the Lady Hawisa?' Corbett spoke over his shoulder.
âMaster, that's my business; your safety is ours and the King's. I beg you not to do that again.'
Corbett gave him assurances and Ranulf left. Corbett sat staring
into the flames, wondering who those three strangers were. He tried to recall every word and gesture. They were not assassins; they truly meant him no harm. They simply wanted something. He wondered what would have happened if Ranulf and Chanson had not emerged. He recalled the wall painting in the church, the carving on that headstone in the cemetery. Slowly, surely, he was gathering the pieces of the mosaic. He must gather some more. He recalled Master Plynton, a wandering artist who visited Leighton manor. Plynton had executed a small mosaic for the village church just near the baptismal font, the head of St Christopher and that of the infant Christ. Corbett had watched fascinated as the skilled craftsman had assembled the coloured stones. Jumbled together they made no sense, but as Plynton put them in place, a beautiful picture began to emerge. This puzzle was similar, though the conclusion would be horrid and dreadful. The face of an assassin, a murderer, who, if Corbett could prove he or she was guilty, must hang.
into the flames, wondering who those three strangers were. He tried to recall every word and gesture. They were not assassins; they truly meant him no harm. They simply wanted something. He wondered what would have happened if Ranulf and Chanson had not emerged. He recalled the wall painting in the church, the carving on that headstone in the cemetery. Slowly, surely, he was gathering the pieces of the mosaic. He must gather some more. He recalled Master Plynton, a wandering artist who visited Leighton manor. Plynton had executed a small mosaic for the village church just near the baptismal font, the head of St Christopher and that of the infant Christ. Corbett had watched fascinated as the skilled craftsman had assembled the coloured stones. Jumbled together they made no sense, but as Plynton put them in place, a beautiful picture began to emerge. This puzzle was similar, though the conclusion would be horrid and dreadful. The face of an assassin, a murderer, who, if Corbett could prove he or she was guilty, must hang.
Corbett heard sounds from downstairs. He sighed, put on his boots, took off his war belt and walked to the door. He would go down, observe the pleasantries, but before the day was out, he must tell Lady Hawisa and all the rest what was planned for the morrow.
Nor would they, without the advice of their ecclesiastical superiors, submit themselves to secular Judges.
Annals of London
, 1304
, 1304
Corbett had his way. The commission of oyer and terminer met just after the Angelus bell the following morning. Corbett took over the great hall, its high table and the dais being transformed into King's Bench. He displayed the royal warrant, the King's seal giving him the power âto act on all matters affecting the Crown'. Across the warrant he laid his sword. Nearby stood a crucifix flanked by two candles. Three high-backed chairs were placed behind the table. On the wall above these Corbett displayed the King's standard, emblazoned with the royal arms, golden lions against a scarlet and blue background. Before the table stood a row of stools. Near the dais was a lectern bearing a Book of the Gospels bound in reddish leather with a gold-embossed cross on its front; those summoned would take the oath on that. The fire had been kindled, candles lit, cresset torches flickered. Physician Ormesby had agreed to be included and was taken up to the chapel to render the oath.
Corbett had announced the sitting during the funeral collation the night before. Lady Hawisa had immediately demurred. All
three priests voiced their clerical status, pleading benefit of clergy, which Dame Marguerite supported, whilst Master Claypole claimed the rights of the town. Corbett swiftly silenced the protests, pointing out how the King wished to establish the truth about so many issues, including the murder of a manor lord, not to mention the theft of royal property, whilst a refusal to cooperate could mean the Court of Chancery might find it difficult to approve Lord Scrope's will. Corbett even hinted that, as in certain cases, such a delay might take years. They all agreed, more or less, the three priests, Brother Gratian particularly, reminding Corbett that they were clerics and could not be tried before a secular court.
three priests voiced their clerical status, pleading benefit of clergy, which Dame Marguerite supported, whilst Master Claypole claimed the rights of the town. Corbett swiftly silenced the protests, pointing out how the King wished to establish the truth about so many issues, including the murder of a manor lord, not to mention the theft of royal property, whilst a refusal to cooperate could mean the Court of Chancery might find it difficult to approve Lord Scrope's will. Corbett even hinted that, as in certain cases, such a delay might take years. They all agreed, more or less, the three priests, Brother Gratian particularly, reminding Corbett that they were clerics and could not be tried before a secular court.
âYou're not being tried,' Corbett retorted, âbut asked the truth about certain questions.'
Father Thomas replied that he had no difficulty with that and the three priests promised to present themselves before the commission when summoned. Corbett also issued warrants under a subpoena to the town hangman, boatman Pennywort and others of Scrope's retinue. He began with these. Pennywort could add little to what he had already said. He took the oath standing at the lectern beside Chanson, then recited what had happened. Corbett thanked him, asked Chanson to return Pennywort's belt then gave the boatman a coin to stand on guard outside the door whilst Chanson secured the inside. The rest of Scrope's retinue could say little about the night their master was murdered. Corbett quickly established how these men had sheltered amongst the trees around their fire. The weather had been freezing cold. They had been reluctant to leave the warmth yet they individually swore that the jetties, the boat and the approaches to the reclusorium
had been carefully watched, and they had seen no one or anything untoward. Verderers and huntsmen were questioned about the Free Brethren practising archery in Mordern woods, but memories were indistinct and no one could say who actually saw what. Corbett then summoned the hangman Ratisbon, a dirty, dishevelled character dressed in faded leather breeches and jerkin over a tattered grimy shirt. His hair was lank and greasy, moustache and beared badly clipped, his face rubbed raw by the wind, his watery blue eyes reluctant to meet Corbett's gaze. He was unable to read, so had to give the oath word by word after Chanson had repeated each one at least twice. He slouched down on the bench, glared at Corbett then looked away.
had been carefully watched, and they had seen no one or anything untoward. Verderers and huntsmen were questioned about the Free Brethren practising archery in Mordern woods, but memories were indistinct and no one could say who actually saw what. Corbett then summoned the hangman Ratisbon, a dirty, dishevelled character dressed in faded leather breeches and jerkin over a tattered grimy shirt. His hair was lank and greasy, moustache and beared badly clipped, his face rubbed raw by the wind, his watery blue eyes reluctant to meet Corbett's gaze. He was unable to read, so had to give the oath word by word after Chanson had repeated each one at least twice. He slouched down on the bench, glared at Corbett then looked away.
âI've done nothing wrong,' he mumbled. âAll I do is the odd job here and there. The mayor pays me to execute felons, so I do.'
âDo you remember John Le Riche, the thief who plundered the King's treasury at Westminster?'
âCourse I do! Hanged him in November I did, a very expert job too, sir. He was on the cart, I pushed him up the ladder. I put the noose around his neck, the knot tied tight behind his left ear. I climbed down the ladder, then turned it. He dangled and kicked as they always do.'
âAre you sure he died?' Ranulf asked.
âAs sure as I am sitting here.'
âHow do you know that?' Ranulf insisted.
âI've seen enough men hang. I know when they are dead. They lose control over bladder and bowels. It's a filthy business. John Le Riche died, his soul has gone to God. When I'm given a job, I do it well.'
âYou collected him from the prison,' Ormesby asked, âon that morning?'
âYes, yes, I did.'
âAnd he was the prisoner Le Riche?' Corbett asked.
âOh, of course.'
âWhat was his disposition?' Corbett asked. âHow was he?' He explained. âLe Riche? Some men protest, others are quiet.'
âWell, I tell you this.' Ratisbon leaned an arm on the table and spoke in a gust of ale-sodden breath. âI like a drink, and so did Le Riche. Master, if he'd drunk any more he'd have fallen down.'
âHe was drunk?' Corbett asked.
âDrunk? He could hardly stand, but I tell you this, drunk or not, he's dead.' Ratisbon could say no more. Corbett thanked him, gave him a few pennies and the man shuffled from the hall.
Lady Hawisa arrived garbed in her widow's weeds. She took the oath, sat down, lifted back her veil and immediately smiled at Ranulf, who became so solicitous Corbett glared at him.
âLady Hawisa,' Corbett began, âI thank you for coming here despite these distressing times. Certain questions must be asked and the King requires answers.'
âSir Hugh, ask your questions.'
âHow long were you married to your husband?'
âAbout eleven years.'
âAnd you had no child?'
âNone whatsoever, Sir Hugh, God's will.'
Corbett studied her pale face, eyes large and dark, lips pressed together. Lady Hawisa had a slightly nervous movement of the head as if the left side of her neck pained her. Despite the circumstances, Corbett decided bluntness was the best path to follow.
âDid you love your husband?'
âNo, I hated him!'
Corbett ignored the gasps and muttering of his two companions.
âWhy did you hate him?'
âHe had a midnight soul, Sir Hugh, dark as the deepest midnight. He was cruel, he was cold.'
âLady Hawisa.' Corbett stooped down for the leather sack under his chair and drew out the cup he'd taken from the death chamber. âYou recognise this cup?'
âOf course I do. I gave it to my husband as a present.'
âIt is fashioned out of elm?' Corbett asked.
âNo, Sir Hugh, I think you know what it's fashioned out of. Yew. I gave it to him as a curse. To bring yew into a house creates ill luck. I hoped ill luck would befall my husband.'
âLady Hawisa, you tend the manor herb garden. It's richly stocked with all kinds of plants, some beneficent, others malevolent, yes?'
Lady Hawisa just stared back.
âAnd in that herb garden you grow belladonna â nightshade?'
âYes.'
âI've been down there.' Corbett leaned forward. âI've looked at a certain plot where the nightshade grows; the soil has been disturbed, a plant has been plucked.'
âIt may well be, Sir Hugh, but I did not do that.'
âYou do know what was found in your husband's chamber?'
âI've heard the rumours: wine tainted with deadly nightshade.' Lady Hawisa glanced quickly at Physician Ormesby. âEnough poison to kill him, but he never drank it and I never put it there! Neither the plucking of the herb nor the poisoning of the wine was my doing. Ask the servants. Lord Scrope took his own wine there.
He chose it himself from his cellar, filled the jug and took it across; he would always sample it. Lord Scrope was a man with many enemies. He feared the past, God knows why; he was most cunning in all his dealings.'
He chose it himself from his cellar, filled the jug and took it across; he would always sample it. Lord Scrope was a man with many enemies. He feared the past, God knows why; he was most cunning in all his dealings.'
âDid your husband know you hated him?'
âMy husband did not care a whit about what I felt, what I thought or what I did. I was a rich heiress, Sir Hugh. I did not marry out of choice. I was a ward of the Crown. My husband married me not because of my fair face but for my rich estates.'
âDid you ever plot to murder your husband?'
âIn my mind, many, many times. Why not? As I've said, he had a soul as black and as deep as midnight. He was not brutal or cruel to me, just cold, dead! He had a heart of stone, no soul. He had no real lusts except for wealth. However, much as I loathed him, I did not kill him. I will not act the hypocrite, Sir Hugh. I will not swear on the Book of the Gospels and say we had a marriage made in heaven. We simply didn't have a marriage. I was a stranger to him, as he was to me.'
âAnd how can you explain the nightshade?'
âI cannot. I had nothing to do with it. Anyone can enter that herb garden. Anyone can pluck a plant.'
âSir Hugh?' Ormesby protested.
Corbett raised a hand. âVery well, and the night your husband was murdered?'
âI was asleep in my bed. My husband had decided to withdraw to the reclusorium.'
âWhy did he do that?'
âTo think, to talk to himself. Yes, I think he conversed with himself as if another person was really with him. I suspect the
conversation was about the past, though he never talked about that to me. As for my movements that night, Sir Hugh, you've seen the lake, for the love of God, yards wide, yards deep; the water is so icy, the very shock of it would kill you.'
conversation was about the past, though he never talked about that to me. As for my movements that night, Sir Hugh, you've seen the lake, for the love of God, yards wide, yards deep; the water is so icy, the very shock of it would kill you.'
âAnd your husband's past, did he ever refer to it, even obliquely?'
âNo, though I suspect it troubled him deeply. He was a knight. He fought in Wales, Scotland and Gascony, then he took the cross. He led a company from Mistleham. Sir Hugh, I swear I know nothing of what happened out there except that Acre fell, and my husband seized a great deal of treasure and brought it back to England.'
âAnd these warnings?'
âI can add nothing to what has already been told you.' Lady Hawisa shook her head. âNothing,' she whispered. âSome hideous legacy, I suppose, from a hideous past.'
âAnd the Free Brethren of the Holy Spirit?'
âAt first Lord Scrope tolerated them; he did so at my request and that of his sister. I was much taken by them, especially the leader, Adam, a merry soul with laughing eyes.' She glanced archly at Corbett. âNo, Sir Hugh, there was no dalliance. I regarded Adam as the brother I would have liked or the son I would have loved.'
âThen your husband changed his attitude?'
âGod knows why. He never discussed the matter with me. I only knew about the massacre after it occurred. I remember him summoning the men in the courtyard below. They were armed, chattering about going out to Mordern to overawe the Free Brethren. As God is my witness I did not think he intended to slay any of them. On reflection it was inevitable; by the Feast of
All Saints Lord Scrope truly hated the Free Brethren. He called them vermin in his barn and wanted to have done with them. My husband,' Lady Hawisa laughed sharply, âkept his word. They were wiped out like you would a nest of rats.'
All Saints Lord Scrope truly hated the Free Brethren. He called them vermin in his barn and wanted to have done with them. My husband,' Lady Hawisa laughed sharply, âkept his word. They were wiped out like you would a nest of rats.'
âAnd Lord Scrope was pleased?'
âLike any farmer who'd cleared his property of a nuisance. He celebrated with Master Claypole and Robert de Scott, a few more cups of wine than usual.'
âAnd Master Le Riche, the thief?'
âAgain, Sir Hugh, I have told you what I know. My husband was summoned to the guildhall, where Le Riche had been seized and detained. I was with him because I wanted to make certain purchases from the market. We entered the guildhall; Le Riche was already bound. He looked a folorn, abject creature. I thought he was inebriated, drunk.'
âYou are sure of that?'
âSir Hugh, I tell what I saw.'
âLady Hawisa, your husband and Master Claypole?' Corbett straightened himself in the chair, ignoring the disapproving looks of both Ranulf and Master Ormesby. âA delicate, sensitive matter â¦'
âNo, a rather feckless matter!' Lady Hawisa retorted. âTrue, now that my husband is dead, the stories about Claypole being his legitimate son could play a prominent part in my life. I've heard all the rumours, but the truth? If Claypole is Lord Scrope's son, then he's a by-blow, illegitimate, with a bar sinister across his arms. He has no more right to these lands than the Great Cham of Tartary.'
Corbett smiled at Lady Hawisa's bluntness.
âIf Master Claypole wants to try his case in the courts, then let him. I shall vigorously challenge any such claims.'
âAnd before your husband died?' Corbett asked. âHe betrayed no anxieties?'
âI did not know my husband's business. He resented you being here and wished you were gone. He bitterly regretted having to hand over the Sanguis Christi. He believed the King had judged him unfairly over his treatment of the Free Brethren, but more than that? Lord Scrope was as much a stranger to me as he was to you. When he spoke it was about minor matters, the care of the manor, what the cooks were doing. He showed more concern for his horse and his dogs than he did for me.' She paused. âOnly one thing, and he mentioned it more as a source of irritation. The day before he died, Lord Scrope asked if I had noticed anything missing from the chapel. I said I hadn't, what was he talking about? But that was his manner. He just glared at me and walked away.'
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