Nightshade (22 page)
Authors: P. C. Doherty
The Templar on his left gazed longingly over his shoulder at the weapons.
âPlease,' Corbett murmured, âdon't do anything foolish. The tavern master and those below, though they dislike me, know I'm a King's man. If I shout, “Harrow, harrow” and raise the hue and
cry, what will happen then? What are you going to do, sirs, fight your way out? Kill the King's envoy? Look, I have no quarrel with you. You can go on your way as long as you are out of Mistleham by this evening, but first I want information. You are Templars?'
cry, what will happen then? What are you going to do, sirs, fight your way out? Kill the King's envoy? Look, I have no quarrel with you. You can go on your way as long as you are out of Mistleham by this evening, but first I want information. You are Templars?'
The man in the centre glanced quickly at his companions and his face creased into a half-smile.
âYes, Sir Hugh, we are Templars. I am Jean La Marche, formerly of Dijon, now working for the New Temple in London; these are my two squires, Raoul and Everard. We are here on the orders of our master to recover what is rightful Temple property: the Sanguis Christi and other treasures looted from our treasury at Acre by Lord Scrope. He is now dead; whoever killed him probably has the Sanguis Christi.'
âAh,' Corbett smiled, âso you've changed your position from when we met last. You thought I had it. Of course, Brother Gratian has now told you different. Lord Scrope is dead and the Sanguis Christi is missing. He communicated with you by inserting a small scroll in one of the loaves he distributed, or even slipping it directly into your hand. You must be well advised about what occurs in Mistleham.'
The Templar stared bleakly back.
âWhat happened in Acre?' Corbett asked. âDo you know?'
The Templar shook his head.
âAre you sure?' Corbett insisted.
âNone of us were there,' La Marche replied. âAll we know is that our brothers held out to the end; our stronghold was the last to fall. They surrendered, but when the Saracens began to ill treat the women and boys, the Templars attacked them with their bare hands. The Saracens retaliated by slaying all our brothers.
Acre is a matter of history, Sir Hugh. One day we shall return, but in the meantime, we look for what is ours.'
Acre is a matter of history, Sir Hugh. One day we shall return, but in the meantime, we look for what is ours.'
âAnd why Gratian?'
âAsk him yourself.'
Corbett shook his head. âThat is why I am visiting you here. You can answer my questions now and I will let you go, or I'll arrest you. I will either take you to Mistleham or send you under armed guard to Westminster for questioning by the King's justices, so I ask you again, why Gratian?'
âHe is a Dominican now,' La Marche declared, âbut in 1291, the year Acre fell, he was one of us.'
âA Templar?' Corbett exclaimed.
âA novice,' La Marche replied, âa squire; he hadn't yet taken his full vows. After Acre fell, Gratian returned to England, where he decided to change his vocation and enter the Dominican order.'
âAh, I see.' Corbett nodded. âOf course, that is logical. Scrope wanted his own confessor, someone who was with him at Acre, so he asks the minister general of Dominicans for Brother Gratian, who perhaps knows all about his past. Now, sirs,' Corbett rose to his feet and stared down, âthere will be no more Mary loaves for you. I want you out of Mistleham before darkness, and you are never to return.'
âAnd the Sanguis Christi?' La Marche demanded. âWhere is it?'
âI don't know,' Corbett replied, âbut when I find it, I will return it to its rightful owner, the King. If your master then wishes to do business with my lord, that is a matter for him. Gentlemen, I bid you adieu.'
Corbett slowly backed out of the chamber, Ranulf following. They went down the stairs to the tap room. The taverner came
bustling over to solicit custom, but Ranulf raised his hand and followed Corbett out into the marketplace.
bustling over to solicit custom, but Ranulf raised his hand and followed Corbett out into the marketplace.
âThey may know more, master.'
âI don't think so.' Corbett peered up at the sky. âThey are just envoys, sent into Mistleham to collect something. Brother Gratian was to deliver it to them at the appropriate time.'
âBut I thought Lord Scrope said that Brother Gratian would take it back to London himself?'
âOh, I am sure he would,' Corbett smiled, âand on the way he would have been robbed by those gentlemen upstairs. He would return to London acting none the wiser and the King would have to accept what he said. Now, Ranulf, tell Chanson to bring our horses. It is time we returned to Mistleham. I am beginning to wonder. But first I want to question both Master Claypole and Brother Gratian.'
âYou are not concerned about the Templars?'
Corbett shook his head. âThey are soldiers, cooped up in that little garret, obliged to wear filthy rags and eat rancid food. They have been sent here by the Temple to collect something. They have failed; that is why they accosted me on the trackway. They were desperate. They came here in the hope that Gratian would hand over the Sanguis Christi. They must have been curious to hear that Lord Scrope was murdered and the Sanguis Christi had disappeared. Hence their attack. I'm sure their master in London will not be pleased when they report back to him though they'll be only too happy to leave such fetid lodgings.'
âThey did accost you, the King's man.'
âAs I said, they were desperate. What can we do, Ranulf, arrest them? They'll also claim benefit of clergy. No, as long as they are
gone by dusk, they do not concern me. Scrope is dead; there'll be no more warnings sent to him by Brother Gratian. Our Dominican friend has a great deal to account for.'
gone by dusk, they do not concern me. Scrope is dead; there'll be no more warnings sent to him by Brother Gratian. Our Dominican friend has a great deal to account for.'
They mounted their horses and were halfway across the square when Corbett heard his name being called. Pennywort came hurrying across, gesticulating with his hand.
âSir Hugh, Sir Hugh!'
Corbett reined in.
Pennywort grasped the reins, fighting for breath.
âA message from Dame Marguerite, delivered at Mistleham by a servant whom Lady Hawisa sent back. Dame Marguerite says the Sagittarius has visited St Frideswide's. She begs you to come, at least to comfort her. Lady Hawisa has sent me to direct you. Sir Hugh?'
Corbett closed his eyes and sighed. âVery well.'
Pennywort raced before them like a greyhound. They crossed the market square through the huddle of houses leaning over them and out on to the pathway that wound through ice-bound fields to the convent of St Frideswide. Every so often Pennywort would hurry back to explain where they were going. After a short ride they turned into a narrow trackway bordered on either side by thick clumps of trees. Pennywort told them that they were now on the convent estates, fields that Lord Scrope had granted to St Frideswide during his sister's abbacy. They rounded a bend and sighted the high grey-stone curtain wall, above which rose the red-slate roofs of St Frideswide. A lay sister let them through a postern gate into the convent grounds. Corbett was surprised at how grand the convent was, with its granges, outhouses, stables, guest halls, lodgings, refectory, infirmary, butteries and kitchens,
and, at the heart of it all, an impressive church with a high bell tower. They passed this going into the stable yard, where smells of every sort wafted across from the wash tubs, kitchens, gardens and spicery. Nuns and lay sisters garbed in black or grey pattered about on their business. A bell tinkled clearly while the music of a flute carried hauntingly across the convent grounds.
and, at the heart of it all, an impressive church with a high bell tower. They passed this going into the stable yard, where smells of every sort wafted across from the wash tubs, kitchens, gardens and spicery. Nuns and lay sisters garbed in black or grey pattered about on their business. A bell tinkled clearly while the music of a flute carried hauntingly across the convent grounds.
They stabled their horses and entered the guest hall, to be met by a very important-looking nun who greeted them loudly, announcing that she was Dame Edith, the prioress. She spoke so clearly, Corbett suspected she was half deaf. He glared a warning at Ranulf and Chanson not to laugh as they followed the prioress across the peaceful cloisters into the convent church, where, Dame Edith trumpeted, the lady abbess awaited them.
The inside of the church was full of the most fragrant incense, which curled around the statues, the beamed roof and the gilded cornices. A serene house of prayer, the floor of the long nave was a gleaming path of black and white lozenge-shaped tiles. Gorgeous tapestries hung between the pillars, which swept up to a brilliantly painted rood screen and the polished choir stalls beyond. Candles glowed around statues and from side chapels. Dame Edith took them along one of the shadowy transepts. Corbett paused before a wall plaque above a brilliantly hued tapestry. The plaque was carved out of Purbeck marble; the lettering under the crowned stag proclaimed the achievements of Gaston de Bearn and asked all those who passed to pray for this â
Miles Christi, fidelis usque ad mortem
â Soldier of Christ, faithful until death'. The memorial was similar to the ones in the manor chapel and St Alphege's, but larger and more exquisitely rendered.
Miles Christi, fidelis usque ad mortem
â Soldier of Christ, faithful until death'. The memorial was similar to the ones in the manor chapel and St Alphege's, but larger and more exquisitely rendered.
âBeautiful,' Dame Edith remarked. âWe always pray for Gaston's soul, and see here, Sir Hugh.' She led them further along to where flagstones had been raised and a deep pit dug. âLady Abbess plans to erect a memorial to her family. Even more so now that â¦' The prioress abruptly remembered herself and led them along the transept before turning right into a small chantry chapel with an altar beneath a statue of St Frideswide. The chapel floor was covered in pure wool rugs, well warmed by braziers and lighted by a beautiful stained-glass window. Dame Marguerite and Master Benedict sat on a bench, ave beads wrapped round their fingers, heads close, whispering to each other. On the floor beside them lay an arrow and a scrap of parchment. The pair drew apart as Corbett entered. The abbess looked frightened, slightly red-faced. Master Benedict acted distinctly uneasy.
Dame Marguerite made to rise, but Corbett gestured at her to remain seated. He pulled across a small stool and sat before her. âI have been confessing my sins to Master Benedict.' Dame Marguerite smiled through her tears. âI am, Sir Hugh,
in periculo mortis
, in danger of death, just like our beloved patroness.' She pointed at the painted window that described St Frideswide's flight from her royal would-be husband: the saint sheltering in a convent at Oxford, and God protecting her by striking the pursuing king blind.
in periculo mortis
, in danger of death, just like our beloved patroness.' She pointed at the painted window that described St Frideswide's flight from her royal would-be husband: the saint sheltering in a convent at Oxford, and God protecting her by striking the pursuing king blind.
âMy lady.' Corbett gestured at the arrow and picked up the scrap of parchment, a coarse yellow, the inscription on it clearly written. âThe Mills of the Temple of God,' he murmured, âmay grind exceedingly slow.' He glanced up. âThe same message sent to Lord Scrope.'
Master Benedict hurriedly cleared his throat. âWe were here
in the church,' he stammered, âwhen Dame Edith brought in both shaft and parchment.'
in the church,' he stammered, âwhen Dame Edith brought in both shaft and parchment.'
âPinned to the kitchen gate it was,' Dame Edith sniffed, mouth all prim. âOne of the gardeners bringing in the produce saw it there, an arrow from hell!'
âDoes the Sagittarius wish my death?' Dame Marguerite moaned. âOh, Sir Hugh, I'm so frightened.'
Corbett glanced at Master Benedict, who just shook his head, then at Dame Edith. The prioress stared boldly back.
âDame Marguerite,' Corbett asked, âdo you have any suspicions about the perpetrator?'
âYes,' she stammered. âClaypole! He knows I hate him. I detest his arrogant claims. Now my brother is dead, he dreams of being lord of Mistleham. I have reflected,' she whispered. âClaypole profits much. Sir Hugh, he owns tenements over the market square, he is skilled in archery. Moreover, like my brother, his reputed father, he is a man of blood.'
âSir Hugh,' Master Benedict raised his hand, âare you close to trapping this killer?'
Corbett stared at this soft-faced cleric crouching like a frightened rabbit. âThe solution,' he replied slowly, âis not here or in Mordern, but in Mistleham.'
âWhat shall we do?' the chaplain bleated.
âArrest Claypole!' Dame Marguerite snapped.
âBut Lord Scrope's death has not advanced his claim,' Corbett replied. âThe blood registers are missing.'
âAre they, Sir Hugh?' Dame Marguerite nodded.âOr has Claypole had them all the time, biding his moment. But to repeat Master Benedict's question, what shall we do?'
âBe careful.' Corbett picked up the arrow. âI shall keep this and the parchment, my lady.' He bowed to the abbess, thanked Master Benedict and allowed Dame Edith to escort them back to the stables, where Chanson and Pennywort were waiting. Once clear of the convent buildings, Ranulf urged his horse alongside that of Corbett.
âMaster,' he asked, âdo you suspect anyone?'
âYes, Ranulf, I do, but only thinly, a few pieces collected together. This is going to be difficult. Not a matter of logic or evidence; more cunning. You see, Ranulf, the Sagittarius, the killer, the murderer, the Nightshade â whatever hellish name he likes to call himself â prowls Mistleham. He has two lives: openly respectable, but secretly he is an assassin. However, I suggest that he cannot continue this for ever. Sooner or later he must disappear.'
âIn other words, the fox has invaded the hen coop?' Ranulf asked. âAnd he is going to find it rather difficult to leave.'
âCorrect,' Corbett declared. âSo, Ranulf, we must concentrate on that.'
Once back in his chamber at Mistleham, Corbett sent Ranulf and Chanson together with Pennywort to collect Brother Gratian and Master Claypole for further questioning. He then sought an urgent meeting with Lady Hawisa and explained that, once again, he must use the hall as a place to interrogate certain witnesses. She heard him out and nodded.
Other books
Enemies: A History of the FBI by Tim Weiner
Betrayal of Cupids by Sophia Kenzie
The Seduction of Lady X by London, Julia
The Messiah Secret by James Becker
Waking Storms by Sarah Porter
The Secret Diary of Ashley Juergens by Juergens, Ashley; Turk, Kelley : Turk, Courtney
Hers by Dawn Robertson
The Healing by Jonathan Odell
To Serve Is Divine by R. E. Hargrave
Jimmy Stone's Ghost Town by Scott Neumyer