Corpse Candle

Chapter 14

‘Did Abbot Stephen tell you what he planned?’

‘No,’ Perditus seemed not to be concentrating. ‘No, not really. On one occasion he claimed the best solution was the Roman way. I didn’t truly understand what he meant. Afterwards I realised he had taken his own life: that was the only logical explanation.’

‘How did you discover you were Abbot Stephen’s son?

‘I was born and raised in Germany,’ Perditus declared. ‘For many years I believed the man and woman who raised me were my natural parents. They treated me kindly enough but there was always a distance between me and them. I didn’t want to be a merchant but a soldier. My foster father died when I was still young, and his wife later fell ill. On her deathbed she told me some of the truth: that my parents were English born, and my real mother was of noble birth.’ He shrugged. ‘But that was all. Abbot Stephen later confessed that, as he grew older, the thought of me haunted him. He often led embassies to the courts of Northern Europe and, as you know, he built up a wide circle of friends, who could advise and help him. Four years ago the Archbishop of Mainz asked to see me. He had Abbot Stephen waiting in the chamber. The Archbishop left us alone, and Abbot Stephen went down on his knees.’ Perditus’s voice grew thick with emotion. ‘He knelt like a penitent, hands joined before him. He confessed that he was my natural father, that he and my mother had travelled from England and given me away as a foster child.’

‘Did you believe him?’

‘At first I was dumbfounded yet I knew he spoke the truth. On one matter he was resolved. He would tell me very little about my true mother. He simply gave her name as Heloise and claimed she died shortly after my birth.’

‘Did you follow Abbot Stephen back to England?’

The chamber was now hushed. Archdeacon Wallasby and the monks sat like scholars in a schoolroom listening to one of their colleagues make a full confession of every offence he’d committed.

‘No, not at first. I cursed him. I nearly lashed out with my boot as he just knelt there, tears streaming down his cheeks. He said he loved me, that he’d paid for his sins, that he’d do anything in atonement. He was so calm, so full of remorse: it wasn’t easy for him. That same evening we dined alone in one of the city taverns. Despite my anger,’ Perditus half smiled, ‘I was much taken by Abbot Stephen. I considered him a genuinely holy man, a scholar. When I heard about his exploits as a warrior my heart glowed with pride. Abbot Stephen told me he would accept whatever I did; he said I could even travel to London and denounce him from St Paul’s Cross. He left for England. I waited a year before I followed, not for revenge or for justice — I just wanted to be with him. He welcomed me with open arms. I became a lay brother, and I took the name Perditus.’

‘Ah yes,’ Corbett interrupted. ‘I thought so. Perditus is Latin for “that which is lost”.’

‘Abbot Stephen laughed when I made my choice. I tell you this, clerk, despite the shaven heads around us, those years with my true father were the happiest of my life. Publicly I acted as his manservant, but in private we were truly father and son. He told me all about the marshes, the legends of Mandeville and how, as an impetuous young man he used to go out and blow his hunting horn.’

‘And so you did likewise?’

‘Yes.’ Perditus half laughed as if enjoying himself. ‘I never told Abbot Stephen but I think he suspected. I was so happy. I would have remained happy.’ Perditus’s face turned ugly. ‘Perhaps one day I would have been told the truth about my mother if it hadn’t been for that damnable Bloody Meadow and the greed of these monks! On spring and summer evenings, Abbot Stephen and I would often go out there to walk and talk. We thought we were safe. One night we heard the Judas Gate clatter and I knew we were being spied on.’

‘You hastened back,’ Corbett demanded. ‘You may be monkish in your studies and your singing but you are still an athletic young man.’

‘I climbed the wall, reached the Abbot’s lodgings and was there when our prying Prior came slithering along. The threats began soon afterwards. When Abbot Stephen took his own life, I hid my sorrow and turned to vengeance.’

‘To murder!’

‘No, clerk, I meted out justice. If I had my way I’d have burnt this abbey to the ground, not left one stone upon another. Gildas was first: a monk more at home in his workshop than his choir stall. I brained him, hid his body and, after dark, dragged it out and placed it on the burial mound as a warning to the rest. I went out onto the marshes. My father had hunted demons, but I called upon these same demons to help me.’

‘Why did you kill Taverner?’ Ranulf interrupted.

‘You heard him confess his subterfuge, didn’t you?’ Corbett said.

‘But I thought Perditus was helping Chanson in the library?’ Ranulf declared.

‘No, no, he was eavesdropping.’ Corbett winked at his henchman. ‘After Taverner confessed his trickery, Perditus, frightened of being caught, hastened back. He met Chanson coming from the library.’ Corbett glanced at his groom. ‘He offered to help you, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’ The groom, in a reverie of astonishment at Corbett’s blatant lie, nodded quickly.

‘That’s the truth,’ Perditus remarked. ‘Why should that trickster escape? He planned to make a mockery of my father. Abbot Stephen had been so excited about his case. I took the fat Archdeacon’s bow and arrows from his quiver. This abbey is like a rabbit warren. Taverner came slipping through the morning mist and took an arrow straight through his heart.’

‘And then you branded him?’ Corbett demanded.

‘I wanted to put the fear of God into those mean-minded monks. I fashioned a branding iron. Gildas was the first and, when I was ready, I placed the same brand, the devil’s mark, on Taverner and Hamo. I was so excited about the sub-Prior’s death. I went into the kitchen with some powder from the infirmarian’s chest. I chose a tankard and slipped it in. It was like playing Hazard. I didn’t mind which one of these cowards drank the poison. All I knew was that one of them would die.’ Perditus shook his fist in Cuthbert’s direction. ‘I just hoped it wasn’t you. I wanted to save you to the last. I wanted you to experience the same fears and terrors my father did.’

‘And the librarian, Brother Francis?’ Corbett reminded him.

‘Ah, he was different. In a way I felt sorry for him. He was a member of the Concilium and had always been kind to me but he was dangerous. The day he died I went down into the library. I wondered if, perhaps, amongst the books Abbot Stephen borrowed, I might find further clues to my past. Brother Francis took me aside. He told me that he had been reflecting upon Abbot Stephen’s death. He wondered if it was suicide and claimed that Abbot Stephen must have had some great secret which perhaps could explain both his death and the bloody murders which followed. He questioned me closely. “Come on, Brother.” he urged. “You were not only Abbot Stephen’s manservant but also his friend.” I could see he was suspicious. I told him that I knew nothing, that I couldn’t help him. He still claimed the truth lay somewhere in that library.’

‘It was,’ Corbett interrupted. ‘I discovered a love poem that your father wrote as a farewell when he first entered the abbey.’

‘Did you?’ Perditus was now like a little boy. ‘Can I see it?’

‘Brother Francis?’ Corbett demanded.

‘Oh yes. He was kindly and studious but very much a busybody. I decided he should die quickly. He thought he was safe in the library but, during the day, I had loosened the shutter covering one of the arrow slit windows. That night, while the other monks were stuffing their faces, I took my bow and arrows and went towards the library. I rattled the shutter, removed it and strung my arrow. For a bowman, it was an easy target as Brother Francis had the light behind him. The rest you know.’ He grinned. ‘My eyesight’s better than I pretend.’

‘Didn’t you care?’ Brother Dunstan snarled.

‘Of course I cared, about my father. I would have taken you as well, you fat, lecherous monk! My father suspected your visits to the Lantern-in-the-Woods were not just on abbey business. Every day you should slump on your fat knees and thank God you are safe.’

Corbett glanced warningly at Ranulf. Perditus was enjoying himself. He hated these monks so much, he loved the taunting and the jibes describing how clever he was and the vengeance he had planned. But what would happen when it was all finished?

‘And the cat?’ Ranulf called out.

‘Oh, that was to emphasise the parallels with the Mandeville story,’ Perditus had now forgotten Dunstan. ‘I was sorry for the poor creature, but I had to test the powders I had taken from Aelfric. The cat died very quickly, and then I cut its throat, put it into a sack, with a hook tied to one of its legs by a piece of twine. The abbey church is full of shadows. I bided my time, slipped through the sacristry door and hung the cat up in the twinkling of an eye.’ He clapped his hands suddenly, making the monks jump. ‘You were all frightened, weren’t you?’

‘And the fire arrows?’

‘Again they came from the Mandeville story. I had to keep these monks on their toes. It was easy: a dish of burning charcoal and arrows dipped in tarred pitch. I slipped through the postern gate, knowing I would not be seen in the dead of night. I didn’t want anyone to forget. I didn’t want anyone to relax and think it was finished.’

‘That’s why you trapped us in the cellar, wasn’t it?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Yes,’ Perditus glanced sadly back. ‘I did warn you.’

‘Yes, you did,’ Corbett agreed. ‘You jammed the door to the Abbot’s lodgings that night. By the time I’d freed the wood and, as a new arrival at St Martin’s, found my way, you had left by a window. You were waiting for me behind that grille?’

‘I could tell, even then, you’d find the truth,’ Perditus sighed. ‘I didn’t really want to kill you but you moved fast, like a greyhound searching out its quarry, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.’

‘You could have killed us in the cellar?’

‘True and the King’s anger would have blazed out against the Abbey of St Martin’s,’ Perditus smiled at Prior Cuthbert. ‘It will never be the same now. Corbett is going to report to the King. Oh, our prince will keep it secret, to protect my father’s name and that of Lady Margaret!’ He smirked. ‘However, I don’t think he’ll forget you, Prior Cuthbert! Your ambition to succeed as Abbot will never be realised.’

‘At least I’ll be alive!’

‘Stop it!’ Corbett interrupted. ‘You were frightened that we would discover the truth, Perditus.’

‘It was only a matter of time.’

‘But the fire?’ Richard the almoner spoke up. ‘I understand that when the fire broke out in the store room, Perditus was here, suffering from injuries.’

‘That was another defence.’ Corbett leaned forward. ‘Perditus had been a soldier and was used to knocks and bruises, so it wasn’t difficult to inflict them on himself. He’s also skilled in starting slow fires. I’ve seen the King’s men do the same: they take a long piece of heavy cloth and twist it into a rope. They smear it with tar and pitch, place one end in the building about to be destroyed, in a bucket of oil or something dry and combustible.’ Corbett paused. ‘You did inflict those cuts and bruises on yourself?’

‘A small price,’ Perditus retorted. ‘It gave me more time.’

‘Cuts and minor bruises,’ Corbett observed. ‘You then lit your oil-soaked rope and came hastening to me. I saw where you had practised,’ Corbett continued, ‘amongst the oak trees which ring Bloody Meadow.’

‘I had to make sure it would work,’ Perditus observed. ‘Do you know what I really planned? The death of every monk in this room.’ He pointed at the almoner. ‘You would not have escaped if it hadn’t been for that damnable vase! Oh, how I would have danced to view your corpse and this entire place in flames.’

‘You are mad,’ Cuthbert declared. ‘Wicked, steeped in sin.’

‘We truly are brothers in arms,’ Perditus jibed. ‘Given enough time I would have taken all your lives.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Snuffed them out like candle wicks!’

‘You really do believe you are lord of life and death?’ Corbett remarked. He noticed how Wallasby was sitting quiet and composed, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

‘What do you mean?’ Perditus stamped his foot: that gesture alone warned Corbett. He was no longer dealing with a sane man. Perditus really saw himself as the Vengeance of God.

‘Do you consider yourself the reincarnation of Mandeville’s ghost?’ Corbett tried to keep the taunt out of his voice. ‘That you have become the lord of life and death in the Abbey of St Martin’s?’

Perditus looked puzzled.

‘You brand your victims,’ Corbett explained, ‘like a farmer would his cattle, marking his possessions — even dead they had to bear your imprint.’

‘Of course!’

‘Let us return to Taverner’s death,’ Corbett mused. ‘Why should you kill a man whom your father cherished and protected? A man who was going to help him in his study of demonology and provide the proof Abbot Stephen needed that an exorcism, a true exorcism, could take place?’

‘Taverner was a trickster. As you said, I eavesdropped on your conversation and overheard what he said. Taverner was a liar.’

‘But that’s not quite true, is it?’ Corbett declared. ‘This morning, after my return from Harcourt Manor, I visited Taverner’s chamber. I went inside, closed the door and stood where I had when I questioned the cunning man. Ranulf stayed outside. The doors and walls of this abbey are very thick. Ranulf could hear nothing, not even a murmur. If you had overheard Taverner, you would’ve rejoiced at what he said: the Cunning Man was not going to betray Abbot Stephen, he was going to help him.’

‘What are you saying?’ Prior Cuthbert demanded.

Corbett turned to Wallasby.

‘You really did hate Abbot Stephen, didn’t you?’

The Archdeacon swallowed hard, his smug smile had disappeared.

‘You were going to destroy him,’ Corbett continued, ‘and Taverner was your weapon. Perditus tried to eavesdrop on Taverner’s confession but couldn’t hear anything, whereas you, of course, knew the truth. Your treacherous plot had collapsed and Abbot Stephen was dead. You knew that, as a royal clerk, I would be reporting my findings to the King who would not be best pleased to learn that the Archdeacon of St Paul’s was involved in such trickery. But the only proof I had was Taverner.’

The Archdeacon scraped back his stool. Perditus, as if he was an accomplice, stretched out his hand, forcing him to stay still.

‘You’d sown the tempest,’ Corbett declared, ‘and now you had to reap the whirlwind. Instead of Abbot Stephen facing disgrace and humiliation, it was the turn of Adrian Wallasby, Archdeacon of St Paul’s.’

‘I didn’t. .’

‘Oh, yes, you did,’ Corbett interrupted. ‘Taverner was a very dangerous man to you. He had been looking forward to a life of leisure at the Abbey of St Martin’s until his protector, Abbot Stephen, died. He could blackmail you. In fact, I suspect he already had. Amongst his possessions I found some silver and gold coins. The Abbot’s personal accounts showed no disbursements to Taverner, so that gold and silver came from you. You seized your chance when Abbot Stephen and Gildas had been murdered. It was clear that an assassin was loose amongst the monks so you thought one more death wouldn’t matter?’

‘You can’t prove anything!’ Wallasby regained his composure. ‘True, an arrow from my quiver was used but Perditus could have stolen it: he has already confessed to the crime.’

‘But he didn’t do it,’ Corbett replied. ‘You did. On the morning Taverner died, he took us down to the cellar to see the Abbot’s Roman mosaic. When we came back I met Perditus busy with some task. We walked a little further and then Taverner left us and was killed shortly afterwards. I have walked this abbey time and again, and this morning I measured the distances. No matter how athletic or nimble-footed Perditus might be, he could not possibly have gone to fetch a bow and arrows and return to lurk on that misty path. It was you, Archdeacon Wallasby. One well-aimed arrow and all the proof of your trickery, all the menaces Taverner could muster were silenced. Another death at St Martin’s, for which someone else could take the blame. No wonder you wanted to leave so urgently. Of course,’ Corbett concluded, ‘Perditus was glad Taverner was dead. In his own frenetic mind perhaps he believed he was responsible. You must have been relieved when Taverner’s forehead, as well as Hamo’s, was branded with the Mandeville mark.’

Perditus had now turned on his stool and was looking full at the Archdeacon, head slightly to one side. He glanced at Corbett, a puzzled look in his eye. The monks just sat shocked at the devastating revelations. The assassin was correct: these were broken men, monks who must bear some responsibility for the bloody events in this abbey.

‘Are you saying, Sir Hugh, that I did not kill Taverner? That this one was the culprit?’ Perditus tapped the Archdeacon’s hand. Wallasby removed it abruptly.

‘You can’t prove anything,’ Wallasby declared. ‘This man is the true assassin.’ His face turned ugly. ‘His hands should be bound like a common malefactor. He can be taken back to London and tried before the King’s Bench for murder, blasphemy and sacrilege. He’ll die at the Elms with the noose around his neck, face turning purple, feet kicking. A fitting end,’ he taunted, ‘for the son of our holy Abbot Stephen!’

‘Will I hang?’ Perditus asked, eyes rounded in consternation. ‘I am a cleric in holy orders.’

‘No, you are not!’ Wallasby jibed. ‘You are a-’

Corbett sensed the coming danger but it was too late. Perditus, taunted by Wallasby’s jibes, abruptly sprang to his feet. He picked up the stool and threw it at Corbett. The clerk moved sideways so that the stool crashed behind him. Wallasby was not so quick. Perditus drew a dagger from the sleeve of his gown and sliced the Archdeacon deeply across the neck, from underneath his right ear up under his chin. The Archdeacon sat slightly forward, hands to his wound, the blood pouring out between his fingers. Ranulf leapt to his feet but Perditus was already across the chamber. He knocked Brother Dunstan aside and, before the almoner could intervene, had seized the surprised Prior Cuthbert round the neck, pushing the dagger up under his chin.

‘Stand back!’

Ranulf looked at Corbett who shook his head. The clerk knew he had made a mistake. Perhaps he should have restrained Perditus from the beginning but then he would not have confessed. The assassin was now dragging Prior Cuthbert towards the door. He looked over his shoulder.

‘Open it!’ he shouted at Chanson.

Corbett gestured at his groom to obey. The door to the chamber swung open even as Archbishop Wallasby collapsed to the floor in an ever-widening pool of splashing blood. Aelfric hurried across and turned him over. The desperation on the Archdeacon’s face and the jerking of his body showed he was past help. Corbett watched in horror. At first he thought Perditus was going to release Prior Cuthbert. He drew his arm away but then swiftly slashed with his knife. Corbett closed his eyes. Prior Cuthbert stood, a look of horror on his face, hands clutching his throat. Perditus sent him crashing forward and was out of the door in an instant, pounding down the stairs.

Ranulf ignored the chaos and commotion. He thrust Chanson aside and followed in pursuit. Perditus had already cleared the steps and was out through the door. Ranulf, hastily drawing his sword, chased after him. As he slipped and slithered on the ice, Ranulf was almost unaware of the monks he pushed aside: he had eyes only for the hurtling figure ahead of him, grey robe hitched up, running like the wind, past buildings, across courtyards, twisting and turning. Ranulf followed. At first he thought the assassin was heading for one of the postern gates or even the stables. He shortened the gap between them. Perditus had reached the cellar steps and hastened down. Ranulf followed, surprised that the door wasn’t locked or bolted. He pushed it open and slipped into the darkness. The slap of sandals echoed back as Ranulf paused to regain his breath. He put down his sword, took out a tinder and lit one of the sconce torches. Once this was burning brightly, he grasped his sword and made his way gingerly down the passageway, hugging the wall, stretching the torch out in front of him. He passed the cavernous storerooms, wondering what Perditus intended. Behind him Corbett shouted his name.

‘Go back!’ Ranulf yelled.

Perditus was a skilled enemy, a trained soldier. Ranulf was fearful he’d taken a bow and arrow and was preparing an ambush. A pool of light glowed at the end of the corridor: Perditus was in the storeroom at the end where Abbot Stephen had found the mosaic. Ranulf watched the light carefully, expecting to see Perditus, armed with bow and arrow, appear in the doorway. Apart from a moving shadow, he could detect nothing. Closer and closer he crept. At the doorway he stopped and threw the torch in onto the floor. He slipped down the steps and paused in astonishment. Perditus, sword and dagger on the ground beside him, was kneeling, staring at the mosaic.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ he whispered, tracing the outline with his finger. ‘Abbot Stephen loved it, you know. He wanted to take it up and put it in the sanctuary. Don’t you think it’s beautiful, Ranulf?’

‘Yes, yes, I do.’

‘It shouldn’t be kept here,’ Perditus continued. ‘These mumbling monks don’t know true beauty when they see it.’

‘You have killed Archdeacon Wallasby and Prior Cuthbert,’ Ranulf declared.

‘I am not bothered about them. They were marked for death anyway. It’s a pity I couldn’t have finished the whole tiresome business. I was never going to kill you though. Abbot Stephen would have liked you. I tried to warn Corbett. I just wanted you to go and leave these sinners to my justice.’ He caressed the mosaic again. ‘I have only two real regrets: I should have acted faster to ensure the deaths of all those damned monks. My second regret is that I never met my mother.’ He smiled at Ranulf. ‘But it’s best if she didn’t see me as a felon, hands and feet bound, eh? Tell me the truth, Ranulf-atte-Newgate: they’ll hang me in London, won’t they?’

‘If you were considered mad,’ Ranulf replied, ‘the King might have mercy and immure you for the rest of your life. .’

‘Ah well.’

Ranulf knew all the street-fighting tricks: Perditus had gone slack, shoulders drooping. He stepped back. The assassin grabbed sword and dagger and sprang to his feet, slightly crouched. In the torchlight he looked composed, eyes serene, a dreamy, faraway expression on his face.

‘Put up your weapons!’ Ranulf ordered.

Perditus danced forward, sword and dagger flickering out. Ranulf parried. The cellar echoing with the clash of steel and the shuffle of feet. Ranulf watched carefully. Again Perditus’s arm came snaking out in a feint, then a lunge with his dagger. Ranulf blocked and parried. He concentrated on nothing but this figure dancing in the torchlight, backwards and forwards. Perditus was no bully-boy from the alleyways but an accomplished man-at-arms. Time and again he came in, feinting, parrying. Each time Ranulf blocked. Perditus stood back, chest heaving, sword and dagger down. He pulled up his sword in a salute then brought it down, the tip aimed directly at Ranulf’s face.

‘This is the way it should be, shouldn’t it, clerk? Warrior against warrior. Sword against sword.’

He came dancing across. Ranulf moved to parry the expected thrust but Perditus, as he lunged forward, suddenly brought sword and dagger up, exposing his body. Ranulf couldn’t stop and thrust his sword deep into Perditus’s chest. He withdrew it quickly. Perditus let his weapons fall with a clatter and fell to his knees. He clutched at the wound, the blood bubbling out. He stared up at Ranulf.

‘I can taste death already. It’s better this way.’

He collapsed onto his face. His body shuddered for a while and lay still. Ranulf, crouching down, felt for the blood beat in his throat. He could detect nothing. The sound of running footsteps drew closer, and Corbett and Chanson appeared in the doorway.

‘He’s dead,’ Ranulf got to his feet. ‘He walked onto my sword. I think he intended that.’

‘It’s better than the scaffold,’ Chanson remarked. ‘Where did he get the sword and dagger from?’

‘He probably had weapons hidden in all the caverns along the passageway,’ Corbett remarked. He sat down on the steps and put his face in his hands.

‘Cuthbert and Wallasby?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Oh, they are both dead,’ Corbett took his hands away from his face. ‘I made a mistake, Ranulf, I should have had Perditus bound. Yet, if I had, he might not have confessed.’

‘In his eyes Wallasby and Cuthbert deserved to die,’ Ranulf remarked. ‘And God forgive me, Master, I believe that to a certain extent they brought their own deaths upon them. Do you really think Wallasby killed Taverner?’

‘Yes I do,’ Corbett got to his feet, ‘though it would have been very difficult to prove. If Perditus had killed four times, why shouldn’t he kill five? Our Archdeacon was intent on revenge. Cacullus non facit monachum: holy orders is no protection against murder. Wallasby would certainly have been disgraced and Prior Cuthbert a broken man. The Abbey of St Martin’s has been turned into a battleground, a place of killing. .’

He paused as he heard voices from the far end of the passageway.

‘What will happen?’ Ranulf asked.

‘The abbey will have to be reconsecrated. The King and the Archbishop will demand a new Concilium be sent in to restore harmony and order.’

‘And Perditus?’

‘Bring his corpse. He can join the rest.’

The following morning Corbett stood beside Lady Margaret as she stared down at the waxen face of her son’s corpse. Brother Aelfric had prepared the body for burial. Lady Margaret stood upright, no tears in her eyes. She caressed the young man’s cheek and, leaning down, kissed him on the lips before pulling the coffin sheet up over his head.

‘I would like to be alone, Sir Hugh.’

Corbett bowed. ‘Madam, the clouds are breaking, there will be no more snow for a while. We must return to Norwich.’

‘And my crime?’ she asked. ‘My sin?’

‘I can speak for the King, Madam, and I say you have been punished enough. There must be an end to all this. All those who know the true story have taken an oath of silence.’ He gestured at the sheeted corpse. ‘What you do with him, where you have him buried, is a matter for you.’

‘I feel nothing,’ she whispered. ‘The ground outside, Corbett, is frozen, and so is my heart. I suppose that’s what happens,’ she glanced back at the corpse, ‘before the heart breaks. Such a high price!’ she whispered. ‘Such a high price, Sir Hugh! For one night of passion! A few golden hours and this!’

Corbett was about to reply. She held a hand up.

‘And yet,’ she continued, ‘we could have stopped it at any time. We hid our sin when we should have told the truth from the start.’ She stretched out her hand. Corbett kissed the icy fingers. He glanced once more at the corpse, crossed himself and, picking up his cloak, left the death house, striding through the silent abbey grounds.

Ranulf and Chanson were waiting for him in the stable yard. The horses had been saddled, and the sumpter pony had their baggage lashed firmly on its back. Corbett put on his cloak and swung himself into the saddle. He looked over his shoulder once more as if memorising the gables, turrets, cornices and towers of the abbey.

‘To Norwich, Master?’

‘By nightfall, Ranulf, if God is good and the weather is clear.’

A lay brother swung open the gate and they cantered through. The Watcher by the Gates was standing by the trackway, staff in one hand, a large bundle strapped to his back. Corbett reined in.

‘Where will you go to now?’

‘As far from here as possible, Sir Hugh, at least for a while.’ The Watcher brought up his shaggy cowl to hide his tangled hair. ‘A job well done, eh clerk? The malefactor exposed, justice carried out.’

‘I wouldn’t call it well done,’ Corbett retorted, leaning down from the saddle. ‘All my life, sir,’ Corbett held the Watcher’s gaze, ‘I’ve believed in logic and reason.’

‘But hate is stronger.’

‘No, sir, love is stronger: that was the root cause of all this. But it’s like a two-edged sword. Love frustrated can yield a terrible harvest.’ Corbett gathered his reins. ‘And the reaping time always comes!’