by Paul Doherty
Katherine paused.
‘That’s where I made my real mistake when formulating my hypothesis. I simply couldn’t imagine a prior of a leading Franciscan community helping an outlaw to flee justice. Why should I suspect you, especially when I kept thinking that this outlaw had fled the Church? In fact, he fled to the Priory! It was only when I concluded that you were the only possible person to have stolen the Lacrima Christi that I realized you were responsible for Laus Tibi’s escape. No one else could have done that. Indeed,’ Kathryn spread her hands, ‘how many would have a motive for doing so?’
‘And that motive?’ Prior Barnabas’s voice was weary as if he knew what Kathryn was about to say.
‘Why, the Lacrima Christi, of course. There’s no doubt that the receptacle for the sacred ruby can be traced back to Laus Tibi. The felon was freed to divert suspicion, as well as to allay the real thief’s anxiety.’ Kathryn paused at the sound of footsteps. ‘Colum, make sure no one approaches the sanctuary chapel. I don’t want to embarrass Father Prior more than I have to.’
Colum went out. Kathryn stared up at the silver chain, listening to Colum’s voice as he informed Simon the sacristan that Father Prior and Brother Ralph were far too busy to be disturbed. Once Colum returned, Kathryn pointed to the silver chain.
‘Now, we come to the Lacrima Christi, the sacred ruby which is supposed to hold the blood of our Saviour.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know if that’s true or not but it is a stone of great price and I have read its history. The Empress Helena took the Lacrima Christi from Jerusalem and gave it to a church in Constantinople. Two hundred and sixty years ago crusaders sacked Constantinople on their way to Jerusalem. They seized the ruby and brought it back to the west. It found its way to one of the great Franciscan churches in Assisi. From there it was stolen once again, probably at the orders of the Emperor of Constantinople who wanted such a sacred relic back. The Lacrima Christi is returned to its original owner until the fall of that city to the Turks when it was seized by Sir Walter Maltravers and his chaplain Father John. Now you, Father Prior, were never in Constantinople. However, you may have known of Maltravers long before you entered the Order or he bought Ingoldby Hall. You did, perhaps, learn about Sir Walter’s escape and the legend of the Athanatoi. After all, two kinds of people in particular rub shoulders with the lords of the soil: armourers and Franciscans. Tell me, Father,’ Kathryn paused. ‘Here in the presence of Christ, am I lying? Put your hand on a crucifix and say that I am lying.’
‘I am waiting for you to finish,’ the Prior grated, ‘and then I shall speak.’
‘You are a zealous man, Prior Barnabas. I suspect you were a very good armourer. When you became a Franciscan, you immersed yourself in the history, traditions and spirit of your Order. By your own admission you travelled to Assisi. You would know about its churches and the relics they held, or once held. You’d read the manuscripts and chronicles in their libraries and you learnt about the Lacrima Christi allegedly having been stolen from the Franciscan Order. When you were appointed to head this house as a Franciscan Prior, devoted to poverty, you must have resented the likes of rich Maltravers holding a precious ruby, a sacred relic which, in your eyes, truly belonged to your Order.’ Kathryn leaned over and tapped the Prior’s shoulder. ‘Prior Barnabas,’ she whispered, ‘you or Brother Ralph can challenge, whenever you wish, whatever I say.’
The Prior had regained some of his composure, but Kathryn noticed the beads of sweat on his upper lip and the way he kept stretching his fingers, a nervous gesture as if to relieve the anxiety seething within him.
‘Naturally, as a leading ecclesiastic of the city,’ Kathryn continued, ‘you would get to know Maltravers better. He fell ill. Brother Ralph was sent out to Ingoldby Hall. You learnt all the rumours and stories about this royal favourite and his beautiful new wife and you decided to punish him.’
‘I was not responsible for his illness,’ Prior Barnabas retorted.
‘No, Father Prior, you would not harm a man, at least not physically – though you did dream of securing that ruby.’
‘The Athanatoi!’ Colum exclaimed. ‘You were the Athanatoi!’
‘He certainly was,’ Kathryn agreed. ‘Whoever sent those messages to Sir Walter was a scholar with a rudimentary knowledge of the Greek alphabet and an even deeper knowledge of scripture. Somewhere in this priory is a book of meditations, a list of texts from the scriptures. You, Father Prior, cut an appropriate one out, scrawled a message on another strip of parchment and glued the two together. Being the Prior of Greyfriars, you can go wherever you wish: you leave one at the market cross,’ Kathryn waved her hands, ‘on the door of the cathedral or anywhere else. . . .’
‘Why did you do that?’ Colum intervened. ‘To punish Maltravers?’
Prior Barnabas held Kathryn’s gaze.
‘Yes, to punish him,’ Kathryn declared, ‘but more to stir his guilt. You knew what kind of a man Maltravers was, with his anxious mind and troubled soul: a penitent ready to do reparation for what he regarded as the hideous sins of his past. You were like a man besieging a castle. First, you weaken the defences and . . .’
‘So you made your request . . .’
Kathryn heard the laughter in Colum’s voice; even Prior Barnabas allowed himself a slight smile.
‘You would have made a good lawyer,’ Kathryn murmured. ‘Your quick mind and nimble wits. On the one hand, Sir Walter was being attacked by these sinister quotations from scripture, on the other he was being helped by the good brothers of Greyfriars. So, when you made your request for the Lacrima Christi to be exposed here for veneration by the faithful,’ Kathryn held up a hand, ‘carefully guarded and securely held, your request fell like a ripe apple into Sir Walter’s hands. He was eager, wasn’t he, Father?’
‘Of course,’ the Prior whispered, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘A man more intent on reparation than anything else.’
‘The Lacrima Christi is transferred to Greyfriars,’ Kathryn declared briskly. ‘Sir Walter is satisfied about its security. The chapel of St. Michael has been carefully prepared.’ She tapped her foot. ‘Rich red Turkey carpets, the same colour as the ruby, costly altar cloths and, of course, a special receptacle, the same colour as the ruby, to hold the precious relic.’ Kathryn rose to her feet and tipped the hook on the end of the silver chain. ‘This used to hold the pyx above the altar but now it has been moved further along the ceiling so it dangles down, closer to the door grille. You and your brothers were openly delighted to have such a precious relic at the height of the pilgrimage season. It would increase the revenue of your church, as well as its importance. Pilgrims would be delighted to visit another wondrous object, so everyone is happy: the pilgrims, Sir Walter, Canterbury and, of course, the good brothers of Greyfriars. However, you, Father Prior, had planned something special.’ Kathryn paused. ‘On the eve of the feast of the Transfiguration you gave the order for the church to be closed in preparation for the great day. The sacred relic was taken down and placed in its locked coffer. At the time I accepted this – but later I thought, why?’
‘This chapel had to be cleaned. . . .’ Brother Ralph quavered.
‘Nonsense!’ Kathryn replied. ‘It had been refurbished to hold the relic, it was kept locked and barred all the time. Who came in here, apart from Father Prior, to take the relic down last thing at night and rehang it the next morning? No, on that particular day, Father Prior, you carried out the most successful part of your design.’
Standing on tiptoe, Kathryn managed to take the silver hook off the end of the chain. She sat down holding it up between forefinger and thumb.
‘I’ll be honest, Father Prior.’ Kathryn threw the hook from hand to hand. ‘At first I wondered if you had been very cunning and skilful, replacing this hook with one fashioned out of some base alloy which then buckled so the receptacle and the Lacrima Christi fell to the ground.’ She smiled. ‘The solution is much easier.’
Kathryn paused. Brother Ralph was now wiping the
sweat from the palms of his hands on his robe.
‘Sometimes I can be so foolish,’ Kathryn continued. ‘I face a nagging problem so I look for some subtle solution. Once I had a patient who acted as if he was being poisoned: hideous gripes in the belly, sweating and fever. Did he harbour some malignancy, I thought? Was he being deliberately fed some tainted substance?’
‘And?’ Father Prior coolly asked.
‘He was drinking holy water,’ Kathryn replied, ‘brought from one of these false leeches, a man called Toadwort.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Brother Ralph intervened.
‘So has half of Canterbury.’ Kathryn sighed. ‘Toadwort claimed the water was from Palestine, from the well at which Jesus sat. In truth it was from the dirtiest pool in Canterbury and my patient, who’d more money than he had sense, had bought a phial.’ Kathryn paused. ‘It’s the same here, the solution is very simple. We have Sir Walter Maltravers and the Lacrima Christi. You, Father Prior, learn about the history of both the sacred ruby and its owner. You wanted the ruby back, and Sir Walter’s illness provided you with the opportunity as well as an accomplice, Brother Ralph the infirmarian. Just as he helped you with the escape of Laus Tibi, so Brother Ralph assisted you in the theft of the Lacrima Christi. This is what happened. On the eve of the feast of the Transfiguration, the Lacrima Christi was taken down for two hours, ostensibly because the church was closed for cleaning. In fact, it was to carry your plot through.’
‘How?’ Prior Barnabas leaned forward. ‘Mistress Swinbrooke, are you taunting us?’
‘No.’ Kathryn shook her head. ‘I am trying to explain my own slowness in this matter. Late that afternoon you restored the Lacrima Christi to its silver chain.’ Kathryn held up the hook. ‘You then left this chantry chapel, bolted the doors and turned the key in the lock.’ Kathryn paused. ‘Give me the key, Father Prior.’
Prior Barnabas reluctantly handed it over. Kathryn went across to the door, inserted the key, and turned it once or twice, then crouched down to examine the lock.
‘Again, the work of some craftsman,’ she murmured. ‘Notice, Colum, how smoothly it slides in and out.’
‘Of course.’ Colum rose and came across. He turned the key himself and grinned at Father Prior. ‘Everyone thought you had bolted and locked the door, but only the bolts were drawn across; the lock was never really turned.’
Prior Barnabas closed his eyes. Brother Ralph put his face in his hands.
‘It’s all an illusion,’ Kathryn mused. ‘I wondered why such play was made of the sacristan holding the keys, as if he was the one who locked and unlocked this door.’ She smiled down at the Prior. ‘You hold them now.’
Prior Barnabas just gazed back.
‘You wanted to give the impression that not even you, especially when you were performing the sacred vigil, could open the chantry door. When the Lacrima Christi was taken down at night or restored in the morning, you performed the same rite, taking the keys off the sacristan to unlock and relock the door. You established a rhythm which you broke the day the Lacrima Christi was stolen. The church, and this chantry chapel, had to be cleaned: the brothers gather, they are busy with other duties, they witness the same rite though in different circumstances; they were used to it, they’d scarcely notice if the key wasn’t fully turned.’
‘They might have.’ Brother Ralph didn’t raise his head.
‘No, no,’ Kathryn disagreed. ‘That explains the mummery of the church being closed for cleaning. Father Prior daren’t leave the door to this treasury unlocked all day. Someone might draw the bolts and realise the door was unlocked, a simple accident for which the Prior would certainly be blamed.’
‘Of course,’ Colum intervened. ‘Anyone could have tried that, and with Laus Tibi in sanctuary, it would have been even more perilous.’
‘Yes,’ Kathryn agreed. ‘Prior Barnabas, you had to create the mummery of the door remaining unlocked – but only for that short period of time which coincided with your vigil. On the afternoon of the theft you handed the chantry chapel keys back to Brother Simon the sacristan. Everyone thought the chantry chapel was bolted and locked, but it wasn’t. When darkness fell the church was empty; one of you drew back the bolts, also very well oiled, slipped into the chantry chapel and took down the Lacrima Christi. The alarm was raised, Brother Simon was sent for, great play made of unlocking the door and drawing back the bolts.’ Kathryn sat down beside the Prior. ‘It simply depends on how you look at what happened. Who would suspect the Prior and a leading member of the Greyfriars community were involved in the theft of a sacred relic? How on earth could they enter a chapel when the door was locked and someone else held the key? So, the mystery begins. One slight flaw.’ Kathryn pointed in the direction of the sanctuary. ‘Laus Tibi may have seen something; like any felon who has survived so long, he is sharp-eyed and quick-witted. You arranged for Laus Tibi to escape. You also gave him the relic holder: if suspicion was raised, the finger would point to our felon. If he was captured, who would believe his story? They’d say he had accomplices. They’d accuse him of having the receptacle, so why not the relic?’
Kathryn got up and tapped the silver chain.
‘What did you intend, Father Prior?’ She sighed. ‘You must have thought Sir Walter’s death was God’s blessing on your design. You’d wait for a while, return to your Mother House in Assisi and anonymously arrange for the Lacrima Christi to be restored to its rightful owner.’
‘And if I deny all this?’ the Prior asked.
‘Well, I shall make enquiries amongst your community. Are they certain the key was turned? Did you have a locksmith to ensure both the bolts and lock would slide smoothly? If so, why? Did you pay the same attention to the hinges so the entire door opened soundlessly? Someone’s memory will be pricked. Or, there again, we’ll have the King’s warrant out for Laus Tibi: if he’s offered a pardon by Master Murtagh, Laus Tibi might gabble the truth. He may have his own suspicions. Whatever, he will certainly confirm my story of his escape.’
‘And I can go to Master Luberon,’ Colum added. ‘I will get the Archbishop’s warrant, as well as the King’s, to search this priory from cellar to ceiling.’
‘Father.’ Kathryn stepped closer as the Prior climbed to his feet. ‘I do not wish to humiliate or disgrace you. I understand why you did it. You are not a thief, stealing for profit.’
Father Prior lowered his head, and when he glanced up his eyes brimmed with tears.
‘And if I confess?’
‘If we both confess?’ Brother Ralph now stood behind his Prior, his determination to be loyal outweighing any personal fears.
‘Well, I could look forward to a miracle.’ Kathryn smiled. ‘The Lacrima Christi could mysteriously reappear in the chapel of St. Michael’s chantry. Perhaps the Archangel himself,’ she pointed at the stained glass window, ‘intervened to get it back?’
‘And?’ the Prior asked.
‘If it’s then returned to its rightful owner, the Franciscan Order could present a powerful plea to hold it in trust . . .?’
The Prior sat down on the steps, face in his hands. At first Kathryn thought he was muttering to himself, but in fact, he was praying. Prior Barnabas took his hands away from his face.
‘Do you know, Mistress Swinbrooke, God has given us many gifts.’ He grinned sheepishly at Colum. ‘You should be careful, Irishman.’ He jabbed a finger at Kathryn. ‘She has sharp eyes and even sharper wits. You also have a soul, Mistress Swinbrooke. If you lay this information before the sheriff or the archbishop I’d be disgraced. ‘Confiteor peccata mea.’ ’ He struck his breast three times. ‘I confess all my sins.’ He breathed out noisily and paused as if half-listening to the sounds in the church. Brother Ralph made to speak but the Prior held up a hand. ‘It’s my doing,’ he confessed. ‘I am responsible.’ He glanced up at Kathryn. ‘It is as you say! Oh, I’d met Maltravers before. He had forgotten about me but I hadn’t forgotten him. I followed the armies as an armourer. I made a very goo
d living, it’s wonderful what you hear and learn about the great ones and that included Maltravers. I travelled to Towton battlefield where the dead lay piled almost shoulder high, I felt the deepest desolation. I joined the Franciscan Order. I was a very good craftsman but I told them that was all behind me. I went to Italy and stayed for a while in our Mother House in Assisi. I heard about the Lacrima Christi and recalled Sir Walter Maltravers. I forgot about it all until I came here eighteen months ago. I felt angry, as I always do at the great lords of the soil. How dare Maltravers hold the Lacrima Christi which should be held by my Order? At first I thought I should plead with him, but I decided not to. I asked for a sign, and it was given to me. Some time at the beginning of Lent, Sir Walter came and asked to be shriven. He opened a window of his soul. I couldn’t resist the temptation to remind him secretly of his past. I had a small book of meditations; I cut them into strips.’
‘And you wrote the alleged messages from the Athanatoi?’
‘Of course I did.’ Prior Barnabas blinked and licked his lips. ‘Then it was up with my cowl and into the streets of Canterbury. It was so easy to deliver messages, I knew they would be taken straight to Sir Walter. When he asked for the services of our infirmarian, I thought St. Francis was showing me a sign.’ He raised a hand. ‘The rest, a few details wrong here and there but, in the main, as you say.’ He smiled to himself. ‘I arranged for the hinges, lock and bolts of the chantry chapel to be well oiled. I pretended to lock the door and then, under the cover of darkness, slipped in here and took the Lacrima Christi. It took no more than a few heartbeats. I did wonder how much Laus Tibi might have seen, so I arranged his escape: food, clothing, money and the receptacle. I wore an ordinary robe, my cowl pulled up, a mask over my face, Brother Ralph as my guide. Laus Tibi acted like a soul released from Purgatory. I told him he must sell the receptacle, then vanish from the face of the earth. He asked me why I did it. I lied, saying he reminded me of a very close friend. When Sir Walter was murdered,’ Prior Barnabas shrugged, ‘I thought ‘another sign,’ perhaps in the confusion the Lacrima Christi would be forgotten, the years would pass. I’d travel back to the Mother House and the Lacrima Christi would be anonymously returned to our Father General.’
