by Paul Doherty
Early next morning, after he had washed, shaved and changed into fresh clothing, Corbett met the others in the refectory to break his fast. He had decreed that a strong cohort of men-at-arms both within and without the abbey church would keep the peace. He shook his head at Mortimer’s warning that rumours about what was happening in Holyrood must have seeped out into the valley. ‘Even if they have,’ he declared, ‘the fire arrows and the threats are nothing but empty mummery, no more dangerous than a burning log.’
Once they had finished in the refectory, Corbett and his companions moved to the abbey church. The area of the nave close to the sanctuary had been turned into a special court, with a huge table, which would serve as King’s Bench, set up before the entrance to the rood screen. It was covered with a red baize cloth, and laid out across it were Corbett’s war sword, a crucifix and a book of the Gospels, as well as writs and warrants, all sealed by the king, giving Corbett the authority to act as he saw fit in his role as the Crown’s special justiciar. It was decided that Mistletoe would act as scribe. Ranulf would be clerk of the court, responsible for good order and harmony during the proceedings. De Craon, Jude, Crispin and others sat on benches to Corbett’s right, almost hidden by the shadows of the transept. Men-at-arms guarded every entrance. Ap Ythel’s bowmen stood very close, weapons at the ready.
The court sat shortly after first light. The abbey nave was now warmed by a line of braziers, whilst cresset torches and every available candle had been lit to dissipate the gloom as well as fend off the morning mist, which crept beneath doors and through shutters to drift ghost-like along the nave. Corbett took his seat, Mortimer and the Ravenmaster sitting self-importantly on either side. Ranulf proclaimed the court to be in session and declared that all who had business before it now be brought in. He rang a handbell. A door opened and Maltravers and Devizes, their hands tied before them, were escorted in by two bowmen, who made them sit on chairs facing the bench. Both prisoners struggled and began to protest. Ranulf shouted at them to be silent.
A high stool was placed close to the side of the table, where witnesses could sit and extend both hands towards the book of the Gospels and the crucifix when taking the oath. The thick beeswax candles standing in spigots on each of the table’s four corners were lit. Ranulf again shook the handbell and shouted instructions at the guards. Brother Dunstan, assisted by three lay brothers, came out of the dark carrying a door taken off its hinges from one of the cells below Falcon Tower. This was cleverly positioned between two of the pillars along the north transept: a neat fit, so that its high metal grille could be clearly seen.
Corbett glanced swiftly at the two prisoners. Both had given up protesting their innocence and had lost their haughty outrage at being accused. Devizes remained iron-faced, but Maltravers was clearly agitated, and openly winced when Chanson and some ostlers brought in a man of straw fashioned in the stables. This was placed next to the cell door. The huge straw doll was flimsy, though its head was a thick ball of tightly interwoven strands. Jude and Crispin looked openly mystified at proceedings, but de Craon sat with his lips tightly pursed. He grasped the arms of his chair as if he intended to rise and protest, but caught Corbett’s glare and slumped back.
Ranulf called for silence, then slowly repeated the indictment Corbett had issued the previous day. He asked how the prisoners wished to plead. Both men replied with ‘not guilty’. Maltravers then demanded to see the evidence for what he called ‘a litany of heinous and false allegations’. Corbett replied that he was only too willing to provide it, as he would soon demonstrate.
Brother Dunstan was summoned and took the chair of testimony. He stretched across and touched both the crucifix and the book of the Gospels as he repeated after Ranulf, ‘I have sworn a great oath and I will not repent of it. I shall tell the truth and only the truth or suffer the fires of hell.’
‘Brother Dunstan,’ Corbett demanded, ‘you are the blacksmith in Holyrood?’
‘I am.’
‘And you are most skilled in all matters of the forge?’
‘I hope so. I pride myself as such.’
‘And you fashion weapons?’
‘Of course.’
‘Including arbalests?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘Could you show my fellow justiciars what I found in your forge, consigned with other items to the rubbish heap?’
Brother Dunstan opened the sack he’d brought in and placed between his sandalled feet. He took out an arbalest and handed this over for Mortimer and the Ravenmaster to inspect before passing it to Corbett.
‘Brother Dunstan, what is so unique about this crossbow?’
‘The groove is narrower than on an ordinary arbalest, which is usually broad because it has to take a bolt that is closely feathered at one end, hard and bristly, while the killing end consists of a point with five or six jagged barbs. Little wonder successive popes have decreed that all who use a crossbow are subject to excommunication from the Church.’
‘Yes, quite!’ Corbett picked up the weapon and handed it back to Dunstan. ‘And you collected from Brother Crispin, as I asked, one of the nails used to kill a member of this community?’
‘I did.’
Brother Crispin kept his head down but nodded in agreement.
‘Brother,’ Corbett demanded, ‘you must reply.’
‘It is the nail that killed poor Mark,’ the infirmarian declared.
‘And on my request, Brother Dunstan,’ Corbett continued, ‘you used this nail in the arbalest you now hold as you would a crossbow bolt?’
‘Yes, and it worked.’
‘You have it ready now?’
‘Yes, Sir Hugh.’
‘So.’ Corbett pointed to the straw man. ‘Show the court.’
Dunstan lumbered to his feet. He opened his wallet, took out the nail and slid it into the narrow groove on the arbalest, its point jutting out and its broader base resting against the cord, which was now winched back so the weapon was primed.
‘Continue.’
‘Yes, Sir Hugh.’ The blacksmith walked slowly towards the straw man. He took aim, positioning the crossbow carefully, and then pulled the lever. A sharp click and the nail hurtled forward, piercing the centre of the straw man’s tightly woven head.
‘That,’ Corbett declared, ‘is how the murders were committed! A specially crafted hand-held arbalest fashioned to deliver a long, sharp nail with great force at close quarters.’
‘And what has this to do with me?’ Maltravers shouted. He gestured with his bound hands. ‘Arbalest, nails, grooves, so what?’
‘Brother Dunstan,’ Corbett said, ‘I found that crossbow in the rubbish heap of your forge. Did you make it?’
‘No, but,’ Dunstan turned to point at Maltravers, ‘you came to my forge some weeks ago. You worked on fashioning something. After you left, I found scraps, pieces and other items rejected by you; that crossbow, unfinished, was one of them. Sir Hugh asked me to complete it, and I did.’
‘That is not true!’ Maltravers yelled.
‘Oh, but it is. Ranulf, show them what you found in our abbot’s chamber.’ Corbett gestured at the Clerk of the Green Wax, seated at the far end of the table. Ranulf rose, walked into the transept and brought out a sack from which he drew another arbalest, similar to the one Dunstan had used, as well as a small quiver pot crammed with flat-bottomed spiked nails. Corbett asked Dunstan to inspect these and then to prime the second arbalest. The blacksmith sent another nail whirring through the air to smash into the straw man’s head. The silence in the nave was now palpable. Jude and Crispin were distinctly uncomfortable, Mortimer and the Ravenmaster clearly absorbed, whilst Mistletoe kept scrawling swiftly, though now and again he would pause to shake his head.
‘That arbalest, those nails were found in your chamber, Father Abbot.’
‘I know nothing of this,’ Maltravers stammered. ‘Sir Hugh . . .’ He turned and glared at Devizes, who sat as if carved out of stone, staring fixedly before him. Cor
bett felt a quiet stab of pleasure. He was correct. There was a grievous weakness in the chain that bound his opponents, and he was determined to exploit it.
‘You were saying?’ Mortimer demanded.
‘Of course I know nothing about this,’ Maltravers repeated. ‘I can produce witnesses who will describe how an assailant, armed with a spike and mallet, entered my chamber and tried to kill me.’
‘Nonsense,’ Corbett riposted. ‘A masque, a mummer’s ploy arranged by you and your henchman. You used one of the assassins hidden away in those secret tunnels and galleries. He was your pretended assailant, lowering over you then fleeing from your room, knocking aside other members of the community including Devizes. A miracle play for all to see! You were never in any danger. Devizes managed it all.’ He paused. ‘Of course we could ask how such an attack could take place, given Devizes’ constant protection of you. In the end, it was easy to arrange. The same is true of the poisoning, a fable to present you as a victim being stalked by an assassin, the injured party rather than the perpetrator.
‘What is significant,’ Corbett continued remorselessly, ‘is the identical language you and Devizes used when describing the murderous attacks on other members of your community. Brother Crispin?’ Corbett gestured at the infirmarian. ‘How did you describe the way those nails pierced the victims’ foreheads?’
‘Oh,’ Crispin spread his hands, ‘the same as everybody else, that they were driven into the murdered man’s skull.’
‘Brother Jude?’ Corbett asked. ‘Lord Mortimer, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes,’ they chorused. ‘And,’ Mortimer added, ‘that is exactly how you, Sir Hugh, described the killings. And that was the mystery. How could a nail be driven in at close quarters, killing a former warrior with no sign of a struggle or any evidence of resistance?’
‘Yet,’ Corbett accused, ‘you, Devizes, and you, Maltravers, both talked of nails being loosed at their victims, which is how you would describe a crossbow bolt being delivered.’ He paused. ‘Don’t you remember, Maltravers? You used the word when we first met. Devizes did the same after the pretended attack upon you.’
‘Words, clerk, clever tricks,’ Devizes snarled, half rising from his chair, the archer standing behind him forcing him back down. ‘How on earth,’ he demanded, ‘could we kill those . . .’ He stumbled over his words, and Corbett wondered what he was going to say, but Devizes, licking his lips, eyes blinking, abruptly paused, rocking backwards and forwards in the chair. ‘How could we kill those comrades?’ he blurted out.
‘Oh, very easily. Brother Anselm was your first victim. He answered the door to his chamber, not expecting any danger, even more so when he saw you, or his father abbot, or perhaps even both. He stood there almost unaware of the crossbow rising, so quick, so easy, and the nail was released. It was the same with Brother Richard. He opened a door to go down the steps of one of the towers. He met a comrade. He sensed no danger yet in a matter of a few breaths he was slain, a nail loosed direct into his forehead, a killing blow. Now as for the other murders . . .’
Corbett paused, sifting amongst the papers before him. He knew the path he was about to follow, fully determined to break the murderous pair before him.
‘Oh yes, the other murders, hideous killings.’ He leant his elbows on the table. ‘I will finish describing the dreadful slayings you are responsible for, and only then will I give the reasons behind them. So we now come to the murder of Lord Mortimer’s man as he rested in the abbey guest house. This unfortunate posed as a wandering beggar. In truth he had come to Holyrood to meet Lord Mortimer and inform him about what was happening in the valley.’
‘He collapsed and died!’ Devizes shouted. ‘Brother Crispin dressed the corpse; he found no . . .’ He fell silent, shoulders sagging.
‘Yes, yes.’ The infirmarian jumped to his feet. ‘You came down to the corpse chamber, you were most curious about that old man and how he died.’
‘You knew full well, didn’t you, Devizes?’ Corbett mocked. ‘You keep a strict eye on Holyrood. You scrutinise all visitors, including that old man who seemed to be so interested in Lord Mortimer’s imminent arrival. You suspected he was Mortimer’s spy bringing crucial information out of the Valley of Shadows. Did you learn that directly from him, or was it the inquisitive Brother Norbert? Whatever, you certainly did not want Lord Mortimer to be appraised about what was happening around Holyrood.’ He held up a sheet of parchment. ‘We have thoroughly searched all your belongings and we found a small coffer containing certain powders and potions. I am sure they are poisonous. You gave that old man a blackjack of mulled ale, laced with some venomous concoction.’
‘I did not.’
‘Master Devizes, you were seen by no less a person than the abbey kitchener, Brother Mark. He noticed the blackjack prepared in his kitchen, which some servitor was to take to the beggar man waiting in the guest house. Brother Mark wondered why someone else had taken that tankard to the visitor and not returned it. He was referring to you, Devizes. He was puzzled about why the all-important master-at-arms should bother himself with a beggarly visitor. He mentioned the matter in Raphael’s hearing when the sacristan brought candles to the kitchen that evening. You were quick, my Lord Abbot, to cast doubt on Raphael, saying he was the only senior brother who did not attend compline at the very time Mark was murdered. You were implying that perhaps he might be responsible for the kitchener’s death, especially as he had disappeared by then.’
‘I hear what you say, Corbett, but Master Devizes was with me in church at the time our kitchener was killed.’
‘Murdered,’ Corbett retorted. ‘Brother Mark was murdered.’
‘How could Devizes be responsible when he was in church with me?’
‘No, he wasn’t!’
Corbett glanced in surprise at Brother Jude.
‘He wasn’t,’ the prior repeated. ‘I remember that hideous night well. I was nervous, agitated by the horrid events occurring in Holyrood. I was late for compline that evening because of you.’ He pointed at de Craon. ‘You had just arrived, loudly demanding to see Abbot Henry. I went into the church, but of course, apart from the candles, the sanctuary was shadow-filled, so I wasn’t seen. I considered approaching you in your stall, Lord Abbot, then thought I would try and catch the eye of Master Devizes. However, I could not see him, so I decided otherwise. Only now,’ he cleared his throat, ‘here this morning, do I remember it.’
‘You killed that beggar man, Devizes,’ Corbett declared. ‘You murdered him to silence his tongue. I suspect you returned to the kitchen and Brother Mark greeted you with an innocent enough question. Why had the abbot’s important master-at-arms bothered to take a tankard of ale to a beggar man in the guest house? He would have been intrigued by such an occurrence. He must have asked you where the tankard was. Brother Mark was most scrupulous about the contents of his kitchen.’
Corbett heard a murmur of agreement from Crispin and Jude. Devizes turned and threw them a venomous glance.
‘After consultation with your master,’ Corbett continued, ‘you hastened back through the abbey. The kitchener’s clacking tongue had to be silenced. Most of the community were in the choir, singing compline. You crept into the kitchen yard. You knew Brother Mark would come out. When he did, you emerged from the dark like the midnight thing you are, raised that specially fashioned arbalest and released its clasp, loosing a spiked nail straight into his forehead.’
Corbett stared down at the sheets of parchment in front of him. When he glanced up again, he felt a glow of pleasure. Devizes had moved slightly away from his master, turning in the chair as if he wished to distance himself as much as possible. The clerk was desperate to break this malicious pair. He had swiftly read a scribbled note from the Ravenmaster: deft strokes of the pen that described Corbett’s indictment as logical and plausible though still lacking that vital evidence that could send a man to the gallows.
‘As for the other murders,’ he sat back in his chair, pointi
ng at Devizes, ‘you know the customs and traditions of the Welsh tribes, especially those bitterly opposed to English rule. You must also be aware of the rituals of covens such as the Black Chesters. These groups have two things in common. First, an implacable hostility to the English Crown. Yes, Monsieur de Craon?’ Corbett smiled thinly at the French envoy. ‘Am I boring you? Rest assured I will come to you by and by.’ He returned to the indictment. ‘Second, both these groups believe in immolation. Those who have fought in Wales know all about this, don’t they, Ap Ythel?’
‘Yes,’ the captain of archers replied, coming forward as Corbett beckoned him. He sat in the testimony chair, hands outstretched to touch the cross and the book of the Gospels. ‘On my oath,’ he declared, ‘I know all about immolation, as do my comrades. It is the act of self-sacrifice a warrior makes for the common good of his tribe. He will lay down his life for the many.’
‘When we took those two prisoners during the battle in the Valley of Shadows,’ Corbett continued, after thanking Ap Ythel, ‘they were placed in the cells beneath Falcon Tower. Now Norbert, that drunken old lay brother, heard the approach of the assassin – you, Master Devizes. Cowled and masked, you crept to the cell door and beckoned the two prisoners close. You heatedly urged both to immolate themselves: to sacrifice their lives for the tribe, the cause, or whatever bound those two men together in their struggle against the English and the abbey of Holyrood in particular. Indeed, they had no choice. They must have known they would be interrogated, tortured, condemned to a gruesome death, for they had fought against the English king’s own special envoy to these parts. I rode into the Valley of Shadows with the royal standard unfolded; all opposition to that is high treason. A man convicted of such rebellion could be hanged, drawn and quartered. You, Devizes, offered those prisoners the warrior’s way out, an honourable death that would not give their captors any satisfaction. You then carried out the executions, first one and then the other. Death would have been swift.
