The Monastery Murders

by E. M. Powell

  Barling knew that now, knew it as screams that could be those of a terrified animal broke from him. Screams he could not stop, though each one robbed him of his precious air.

  He lay in a coffin. And it was one that he shared with someone else.

  Stanton knelt on the deep snow, shivering hard. He might have lost Barling.

  And by all that was holy, he’d get the devil who’d killed him.

  But he didn’t know who that was and without Barling, maybe he never would.

  Yet he had to try – he had to.

  The book, The Vision of Tundale. The answer lay in there somewhere.

  He stood up. He had to take it. Take it away from here and bring it to somebody who could read it all, make sense of it.

  There were many pairs of eyes here that could. But any one of the monks could be the devil laughing at him behind the mask of a pious man.

  Wait.

  There was one man. One who could not have attacked the abbot or Barling, for he was under lock and key. One who might turn out to be in league with the devil. But one who might not.

  Stanton hurried off in the direction of the abbot’s hall.

  And offered up a prayer that his instincts were right about the man locked up in the cell below it.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Stanton hammered on the door of the cell under the abbot’s lodging. ‘Daniel. It’s Stanton. Move away from the door.’ He raised the stout hatchet he held, taken from the kitchen, and brought it down once, twice, tearing his damaged palms further. The lock splintered away and with a hard kick he was in.

  Daniel stood in one corner. His eyes went to the hatchet. To Stanton’s face. And back. ‘What is it?’ Wary. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want the truth, Daniel,’ said Stanton. ‘And I haven’t time for chapter meetings or whatever it is you’re used to.’ He pointed the axe at him. ‘Did you kill Agatha?’

  ‘No.’ Daniel drew himself up to his full, considerable height. ‘I never hurt a hair on her head. I’d chop one of my hands off with that blade if it would make you believe me.’

  Stanton knew he would. He nodded. That was good enough. ‘You asked me what was going on. There have been more attacks. Philip was the latest victim. Or he would have been if I hadn’t saved him. When I should have been saving Barling.’ Grief threatened to take him. He forced it down. ‘I have to find the devil who’s done this. To do that, I need the book, the book of Tundale. The monks have the copy that Reginald made but I think there should be an original copy, an old one, that belonged to Abbot Ernald. You know the layout of the library, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Daniel was still wary.

  ‘Then you can help me.’ Stanton held up the hatchet again. ‘And if you plan on attacking me, think again.’

  ‘Stanton, I swear to you, I won’t do you any harm. I’ve never done anybody any harm. You’ve got to believe me. I loved Agatha. I want to find the murdering bastard as much as you do.’

  Stanton went to repeat his threat.

  ‘I swear.’

  He hadn’t time. ‘Then come on: the library.’

  Daniel hurried over to him. ‘What if somebody sees me? I’m supposed to be locked up.’

  ‘They’re all in the church,’ said Stanton. ‘And I’ve got a blade that’ll stop any argument. Now, let’s go. Quiet as we can.’

  Stanton followed as Daniel led the way in through the sacristy to the back chamber.

  His judgement had been right. The many voices raised in fearful prayer still came from the church, but they’d not seen a soul.

  Daniel lit a taper and handed it to Stanton. ‘Elias has a system for his books. He would keep Ernald’s favourite books in that locked cupboard. Still does.’ He rummaged under a chest in one corner and produced a key. ‘Elias’s spare. I swear the monks scatter keys like birds scatter grain.’ He unlocked the cupboard and started to go through the books, squinting in the poor light that Stanton held up. ‘Here it is.’ He went to hand it to Stanton.

  Stanton put the hatchet down and took the book. Tattered and old, it looked far less grand than the copy made by Reginald.

  But in it were the words that had ended the life of the clerk Aelred Barling. Ended it in a way that was the worst of nightmares. Yes, he might find out who had done this. But he’d failed. Failed a good man. He choked back a furious sob. ‘Damn it all to hell. I’ve failed. Completely.’

  ‘Not completely, Stanton. If you hadn’t been here, the abbot would have lost his life.’

  Stanton froze. Stared at him. ‘If I hadn’t been here?’

  ‘Yes, you’ve saved a life. Without you, Philip would have died.’

  ‘No.’ Stanton shook his head. ‘No. That’s not it.’

  ‘You’re not making sense—’

  ‘I shouldn’t have been here. Don’t you see?’

  Daniel looked at him, bewildered. ‘No.’

  ‘All of this evil has been planned.’ Those had been Barling’s words, the day they rode back from seeing the village priest: . . . it was not the result of a chance encounter with evil . . . it was very much planned. And that, in my long experience in the law, is the worst kind of evil. Stanton held out the book of Tundale. ‘This, The Vision of Tundale, is the plan.’

  ‘Yes, you said. But—’

  ‘The murderer is following this plan, making each fate real. Barling was the last victim. He’s part of the plan, like all the victims. But I never was, because I shouldn’t be here. I never should have been.’ Silvanus, the guestmaster, on the day Stanton had arrived in this place with Barling: A second visitor from the court of the King? . . . Unfortunately, I have not yet had your room prepared as I was not informed that we were receiving you. Stanton swore loud and long. ‘I think I know who it is now. And that bastard sent Barling to hell. The last fate, the darkest place for all eternity. He has buried him.’

  Daniel’s face changed. ‘Then there may well still be time.’

  ‘Time? Of course there’s no time. I ran to the graveyard. The snow is so heavy I can’t even see which grave he’s put him in.’

  ‘But there are no fresh graves,’ said Daniel.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The ground is frozen solid. The bodies are in the crypt. They stay frozen there in this weather.’

  Stanton’s mouth dried. ‘And where is the crypt?’

  ‘Under the south transept of the church.’

  ‘Then it’s also under a church full of monks and lay brothers. And only one devil. Daniel, we must unmask him. But I need your help. And we will only have one chance.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Stanton opened the door of the church to a wave of light and the sound of the monks’ voices raised in desperate pleas to banish Satan.

  ‘Go,’ he whispered to Daniel.

  Daniel marched in, marched in the door that led to the monks’ choir, the east end of the church, from which he was forbidden.

  Marched in too as the man accused of grievous murder.

  The first monk saw him. ‘By the name of the Virgin!’ He dropped his prayer book and fled.

  ‘Oh, God save us!’ called out another as he saw the burly lay brother striding freely across the church. Others now saw him and all began to shout and point, many more fleeing as they did so.

  The chaos spread, Daniel still marching. He headed for the south transept.

  But Stanton only watched for the one reaction that mattered.

  And there it was. An angry, angry shout. ‘Daniel, stay away from that crypt!’

  A shout that came from Abbot Philip.

  Though he felt cold no longer, Barling’s consciousness was fading fast.

  Perhaps not fading, no. Too many colours swirled around him for that. Red. Blue. Like my lady’s robe.

  Precise, Barling, you must always be precise.

  How could he be standing in front of himself, lecturing, wagging a finger?

  ‘Help me.’ He struggled to form the words through lips that we
re dead with cold. He could not tell whether he uttered the words aloud or whether they were only in his head.

  More colours, but now they were pale and cold and arched over him. His mind was slipping. One could not build arches from colour.

  And colour did not whisper, either.

  Whispers that turned to the hiss of snakes that he was sure coiled their way around his arms, his legs.

  The serpent of evil. The devil.

  And the devil was made flesh and dwelt amongst us.

  The devil who’d buried him in here, who’d killed all those others.

  Philip, whose words had flowed like a serpent’s poison into Barling’s ears as he’d gloated to him of his depravity, as Barling lay almost without sense and unable to move from the blow to his head.

  Cuthbert, my very first. I went and summoned him in the hours after Compline. All of the monks were fast asleep in the dormitory, even Maurice had closed his eyes. If someone had stirred, what would they have seen in the dark of that room? A cowled figure. That’s all.

  I got Silvanus at a quiet time, when I knew everybody would be occupied. All so conscientious.

  With the lady Juliana, it was so easy to slip from cloister in the early hours of prayer. Pitch dark and the monks either praying or sleeping in their carrels in the cloister. Both take the monks into a world where they notice nothing.

  Osmund? Hopeless, of course. But he’d do anything I said. I was giving him a wise lesson in discipline, showing him the cell and telling him how best he could use it with the lay brothers. The sheep skulls were already waiting in a sack.

  William was a mistake. It should have been an old, sick monk. But William arrived unexpectedly as he was worried about one of his patients. Never mind. He served my purpose just as well.

  Old Lambert and his little whore, Agatha, were far too easy, in the gatehouse that’s apart from the rest of the abbey.

  I myself shall be the victim of the eighth fate, though I have of course ensured that I will be able to rescue myself in a convenient miracle if the fools here fail to notice my commotion. I am quite looking forward to the excitement.

  As for you, you know what you’ve done, and I know it too. You’re going to hell, Aelred Barling. So good of you to allow me to send you there.

  The colours were gone again, all gone.

  Now it was black, only black. He could see nothing.

  The words of his fate from the book of Tundale beat in his head like a drum.

  Forever in darkness you will be, light no more will ever see.

  He was falling, falling, the air rushing past, yet he could not feel it.

  He could not feel anything. Anything at all.

  Now it was quiet, so quiet.

  The thud of his heart sounded far, far away. So very, very slow.

  And then came a tremendous crash, followed by a bang.

  Shouts. Noise.

  ‘Barling! Where are you?’

  Another bang and his whole body jolted.

  And then, dear God, there was a flood of light, so bright it hurt his eyes and there was air and Stanton had his arms around him, hauling him out, and there were more shouts, more voices. More air.

  And he, just like Tundale, was moving back from the depths.

  Chapter Fifty

  ‘Barling!’ Stanton knelt over the clerk on the frigid floor of the crypt, his own heart pounding. They’d found him, found him, crammed into a coffin with the dead Silvanus. But he was ice cold, his thin lips blue. Stanton shook him hard. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Barling’s lips twitched.

  Relief surged through Stanton.

  ‘He’s alive.’ Elias, next to him. ‘Let’s get him into the warm. Quickly as possible.’

  ‘Let me. I can pick him up.’ Daniel went to do so.

  ‘I need to have Philip locked up.’ Stanton hurried back up the crypt steps and into the church, where monks and lay brothers milled in loud confusion.

  His gaze lit on Reginald and he ran over to him. ‘Where’s Philip?’

  ‘If you mean Abbot Philip—’

  ‘I mean the devil we’ve been seeking, brother.’

  A louder commotion broke out as Daniel emerged from the crypt carrying the senseless Barling.

  Realisation flared in the prior’s sharp eyes. ‘May the saints preserve us. Philip told me he was going to his hall.’ His glance went to where Barling was now being tended to on the floor by Elias. ‘But I doubt that is the case.’

  ‘Damn it all. He’s getting away.’

  The prior unhooked his keys from his belt and thrust them at Stanton. ‘Here. These will get you through any door.’

  Stanton set off at a run for the exit of the church. ‘Daniel, with me!’

  They raced out into the cloister.

  ‘Look, the main door’s open,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Quick,’ said Stanton. ‘He can’t have got far.’

  As they ran out Daniel shouted. ‘I have him.’

  Stanton followed his point. The snow had stopped once more and the full moon lit the frozen snow clear as day.

  Running for the main gate was Philip, his long strides giving him great speed.

  ‘Come on.’

  As they chased after him, Philip glanced around.

  The abbot had seen them. He ran faster than ever and reached the gate. It took him two tries to get it open.

  ‘The snow’s making it stick,’ said Daniel. ‘We’re nearly on him.’

  Philip didn’t bother closing the gate again as he fled.

  Then Stanton and Daniel were through and out the other side.

  The white road glowed in the moonlight. Deserted. But the light showed Philip’s footsteps, leading off to the right.

  ‘He’s headed for the woods,’ panted Daniel.

  ‘I can see him.’ Stanton pulled in an extra breath to raise his voice as he ran. ‘Philip! Stop!’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Daniel. ‘We’ll get him easy in there.’

  Now they were climbing, and the rumble of the water was getting louder.

  ‘The river will stop him. There’s nowhere to go after that.’

  As they broke cover into the clearing, Philip was nearing the water’s edge.

  Then Stanton knew. ‘Damn it to hell, he’s going to jump it. If he gets to the other side, we’ll lose him.’

  Daniel swore. ‘He won’t make it. He can’t.’

  As the words came out of his mouth, Philip put on a last burst of speed. He raced to the narrowest part of the torrent and leapt.

  For the moment that he hung in the air, Stanton thought he’d gone too high.

  But no.

  Philip made it to the other side. The rocks that he landed on were slick with ice and wet moss. He slid down, down towards the water, with a last grab at a snow-covered shrub. He stopped. Pulled himself back up. Got cautiously to his feet, breathing hard but with a wide smile. He raised his voice over the roar of the water.

  ‘Too slow, both of you. Slow minds as well. So easy. All of it.’

  Fury pounded through Stanton along with the race of his heart. ‘Make no mistake, I will hunt you down, Philip!’

  ‘But why would you do that, Stanton? You saved me from peril in the forge, did so most impressively. Trouble is, you should’ve been looking out for your master.’

  Stanton wouldn’t respond to his mocking. ‘You’ll feel the hand of the justice of the King. You will hang. And I will be there to watch it.’

  ‘No, I won’t, Stanton.’ Philip’s smile got even wider. ‘I shall seek refuge at another holy house. Confess all my sins. I may be flogged and imprisoned. But I will live. The Church believes in repentance. All I have to do is throw myself upon its mercy. The King’s justice can’t touch me. For I am a man of God and not subject to Henry for my crimes. I might have hated the life of a monk that I was forced into, but I have my reward for all those wasted years. My vows are what’ll save me from the noose.’

  ‘You’re no man of God, Philip. You�
�re a monster.’

  ‘Oh, but I am a man of God. One who ruled over an ordered life, an order that I could demand, which meant I could move freely through the abbey. Nobody ever questioned it when I approached them, telling them I had something of importance to discuss with them, each and every one trusting the holy abbot.’ He grinned. ‘Except for your whore, Daniel. I didn’t even bother saying anything to her.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, you hear me?’ yelled Daniel.

  Philip ignored him. ‘She and pissed old Lambert were almost too easy. I killed her first. Her neck broke and opened like a bird’s as I swung my scythe. Lambert actually tried to fight me to save her.’ He laughed. ‘Can you imagine? He was crying for her when I killed him. All fools, even the keen-minded Aelred Barling. He followed me outside like a lamb, went down in the snow with one strike to the head. Too easy, really.’

  ‘You’ll go to hell, Philip,’ shouted Stanton, rage hot in his chest. ‘You’re the worst sinner. Not any of them.’

  He shrugged. ‘It didn’t actually matter if they were sinners or not. What mattered was what people thought. Believed. And people are fools. They never see what’s in front of them.’ He gave a nasty wink. ‘But you might want to ask your friend Barling about Paris.’

  Daniel yelled at him again. ‘That I could get my hands on you. I’d throttle you in a heartbeat.’

  ‘But you can’t, can you, Daniel?’ replied Philip. ‘You’re a big clumsy ox and twice as stupid. You’d never make the jump.’

  Daniel muttered something and bent down to rummage through the snow. He stood up with a grunt of effort, a huge rock in his right fist.

  Philip just laughed. ‘Even you can’t throw that thing this far. Try if you like. You’ll see.’

  Daniel hurled it at Philip with all his might. It bounced harmlessly off the rocks and fell into the torrent with a mighty splash, watched by a delighted Philip.

  ‘See? Stupid. I told you.’ He looked back up at Stanton and Daniel. And his face changed.

  Changed at the moment Stanton saw another stone, smaller, faster, fly through the air and strike Philip hard on one temple.

  The abbot screamed at its impact. Took a stagger to one side. On feet that stood on wet moss and ice.