Hugh Corbett 17 - The Mysterium

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Can you recall precisely what happened?’ Corbett pleaded. ‘It’s very important.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I was at the front. Ippegrave had surrendered his sword and so had the merchant. Evesham asked the merchant what he was doing in a Southwark tavern. The man was beside himself with fright; he was trembling, face pale as a ghost. He kept plucking at his cloak and looking towards the door. He could give no honest explanation.’

  ‘And the clerk Boniface?’

  ‘He produced a piece of parchment and handed it over. Evesham read it. If I remember rightly, it was simply a message that if Ippegrave came to the Liber Albus tavern in Southwark at a certain hour, it would be of great profit to both himself and the King.’

  Corbett nodded; he’d seen such a scrap in the archives of the Secret Seal.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Both Boniface and the merchant were searched. Apart from that note and some coins, nothing else was found on the clerk, but the merchant carried a heavy purse of gold. I remember Evesham weighing it in his hand. He declared that both men were under arrest and they were to accompany him to Newgate. I think it was Newgate.’

  ‘Not to Westminster?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘No, sir, it was definitely to Newgate, or the Fleet. I am sure it was Newgate. So we left.’

  ‘Did Evesham bind his prisoners?’ Ranulf asked.

  ‘I offered to do that, but Boniface objected and so did the merchant. They maintained that whatever they were being accused of, they had not been indicted. Evesham accepted this; after all, he had a heavy guard. Some of my companions went back by barge, and the rest followed Evesham and Engleat across London Bridge. We ringed the two prisoners.’

  ‘How did they behave?’

  ‘Both men were crestfallen, rather frightened; they no longer protested. The merchant glared at Boniface but he seemed locked in his own thoughts. We left the bridge and made our way along Thames Street and up towards St Paul’s. As we reached Milk Street, neither prisoner offering resistance, the crowd surged around us, and that is when it happened. Boniface appeared to slip, going down on one knee.’

  ‘Who was next to him?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. At one time he and Evesham were walking by themselves. Anyway, there was confusion. You know what it’s like, we bailiffs are not liked. There were catcalls, some refuse thrown. Apprentices darted in trying to sell things. There were beggars, cunning men, street prowlers, pimps and their whores, people who revel in a commotion. As I said, Boniface went down on one knee as if he’d slipped, and suddenly he was gone, fast as a whippet. He snaked through the line of bailiffs into the crowd, and you can imagine what happened.’

  Corbett nodded. People always felt sorry for a prisoner, hence escape was common.

  ‘The hue and cry were raised.’ Osbert paused.

  ‘Continue,’ Corbett demanded.

  ‘Well, we cried, “Harrow! Harrow!” and tried to pursue, but of course our path was blocked. Boniface was a fairly young man, swift on his feet. He went down an alleyway and disappeared. We followed and caught sight of him. He was fleeing across St Botulph’s cemetery, then he entered the church.’ Osbert shrugged. ‘We knew the law. We didn’t want to be excommunicated. A man who has taken sanctuary has taken sanctuary. Our job was finished.’

  ‘And Evesham?’

  ‘He organised the pursuit. When Boniface reached St Botulph’s he was beside himself with rage. He tongue-lashed us for being incompetent, cursed us and said he wished he’d bound both captives.’

  ‘And the merchant?’ Ranulf asked.

  ‘Oh, he tried to escape in the confusion, but he was seized, bound and safely lodged in Newgate.’

  ‘And at St Botulph’s?’ asked Corbett. ‘What happened there, apart from Evesham cursing and shouting?’

  ‘He told us not to disperse but to guard the four doors, the main one, the corpse door, the Galilee porch on the north side and the sacristy door. We examined the windows in both the tower and the church itself; these were too narrow for any man to push himself through. We thought this was an ordinary case of sanctuary. The fugitive would stay there for forty days then either flee, give himself up or agree to be taken to the nearest port and sent to foreign parts, if he survived the walk.’ The old man ran a finger around his mouth and smacked his lips.

  Corbett whispered to Ranulf, who rose, filled a wine cup and handed it over. Osbert smiled, raised it in a toast and took a deep gulp.

  ‘Evesham?’

  ‘Evesham and Engleat were like men possessed, and only then did we realise that the fugitive was such an important prisoner. The two of them went into the church. By then the priest had appeared, and he made it very clear that Boniface Ippegrave had taken sanctuary and that whilst he remained in the church, Evesham and Engleat must do nothing about it. Then . . .’ Osbert turned and gestured at Sandewic, who snatched the wine cup from the former bailiff and finished the wine, smacking his lips and grinning at Corbett before taking up the story.

  ‘I was at the Tower. I received a message from Evesham that an important prisoner had fled for sanctuary, so I brought guards, some soldiers and archers as well as a few market beadles I collected on the way. Sir Hugh, we ringed that church. A mouse couldn’t leave. All four doors were carefully guarded. We even got ladders and put people on the roof. We inspected the tower, whilst the priest assured us that no secret passageway, crypt or cellar existed.’

  ‘And who approached the church?’

  ‘I think you know, Sir Hugh.’

  ‘Boniface’s sister?’

  ‘But she was refused entry,’ Sandewic replied.

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Your two colleagues, Lord Staunton and Master Blandeford.’

  By the sly grin on Sandewic’s face, Corbett could see that the constable had no love for either of them.

  ‘They also wanted to see Boniface, but Evesham was hot and choleric. He said it was none of their business and no one could see the prisoner. Apart from Evesham and Engleat, the only person allowed in was Parson Tunstall, who brought food or took out the jakes pot to be emptied. No one else entered. On the morning of the third day, Evesham followed the priest into the church, and they found that Boniface had disappeared. And to answer your next question, Sir Hugh, I don’t know how, when or why. I’ve never seen the likes before, a man vanishing off the face of God’s earth.’

  ‘You’re sure each door was guarded?’

  ‘Sir Hugh, the cemetery of St Botulph’s thronged with armed men. Evesham had sent letters to the King; by then royal men-at-arms and hobelars had joined us.’

  ‘It’s a sprawling cemetery, isn’t it?’ Corbett mused. He paused as Chanson slipped back through the door, nodded and sat down on his stool.

  ‘Yes, it is, but I repeat, no one left that church.’ Sandewic turned and watched Ranulf’s sharpened quill pen skimming across the creamy surface of the vellum.

  ‘Master Osbert,’ Corbett smiled, ‘I am very grateful for your attention to these matters. Is there anything else you can remember that might help solve this mystery?’

  The old man shook his head.

  ‘Tell me, Sir Ralph,’ Corbett continued, ‘after the recent affray in Newgate, the escaped prisoners took refuge at St Botulph’s. Why did they choose that church?’

  The constable blew his lips out. ‘Sir Hugh, I don’t know. One of the reasons people take sanctuary there is that it is strong as a castle. There are no secret entrances and it is well fortified and easy to defend, as we found to our cost.’

  Corbett agreed and thanked both Sandewic and Osbert. He waited until the door closed behind them and then banged the table in exasperation.

  ‘Chanson,’ he raised his voice, ‘tell Lord Staunton, Master Blandeford and Lapwing I want words with them.’

  A short while later all three entered. Staunton, gathering his cloak about him, brimmed with rage at being summoned back. Corbett ignored this, not even offering them a chair.

  ‘Sir Hugh, I thought
we were finished?’

  ‘My lord, I am not finished. When I am finished I will tell you. I have now established,’ Corbett pointed at Lapwing, ‘that this clerk works for you, yes?’

  Staunton nodded. Corbett glanced quickly at Lapwing, who stood confident and poised. Could he be a killer with his own private grievances? wondered Corbett.

  ‘Sir Hugh, what do you want with us?’ Staunton asked.

  ‘This is what I want,’ Corbett retorted. ‘Tell me about the night you surprised Evesham with Waldene and Hubert the Monk.’

  ‘As I said, we kept Lord Evesham’s house under close scrutiny. Waldene and the Monk were seen to enter. We simply watched and waited for another occasion when they entered, and then we followed.’

  ‘Were you admitted?’

  ‘No we forced the door. Master Blandeford drew his sword and demanded a servant take us immediately to Lord Walter. He did so. We found him in his chancery room with Waldene and the other rogue.’

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘Lord Evesham blustered and flustered, but there was little he could do. He was caught red-handed. The gold he held was stolen. He could not explain its presence there. Naturally he had no choice but to deny that the two rifflers had brought it.’

  ‘You say you caught him in his chancery room.’ Corbett rose to his feet. ‘And what happened then? The two riffler leaders were taken to Newgate – yes?’

  Staunton, eyes watchful, nodded.

  ‘And Lord Walter?’

  ‘He was confined to his house until the King was informed, then he’d be taken to where his grace wished.’

  ‘So you left him there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘His papers, his manuscripts, his household books, his secret memoranda, didn’t you seize them?’ Corbett glanced quickly at Blandeford, who swallowed nervously and refused to meet his gaze. Lapwing stood half smiling to himself. ‘Well?’ Corbett turned back to Staunton. ‘My lord, you had just arrested a Chief Justice of King’s Bench. He was consorting with well-known outlaws and wolfsheads. I can understand that he’d be confined to his own house under a strong guard, but surely the documents and memoranda, everything in that chamber, could have been of use to you? Why didn’t you seize them?’

  ‘We tried to, later.’

  ‘But not immediately?’

  ‘No, Sir Hugh, we did not.’

  ‘And what happened to all those documents and memoranda? Don’t tell me! Lord Evesham had a fireplace in his chancery room, not to mention braziers, and when you returned, everything had been burnt, yes?’

  Staunton nodded. Corbett breathed out noisily.

  ‘Did you tell Evesham to burn all his manuscripts, his papers? An act of kindness by one judge to another? Or did the King himself give you such a commission? After all, the less scandal, the better.’

  Staunton shrugged. ‘I cannot answer for the King, Sir Hugh, you must ask him yourself. We made a mistake, we thought it would be safe, and yes, when we returned, Evesham had burnt his manuscripts.’

  ‘You told the King?’

  ‘Of course. His grace simply said that it was a mistake. Evesham was still finished, his career destroyed. We had all the evidence we needed.’

  Corbett nodded and walked over to Lapwing. ‘And you, sir?’ He tapped him on the chest. ‘You visited Newgate just before the riot broke out. Did you tell Waldene’s followers that Hubert the Monk might turn King’s evidence, or vice versa?’

  Lapwing held Corbett’s gaze. ‘I’ve told the truth. I acted a part, nothing else.’

  ‘And when they did escape, those violent, desperate men, who told them to go to St Botulph’s?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they could have answered that. However, Sir Hugh, you put them on trial and dispatched them to execution. I cannot answer for what their evil wits or nasty souls plotted. I’ve told the truth.’

  ‘Have you?’ Corbett declared. ‘Have you really? I don’t think any of you gentlemen have told the truth. You may not have told a lie, but . . .’ He turned away, waving his hand in dismissal. ‘I may summon you again.’ He walked back behind the table. Even as Chanson ushered Staunton and the rest through the door, he could hear the justice’s protests and complaints. He slouched back in his chair.

  ‘There’s nothing, is there, master?’ Ranulf whispered, leaning over. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Oh yes there is. Let’s question Brother Cuthbert and Adelicia.’

  ‘Together?’ Ranulf demanded.

  ‘Oh yes, together.’

  Brother Cuthbert, garbed in his black Benedictine robe, shuffled in, Adelicia behind him. Corbett was immediately struck by how tall, purposeful and energetic the woman was. She was dressed in a dark blue gown like that of a nun, a veil about her head, her face almost hidden by the gleaming white coif beneath. She was graceful in all her movements. She smiled, bowed at Corbett and took her seat, helping Brother Cuthbert into his. The former parson of St Botulph’s sat down with a sigh, head slightly back, staring at Corbett from under heavy-lidded eyes.

  ‘You’ve taken the oath,’ Corbett began gently, ‘and now I want you to tell me the truth.’

  ‘But we have,’ Adelicia murmured. ‘We have spoken the truth. Sir Hugh, I have something else to tell you. Last night, or rather in the early hours of this morning, I was disturbed by a stranger who tapped on the shutters of my anker house.’ As she swiftly told Corbett what had happened, Ranulf’s pen raced across the surface of the parchment, taking down in his own neat cipher everything she said.

  ‘Do you think it was your brother?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘Sir Hugh.’ Adelicia brought her hands from beneath the folds of her gown, stretched across and put the jasper-stone ring on the table. ‘He gave me that. Last time I saw that ring was when I gave it to Evesham, who promised to hand it to my brother.’

  ‘And did he?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ declared Brother Cuthbert. ‘I brought Boniface’s food. On one occasion I found him examining that ring. He’d slipped it on to his finger. Sir Hugh, it must have been him; Boniface Ippegrave must have escaped. Now he’s returned to wreak vengeance.’

  ‘One thing at a time . . .’ Corbett paused at the tolling of a bell. He felt a slight thrill of excitement. Nothing was embedded in rock. Many of the stories he’d heard were lies, a twisting of the truth. Perhaps it was time to shake the edifice to reveal the sham.

  ‘Brother Cuthbert, on the night Evesham died, you would have us believe that everything was calm and serene, harmonious as ever.’

  ‘As well as it could be,’ Brother Cuthbert half joked.

  ‘Apparently, when you retired, Evesham was in his cell, its door closed and barred both inside and out. Ogadon your guard dog was resting at his post. Then a macabre miracle occurred. Someone managed to go through either a locked door or a barred shutter, then down the steps of that chapel. He or she did not disturb you, but persuaded Evesham to open the door of his chamber. The assassin followed Evesham in, cut his throat and left just as silently and mysteriously locking the door behind him.’ Corbett rested his elbows on the table. ‘Brother Cuthbert, Mistress Adelicia, you are good-hearted people, the evidence will support that. Nonetheless, if you think I believe such a fabulous story, then you insult me. It’s impossible.’

  Adelicia glanced quickly at Brother Cuthbert, who just shook his head and stared down, fiddling with the cord of his robe.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Corbett declared, then paused because Ranulf, in his surprise, had dropped his quill. He busily picked up another, sharpening its point with a puzzled look at his master.

  ‘I believe you two love each other,’ Corbett continued softly. ‘You always have, you always will. Brother Cuthbert, when you were parson at St Botulph’s, you and Adelicia became hand-fast friends, two hearts united, two souls one. In other circumstances, in another place at another time, you would have become man and wife.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I understand that. There’s nothing in Scripture t
hat says a priest cannot fall in love with a woman. Evesham shattered all that, didn’t he? He hounded Adelicia’s brother into oblivion, then he tortured both of you, not with pincers or hot irons but with allegations and accusations. I do wonder if in your hearts, both of you regard what happened at St Botulph’s twenty years ago as punishment for what you thought was an unchaste attraction.’

  ‘We were never lovers,’ Brother Cuthbert retorted, staring full at Corbett. ‘You have the truth. I have taken an oath. I am a celibate priest. I met Adelicia and we fell deeply in love. God knows what might have happened, though God knows what actually did. You’re correct, Master Clerk. Evesham shattered our lives. I truly believed it was God’s punishment on me.’

  ‘I argued against that,’ declared Adelicia. ‘I said it wasn’t possible. On reflection,’ she smiled thinly, colouring with embarrassment, ‘I know what you are thinking, clerk: just another priest with his leman, his mistress. We were never that. Nevertheless we loved each other as passionately as any man does his wife, or wife her husband.’

  ‘So,’ Corbett continued, ‘Brother Cuthbert, you left St Botulph’s and became a reclose at Syon Abbey. Adelicia, of course, after Boniface’s disappearance, decided that she had no choice but to follow. I would say before God that you’ve lived chaste lives, but as the years passed, I am sure that you often met under the cover of night, deep in those woods. Perhaps you’d take a flagon of wine, goblets. In cold weather a muffler with hot coals. You’d sit and talk about what was and what might have been, true?’

  Cuthbert nodded.

  ‘And then,’ Corbett declared, ‘Evesham arrived at Syon Abbey; Satan re-entered your lives. The man who had wrecked everything was now your closest neighbour. Your midnight trysts occurred more often. On the night Evesham was murdered, you, Brother Cuthbert, left the death chapel and went to meet the only woman you have ever loved.’

  Cuthbert put his face in his hands and began to sob quietly. Adelicia leaned over and caressed him on the shoulder, just a light touch yet it told Corbett everything.