The Devil's Priest

by Kate Ellis

  He laughed to himself as if enjoying some private joke. “I take no blame for Father Edmund’s murder; he was well dead when I found him. I merely arranged for the disposal of the body. My time spent as a priest was of great use to me for a while but I have larger ambitions...as the Captain here will testify.”

  Katheryn, surprised by this denial, persisted trying hard not to show her dislike. She knew that if she angered him he would not talk. “And Agnes...she was pretty, was she not?” She heard Bartholomew gasp behind her.

  “She would pursue me: the silly creature couldn’t accept that it was all a moment’s pleasure. I made her acquaintance on the way here from Chester. She was so innocent, so compliant...and a virgin - that was amusing. Then when I had to disappear, I feared she would be a nuisance. She clung to me and I knew she would start asking questions.”

  “One night I did some business with a juggler, the nature of which I shall not reveal. He went off with a whore and I thought to visit Captain Wharton by way of the castle tunnel and the postern gate. Then I saw Agnes near the boathouse on the strand with Sir Edward. I knew he was no danger to me as his mind rarely rises above his loins...but talk spreads in a town like this. I followed them and when Agnes ran out of that boathouse as if the hounds of hell were after her and flung herself into the river, it was easy to dispose of her: she almost did the job herself. All I had to do was help her on her way to hell.”

  “You took her across the river?”

  “When she was dead. I didn’t want her found too near the castle: there might have been questions asked.”

  Katheryn swallowed hard. She felt sick with disgust at the cool way in which this creature spoke of the young woman’s death.

  Wharton had remained silent in the background; but now he stared at Mires uncomprehendingly as though he had not known the full extent of the man’s evil.

  But it was more than Bartholomew could stand. He lunged towards Mires but Agnes’s murderer was too quick for him. Valentine rushed forward and hardly saw the flash of the dagger before it was thrust into Bartholomew’s body.

  The ferryman lay on the floor, gasping, and Valentine jumped to his aid. Katheryn knelt to help Valentine but a sound, a grating of stone against stone, made her turn. In the far wall of the undercroft a black hole, a passage in the rock, had appeared in the solid stone wall, clearly visible in the gentle gold lantern light. Mires disappeared into its depths. Wharton hesitated. He could hear Mires’ footsteps receding down the tunnel.

  Mires must have stopped in his flight because he called urgently to Wharton “Bring the chest. Move man. Now.” He barked out the order and Wharton, dazed, followed the instruction with the automatic obedience of the professional soldier.

  Mires must have been well down the passage by the time Wharton picked up the wooden chest he had been sitting on and staggered under its weight, making for the passage entrance.

  Bartholomew was losing blood fast. He hissed to Valentine “Forget me. Follow Wharton...get the treasure.”

  Valentine did not hesitate in his decision. He stayed with Bartholomew, trying to stem the flow of blood. “Sir Thomas’s men will see to that. Your life is of more importance than gold.” He looked up at Katheryn. “Go and warn Sir Thomas and tell him the tunnel comes out on the sand near the jetty. But first let me have your petticoat. It is only a shoulder wound but I need to tie a bandage tight around his arm to stop the flow of blood.” She obeyed at once, lifting her skirts and tearing desperately at the red flannel petticoat beneath. Then she took off her thick woollen cloak, folded it and placed it under Bartholomew’s head before running from the crypt to seek out Sir Thomas.

  Wharton, now used to the weight of the box and moving faster, vanished into the open tunnel entrance.

  After a few seconds there was a shuddering crash which set the floor of the crypt vibrating with noise. The tunnel’s entrance had been concealed by a huge flat stone which had balanced as a door. It had fallen on where the Captain and his precious load would have been. There were further rumblings in the tunnel. If Wharton had not been crushed, he would be trapped in the passage to face a slow and unpleasant death. Katheryn listened as the rumblings ceased and were followed by silence. The treasure had been the death of Captain Wharton.

  Valentine said nothing but continued his work bandaging Bartholomew’s shoulder with the red flannel strips. The ferryman was now unconscious and oblivious to all that was happening around him, but the flow of blood was ceasing and with care his life could be saved.

  *

  Katheryn had run, dishevelled, up the dark steps and out into the cloister. She was without her cloak and the night air was cooled by the river breezes but she did not feel its chill. Sir Thomas stepped forward out of the cloister shadows, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “My lady, you are hurt?”

  “No,” she said breathlessly. “Bartholomew is hurt but Valentine attends him. We must go to the shore. Mires has made his escape by way of a tunnel leading from the crypt. We must be quick if we are to catch him. And you need not concern yourself for Wharton: he is dead.”

  She lifted her skirts and ran, Sir Thomas and his men following. As she scrambled down the steep path to the beach, she almost fell and Sir Thomas put out his hand to steady her but she shook it off. This was no time for courtly manners.

  There were two figures on the sand: as she drew closer Katheryn could see them clearly in the light of the full moon. Surely Wharton could not have escaped from the tunnel alive. The two men were fighting and, from the concentration of the two protagonists, she sensed that this was no drunken brawl, nor even a fight between two rivals over treasure: this was a fight to the death. Even Sir Thomas’s men looked dubious about breaking up such a vicious bout.

  The two fighters lumbered about the sand. The moonlight caught a flash of metal as the smaller man lunged at Mires. Mires, stumbling, retreated towards the shoreline where a rowing boat lay on the sand.

  Sir Thomas, calm and aloof, nodded to the two soldiers under his command. They started towards Mires, who stumbled and fell allowing the other man to catch up with him. Another flash of metal and Mires sank down into the damp sand.

  By the time they reached Mires’ prone body, the other man had disappeared into the darkness by the cliffs. Mires lay on the sand, apparently unconscious. Blood seeped from his wounds and glistened, dark and oily, in the light of the moon.

  “Fetch Master Valentine,” Sir Thomas barked to one of his men. “I would not lose this man. I would have him face the King’s justice and pay the price for his crimes at the end of a rope.”

  Sir Thomas ran off down the sand in pursuit of the other combatant, leaving Katheryn alone, bent over the unconscious man.

  But she gasped in terror as his eyes flashed open and she felt an iron grip on her wrist. Mires looked up at her, opening his eyes wider, and smiled. Although wounded, he seemed to be gaining in strength. “Where is he?”

  “Who?” She tried to sound calm, not to agitate him.

  “The one who did this to me. The beggar.” He almost spat the word. “He thinks that some time ago I did him a disservice. And he has followed me since he discovered my whereabouts. I thought I had rid myself of him when I burned the old mill as I was certain he was inside. But it seems he shares my power over death.” He smiled unpleasantly.

  “Why did you burn the mill?”

  “I told you. I thought my enemy asleep inside. And it had served my purposes: I had tired of Mistress Moore’s sagging body. Do I shock you? I could tell you a thing or two about prim Mistress Moore.”

  “If you think to shock me, Master Mires, save your breath. I have heard the whole sorry tale. Have you no thought for those whose lives you have blighted and destroyed.”

  “It is those who take what they want and have no heed for others who prosper in this world, my dear. I think even our sovereign lord the King would not argue with that. I suppose the treasure is gone. I heard the tunnel collapse behind me.”

  “No
thought for Captain Wharton?”

  “Another fool. The world is full of fools, my dear. Remember that.”

  He fixed his eyes on hers and raised his arm. Katheryn was unprepared for his strength as he pulled her towards him and the violent pressure of his moist lips on her mouth. His free hand, iron hard, was on her breast, his fingers thrusting their way inside her bodice. She struggled but he held her tighter. She tried to kick out at him but her skirts had wrapped themselves about her legs, impeding movement.

  She felt herself being pushed back until she lay, helpless on the damp sand. Mires was pinning her down, his shape looming above her against the night sky. As she opened her mouth to scream, he stopped it again with his. She could feel the warm stickiness of his blood as it seeped into her bodice and his hand determinedly exploring her skirts. She felt a shiver of revulsion as Mires pressed his tongue into her tightly closed mouth. She bit it hard.

  As Mires jumped back with the unexpected pain, he released his hold on her. She seized the chance to make her escape, lifted her skirts, now heavy with damp sand, and took off down the shore. Mires followed her, beginning to stagger now as he lost more blood.

  He was closing on her. As she ran she felt something catch her skirt, making her stumble back. She turned to see Mires, fallen to the ground, holding firmly onto the back of her skirt. She tried to pull the material away but he held fast, pulling at her, trying to bring her down. She struggled and tugged, frantic to be free of him.

  Then suddenly he loosed his grip and she fell forward and she lay for a second on the cold wet sand, afraid to turn, bracing herself for a second attack The sound of the waves a few feet away was deafening.

  It was a few seconds before she dared to look round but it had seemed like an age. She raised herself to her knees. Mires lay behind her looking up at her with glazed, staring eyes, a sardonic smile of triumph on his lips. The life blood had flowed from him. He was dead.

  A cloaked figure stood over the body. The moonlight caught the glint of a knife. Katheryn closed her eyes in prayer, only to open them when she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She fell against her rescuer, oblivious to the smell of unwashed clothing and flesh, and sank her face into the coarse cloth of his threadbare cloak.

  *

  Walter de Daresbury had dropped the knife and supported Katheryn gently. She took deep breaths while her thumping heart stilled to a comfortable beat. All the time de Daresbury watched Mires to satisfy himself that the man was truly dead; that the deed was finally done.

  “Is he dead?” Katheryn whispered.

  “Yes.”

  She made an attempt to compose herself. “I must thank you, sir. You have done me a great service in saving me from the attentions of that rogue.”

  The man said nothing. He was gaunt, haggard. It was hard to tell his age but he wasn’t a young man. Katheryn had seen him before, begging in Liverpool. She looked down at his hands. She knew one would be missing.

  “There is no need for explanation, sir. I have been to Norton. I know your story: Robert Janyns told me all. You sought your revenge?”

  “The fathers said I should leave all vengeance to God...but they did not see my Lucy in her agony: they were not falsely accused on the testimony of their enemy: they did not have the very means of livelihood cut from their bodies.” He held up the stump of his right hand. Katheryn said nothing but let him continue. “For three years I have begged round Cheshire and Lancashire. Then by chance I saw him. I had come to Liverpool. I had been told that the sailors here could be generous when they had spent a day in the tavern. I saw that...devil in the clothing of a priest. I would sooner have seen Satan himself in such attire.”

  Walter de Daresbury looked at her, puzzled. “I killed him,” he said softly. “I lay in wait for him near the castle one evening after dark. He often went there and when I saw him...”

  “You stabbed him?”

  He looked down as if ashamed. “And I cut off his right hand...as he had caused mine to be cut off. I thought of all he had done to me and I did it in fury. I tried to pray for forgiveness - after all I had killed a man - but when I thought of him I could only reason that the world was better rid of such a creature. I had discovered his dealings with the young girl who lived at the Old Hall and I had watched his cottage and seen them together: I’d looked in the window and witnessed their coupling. I feared for her and I told myself that when he was dead all would be well, that the evil he spread to all he met would cease. But then...”

  Katheryn reached out and touched his handless arm. “Then what?”

  “Then he returned from the dead. Satan had guarded his own. I was begging near the White Cross and I saw him but I could not be sure. So I followed his leman...the girl from the Old Hall; Agnes I think her name was. She went to the castle one night and I thought she might be meeting him there. I had to know if I’d been mistaken but I did not see him: she had dealings with some soldiers and went into the castle. Then I heard she had been murdered and I knew that I had not been mistaken and that he was still on this earth. I went to the mill by the Old Hall, thinking it a good shelter as the nights grow colder, but he discovered me there and tried to kill me by burning it down. But I jumped from the window and escaped. God preserved me to finish my work.”

  Katheryn shook her head. What she was about to tell him would cause de Daresbury further pain...but he had to know the truth. “The man you killed was not Mires. I fear it was Father Edmund from Norton. He had had been released from prison in Chester and had come to Liverpool to sail for Ireland. He has been missing since that night. You killed the wrong priest. Mires did not return from the dead.”

  De Daresbury fell to his knees and let out a cry like a wounded beast. “Why did I not recognise Father Edmund. That I should mistake him for that devil... May God forgive me.” His face twisted with the agony of his distress.

  Katheryn spoke to him gently. “It was dark and you could not have known. You saw a man in priest’s garb and assumed it was Mires. He was the same height and build.”

  “Walter de Daresbury broke into sobs. There was nothing Katheryn could say by way of comfort. The man had judged himself.

  She looked up and saw a figure approaching across the sand in the dim light of the moon. Valentine: she would know him in any light. All of a sudden she felt a desire to run to him, to fling herself into his arms and be held there in safety, taking refuge against this world of evil and misery. She touched de Daresbury’s arm reassuringly and took off over the sand towards Valentine, leaving the beggar near Mires’ body. Neither could come to harm and if de Daresbury escaped so be it. She had no wish to see the unfortunate man dangling from the gallows. The torment in his soul was punishment enough.

  Valentine called her name and as she drew nearer he was shocked at her appearance. He held out his arms to her and she ran into them. He held her for a while and she drew strength and comfort from his embrace. Then her mind began to clear.

  “Where is Sir Thomas?”

  “Searching the headland. Is Mires dead? Who were you speaking with?”

  She put a finger to his lips. “Mires is dead now but when Sir Thomas left him he was feigning death. He...” She buried her face in Valentine’s coat and shuddered.

  He said nothing for a while then “You are all right?”

  She nodded and looked round at the shoreline where she had left de Daresbury. She could see the waves lapping at Mires’ body...but the beggar was gone.

  Valentine took her hand and they ran down to the glistening river. When they reached the water’s edge, Valentine gave Mires’ body a kick as if to make sure that he had not cheated death a second time. Katheryn tried not to look at the corpse but found her eyes drawn to the staring eyes and the still triumphant smile. She shuddered. Poor foolish Agnes, she thought, to have given herself to such a creature.

  There was no sign of de Daresbury on the shore but in the distance they could see Sir Thomas and his men returning from their search. Then a move
ment on the water caught Katheryn’s eye. About fifty yards out into the river a boat was being rowed slowly towards the Liverpool side. The water swelled and billowed. The rower, swapping the single oar over from one side to the other, laboured against the force of the tide.

  “He is in danger. The currents are treacherous.” Valentine kicked off his boots and started to take off his coat. Katheryn, realising what he intended, grabbed his arm.

  “If he is taken by Sir Thomas, he will hang. Leave him to God and the river. Please Valentine...it is best.”

  Valentine did not fully understand but he nodded, knowing that she would tell him her reasons in time. He was bending to put his boots back on when the current dragged de Daresbury’s small boat beneath the oily dark waters of the River Mersey. Katheryn stared out across the river. De Daresbury’s ordeal was over.