by Paul Doherty
Corbett spread his hands. ‘By simply eliminating what is possible from what is probable,’ he pointed at Odo, ‘you bore the brunt of my suspicions. You pretend to be a hermit, living out at Dragon’s Mouth cave. You would find that easy. What are you really, master hermit? A Franciscan priest, a lay brother? Your role as a hermit would not conflict with this. You can hide behind such a charade. No one would suspect a devout man of God whose hands are so injured he can hardly lift a spade, never mind draw a bow. You leave your hermitage and go to a secret place where you keep a cloak, a mask, a bow, a quiver of arrows, quill, parchment and ink. Like all Franciscans, you are not an unlettered man.’
Corbett paused. The hermit kept his head down. Brother Cosmas had moved a little closer as if to offer reassurance and support.
‘You had a grievance against Lord Henry,’ Corbett continued. ‘But you are not a killer at heart. You were acting like a priest. You didn’t want to punish Lord Henry for his sin but to stir his soul, make him remember, perhaps excite his remorse and contrition. You did that by sending messages, which does not concern me. What I want to know is, did your patience snap? Did you become tired of playing a game and, instead of reminding Lord Henry of God’s justice, decide to take God’s vengeance? Are you a murderer, Odo? Are you guilty of Lord Henry’s death?’
‘You have no proof.’ The hermit glanced up. ‘True, I bandage my hands but that can be to excite compassion. If the truth be known, Sir Hugh, there are many in Ashdown with a grievance against Lord Henry.’
‘I mean you no harm,’ Corbett replied. ‘Who you are or where you come from is not a matter of concern to me. But I can order your arrest, have you chained and taken into London. You can be lodged at Newgate, the Fleet or the Tower while the King’s clerks do a careful scrutiny, close questioning of your superiors in London. Brother Cosmas here will have to join you and, in the end, the truth will come out.’
Brother Cosmas was about to protest but the hermit tapped him gently on the back of the hand.
‘I saw you ride through the forest.’ He half-smiled. ‘The King’s clerk and his assistant come to do justice because the great Lord Henry Fitzalan has been killed. I was angry. When a great lord of the soil is murdered the King makes his power felt. However, when a young woman hangs herself, and her husband out of grief follows, it causes as little stir as a sparrow falling from the sky. I shot those arrows out of anger as well as to divert your suspicions.’ He waved a hand. ‘No, no, that’s not the full truth, God forgive me. When Lord Henry was killed, I almost believed that I was responsible. In a way, I would scarcely object if the guilt was laid at the Owlman’s door.’
‘But that’s not true!’ Brother Cosmas broke in harshly.
The hermit gazed at him in surprise.
‘It’s not true,’ the Franciscan repeated softly. ‘Odo, you could not kill anyone. I shall tell you the truth.’ The Franciscan hurried on as if anxious to divert Corbett’s attention. ‘You know about the story of the Red Rose of Rye? A tavern on the outskirts of the town and the fate of its owners, Alwayn and Katherine Rothmere?’
Corbett nodded.
‘Odo was their young son. After his parents’ death, he was sent to kinsfolk in Essex. He was raised by people very similar to those who live in Ashdown. He became a royal forester, later a soldier. Only as a young man did he learn the full truth behind the tragic death of his parents.’
‘At first I swore vengeance.’ The self-styled hermit took up the story. ‘But my kinsfolk were kindly people. They raised me to fear God and the King. Since my youth I had a vocation to become a Franciscan. I entered the House of Studies at Canterbury where I met Brother Cosmas. We became firm friends: true brothers in every sense of the word. He told me about his soldiering days. I recounted my past. How I’d love to take vengeance on the Fitzalan family. Brother Cosmas was like some potion you take to ease the pain of an old wound. I became a Franciscan priest.’ He fought to keep his voice steady. ‘I worked for God’s poor, travelling from parish to parish, preaching the crucified Christ. You see, Sir Hugh, I felt a deep sadness at the way my parents had died. The Church’s teaching on suicide is very bleak. And my mother . . .’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘Let’s be honest, clerk, my mother committed adultery, which brought about her death and that of my father. I thought by living a life of penance, I might atone for their sins. That Christ would purge them, lead them into Paradise. But, sometimes, at night, or when I saw a powerful lord ride through the town, banners and pennants flying, trumpets shrilling, I’d think of Lord Henry Fitzalan, the true cause of their sin. I heard how he waxed fat and rich, favoured by both King and Church. I travelled back to our house in Canterbury. It must have been a year last Easter. Cosmas was also there. He told me how he was working in Ashdown Forest.’
‘We had a friendship,’ Brother Cosmas broke in. ‘Now bonded by a hatred of Lord Henry Fitzalan and all he stood for. Believe me, clerk, he was a wicked man.’ Cosmas glanced at Alicia. ‘He was cold and selfish. When you talked to him you felt his soul, behind the mask, was mocking you.’
‘I persuaded my superiors that I go preaching in the shires south of London,’ Odo continued. ‘God forgive me, I came here to kill Lord Henry. I pretended to be the hermit. I was trained in archery and venery. Brother Cosmas showed me the paths and trackways of Ashdown Forest. He gave me food and sustenance.’ Odo breathed in noisily. ‘He also begged me not to exact the vengeance I wanted. I tell you this, Sir Hugh. Time and again I had Fitzalan in my sights. Time and again I could have put a shaft through his heart.’
‘And did you?’ Corbett asked. ‘That morning in Savernake Dell? Did your lust for vengeance overcome your call to grace?’
‘I was nowhere near Savernake Dell,’ came the sharp reply. The hermit’s eyes glowed. ‘But I shall confess to you, royal clerk, and may Christ have mercy on me, I danced when I heard he had been killed.’
‘And the arrow last night?’ Ranulf asked. ‘The one which shattered the window at Ashdown Manor?’
The hermit chuckled. ‘Believe it or not, clerk, it was my farewell. I would have stayed a week, ten more days and taken my leave. Sir William is of the same rotten stock but I do not hold him guilty of any sin against me.’ He sighed. ‘I am sorry for loosing the arrows at you.’
Corbett scrutinised both the hermit and Brother Cosmas. On the one hand he felt the hermit was telling the truth but, on the other, he felt a slight unease. What if Brother Cosmas was the killer, using his friend as a pretext, a catspaw? Like many friars, both were practical men. Strong, vigorous, with a passion for justice, could this have clouded their priestly training?
‘What now?’ Brother Cosmas asked.
Corbett glanced at Ranulf but he seemed distracted. He was drawing something on the side of the piece of parchment, which Corbett recognised as the capital ‘A’. Corbett got to his feet. He was aware of Alicia standing behind him while Verlian, sitting deeper in the sanctuary, must have also heard everything.
‘I’ll be honest,’ Corbett began. He pressed his fingers on Ranulf’s shoulder, warning him to keep silent. ‘All four of you are suspects.’
‘But I’ve told the truth,’ the hermit gasped.
‘I’ve said before,’ Corbett reminded him, ‘evidence or logic, or both, prove a hypothesis, verify a conclusion. I know you are the Owlman, that you were helped by Brother Cosmas. Logic and evidence also provoke suspicion against the Verlians, both father and daughter. So, if I empanelled a jury, it would note that each person in this church has a case to answer.’
‘We are clerics,’ Brother Cosmas protested.
‘You could still be murderers,’ Corbett replied softly. ‘One of you, two of you.’ He felt the nape of his neck grow cold. ‘Indeed, all four of you could have been involved. Let me explain.’ He sat down on the bench. His eye caught the gargoyle on top of one of the pillars: a grinning demon, cowled like a monk, its forked tongue slipping out between thick lips: the long-dead carpenter must have been ridiculing som
e priest. Corbett wondered if the two clerics in front of him were mocking him.
‘Three people have been murdered in Ashdown Forest,’ he continued hurriedly. ‘Lord Henry and an Italian physician, Pancius Cantrone. Then we have this young woman, killed by an arrow, her body stripped and buried in a shallow grave but, for some strange reason,’ he watched the hermit intently, ‘her corpse was dug up and placed at the postern gate of St Hawisia’s priory. Now, Odo, you expressed a deep desire to put an arrow deep into Lord Henry’s heart, and that happened. The other two were killed by an arrow to the throat.’
‘What are you saying?’ Odo became agitated. ‘I – I – simply used a turn of phrase.’
‘A jury might think it significant. It might wonder if we have two killers: one who slew Lord Henry, and a second who killed the other two victims.’ Corbett paused. ‘Tell me, Brother Cosmas and you, Odo, have you ever seen anything untoward in the forest? If you wish I can put you both on oath. Let me help you. A young woman was killed by an arrow to the throat. The assassin stripped her, for God knows what reason, and buried the corpse in a shallow grave. It was meant to stay there. Now, if anyone else had discovered that corpse, let’s say a wolfs-head, he’d probably leave it where he found it. If Brother Cosmas had found the corpse he would have carried it to St Oswald’s for honourable burial. One of the forest people would have raised the hue and cry while Master Verlian, or one of his verderers, would have taken it to Ashdown Manor.’
Ranulf’s pen was now racing across the page, squeaking as he briefly summarised Corbett’s statement. Corbett pointed at Odo.
‘You discovered the corpse, didn’t you? You are a priest and, for all my suspicions, a man of tender heart. You dare not raise the hue and cry because people would ask what this anchorite was doing wandering around the forest. You could not bring it to Brother Cosmas, that might arouse suspicion. So you took it to St Hawisia’s priory. Your conscience clear, your duty discharged. I am correct, sir?’
Odo nodded.
‘The morning Lord Henry was killed,’ he replied, ‘I knew about the hunt. I went to see if I could do any mischief: loose an arrow, scare the game. I slipped and fell where the earth was soft.’ He shrugged. ‘I found the corpse. The rest is as you say. I later came to St Oswald’s to tell Brother Cosmas but I glimpsed Verlian’s daughter in the cemetery, so I went back to my cave.’
Corbett turned, swinging one leg over the bench, and called Verlian and his daughter over.
‘This is what I am going to do. Everyone shall stay where they are. Brother Cosmas here in St Oswald’s. You, Odo, can act the hermit until this business is resolved. However, you will take me to where the woman’s corpse was found.’
Odo agreed.
‘Master Verlian, I have one question for you,’ Corbett continued. ‘On the night before the hunt, Lord Henry and his guests moved to Beauclerc hunting lodge some distance from Savernake. Why was that?’
The verderer, now sitting on the altar steps, spread his hands.
‘That was the custom. Lord Henry always moved out of the manor. The dogs were brought there, the huntsmen and verderers given their instructions.’
‘And you were present?’
Verlian’s face paled.
‘I understand that Lord Henry became ill, pains in the stomach, that he had to vomit and spend some of the night on the jakes purging his bowels?’
‘He drank late,’ Verlian answered. ‘He and his brother. They opened flasks of wine. Lord Henry was always very proud of his wine.’
‘And that wine?’ Corbett asked. ‘It was brought from the manor?’
Verlian wiped the sheen of sweat off his upper lip.
‘Come,’ Corbett insisted. ‘You were chief huntsman. Your duty was to prepare the lodge, provide game, ensure it was cooked well for Lord Henry and his guests?’
‘I’m not sure what you are saying.’
‘And whose duty was it to serve the lords their wine? I mean, they were away from Ashdown, the usual servants and retainers would be left there.’
‘I did,’ Verlian cried, getting to his feet, rubbing his hands on the side of his robe. ‘I served the wine.’
‘And anything else?’ Corbett asked. ‘You are a forest man, Master Robert, you treat the dogs and horses. I wager you know as much about the plants and herbs as the woman Jocasta. Did you put something in the wine? Something to loosen Lord Henry’s bowels, keep his mind away from lechery? Or was it an act of revenge or even an attempt to poison him?’
Verlian refused to meet his gaze. Ranulf was gaping open-mouthed; he quietly vowed that, next time his master left the bedchamber early in the morning, he would follow him down. Corbett’s brain had proved as sharp as a razor.
‘Well, did you?’
‘I did.’ The chief huntsman waved his hand to silence his daughter. ‘It wasn’t poison, just a purgative. I saw him sitting there, face oiled, eyes mocking me. The rest of the guests had withdrawn. He asked for a special flask, one brought specially from Bordeaux. I opened the seal and sprinkled some powders in: not poison, Sir Hugh, but something to keep the humours of his belly busy and his mind free of lechery. You can’t act the rutting stag when your bowels are loose! Nothing stronger than any apothecary would recommend. He never suspected. I returned to my own house and came back later on. In the morning Lord Henry, who had a strong constitution, was better; he’d purged his stomach, the potion had done no real damage. We assembled in the yard ready for the hunt. I was fastening the straps of his boot and he gently tapped me. “How is the fair Alicia?” he mocked. “Nothing like a day’s hunting, is there, Robert, to stir the fires in the belly?”’ Verlian licked his lips. ‘I became frightened. I wondered if Fitzalan would leave the hunt so I went to warn Alicia but she had already left; the rest is as you say.’
‘And did Sir William drink of this?’
‘A little, though he mixed his wine with water. Lord Henry always made him act as cup man. He liked nothing better than to drink his brother under the table but Sir William had learned his lesson.’
Corbett got to his feet and picked up his cloak.
‘I’m finished here.’
As he swung the cloak around himself he watched Ranulf busily clear away his writing implements. He shook a little sand lightly over the parchment, then blew this off, rolled the parchment up and tied it with a piece of green ribbon. That and the quills, knife and pumice stone went back into the chancery bag.
‘We are on foot.’ Corbett smiled at Odo. ‘We left our horses at the Devil-in-the-Woods and the day has proved a fine one. Brother Cosmas, would you bring a mattock and hoe?’
The friar agreed and hurried off, the hermit following. Verlian went back into the sanctuary. Ranulf was shuffling his feet. Corbett decided not to be too harsh but walked down the nave, leaving the lovelorn man to make his own farewells. He went out and stood on the steps. The front of the church was now quiet and deserted. Sir William had taken his party, including the corpse, back to Ashdown Manor. Corbett stood and closed his eyes, listening to the birdsong. The fragrance of the forest, crushed grass, flowers and newly turned earth, assailed his senses. He wondered how Maeve was progressing at Leighton. Would she be safe? Was she well? He was always anxious that she would do too much but then he recalled that her uncle, Lord Morgan Ap Llewelyn, who had come as a house guest years ago and decided to stay, would shadow her everywhere, clucking like the busy old hen he was. He heard the door open and close behind him.
‘Are you well, Ranulf? And Mistress Alicia?’
Ranulf’s slightly flushed face told him everything. He opened his hand and Corbett espied the little locket he’d seen round Alicia’s neck.
‘A token of affection, eh, Ranulf?’
His manservant’s face became grave. ‘She thinks you are a very dangerous man, Sir Hugh.’
Corbett shook his head. ‘You’ve read St Augustine? He defines murder as the supreme chaos and that chaos, Ranulf, must be resolved by logic, evidence and the enforcement
of royal justice.’ He tapped his clerk playfully on the side of the cheek. ‘And murder comes in many guises. For all we know, Ranulf, we may have spent the morning in the presence of a cruel assassin. Remember the proverb: “Of the two brothers Cain and Abel, Cain was the comeliest and smiled the most.”’
Chapter 12
After some searching, the hermit found the place where he had crossed the trackway. It was now about noon; clouds were closing over the sun and the first cool winds of autumn were making themselves felt. Gold-brown leaves whirled in the wind, laying down a carpet across the rutted track. The forest was silent apart from the occasional call of the birds and the incessant cawing of the rooks. Corbett noticed how the trackway curved and bent.
‘A corner,’ he said. ‘The best place for an ambush, or so my lord of Surrey is always telling me.’
He and Ranulf followed the hermit and Brother Cosmas down the bank to the narrow grave from which Odo had dug the woman’s corpse. Corbett knelt down and, with gauntleted hands, pulled away the leaves and twigs which had amassed there. The soil was soft, easy to dig; it must have taken only a short while for the assassin to slip the corpse in and then hide it under a layer of muddy soil.
‘What are you looking for?’ Brother Cosmas asked.
